1

Norton threw down his knapsack and scooped up a double
handful of water. He drank, delighting in the chill that
struck his teeth and stiffened his palate. It was easy to
forget that this was an artificial spring, magically cooled;
it seemed natural.

He had hiked twenty miles through the cultivated wil-
derness of the city park and was ready to camp for the
night. He had food for one more meal; in the morning he
would have to restock. That could be awkward, for he
was out of credit. Well, he would worry about that tomor-
row.

He gathered dry sticks and leaves, careful not to dis-
turb any living plants, and structured his collection for a
small fire in a dirt hollow. He found some desiccated moss
and set it within his pyramid- Then he muttered an
incendiary-spell, and the flame burst into existence.

He fetched three rocks, set them against the expanding
fire, and unfolded his little fry-pan. He unpacked his Span-
ish rice mix and poured it in the pan, shaking the mix to
keep the rice turning as the heat increased. When it
browned, he added handfuls of water, evoking a strenuous
protest of steam, until satisfied. Then he rested the pan
on the stones and left it to sizzle nicely alone.

"Can you spare a bite?"

Norton looked up, surprised. Ordinarily he was alert
for other creatures, especially people, even when con-
centrating on his cooking, for he was attuned to the sounds
of nature. But this one seemed to have appeared from
nowhere. "This is what I have," he replied. "I'll share
it." Actually, that meant he would be hungry on a half-
ration, but he never liked saying no.

The man stepped closer, his feet making no noise. He
was evidently in his mid-to-late twenties, about a decade
younger than Norton, and in unusually fit condition. He
was well dressed in upper-class city style, but had the
calloused palms of a highly physical man. Wealthy, but
no effete recluse. "You're an independent sort," he
remarked.

It took one to know one! "Wanderlust, mostly," Norton
clarified. "Somehow I always want to see the other side
of the mountain. Any mountain."

"Even when you know the mountain is artificial?" The
man's eyes flicked meaningfully about the landscape.

Norton laughed easily. "I'm just that kind of a fool!"

The man pursed his lips. "Fool? I don't think so." He
shrugged. "Ever think about settling down with a good
woman?"

This fellow got right down to basics! "All the time. But
seldom for more than a week or two."

"Maybe you never encountered one who was good
enough for a year or two."

"Maybe," Norton agreed without embarrassment. "I
prefer to think of it as a distinction of philosophy. I am a
traveling man; most women are stay-at-homes. If I ever
found one who wanted to share my travels—" He paused,
struck by a new thought. "In that sense, they are leaving
me as much as I am leaving them. They prefer their loca-
tion to my company, much as cats do. I move, they
remain—but we know each other's natures at the start.
So no expectations are violated."

"Man does, woman is," the man agreed.

Norton sniffed his rice. "This is about done; it's spelled

                3

for quick cooking. Have you a dish? I can make one of
wood—" He touched his sturdy hunting knife.

"I won't need one." The man smiled as Norton glanced
askance. "I don't eat, actually. I was just verifying your
hospitality. You were ready to go hungry to share."

"No man can live long without eating, and I can see
you're no ascetic. I'll carve you a dish—"

"My name is Gawain. I'm a ghost."

"Norton, here," Norton said, noticing how the man
accented the first syllable: GOW-an. "I'm a jack of any
trade, expert at none, except maybe taletelling." Then he
did a double take. "Pardon?"

"A ghost," Gawain repeated. "Here, I'll demonstrate."
He extended his strong hand.

Norton clasped it, expecting a crunching grip—and
encountered air. He brought his hand back and touched
Gawain's arm. There was nothing; his hand passed
through, suit and arm without resistance, disappearing
into the man's body. "You certainly are!" he agreed
ruefully. "No wonder I didn't hear you approaching! You
look so solid—"

"Do I?" Gawain asked, becoming translucent.

"I never met a real, live—uh—"

Gawain laughed. "Real, at any rate." He firmed up to
solid semblance again, having made his point. "Norton,
I like you. You're independent, self-sufficient, uncon-
ceited, generous, and open. I know I'd have enjoyed your
company when I was alive. I think I have a favor to ask
of you."

"I'll do any man a favor—any woman, too!—but I
don't think there's very much I can do for a ghost. I
presume you're not much interested in physical things."

"Interested, but not able," the ghost said. "Sit down,
eat your supper. And listen, if you will, to my story. Then
the nature of the favor will be apparent."

"Always glad for company, real or imaginary," Norton
said, sitting down on a conveniently placed rock.

"I'm no hallucination," the ghost assured him. "I'm a
genuine person who happens to be dead."




4              

And while Norton ate, the specter made his pre-
sentation. "I was born into a wealthy and noble family,"
Gawain said. "I was named after Sir Gawain of the ancient
Round Table of King Arthur's Court; Sir Gawain is a
distant ancestor, and great things were expected of me
from the outset. Before I could walk I could handle a
knife; I shredded my mattress and crawled out to stalk
the household puk—"

"Puck?"

"Puk—a small household dragon. Ours was only half
a yard long. I gave it an awful scare; it had been napping
in a sunbeam. My folks had to put me in a steel playpen
after that. At age two I fashioned a rope out of my blanket
and scaled the summit of the playpen wall and went after
the cat. I vivisected her after she scratched me for cutting
off her tail. So they brought in a werecat who changed
into the most forbidding old shrew when I bothered her.
She certainly had my number; when I toasted her feline
tail with a hotfoot, she wered human and toasted my tail
with a belt. I developed quite an aggravation for magical
animals."

"I can imagine," Norton said politely. He himself was
always kind to animals, especially wild ones, though he
would defend himself if attacked. There were things about
Gawain he was not fully comfortable with.

"I was sent to gladiator school," the ghost continued.
"I wanted to go, and for some reason my family preferred
to have me out of the house. I graduated second in my
class. I would have been first, but the leading student had
enchanted armor, even at night, so I couldn't dispatch
him. Canny character! After that, I bought a fine outfit
of my own, proof against any blade or bullet or magic
bolt. Then I set out to make my fortune.

"There are not many dragons around, compared to
mundane animals, and most of them are protected spe-
cies. Actually, I respect dragons; they are a phenomenal
challenge. It's too bad that it took so long for man really
to master magic; only in the last fifty years or so has it
become a formidable force. I suppose it was suppressed

                S

by the Renaissance, when people felt there had to be
rational explanations for everything. As a result of that
ignorance, dragons and other fantastic creatures had a
much harder time of it than they had during the medieval
age in Europe. Some masqueraded as mundane animals—
unicorns cutting off their horns to pass for horses, griffins
shearing their wings and donning lion-head masks, that
sort of thing—and some were kept hidden on private
estates by conservationists who cared more for nature
than for logic. A number developed protective illusion so
they looked a good deal more mundane than they were,
and Satan salvaged a few, though most of His creatures
are demonic. But now at last the supernatural is back in
fashion, and fantastic creatures are becoming unextinct.

"But some creatures do get obstreperous. Most
bleeding-heart liberal, modem governments have bent the
other way so far they've gone off the deep end and out-
lawed poisoning or shooting or using magic to kill these
monsters. So the bad dragons have to be dispatched the
old-fashioned way, by sword."

"Why not just move the bad ones to reservations?"
Norton asked, appalled at the notion of slaying dragons.
He was one of the bleeding hearts the ghost described;

he knew dragons were omery and dangerous, but so were
alligators and tigers. All of them had their right to exist
as species, and the loss of any species was an incalculable
loss to the world. Many highly significant aspects of magic
had been derived from once-suppressed creatures, such
as potency-spells from unicom horns and invulnerable
scale armor from dragon hides. But he realized it would
be pointless to argue such cases with this fortune-hunting
warrior.

Gawain snorted. "Mister, you can't move a dragon!
They're worse than cats! Once a drag stakes out his ter-
ritory, he defends it. Enchant the monster and move it to
a reservation, it just breaks out and returns, twice as
omery as before, killing innocent people along the way.
No, I respect dragons as opponents, but the only really
good dragon is a dead one."




6             Bearing An HmvgUiss

Norton sighed inwardly. Perhaps it was a good thing
for the world that Gawain was now a ghost.

'That was my specialty," Gawain continued. "The hand-
slaying of dragons. It was dangerous work, to be sure—
but the rewards were considerable. Because it was quasi-
legal, fees were high. I estimated that five or six years of
dragon slaying would make me independently wealthy.
That was the point: to prove that I wasn't simply inher-
iting wealth, but could produce it on my own. I knew my
family would be pleased; every man in it increased the
fortune, if he lived long enough."

Gawain meditated for a moment, and Norton did not
interrupt him. What would be the point? Norton had on
occasion spotted the traces of dragons in the parks and
had always given the monsters a wide berth. He might be
an environmentalist, but he was no fool. It was said that
some dragons in parks were halfway tame and would not
attack a person if he gave them food or jewelry, but Nor-
ton had never trusted such folklore. The best way to deal
with a dragon was to stay clear of it, unless a person had
a really competent pacification-spell.

"I know what you're thinking," Gawain said. "Obvi-
ously I met one dragon too many! But in my defense, I
do want to say that I was successful for five years and
had almost amassed my target level in bonus money. I
would be alive today if that last dragon I faced had been
genuine. But you see, it wasn't; it had been mislabeled.
Oh, I don't blame the natives—not much, anyway; they
were a fairly primitive tribe in South America and they
spoke a mixture of Amerind and Spanish, while I spoke
the language of champions, English. Normally language
is not much of a barrier; my armor and sword bespoke
my profession, with the dragon design on my shield; and
as for the women—a man never needs a language of the
tongue to speak his use for them, especially when he's a
warrior. These things are fairly standard, anyway; the
conquering hero always gets his pick of the local virgins.
After all, it's better for them than getting chomped by the
dragon!"

                7

He paused a moment, his lips twitching. "Funny that
some of those girls don't seem to see it that way."

He shrugged and returned to the main theme. "But I
think they were honestly ignorant of the nature of their
monster. Of course, I should have checked it out in the
Dragon Registry—but I had traveled a long way, and the
nearest civilized outpost was a half day's trek distant—
couldn't use a standard flying carpet for this, of course,
since those things are coded into the tour computers, and
that would have given away my business—it would have
delayed me a day just to do that, and maybe alerted the
Dragon Patrol. So I tackled that dragon blind, as it were.
I'll never do that again! I was cocky and foolish, I know—
but I was familiar with the specs on just about every type
of dragon in the world; I figured I was okay this one time.

"So there I was, afoot and armed with sword and shield,
as is proper for such encounters, and I boldly braved the
lair of the monster. And monster it was! I could see claw
marks on the big trees some ten feet up. A real challenge!
I marched up to its cave and bellowed out my challenge,
and the monster came charging out, no fire, just growl-
ing—and then I realized my mistake. That was no
dragon—it was a dinosaur! A largely bipedal carnivorous
reptile—allosaurus, to be specific; I looked it up after it
was too late. It was supposed to be extinct; I think Satan
revived it, just to take me down a peg."

Now Norton spoke. "Isn't a dinosaur much like a
dragon?"

"Yes and no," Gawain said seriously. This was his field
of expertise. "It should be as easy to slay one as the other,
as they are of similar nature. Dragons have fire and better
armor, and some are unbecomingly smart, while the ancient
camosaurs—well, they have to do it all by tooth and claw
and power, so they're both more single-minded and des-
perate. I was geared and trained for dragons; I knew their
typical foibles. A dragon, for example, will always try to
scorch you with its fire or steam first; dodge that jet, and
you can often get in a lethal stroke while it's recovering
its breath. It's blast-oriented, you see, not thinking about




8             Bearing An Hour/floss

what comes next. But the allosaurus—that monster didn't
even pause to see how it scored, because it had no attack
heat. It simply charged, catching me off guard. I had been
ready to dodge to the side, and that was no good this time.
I stabbed it in the neck with my sword, but it didn't seem
to notice. That's another difference—a dragon will roar
with pain and rage when injured—they are inordinately
proud of their roars—and whip about to snap at the wound.
I've seen a dragon get stabbed with a knife and reach
about and bite that knife right out of its body, along with
a few pounds of its own flesh, and toast the wound after-
ward to cauterize it. This camosaur just kept going for
me. Its system was more primitive. You know how a
snake's tail will keep twitching after you cut it off? True
reptiles are slow to die, even when hacked to pieces. So
again I misjudged it—and again I paid. The brute knocked
me down and took a chomp of my body, armor and all.
I didn't even try to scramble free; I knew a body-chomp
would only dent the monster's teeth.

"That was my third error. Apparently enchantment has
a sizable psychological component; people believe in its
power, so it has power. A dragon would have known the
armor was impermeable, since the smell of the spell was
on it, and protected its teeth by easing up. The crunch
would have been more show than serious; just testing, as
it were. But this allosaurus dated from before the time of
true magic and it gave a full-hard chomp, the kind that

crunches bones."

"But magic isn't all psychological!" Norton protested.
"When I lighted this fire, the wood didn't need to believe

in magic; it was ignited anyway."

"True. My armor was impervious to the teeth of the
monster," Gawain agreed. "But the mail was flexible, so
I could wear it with comfort and not be restricted when
fighting. That reptile had very powerful jaws. When it
crunched, no tooth penetrated—but I was squished to
death. A dragon never would have done that, for fear of
hurting its teeth against the magical hardness of the
armor—but that stupid reptile did. It broke a number of

                9

its teeth and put itself in dire straits—but it wiped me out
in the process." The ghost sounded disgusted.

"Now I understand," Norton said. "I regret meeting
you in such circumstance." That was polite; Norton might
have regretted meeting Gawain alive, too.

"No fault of yours," Gawain said. "You are a courteous
listener. Many people fear ghosts or ignore them."

"Many people are more settled than I am," Norton
said. "Perhaps that applies to their minds as well as their
bodies. Since you profess no anger toward me, I accept
you as a well-meaning companion and hope I may in some
way help you." For, ironic as it seemed, he found himself
liking the ghost. Gawain alive stood for nothing Norton
stood for, but as a ghost, he was an interesting companion.
Maybe that was because his evil was safely behind him.

"I like your manners," Gawain said. "I can see we
don't see eye-to-eye on everything and I think it's because
you're a gentler man than I was. Be assured I offer rec-
ompense for the favor I ask. Would you like to leam how
to slay dragons?"

"Oh, I do not require pay for any favor!" Norton pro-
tested. "Then it wouldn't be a favor."

"This is not really a minor matter. I would prefer to
pay. The favor is in merely agreeing to do it."

"Why, then, I should be happy to leam how to slay
dragons, though I hope never to have to use such knowl-
edge." That was an understatement; he would never
knowingly go near a wild dragon without defensive
magic—and with that magic he would not have to slay
it. "But what is this favor?"

Gawain frowned. "I prefer to provide more background
first, lest you be unable to accept the request."

Norton was growing quite curious about this. The ghost
was a tough, direct sort, with quite alien values, but he
was also a gentleman by his own reckoning. Why was he
being so circumspect about this? "By all means, sir."

"When I died, I had amassed a fair fortune, in addition
to my inheritance," the ghost continued. "Actually, the
inheritance has not yet come down to me, as my father

10            

lives, but I am the only heir. It is important that the estate
remain in the family. Therefore, my surviving family
arranged for a ghost marriage. That is, they married me
to an excellent and healthy young woman of proper lineage
who—"

"Pardon," Norton said. "Forgive the interruption, but
you have lost me. How can a ghost marry?"

Gawain smiled. "Yes, I thought that would throw you.
It threw me, first blush. It is a device used when a noble
family wishes to preserve its line—when the heir is
defunct. They marry the ghost to a suitable girl—one he
would have approved of in life—who then bears his heir."

"But—"

"But a ghost can't impregnate a living woman. That is
indeed a problem."

"Yes. I really don't see how—"

"I'm coming to that. My wife may associate with any
man she chooses—but she is my wife, by the ghost mar-
riage, and her child is mine. He will inherit my estate and
carry on my line."

"But then she's being unfaithful to you!" Norton pro-
tested.

"I had trouble with that concept, too, at first. But I
came to terms with it. She knows she must provide the
heir and that I can not do it personally. But I am involved,
for I am choosing the man. With her consent, of course;

marriage is a partnership. She has refused several good
prospects."

"Are yon sure she really wants to—?"

"Oh, I'm sure," Gawain said confidently. "She is a
good and honest woman. She is not trying to renege. She
merely wants to do it exactly properly. She has this magic
talent: she can tell by looking at a man how good a consort
he would make. That's one reason my family selected her.
They didn't want the heir sired by some ne'er-do-well
bum with poor heredity. She really is special. If I had met
her in life, I surely would have loved her, though I wouldn't
have had much patience with her views about dragons.
She can't bear to hurt any living creature. So 'f I bring
her a man she deems good enough to—"

               11

Realization struck Norton. "This favor—"

The ghost nodded. "Precisely. I want you to meet my
wife, and if she likes you—"

"Wait!" Norton spluttered. "I take my women where
I find them, when they are amenable, but never a married
one! That wouldn't be right."

"I like you, Norton. You have the right instincts. I was
afraid out here in the park I'd find only wishy-washy
sentimentalists, but you've got style. I think my wife would
like you, when she didn't like the warrior types I sent
before. Look at it this way: I have no physical body and
I need an heir. I'm asking you to substitute for me in this
one respect. After that you can go your way, with no
further commitment. It's like repairing my house for me,
and I'll pay you for the service—"

"Some service!"

"Literally." The ghost chuckled. "I realize this is hard
for you to accept right away and I like that in you. But
at least come to meet Orlene. Maybe she'll reject you."

From the way the ghost spoke, Norton had no certainty
of that. Gawain thought this girl, Orlene, would like him.
If he went, expecting to be rejected, and then... "I don't
know—"

"Please, Norton! You're a good man—and I must have
that heir."

"I understand that part. But to cuckold you—that's
against my philosophy."

"I am, after all, a ghost. You can consider her a widow.
If it helps, you can remember that you will have no rights
over her at all. You can not marry her, and your part will
be forever unrecognized. Legally there is no adultery here.
So this is the ultimate chance to sow wild oats—"

"Complete irresponsibility! That's not what I—"

"Well, then, think of it as artificial insemination, and
you're the donor. Hell, man, that's done all the time, in
life, when the living husband is infertile."

This was haywire, but the concept helped. The ghost
did have a case. "All right—I'll meet her," Norton said
guardedly.




12             

"And I'll teach you how to slay dragons!"

"Oh, you don't really need to—"

"Yes, I do. I insist on paying for it!"

Norton realized that what a man paid for belonged to
him. Gawain had to have his personal, private claim on
the heir. "Yes. But first we had better find out whether
she's even interested. This may all be for nothing." He
wondered what this fine girl who had sold her body in
such fashion for security actually looked like. Quality and
lineage could normally net a girl a good husband, unless
she was ugly or had a vile temper. That latter kind might
be the sort who would settle for a ghost.

"We can go right now," Gawain said eagerly. "There's
an elevator not far from here."

Norton thought to protest, but remembered that he was
broke, so would not be able to camp out much longer
anyway. A stay with a good woman, even an ugly one,
was at least worth considering. He really could not claim
to have anything better to do.

He doused the fire and cleaned up the area so that
future hikers would not be annoyed. Wilderness hiking
and camping were privileges, not rights, and were strictly
licensed. He was always careful not to mistreat the cul-
tivated wilds. He burned only deadwood, left the animals
alone, and tried not to harm even caterpillars and worms.
He never littered. It was not that anyone was watching;

it was that Norton had genuine respect for the heritage
of nature and for the parks that sought to emulate it.

They walked a quarter mile to a giant blazed oak tree.
Norton touched the lowest branch and stepped inside the
chamber that opened in the trunk. The elevator descended
to the residential level, where they stepped out and took
a conveyor belt to the ghost's address. Gawain, of course,
could simply have popped across directly, but he pre-
ferred to honor the living conventions among the living.

This was an affluent section of the city, as befitted the
ghost's description of his family's status. Poor people did
not worry much about preservation of their estates.

They stepped off the belt, took a smaller side-passage

               13

belt, and moved into the really refined region of the Who's-
Who lineages. A uniformed guard barred the way as they
stepped off. "Identity?" he asked Norton sternly.

"It's all right, Trescott," Gawain said. "He's with me."

Trescott eyed Norton's somewhat sweaty and worn
hiking outfit disapprovingly. "Very good, sir," he mut-
tered.

"The guards don't always let themselves see me,"
Gawain explained. "Unless I take pains to manifest to
them. Ghosts are not much in fashion here; the manage-
ment worries about property values."

"Or about scruffy-looking characters like me," Norton
said. "I feel out of place here."

"Um, there's a point," Gawain agreed. "We really ought
to spruce you up a bit to make a good impression."

"I am what I am," Norton said. "If she has the power
to judge a man's true worth at a glance, what difference
does clothing or polish make?"

"There is that. Very well, we'll try it this way. But if
she accepts you, you'll have to dress the part."

"First things first," Norton said, not totally pleased.

They arrived at the door. "Now I can't go in," Gawain
said. "Rules of the cosmos. Everyone can see a ghost like
me except the one most concerned. You'll introduce your-
self."

"What, smile toothily and say, 'Hi, girl, I'm here
to—'?"

"Tell her Gawain sent you. She'll understand."

"Sure," Norton said glumly. How had he gotten into
this? He felt like a traveling salesman about to approach
the farmer's daughter.

"Good luck," Gawain said.

Norton wasn't sure whether "good luck" would mean
acceptance or rejection. He nerved himself and touched
the door's call button.







-2-

VERIFICATION

A panel became translucent after a moment. "Yes?" a
soft-voiced woman inquired. He could not quite make out
her features; the glass was, of course, designed to pass a
clear image only one way.

"Uh, Gawain sent me." Idiocy!

The door slid aside, and she stood framed within. She
had hair the hue of honey and eyes the same. Her figure
was adorably proportioned, and her face was cute. She
was the loveliest creature he had met.

Orlene studied Norton. Her &yes seemed to shine. "Oh,
I was afraid this would happen someday," she said.

"This wasn't exactly my idea," Norton said. "I'll go."

"No," she said quickly. "No fault in you! I just was
not prepared."

"Since I'm unsuitable, I won't bother you further." He
felt quite awkward, sorry he had come here, yet also
deeply regretful. He had been braced to meet a different
sort of woman; for one like this, he would do almost
anything.

"No, wait," she said quickly. "I didn't mean to—please,
sit down, have some tea."

"That's not necessary, thank you. I'm intruding. This

14

              J5

whole business—" He turned away—and paused. Gawain
was right there behind him, spreading his arms to block
his retreat. He did not want to walk through the ghost.

Orlene came up and took his arm. Her touch was light
and gentle and utterly right; he had a momentary mental
picture of a porcelain statuette, a work of art, inconceiv-
ably delicate, precious, and cool. "Please," she repeated.
"He set it up," Norton said, indicating Gawain.
"You don't have to say that," Orlene said, sounding
just a bit nettled. "You don't have to justify yourself."

"Yes, I do! He's your husband! I can't simply—even
if I were satisfactory, I mean, it would still be wrong."
"My husband is dead," she said.
"I know. That's why—" Norton shrugged, confused
about his own emotions, wishing he were back in the
forest. "How can you face him like this and—?"

"Me?" she flared. She was one of those few women
who really did seem as pretty angry as happy. "How can
you men exchange stories, and use a great warrior's death
to try to—to—!"

"But he told me!" Norton said. "Gawain brought me
here! Ask him! He'll tell you!"

She looked into Norton's face, then turned away, hurt.
He felt like a monster who had just pulled the wings off
a dozen beautiful butterflies.

"She can't see me," Gawain said. "She can't hear me.
I told you that. She doesn't really believe in me."

Norton was shocked. "You mean she thinks this is just
a scheme to—to hit on—?"

"I told you you'd have to handle the introduction your-
self," the ghost reminded him. "She's ready to accept you;

don't mess it up."

Norton turned to Orlene again. "You really can't see
or hear—Gawain?"

"Of course I can't," she said, her face still hurt. "Only
his picture." She gestured to a framed painting on the wall
inside.

Norton turned around to get a better view. It was
Gawain, garbed in his armor, with a dragon painted on
his shield and X'd out. The bold killer of dragons.




16 Seamy) An Hourglass

Norton shook his head. "This is all wrong. I think I
have insulted you, Orlene. I misunderstood—the situa-
tion. I apologize and I'll leave."

"Oh, you mustn't leave!" she protested. "I don't care
what brought you here, really. You glow so brightly! I
never expected to see—"

"I glow?"

"Her magic power," Gawain said from outside. "The
right man glows. You're it, all right."

"It's hard to explain," Orlene said. "It doesn't mean I
like a man, or want to. It just means that, objectively, he
is—" She spread her hands helplessly.

"I think I understand," Norton said. He had thought
he would be rejected, once he saw how lovely she was;

now he was unable to turn down what was offered, though
he remained disturbed by the situation. "Perhaps I will
accept your tea after all." He stepped back into the apart-
ment.

Orlene closed the door behind him, shutting out the
ghost. That was a small relief. Norton sat in a comfortable
chair while she bustled in her kitchenette, dialing the tea.

The problem was that she was too pretty, too obviously
nice. Norton felt subjectively as if his touch would despoil
her. This was no one-night-stand woman, and it would be
a crime to treat her that way. Especially since she herself
was not aware of the ghost's active participation. She
would think that he, Norton, was simply a man taking
advantage of a widow. Well, not exactly a widow. But it
bothered him.

Except for one thing—she saw him glow. She had no
need to accept him; she could tell him to go and he would
go. Why should she claim he was right for the purpose?
Was her magic real, or was it a pretext to pick and choose?
Was she in fact any better than she took him to be? She
seemed like the ideal woman, but appearances could be
deceptive. Especially when a ghost was involved.

Oriene brought the tea in an old-fashioned pot and
poured cups for them both. This wasn't tea time, but time
was not of the essence here. What was required was some-

PwrsAntboHy               17

thing to occupy their hands and eyes and nominal atten-
tion—a pretext to be somewhat at ease together. That
was, Norton suspected, the true basis of tea; it was a
social amenity.

But it wasn't enough. There was only so long a person
could nurse along a cup of beverage, and it was necessary
to make small talk meanwhile. How long could they post-
pone getting down to the subject?

Norton's desperately wandering eyes spotted a large,
pretty, parlor-style book, the kind with phenomenal illus-
trations and very little text, as befitted the fashionable,
wealthy nonreaders of the day. He reached for it.

"Oh, that's the picture-puzzle guide," Orlene said
quickly. "Magic technology art. I haven't gotten into the
puzzle, though I've been meaning to. I understand it's
very difficult."

"I like puzzles." Norton opened the book. The first
picture was of a section of the city park, with its tall trees
seeming almost alive. Almost? Now he saw their leaves
fluttering in the wind. It was a moving picture and it was
three-dimensional; his eyes shifted focus as he peered into
its background. He had heard of books like this, with
holographic illustrations, but never handled one before.

Experimentally he poked his forefinger at the picture,
for his eyes had lost track of the surface of the page. His
finger penetrated beyond that surface, finding no resis-
tance. Startled, he drew back.

"It's a window to the park," she explained. "You could
climb through it, if you could fit."

Impressive magic! Intrigued, Norton turned the page.
The next was of the nether transport center, with the
escalator belts leading down to the matter transmitters.
People were stepping off the belts, inserting their talis-
mans in the MT slots, and moving through to their des-
tinations. A big clock on the wall showed the present time
and date; this was live! He wondered whether, if he should
somehow squeeze into that picture, he would then be able
to take a matter-mit window to another city or planet.
No—he lacked the necessary token and lacked credit to

18          Beamy An HoingUw

buy one. Too bad; he really loved to explore, and if he
had ever been able to afford interplanetary travel—

He turned another page. This picture-window showed
another planet directly: the blazing sunside surface of
Mercury, so bright that the heat seemed to radiate out
from the sheet. He touched his finger to the nearest baked
rock—and drew it back quickly. That was hot!

"You say this one is merely a puzzle guide?" he asked,

perplexed.

Orlene rose gracefully and went to a cupboard. Her
dress rustled, and for the first time he became aware of
what she was wearing: a kind of golden-tan wraparound
affair, obviously intended for convenience rather than for
presentation, but it fitted her marvelously. He suspected
she would look wonderful in anything, however.

She brought down a box. "To the jigsaw puzzle," she
explained. "Of course, it's been decades since they actu-
ally cut them out with saws, but the name sticks." She
cleared away the pot and cups and set the box down.

Norton opened it. It was filled with bright, curly, flat
fragments, indeed very much like the pieces of a jig-sawed
puzzle. But these glittered with animation. Moving images

here?

He picked one up and squinted at it. Sure enough, it

showed several leaves of a tree, and they did indeed flutter
in whatever wind there was. It was a section of the first

illustration in the book.

"But there are a number of scenes in the book," he

said.

Orlene touched a button on the side of the box. Abruptly
the image on the piece Norton held changed. Now it
appeared to be part of the wall of the subterranean trans-
port station. He looked at the other pieces in the box and
saw one that displayed part of the face of the station clock.
Its minute hand showed exactly the minute that Norton's
own watch did. It was now only a fragment, but it kept

accurate time.

"All the scenes are available," Orlene said. "You just
set it for the one you want to do—or change it in the

               19

middle. There's another button to change the shapes of
the pieces so they don't get too familiar. I understand it's
a lot of fun, especially since the completed puzzle is large
enough for a person to step through and enter the scene."

"Science and magic are merging faster than I knew!"
Norton exclaimed, impressed.

"Well, they always were pretty much the same thing,"
she pointed out. "Once the Unified Field Theorem merged
the five basic forces, including magic—"

"I think I've been spending too much time in the wil-
derness!"

"The wilderness is nice too," she said. "We mustn't
sacrifice the old values for the new."

He glanced at her with fresh appreciation. "You like
the wilderness?" He remembered Gawain's remark about
her affinity for animals.

"Oh, yes! The estate has a section of the park; I go
there often. Somehow it seems less lonely than the city."

What a delight she was! But still he wasn't sure. He
was not able to view people with a magic glow. "Let's do
this puzzle," he suggested. "The park picture."

Orlene smiled with glad acquiescence. "Let's!"

And that finessed the main issue nicely. She did want
him to stay, for otherwise she would not have agreed to
get into a project like this that could take days. And—he
did want to stay. Not necessarily to honor the ghost's
request, but to explore the possibility. The notion of help-
ing Gawain in this fashion no longer seemed so unrea-
sonable.

They labored on the puzzle, first sorting the colors of
the park scene, then aligning the straight-edge pieces,
getting the border done. Norton was an old hand at this
sort of thing, except that his experience had been with
the old-fashioned kind of jigsaw. This magic-picture vari-
ety was new, but the fundamental principles of strategy
and matching remained. A picture was like a story, with
rules of structure that were vulnerable to exploitation in
a case like this.

Orlene turned out to have a good eye for color and




20           Bearia/i An HowiyUus

shape and was able to locate pieces he needed. She was
assisted by her magic, she said; the particular piece she
looked for tended to glow. He saw no such effect, but her
accuracy in drawing pieces from the great mixed pile lent
credence to the claim. The two of them were working well
together.

Norton glanced at the clock and discovered that three
hours had flown by. They had completed the border and
much of the forest path and were working on two trees,
but there was a long way to go. Edges and paths filled in
deceptively rapidly; the solid masses of single-color regions
would be much slower. "Maybe we'd better let it rest for
the night," he said.

"Yes. Let me get you some pajamas." They both under-
stood that he would be staying here indefinitely. The
agreement had formed, unvoiced, as the outline of the
puzzle took form. Like the puzzle, the details remained
inchoate.

Norton did not ordinarily use pajamas, but he didn't
argue. He was a guest of this estate, and it was no place
to flop in his clothes. Except—"Pajamas? Do you have
male clothing here?"

"They were Gawain's," she said delicately. "You're
close enough to his size, and I'm sure he would have
wanted them to be used."

Surely so. Norton squelched his misgivings and
accepted the pajamas. Orlene showed him to a well-
appointed room, separate from hers; their relationship
had not progressed to the critical stage. As he had known
from the moment he first saw her, she was no one-night-
stand girl. And he, abruptly, was no love-'em-and-leave-
'em guy. He was committed for the full route, whatever
it might be.

He discovered that he was quite tired; it had indeed
been a long day. He undressed, stepped into the sonic
cleaner, stepped out dry and tingly clean, then got into
Gawain's pajamas, reluctantly accepting their symbolism.
They hung on him somewhat baggily.

He got into bed and realized that this was not the

               21

ordinary flophouse bunk he was used to. It was an oil-
sponge couch. His weight caused the sponge oil to give
way and shift, but not instantly; it was more like sinking
into thick mud. The truth was, mud was excellent stuff,
as children instinctively knew, despite the bad press pro-
vided by their mothers. It offered enough support to pre-
vent drowning, while being malleable enough for freedom
of action. It was also fascinating stuff in itself, suitable
for splashing or mudballs and body-paintings. Of course
this bed was not mud and would not splash or separate,
but the feel was similar. Norton let himself descend into
its enfoldment with sheer bliss.

"How did it work out?" a voice asked.

Norton opened his eyes, annoyed. Gawain the Ghost
was there, standing expectantly beside the bed. "I had
almost forgotten you," he said.

"I certainly hadn't forgotten yo«!" the ghost replied.
"Three hours—did you beget my offspring?"

"What the hell are you doing here?" Norton demanded.
"I thought you couldn't enter this apartment."

"You misunderstood. I can't enter the room in which
my wife stays, and she can't directly perceive me regard-
less of where we are. But I can enter my own residence
when she's absent. I do it all the time."

"She's absent? 1 thought she was in her bedroom."

"She is. She's absent from this room," Gawain clari-
fied. "If she entered it, I'd have to vanish. I'd Just step
through the wall until she was gone."

Norton thought of something else. "I understood it was
death to see a ghost. That's why people don't like it! Does
this mean I am going to die?"

Gawain laughed. "Yes, in a manner of thinking. You
will die—in due course. Maybe fifty years hence. Every
living person will. But seeing me won't hasten your demise
one whit, unless you should happen to die of fright." He
put his forefingers in the corners of his mouth and pulled
his lips open in a grotesque face. Because he was insub-
stantial, he was able to stretch his mouth entirely beyond
the borders of his face. "I'm not that kind of ghost. You're

22           Bearing An Houiylw

thinking of Molly Malone of Kilvarough. She's a nice and
lovely ghost indeed; if I weren't already married—" He
left it unfinished.

"Well, to answer your question," Norton said shortly,
"I did not have any intimate relation with Orlene. She's
not that kind of woman, any more than you're that kind
of ghost. And I can't guarantee that I will have that kind
of relation, or when."

"Now look, sport," Gawain said indignantly. "You're
here accepting the hospitality of my estate. You owe it to
me to deliver!"

"To cuckold you?" Norton demanded, again express-
ing his inner irresolution. "To seduce your pristine, faith-
ful wife?"

"It's not like that, and you know it. You're here to
perform a service."

"I thought I was here to do you a favor."

"Same thing. Once you do it, you can leave. Except I
still have to teach you how to slay dragons."

"Well, Orlene is no dragon! The fact is, she is really a
nice person, not a gold digger at all. If she decides not
to—to want the favor, I'm not going to force it on her."

"What do you think she's here for?" Gawain demanded.
"She's a guest of my estate too!"

"She's your wife!" Norton shouted. "She has a perfect
right to be here!"

"Not if she doesn't produce! Listen, Norton, I'm locked
in this state until I have a proper heir. She owes it to me
to generate him promptly."

"Well, then, why didn't you marry some slut who
spreads her legs for any man who looks at her? Why inflict
this on a nice girl?"

"I told you," the ghost responded hotly. "There are
standards to maintain. Our family is of noble lineage."

"Well, I have standards to maintain, too—and so does
she."

"Anyway, I didn't select her; my family did. They—"

The ghost vanished in mid-sentence. Norton looked
about, startled—and saw Orlene at the doorway.

               23

"Are you all right, Norton?" she asked worriedly. "I
heard you shouting—"

And she couldn't hear the ghost! He'd have to watch
that. What had she heard? He felt a slow flush nudging
up his neck and cheeks as he considered that. "I—I don't
suppose you would believe I was talking to the ghost?"

"I really wish you wouldn't—"

"Call il a bad dream, then. I'm sorry I disturbed you."

She looked doubtful. "You're such a good man. Do
you really suffer from—"

Norton laughed, somewhat too heartily. "How can you
know I'm a good man? I'm an ordinary man, perhaps less
than ordinary, since I have never had much success in
life. Not like you."

"Oh, no! I am nothing!" she protested. "You glow!"

Norton studied her. She was in a pinkish-white pei-
gnoir, and her honey-golden hair hung loose about her
shoulders. There was something enormously appealing
about her, and it was not mere beauty or sensuality. But
he resisted that appeal, choosing instead to challenge her.
"You refuse to believe I can see a ghost, but you expect
me to believe you see a glow? When the ghost and the
glow say the same thing?"

She smiled wanly. "I suppose it is inconsistent. But so
many men have come with stories about the ghost of my
husband, I know it's a crude male game. I would like to
believe you are different."

Somehow Norton felt rather small. "I did see the
ghost—but I don't necessarily agree with what he said."

"I do see the glow," she said. "But I don't—" She
smiled. "Good night, Norton."

"Good night, Orlene."

She retreated and closed the door.

Gawain reappeared. "I see the problem," he said. "Nei-
ther of you is a dragon slayer; you don't like to go at it
directly. But if she says you glow, she'll accept you. It's
just a matter of time. All you need to do is stay here
and—"

"And be supported by a woman," Norton finished. "I
find that hard to accept."




               25

24                 UMWHff An M3.wwff^~-

"It's my estate, damn it!" Gawain swore. "She doesn't
have a thing of her own. It's all mine. She won't inherit;

only the son she bears will. She knows that."

"Suppose it's a daughter?"

The ghost looked blank. "A what?"

Norton was beginning to appreciate the fact that

Gawain's purpose did not align perfectly with Orlene's
purpose. He wanted to preserve the estate; she wanted
a proper personal situation. He wanted a son to inherit
and carry on the line; the personality of that son was not
a concern. She surely wanted a fine child who would be
a joy to her and to Gawain's family and to the world and
a credit to the estate. He was concerned about money
and power, she about quality and love. She would prefer
to have an attractive, intelligent, and sweet girl—like her-
self—while he would be outraged by anything less than
a strapping, bold boy—like himself. Norton's sympathy

was sliding toward the woman's view.

But he was here at the ghost's behest, and there was

merit in Gawain's position. "I'll try to accomplish your
purpose. But I won't rush it. It's not that I want to sponge
off your estate, it's that I think you have a better wife
than you appreciate, and I want it to be right."

"I want it to be right, too," Gawain said, sounding
aggrieved. "I want my son to have the best of everything."

Norton didn't comment. As he came to understand the
forces operating here, he did not feel more at ease. But
there seemed to be no better way through this than to
remain here, get to know Orlene, and do what the ghost
wanted when the occasion was propitious. Then move on
quickly, lest he become too much attached. How much
easier this would have been if the girl had been a gold

digger or a slut!

He closed his eyes, and Gawain did not speak again.

Soon Norton was asleep, drowned in the comfort of the

mudbath bed.

He dreamed he was back at the puzzle-window, trying

to place a piece. As he stared at it, assessing its contours,
those contours changed, coming to resemble the outline

of a nude woman—and the woman had hair like honey,
and breasts the same. He tried to avert his eyes from that
ineffable sweetness, embarrassed. It was not that he had
any aversion to such a body; it was that he felt he was
violating Orlene's modesty.

But the shape expanded to life size, showing more
detail, becoming the living, breathing woman, naked and
appallingly desirable. He tried to set her down—for his
hand was still on the piece, grasping it where he had no
right to grasp—but found himself drawn in toward her.
In a moment he would fall through the piece, into the
world of the puzzle—and where would he be then? Des-
perately he pushed her away—and she fell to the floor
and broke into a thousand puzzle fragments,and he knew
these could never be reassembled, no matter how hard
he tried to fit every bit together.

He woke—and Orlene was there, her arm about his
shoulders as she sat on the bed. Her warm breast pressed
against his upper arm, soft through the material of her
apparel and his. "Wake, wake, Norton, it's all right!" she
soothed.

If she had a baby and it screamed in the night, even
so would she comfort it—and what baby could be better
off?

"I'm awake," he said. "You don't need to—you
shouldn't be here."

"I couldn't let you suffer," she said. "Was it the ghost
again?"

"No, not this time. Just a bad dream. I'm afraid I'm
not very good company."

"You were glowing so brightly!"

He coughed. "That's a false glow! I dreamed of you—
that I destroyed you, without meaning to."

"No, the glow isn't wrong," she insisted. "I know you
are right for me. In fact, if I weren't already married—"
She broke off, out of sorts. "Oh, I shouldn't have said
that!"

"I think I shouldn't stay here any longer," Norton said.
"You are so nice—I would never want to be the instru-
ment of—of any problem for you."




26             

"You won't be," she said confidently. "I know."

She believed in her glow. But his dream had been com-
pelling. In past times supposedly sensible men had dis-
paraged dreams as mere visions of internal events, but
recent research had verified their magical properties. He
could not be sure this dream was prophetic, but he didn't
want to take the chance. "All the same, I think it would
be better if I left."

"Oh, please, Norton, don't do that!" she exclaimed.
"It's so difficult to be alone all the time! You're the first
who's right. I'll do anything you want—"

"Orlene, I'm not trying to coerce you! I'm trying to
protect you. From me, maybe. And I think I can do that
best by leaving you."

"It's morning," she said abruptly. "I'll fix us break-
fast."

"Thank you. Then I'll go."

She disengaged, stood, and hurried out. Norton got
up, used the various facilities of the bathroom—and dis-
covered that his clothes were gone. Orlene had evidently
taken them for cleaning. The perfect housewife! "What
do I do now?" he asked himself rhetorically.

"You use my clothing," Gawain replied. "It will fit you
well enough. I had more muscle, but our frames are sim-
ilar."

Norton realized he had no choice. Assisted by the ghost,
he donned trousers, shirt, slippers, and an elegant robe.
All of the clothing was of fine material and well made,
and little golden dragons were embroidered on each item.
"You are rich, aren't you!" he muttered.

"Definitely," Gawain agreed. "I'm not in the Five
Hundred, but I was a candidate. If I had lived long
enough—" The ghost broke off, looking momentarily pen-
sive. "My son will never lack for material things. He'll
be able to buy himself a Senatorial seat, if he wants to.
I understand politics is more lucrative than dragon slay-
ing."

"Good for your child," Norton said shortly. "I'm not
sure I'm going to sire it."

PiwsAwthowy              27

"Orlene won't let you go," the ghost warned. "She
knows you're the one."

"How can she stop me from leaving?"

Gawain pursed his lips. "You've got something to leam
about the wiles of women!"

Norton brushed on out to rejoin Orlene, in no fit tem-
per.

She had breakfast ready: bright green pancakes fresh
from the Venusian fungus farm, and what appeared to be
genuine beehive honey. That figured. He had to smile,
and his mood abated. He joined her at the cozy dinette
table.

Suddenly it seemed very domestic. He had never been
the domestic type, but it was nice enough now. Orlene
was very fetching in a green housecoat, her hair tied back
with a scarlet ribbon. Green coat, honey hair, matching
the pancakes and honey; did she do that unconsciously?
But the ribbon—

Scarlet? "You know, there's an old song about scarlet
ribbons—"

"Yes," she agreed. "I'll play it for you after breakfast."

"You have it on tape?"

She smiled obscurely. "No."

After breakfast she showed him to another room. There
was a baby grand piano there. She sat down before it and
played beautifully.

"How did you come by talent like that?" he asked,
impressed, as she finished the piece.

"It's not talent. I've been practicing since I was six
years old, and more since I've been married. It helps to
wile away the time; I don't feel so much alone when I'm
playing. Anyway, musical skill is the fashion for debu-
tantes."

"You were a debutante? How did you get into—this?"

"The ghost marriage? My family arranged it, but I didn't
object. Gawain's family is very well connected, and I want
the best for my children too. This was the best marriage
I could make."

"But to a dead man!"

28           Bearing An Howiylass

"Well, a ghost doesn't make many demands on a girl.
I think of it as like being widowed early, except there's
no grief. I never knew him in life."

"But to—you have to—"

"I always did want a family. That would be the same
if he were alive."

"If he were alive, you would have known what you
were getting. This way—"

"I do know," she said. "This way I have a choice. The
best possible father for my children, regardless of the
accidents of lineage or wealth."

"The glow? Frankly, I doubt—"

She grimaced prettily. "You prove the ghost exists, and
I'll prove the glow does."

Actually, he believed she saw the glow; he had noticed
it at work on the puzzle. But he also remembered his
nightmare. The two might cancel out, her positive vision
and his negative one, leaving the future in serious doubt.
"Why don't you just give me back my own clothes so I
can leave? Then neither of us will have to prove any-
thing."

"Do you really want to leave?"

"No. That's why I'd better."

"And they talk about female logic!"

He had to smile. "I'm trying to do the right thing, as
I see it, though I admit I'm not seeing it very well right
now. It would be too easy to like you too well. I don't
think that's what I'm here for."

"Like me too well for what?"

"To love you and leave you."

She was silent a moment, looking at him, and he feared
he had spoken too directly. She had married a ghost; what
could she know of the intimate way of man and woman?
"Do you have to leave?"

"Of course I have to! I'm only here for a—"

"But it will take some time to know that the job is—
done."

He hadn't thought of that. "You would want me to
stay—after?"

               29

"I think so."

"You're that sure of me? When you hardly know me?"

"Yes. The glow doesn't lie."

"Then I guess we'd better exchange our proofs." He
had no doubt that both ghost and glow would be verified
to the other party's satisfaction; this was really an excuse
to change his mind. Orlene had conquered him without
using wiles.

"I really don't want the proof," she said. 'Too many
other people have claimed to see the ghost. I was only
making a point."

Norton sighed. "I'm afraid I do need proof. To justify
myself. The ghost ofGawain asked me to come here, and
I want you to believe that. That has become important to
me—that I'm not an imposter or opportunist. I don't care
how much I glow; it's my motive I'm establishing."

"But how can you prove a ghost that only you can
see?"

"For one thing, others can see him too. We have only
to ask them."

"No, I know they all tell the same story, to tease me.
Women are supposed to be so credulous!"

Norton considered. "Very well. Since this is Gawain's
estate, he should be conversant with every detail of it.
He should be able to tell me things I would have no other
way of knowing. Ask me questions only he could answer."

She frowned. "Do you really insist on this, Norton?"

"I really do. I must prove to you what brought me
here. I don't want you to take my word."

She considered, cocking her head to one side so that
her tresses fell partway across her face. That was, he
thought, a fetching effect, making a partial mystery other
features that enhanced their appeal. "I haven't been into
everything here yet and I'm sure you haven't. Suppose
he calls off the items in—" She glanced about. "In that
storage chest?" She indicated an ornate chest beside the
piano.

"I'll ask him," Norton agreed. "I'll have to go to another
room, though, to talk to him, because Gawain says he
can't be in the same room with you."




30            Bearing An Hour/floss

"I doubt he's in the same world with me!"

"Maybe I can stand in the doorway and talk to you
both. Will that be all right?"

"Whatever you wish." She obviously expected nothing
to come of this.

Norton went to the doorway between the two rooms.
Orlene remained at the piano.

"Hey, Gawain!" Norton called. "Will you appear?" He
was afraid the ghost would embarrass him by avoiding
this test.

Gawain popped into sight. "Good notion, Norton! I'll
be happy to prove my existence to her!"

"Good enough. Orlene, he's here. Ask a question."

"You can see him?" she asked, rising and approaching
the doorway.

"Yes. But don't go into the other room; he'll vanish."

She stopped at the doorway. "I don't see him."

"But he can see you," Norton said.

"Even when you're not looking?"

"Certainly," Gawain said.

"He says yes," Norton reported.

"Very well. Let's try this: you close your eyes and face
away from me, and let him tell you what I'm doing."

"All right." Norton faced the ghost and closed his eyes.

"She's holding her right hand above her head," Gawain
said.

"He says you're holding your right hand over your
head."

"Now she's writing in the air, script—I can't read it,
it's backward."

Norton relayed that.

"Oh," Orlene said, startled.

"Okay, she's turned around," the ghost said. "Now I
can read over her shoulder. THIS pause I S pause
R I D I C U L 0 U S."

"This is ridiculous," Norton repeated.

She was silent, but he heard rustling.

"Say!" Gawain exclaimed. "She's stripping!"

"She is?" Norton asked, startled in his turn.

               31

"Great galumphing dragons!" the ghost said. "I'm sorry
I'm not alive! I had no idea she had architecture like that!"

"He says you're—undressing," Norton said. "He says
you have an excellent figure."

"Oops, that did it," Gawain said regretfully. "She cov-
ered up in a hurry. Man, I wish I was in your shoes!"

"He says—"

"I can guess!" Orlene snapped.

"Well, he is your husband," Norton said. "And since
he can't share a room with you, he has not before had an
opportunity to see—"

"Unladylike remark," she said. "What's in that chest
by the piano?"

Norton lowered his hands; he had unconsciously
brought them up to cover his closed eyes. "Gawain, will
you tell us—"

The ghost shrugged. "The truth is, I don't remember.
I was mostly out slaying dragons. A housekeeper took
care of the apartment."

"He says he doesn't remember," Norton reported.

"I thought as much!"

"But I could check," Gawain said. "Let her leave that
room, and I'll tally the contents now."

"He says he'll check now," Norton said, "if you'll just
step into the other room."

Orlene passed him and entered the other room. As she
did so, the ghost vanished—and reappeared in the room
she had vacated. Gawain walked to the chest and plunged
his hand in through the polished wood. "What do you
know," he remarked brightly. "My old trophies! Best
dragon kill of the year—that sort of thing. These should
be up on the mantel on full display!"

Norton relayed that. "Oh?" Orlene asked. "Let me
see." She walked back into the room, switching places
with the ghost, and tried to lift the lid. It didn't budge.
"It's locked."

"The key's in my bedroom," Gawain said. "In the left
dresser drawer, if the fool maid hasn't moved it."

Norton told Orlene, who went and fetched the key,




32             

then unlocked the chest. Inside were trophies, exactly as
described. "It's true!" she said. "You couldn't have known,
Norton! / didn't know! Unless you got the key last night
and—but no, the chest is undisturbed."

"Ask anything else," Norton suggested. "I'm sure we

can satisfy you."

"I'll try one other thing," she decided. "What's Gawain's

sister's name?"

"I have no sister," Gawain said.

"He says he has no—"

"What's his mother's maiden name?"

"Thrimbly."

"Thrimbly," Norton said.

"When did she get married?"

"June fourteenth," Gawain said. "Three-thirty in the
afternoon, in a private ceremony. The minister was the
Reverend Q. Lombard. The wedding cake had a dragon
rampant on it, breathing a column of firewater. All the
guests got tanked on that water, including my father; he
passed out, and my mother didn't speak to him for the
first week of the honeymoon. I was lucky to get con-
ceived!"

Norton repeated the continuing details. Orlene raised

her hands in surrender. "You see the ghost! I've got to
concede that! Now it's my turn to prove the glow."
"Just what is the glow?" Norton asked. "Do I light the

shadows?"

"No, not like that. It's—well, have you heard of the
animal-spell people? The ones who can shake hands, and
the hand of the one they meet feels like the appendage of
the animal he most closely resembles? A wolf's paw, a
barracuda's fin, or a snake's scale? Actually, that's fig-
urative; animals aren't like that, not with the bad qualities.
But with this magic, the person can tell if another is vicious,
greedy, sneaky, or whatever. Well, with me it's vision. I
can tell who is the perfect companion, for me or for some-
one else. I see the aura illuminate. I have to set my mind
to tune in to one person, then view the others through
his situation, if you see what I mean."

               33

Norton shook his head. "I'm afraid I don't. I know I'm
not special; there have to be many better marriage pros-
pects than I."

"But you aren't a marriage prospect. You're a—"

"Never mind what I am! I begin to see your point. You
actually do need a love-'em-and-leave-'em guy."

"A nonmarrying guy. And most of those aren't worth
much as persons. You are. Of course, if I weren't married,
and wanted a husband, my situation would be different.
I would want not only a good lover but also a good pro-
vider. You might not glow so strongly then."

"I'm sure I wouldn't! I'm broke!"

"So it does require some tuning in. When I first saw you,
you glowed so brightly I knew you were the one—and I
wasn't ready. I thought I might have tuned in inaccurately.
I mean, I knew what I had to do, but it was so sudden. I
knew my life had changed and that the time to conceive the
heir had come. Now I'm getting used to it; I think those
hours on the puzzle helped, and soon—"

"Why don't we take a walk outside, and you can show
me how your glow works on others," Norton suggested.

"All right. Let me get into street clothes." She hurried
to her bedroom.

Gawain reappeared. "Now you're making progress!"
the ghost said with satisfaction. "I was able to listen
through the wall this time; I can't always do that."

"Damn it, must you see it as Just that one thing?"

"Certainly. That's what you're both here for, isn't it?
To beget my heir?"

"I don't know. If I go through with this, I'm afraid I'll
leave more than my seed behind."

"Oh, don't get maudlin about it," Gawain said. "You've
probably had almost as many women as I have! Think of
it as one more dragon to be slain."

"She's no dragon!"

"Oh, I don't know. Women and dragons—I'd call them
two of a kind."

"You don't love her?"

"Of course not! I'm dead!"

34          Bearing An Howylass

"I could love her. I don't want to hurt her."
"Then don't hurt her! Give her what she needs—a

son."

"I had a dream that I destroyed her. I worry about

that."

"You can't hurt her if you leave her after it's done."

"Some people are hurt worse by being left," Norton

muttered.

"Don't worry. She'll have the very best care money

can buy, courtesy of my estate."

"I wasn't thinking of physical hurt, necessarily. She's
a young, vibrant girl. I don't think she can give herself
to a man without giving all of herself. She—"

He paused, for Gawain had vanished. Orlene stood in
the doorway. She was dressed in a modest green street
skirt with matching jacket and hat and shoes, and now
looked very businesslike. Her fair hair was pinned back
with green barrettes. Somehow all that green reminded
him of the breakfast pancakes, of the park scene in the
puzzle, and of the lovely wilderness itself. "The ghost

again?" she asked.

Embarrassed, Norton nodded. "He has only one thing

on his mind."

She cocked her head at him again. "And you don't?"
"I have a care for the damage I may do to others."
"I think that's why you glow so brightly."
He shrugged. "Maybe. But maybe I want more than I

have a right to want."

She touched his hand. "I told you before, Norton. You

don't have to go after it's done."

"I think I do. You are a married woman."
She looked at him so intently that he became nervous.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"I'm visualizing you as a prospective husband, to com-
pare the glow."

"Don't do that! I'm not your—can never be your—"
"That's odd," she said. "That hasn't happened before."

"What hasn't happened?"
"The glow seems to have split. Part of it is extremely

               35

intense, but part of it is dim. As if you would be both a
very good husband and a not-very-good husband."
"How can that be?"

"I'm not sure. You see, the glow doesn't figure char-
acter per se. It includes the total person, the total situa-
tion. How good a person is, how loyal, how effective a
provider, how lucky or unlucky—the perfect man might
be downgraded because an unfortunate accident will crip-
ple him in five years, making him worse through no fault
of his own."

Norton felt a chill. "I might have an accident?"
"No. I don't think it's that. Maybe it's that you could
be the perfect husband, but you won't be, because I can't
marry you. You're too good for the job—overqualified.
So you suffer."

"Overqualified!" Norton exclaimed incredulously.
"I don't know," she said quickly. "That's just a con-
jecture. I don't understand all the aspects of the glow. I
just see its brightness."

"Well, stop considering me as—as the impossible. It's
time to go out."

"Of course." She took his arm, and they went out.
Travel on the fast belts took them to this floor's nearest
mall, where shoppers thronged in the fashion they had
done so for millennia at such centers. This could be a
market at Babylon or in a medieval city. The stores had
changed somewhat in detail in the ensuing interval, how-
ever. Today they were holographic images, each in its
alcove, the goods being displayed with lifelike realism,
each tagged with its price. The shopper had only to touch
the image of the item he wanted; it would be shipped
directly from the warehouse to his home, and his account
as identified by his fingerprint patterns would be debited
accordingly. Of course, these were mostly standard items
whose details were generally known; the more individual
ones required a different type of shopping. Marked con-
tainers of food in set units did not need to be physically
verified, while specially fitted clothing did. There were
booths for fitting via holo imaging, but that still required
undressing.




36          Bowing A» Hauvylms

They stopped at an ice cream stall, where the holo-
graph of a chef stood by a chart of a thousand different
flavors and types. Orlene touched the panels for their
choices—honey flavor, of course—and the cones snapped
into the adjacent holders, to be taken physically. The
account of Gawain would be debited. Norton, of course,
couldn't order; he had no account. In the vernacular of

the day, he was of no account.

Orlene also saw a popular book that looked interesting,

so she touched its holo too; in a moment it was printed
for her on the machine's supply of paper. It was a his-
torical novel, set in the fascinating time when people
believed in neither magic nor science, so had wretched

lives. She put the book in her purse.

They sat on a bench, licking their cones in nominal
fashion, and watched the people passing by. Orlene called
out the brightnesses of each one. The problem, she
explained, was that any person's suitability as a partner
varied greatly, depending on whom he was partnered with.
Thus she could get several readings with different match-
ups.

Norton was intrigued, but remained uncertain whether

the glows she perceived were really magic or only imag-
ination. He wanted to verify some cases, but did not feel
right about walking up to strangers and asking how their
interpersonal relations were. Orlene surely perceived the
glows—but just how accurate were they?

Then the proof came, abruptly. Orlene called out an
older couple, walking hand in hand, evidently still much
attached to each other. They were well dressed and hand-
some for their age. Yet Orlene called out a striking dif-
ference in their glows. The woman's glow was strong; she
was almost perfect for the man. But his glow was absent.
In fact, it was negative: a dark shadow. "He's completely

wrong for her!" Orlene whispered.

"I can't believe that," Norton protested. "Look how
well they relate to each other! Even if he has a mistress
on the side, he's got to be good for this woman. She's
well eared for and contented."

               37

"The glow is absent," Orlene insisted. "He's bad for
her!"

"That just doesn't make sense!"

Then they had to be quiet, for the couple was approach-
ing. In fact, they sat down nearby on the bench. Norton
wrestled with himself, trying to decide whether to speak
to them, to try to resolve the discrepancy.

"Just a little tired," the man was saying.

"Yes, of course," the woman agreed.

Then the man fell off the bench.

Norton jumped up to help him, for he knew something
about emergency aid. But he realized as he saw the man's
staring face that he was dead. "Resuscitation unit!" Nor-
ton snapped, and a machine burst out of the nearest wall
and rolled over to attend to the man.

It took the machine only a moment to confirm Norton's
diagnosis. "Unit failure—beyond repair," it clicked.

The ambulance unit came and loaded the body aboard,
taking also the shocked widow. It was all accomplished
so swiftly and neatly that many shoppers never realized
anything had happened—which was, of course, the point.
People did not like shopping where death occurred, with
good reason; sometimes vengeful ghosts remained.

"Oh, that's so horrible!" Orlene said shudderingly.
"Must we stay here?"

"Of course not." They walked to the moving belt.

But as they were carried back toward the apartment,
Norton realized that the glow had been confirmed. The
man had been a poor partner for the woman, not because
of any failure of resources or personality or loyalty, but
because he was not going to be with her very long and,
in fact, had been about to bring her crushing grief. Thus
the glow, instead of being absent, was black. The glow
had known—before the fact.

He had to accept the glow; it was legitimate magic.
That meant he had to accept its verdict on him: he was
right for Orlene. But what, then, of his dream? That sug-
gested he was wrong for her—perhaps in the fashion of
the man they had just seen die. Which was he to believe?

38           Beamy An Houfglass

"Your glow is wavering," Orlene murmured. "Are you

thinking of leaving me?"

Norton started guiltily. "I don't know what is right."
She held his arm tightly. "Oh, please, Norton! I couldn't
spend a night alone after seeing—that."

He realized that she had never been exposed to vio-
lence or death, so was not equipped to handle it. Of course
she would be severely shaken. This would be the worst

time to leave her.

They arrived at the apartment. As the door closed,

Orlene turned to him, flung her arms about him, buried
her head in his shoulder, and sobbed. She had been fairly
well controlled in public, but now she was letting down.
He held her; there was nothing else to do. Norton had
always liked to help people and he could not refuse her
his companionship and support now. Or was he, he had

to ask himself, rationalizing?

After a time she relaxed. She disengaged and went to
the bathroom to put herself in order. "I'll never eat ice
cream again," she said as she disappeared.

Ice cream. Guilt by association. She had eaten it just
before the tragedy. An illogical connection, but valid emo-
tionally. He did not feel much appetite for ice cream now

himself. Or for shopping mails.

"You fighting with her?" Gawain demanded, popping

into sight. "I heard her crying."

"Couldn't you see?" Norton demanded irritably.

"No. You weren't visible from the other room. I can
walk through walls, but I can't see through them. All I
could do was listen to the muffled sounds."

"We weren't fighting."

"What, then?"

"What business is it of yours?"

"Listen, mortal, it is my business!" Gawain retorted.

"This is my estate, and she's my wife."

"A wife you never knew in life and don't love now."

"Well, I'm a ghost! What use to love her?"

The ghost had a point. Perversely, that made it easier

for Norton. Whatever he did with Orlene would not be

               39

treading on Gawain's sensibilities. "We saw a man die.
That shook her."

Gawain snorted. "I've seen many men die. I'm dead
myself."

In more than one sense. "I think I see now why she
had so much trouble believing in you. She doesn't like
death and doesn't want it near her."

"She should have thought of that before she married
me!"

"It wasn't entirely her choice, any more than it was
yours. Men usually marry for sex appeal, but women
marry for security. It's the nature of the human species,
or of our economy. If women were the prime money earn-
ers, they might marry for other reasons, and if men had
no better way to gain security than through women, so
would they. I'm sure she would have married a living man
if that had been feasible."

"Well, she didn't! And now she has a job to do—and
so do you. I don't want to wait in limbo forever. Tell her
you won't stay unless she puts out now, today. She'll
move it along for sure, since she doesn't want to be alone."

"I'll do nothing of the kind!" Norton responded angrily.
"She's no piece of meat!"

"She's the breeder for my heir! She's not here to pussy-
foot around. She's vulnerable now; you can make her
perform in the next hour, if you—"

"Listen, Gawain, I never pressured a woman in my
life! And I would never take advantage of a situation like
this!"

"No, you'd just sit around interminably, sponging off
my estate!"

"To Hell with your estate!" Norton shouted. "You asked
me for a favor! I never had any intention of taking any-
thing of yours!"

"Then do what you came to do and get gone!" the ghost
shouted back.

"I'll get gone right now, if that makes you happier! You
can find another man to do your favor!"

The ghost backed off, literally and figuratively. "I told
you, she's choosy. It's got to be you."




40          Bearing AH Howylass

"I am not at all certain of that. In any event, it will be
of her choosing, not yours or mine."

But Gawain was gone again. Orlene stood in the door-
way, in a gray housecoat. "Gawain again?"

Norton nodded. "I shouldn't let him provoke me."
"I suppose he has a case. He wants his heir."
"Yes. But he neglects the social aspect."
She glided to him. "Norton, at first, I confess, I was
suspicious, despite the glow. You glowed, but you weren't
committed, and the ghost—" She shrugged. "But since
then I've watched you glow as you talk with him. It flick-
ers as you react. It is not a lie detector, but the glow is
not under your control, so it suggests to me how you
really feel. When you spoke just now of leaving, it damped
right down. You weren't bluffing."

"I'm not a bluffer," Norton agreed ruefully. "He wants
me to perform like a hired stud and get out. I thought I
could, before I met you, but now I can't."

"I know," she said softly. "You really want to do the

right thing."

"Yes. And that may be to move out right now."
"No!" she cried. "Please, Norton, no! I told you I

couldn't stand to be—"

"But you'd be alone tomorrow if I did it his way."
"Gawain's an idiot," she snapped. "He doesn't know
the first thing about siring an heir. I couldn't get pregnant
today if they inseminated me artificially. It's not that time
of the month. And if it were, there's no guarantee that
one time would do it. The only way to be sure is to remain
until a test establishes the pregnancy—and that could

take several months."

Norton spread his hands. "You're right, of course. I'm

as foolish as he."

"You tell him that now," she said. "His efforts are only

delaying things. I'll give you two minutes."
"But that means I would have to stay for—"
"Months," she said. "Do you object?"
"No!" he said, his feeling surprising him.
"Then tell him. Then he won't nag you about that any

more, and we can be in peace." She turned and left.

Piws Anthony              41

Gawain reappeared. "I heard," he said. "The vixen is
right. Okay already, I'll take a tour around the world. You
stay here until you're sure."

"What about all my sponging off your estate?"

"I said that in anger. I apologize. I want you to stay.
Will you?"

Norton sighed. "Yes."

"But first I'll teach you how to slay dragons."

"That was to be my payment," Norton said. "But we
didn't realize how long it would take me to deliver. Let's
consider the room and board as payment instead."

Gawain smiled, waved, and disappeared.

Orlene returned. "All right?"

"Yes. He agrees. He's gone."

"You're sure?"

"Well, I can't be sure. But he said he was going on a
tour of the world. I think he realized that his purpose will
be fulfilled better if he butts out for a white."

"Yes. I never liked the idea of his watching. After
all—"

"He can't share a room with you and he can't see
through walls. So if you close things up—"

"That's a relief," she said. "I—that is, I'm not good at
saying this—do you want to do it now?"

That was all the invitation Norton needed. He sur-
prised himself by declining. "There's no point. Wrong
time of the—"

"You don't want to—to do it just for the fun?"

Norton hesitated. "With any other woman—who
looked like you—I would be glad to. I have—before. But
this is not for fun. It's business. I can't justify it any other
way."

"Why not?"

Norton stared at the floor. "I can never marry you."

"You want too much."

"Yes, I suppose I do. I never did before, but now—"

She walked around the room. "I think that's what turned
me off the other men who came. Oh, it's true their glows
were low—but if one of them had had a high glow, I




42            Beatify/An Hourglass

wouldn't have liked it, because all any of them wanted
was free sex. I'm not a prostitute, and if I were I wouldn't
give it away free. I can't really be with a man unless he
cares."

"But a man who cares—wouldn't want to have it this
way."

"Look," she said abruptly. "Lots of men have mis-
tresses who last through several wives. Because the mis-
tresses are true love interests. What is legal is not always
actual. Why would you have to leave—ever?"

"I'm a wanderer. I have never stayed long in one place."

"But if a woman were willing to travel with you?"

"None has been, so far. And you are bound to the
estate."

"No. I am bound to produce an heir to the estate. Then
I can travel with whom I want to."

What joy! "We've known each other less than a day."

"Oh, of course it might not work out," she said quickly.
"I am merely making the point that you can love me if
you want to. I know I can love you."

"May the Lord have mercy on me," he said slowly. "I
think I want to."

She held something out to him. "Let me give you this,
as a token of our illicit potential love."

He looked. It was a ring in the form of a small green
snake. The head was slightly raised, serving in lieu of a
precious stone. The eyes shone; perhaps they were gems.

"But I have nothing to give you in return!"

"Yes, you do. Give me yourself."

It made a certain sense. She, as a married woman,
could not truly give herself to him. But he could give
himself to her, as companion or whatever. She had a dead
husband; now she wanted a living man. One who cared.

He accepted her ring and put it on his left middle finger.
It fitted perfectly and comfortably, as if made just for
him.

"Now—" Orlene said.

"This has very little logic," he warned her.

"I know. Do what you will with me."

Piers Antbowy

He laughed. He picked her up and carried her into
sitting room. He kissed her and set her down by the p
zle. "I want a piece, woman!"

She smiled. "Yes, sir!"

They got to work on the puzzle.




               45




-3-

THANATOS

What followed was very much like a honeymoon. They
made love often at first, then settled down to a pleasant
routine. They finished the puzzle and started on another.
They toured the estate, which was vast and rich, with
apartments on several levels of the city, a marked section
of penthouse park, and a private matter transmitter in the
basement level. There was even a section of a posh sports
club; Gawain owned an enclosed tennis court and a table
in the restaurant. Gawain had never played tennis; it was
only an investment to him, handled by the anonymous
experts who ran his financial affairs. But Norton knew
tennis, and so did Orlene. Neither of them was profes-
sional level, but both were adequate, and they enjoyed
playing each other. Norton was a healthy man, and Orlene
was a fine figure of a woman, especially when exerting
herself physically.

There was no discernible point of demarcation, but it
was not long at all before Norton knew he was thoroughly
in love. Orlene never said she actually loved him, but he
understood that; she was loyal to her technical marriage
to the ghost. In every other respect she was Norton's.
She fixed his meals like a housewife; she hiked with him

44

in the park, being thrilled when she caught a new bird on
camera; and she shared his sleeping bag at night. If he
had found a woman like her before, he certainly would
have married her. They even had quarrels—but never,
now, was there any mention of his leaving. They were
wedded in all but name.

The ring she had given him turned out to be no minor
trinket. It was magic. She refused to tell him how it was
magic. "A woman needs some secrets," she said teasingly.
"Since my body has none remaining for you, the mysteries
of the ring will have to do."

That intrigued him mightily—but several things pre-
vented him from cracking that riddle promptly. First,
Orlene kept him busy with a whirlwind of joint activities.
They viewed the latest top-grade holoflicks together, went
null-gravity swimming, and visited the estate's outlet on
the planet Venus—no wonder Orlene was able to get deli-
cious, fresh, Venusian fungus for meals!—which was less
impressive than he had expected, because the Venus
apartment was merely another chamber with a single thick-
lensed viewport opening onto the perpetually murky storm
of the surface. It would have been hard to tell it was
another planet if it hadn't been for the changed gravity.
When nothing else offered, Orlene would teasingly dis-
play portions of her perfect body, and duty as well as
inclination compelled him to pursue it. But there came a
moment when she slept and he was awake, and he remem-
bered the ring. Now was his chance!

He took hold of the ring with thumb and forefinger to
pull it off—and discovered the second problem. It would
not budge. It was not tight on his finger; in fact, it was
so comfortable that he was never aware of it unless he
focused on it—but it seemed to constrict itself when he
drew on it. The harder he pulled the tighter it was. It was
also invulnerable to twisting. He went to the bathroom
and soaped his finger—the bars of soap were an affec-
tation, since the sonic shower made them unnecessary,
but affectations had a long shelf life—yet his efforts made
no difference. He tried to pull the skin of the finger tight




               47

46            

so it couldn't bunch up under the ring, but that, too, was
ineffective. "This thing must have an adhesive-spell!"

"No, it doesn't," Orlene said behind him. He jumped
guiltily; he hadn't been aware of her waking. Spying his
discomfort, she laughed merrily and proffered a kiss; it
was three more days before he thought of the ring again.

This time she was visiting the estate doctor for her
routine weekly checkup. Part of the condition of her mar-
riage to the ghost was that she remain healthy so she could
bear a healthy heir. She was fastidious about all her duties.
Thus Norton had a little time to himself in the doctor's

lounge.

He contemplated the ring. The tiny gem eyes of the

metallic serpent seemed to look back at him. "So you stay
with your owner," he remarked. "Is that the extent of

your magic?"

Then he almost leaped out of his chair. The ring had

pulsed twice, gently squeezing his finger!

Norton was alone, but was aware that doctors' prem-
ises had ways to observe their occupants. Therefore, he
acted as if he were in public and subdued his reaction.
Perhaps, anyway, he had imagined those pulses.
"Did you do that, ring?" he asked it in a low voice.
There was a single squeeze, firm but not painful.
He was onto something here! "You understand me?"
One squeeze, constriction and release, brief but defi-
nite.

"And you respond to questions by squeezing?"

One squeeze.
"One squeeze for yes, two for no?"

Squeeze.
"Do you ever do three squeezes?"

Squeeze.

"When?"

This time there were three squeezes.

"That doesn't answer my question!" he whispered.
"What does it mean when you do three?"

Squeeze, squeeze, squeeze.

Norton pondered. "Let's see—you answer yes or no.
Would three squeezes mean you can't answer yes or no?"

Squeeze.

"So three means either you don't know the answer or
you can't phrase it as a yes or no?"

Squeeze.
"When I ask you a non-yes-no question, the answer

has to be three squeezes?"

Squeeze, squeeze.

Two? What did that mean? It was "No," but was it for
the answer to a non-yes-no question having to be three
squeezes? Norton pondered, then saw what he had missed.
"When I ask you a question whose answer is a number,
then your squeezes indicate the number?"

Squeeze.
"Such as: what is the product of three times seven?"

Squeeze.
Oops. "I meant, please give me the answer to that

question."

There was a pause, then three squeezes.
"That's not the answer, ring! What happened?"
Squeeze,squeeze,squeeze.
"Oh—you mean you aren't good at math?"

SQUEEZE!

Norton smiled. "We all have our weaknesses. No shame
in that! But you can count?"

Squeeze.

"How many fingers do I have?"

There were ten squeezes.

Norton smiled again. "Ring, I think I understand you
now! Have you other properties?"

Squeeze.

"But you can't tell me outright what they are?"

Squeeze.
"But if I guess, you'll tell me?"

Squeeze.

"Very good!" Norton pondered again. Twenty Ques-
tions had never been his best game, but he was sure he
could get the information he wanted, given unlimited
questions. This was exciting!

Then Orlene reappeared, and he had to stop.




48           Beamy An Hourglass

"Well, I'm not pregnant yet," she said. "Despite your
efforts. I don't know whether to be disappointed or
relieved. The doctor will see you next."

"Me?" he asked, startled.

Squeeze.

That startled him again. Apparently, now that he had
evoked the ring, it answered any questions it heard.

"To make sure you're fertile," Orlene said.

"Oh." Of course that would be a requirement of the
ghost-bride's consort. Suppose he were infertile? That
might be the end of their relationship.

"Go on in," she said. "She's waiting for you."

"She?"

Squeeze.

Orlene smiled. "You don't think I'd trust this to a male
doctor, do you?"

"But I'd rather see a male!"

"Too bad," she said wickedly. She leaned forward and
kissed him briefly on the lips. "Enjoy yourself."

"Yeah, sure," he agreed, disgruntled.

The doctor was a stern, middle-aged woman. "Strip,
son."

"Look, I—"

She cracked a cold smile. "Would you prefer to have
a male orderly present to safeguard your virtue?"

"Oh, no, thanks. But—"

"This is routine. Believe me, young man, I've seen it
before."

Surely true! Norton did not consider himself, in his
latening thirties, as young, but didn't care to make an
issue of that at the moment. He bowed to necessity and
stripped to his trunks.

She ran him through the normal paces, checking his
temperature, blood pressure, ears, eyes, tongue, muscle
tone, and whatever else her instruments were set for.
Then came the awkward part. "Now the trunks, please."

He clenched his teeth and obeyed. After all, women
had to suffer examination by male doctors; this could be
considered turnabout. She hooked a finger into his crotch.
"Cough."

               49

He coughed, and repeated it for the other side.
Then she donned a plastic glove. "Bend over, son. Put
your hands against the support."

"Don't you have some more modem way to—?"
"It's much more fun this way," she assured him.
He obeyed instructions again, and she greased her glove
and did what doctors always did to men, physically. "Hey!"
"Hold still. I'm securing the specimen."
Evidently so. In a moment she took a glass smear off
to her lab, and he was permitted to clean off the grease
and redress. All this indignity just to verify—

"Ring," he asked, suffering a belated inspiration, "am
I fertile?"
Squeeze.

To think of the awkwardness he could have spared
himself! But the doctor probably wouldn't have believed
the ring.

As it turned out, the ring was correct; he was fertile.
Then he wondered how the ring had known. The fact that
it could respond to a person's questions did not guarantee
that it was omniscient. Magic came in many forms and
degrees.

He rejoined Oriene, who was suppressing a smirk. "You
knew I was fertile!" he accused her.

"Of course. Otherwise you wouldn't have glowed."
"Then why did you send me in to the doctor?"
She tried valiantly to contain it, but her giggle managed
to escape. Why, indeed! Even nice girls liked to turn the
tables on men on occasion. He would find a way to get
even.

They returned to the whirl of activities, including more
efforts to complete the ghost's mission. It was another
week before Norton had a moment to question the ring
again. By then he had figured out how to make his ques-
tions count. Orlene was taking an old-fashioned bubble
bath. The estate had sonic showers for each bedroom,
but there was something about bubbles and bathing that
delighted women. Actually, he wouldn't have minded tak-
ing one himself, but his masculine image forbade it.




50             

Piers Anthony

51

Norton was theoretically watching a news program on
holo, but he tuned that out mentally and talked to the ring
instead.

"Parliamentary procedure," the holo announcer was
saying, his head appearing to be right in the room, talking
directly to Norton. "The Satanic forces admit they don't
have the votes to override the expected veto this time,
but they hope to show substantial strength. Any break in
the ranks of—"

"Ring, what shall I call you?" Norton asked. "Do you
have a name?"

Squeeze, squeeze.

"Would you like one?"

Squeeze.

"Then suppose I make up a name? You are my Snake
Ring; I'll call you Sning, for SNake rING. How's that?"

SQUEEZE! Evidently the ring was enthusiastic.

"Good enough, Sning. Are you of Evil Magic?"

Squeeze, squeeze.

"Good Magic?"

Squeeze.

The ring could be lying, for Evil lied, but he didn't
think so. Orlene would never have sought an evil artifact.
That meant he could trust it.

It? "Um, Sning, are you male or female?"

Squeeze, squeeze, squeeze.   . ,

"Sorry. I'll rephrase that. Male?"

Squeeze.

"Okay, you're a he. Now, I believe you said you have
other abilities?"

Squeeze.

He zeroed in on the answer. "What else you have—
is it something you do or something you are? Do?"
Squeeze. "Are?" Squeeze. "So it's both?" Squeeze. This
sounded good! "Are you animate or inanimate?" Again
he got yes to both. "You can change?" Squeeze. "When
I ask you to?" Squeeze. "In fact," he concluded trium-
phantly, "you can be a live snake!" Squeeze.

Now he had to figure out what advantage this might

be to the owner of the ring. In due course he established
that Sning could come alive, slither off his finger—all he
had ever had to do was ask Sning to come off, and removal
would have been easy; he had stupidly tried force instead—
scout the local territory, return, and report via squeezes
what was going on.

Norton pondered only momentarily before grinning
wickedly. "Go scout Orlene," he ordered. "Very closely."

The ring turned a brighter green, slid off his finger,
dropped to the floor, and slithered rapidly toward the
bathroom. Sning, extended, was only five or six inches
long, but lively enough.

A minute passed. Then there was a scream. A few
seconds later Sning zipped back, trailing some bubble
froth. Norton put down his hand, and the tiny snake
wrapped around his finger and went metallic.

"She saw you?"

A wet squeeze.

"Close?"

Squeeze.

"She screamed?"

Squeeze.

"And threw bubbles at you?"

Squeeze.

"Anything else to report?"

At this point Orlene appeared, half-clothed in bubbles.
"Don't you dare!" she snapped at the ring.

Norton laughed, his revenge complete—until she
pounced on him, glistening wet and slippery, and doused
his hair with bubbles. "So you found out how to use the
ring!" she exclaimed severely. "I gave you too much time
to yourself!" She jammed bubbles in his eyes, but they
were the nonsting kind. "Send him after me again, and
I'll drown you both in bubbles!" She stalked off, leaving
a trail of dying bubbles.

"I only wish it could have been that female doctor,"
Norton muttered rebelliously.

One other thing he learned about Sning: he was poi-
sonous. His fangs were tiny, of course, but his venom




52           Bearing An Houfylw

was potent. A single bite could not kill a creature the size
of a man, but could make him very sick for several hours,
so that he might think he was dying. Suing would bite on
order, but then would require a day to restock his poison.

"That's all right," Norton said. "I have no enemies;

you don't need to bite anyone for me." But it was perhaps
just as well that he had not known about Sning's poison
when encountering the doctor.

Later, after Orlene had calmed down—her annoyance
had been mostly because he had unraveled the secrets of
the ring so quickly—he asked her where she had gotten
it. It turned out to have been in the family for generations,
passed from parent to child or from spouse to spouse.

"But then it should go to your child!" he said. "I'm not
technically your spouse."

"It's not a technical thing," she said. "I—care for you,
Norton. I want you to have it."

"Then I'm glad to have it." He kissed her.

The following month she was verified pregnant. Then
she changed; her interest in entertainments diminished,
and she oriented increasingly on the family-to-be. "But
don't go away, Norton," she cautioned him. "I need you
more than ever now."

Norton wasn't sure of that, but certainly he needed
her. He hoped that after the baby was bom and the estate
heir established, he and Orlene could travel again. But if
not, then not. He was bound to her regardless. The baby
would never legally be his, but the blood was his. How-
ever unconnected officially, he still cared. He had never
figured himself to be a family man before, but it seemed
he was. Orlene made it clear that she continued to need
his presence and support, and he was glad to comply. He
was a kept man—but, like many a kept woman, he had
no interest in breaking free.

Time passed, and Orlene's girth grew. Norton started
handling some of the household chores, simple as they
were. It was surprising how readily he had been domes-
ticated—but it seemed the glow had spoken truly. He was
good at this. And she did need him—not for the routine,
but for his continuing emotional and physical support.

               53

The ghost stayed away, to Norton's relief. His other
association with magic, Sning, was entertaining for a time,
but he really had no reason to spy on anyone and had no
questions in pressing need of answers, so he didn't use
the snake ring for much except decoration. As Orlene's
condition advanced, his romantic activity with her dimin-
ished and finally ceased; she wanted nothing to interfere
in any way with the developing baby. He would have liked
to resume his hikes in the park, but she could no longer
come along, and he didn't care to leave her alone for any
extended period.

As a result, he took to viewing historical holographs.
He had grown tired of contemporary entertainment pro-
grams, but the historicals enabled him to indulge his urge
to explore in time as well as space. His wanderlust was
balked by his commitment to Orlene, but this was a fair
sublimation. He also took holo courses in a number of
subjects, improving his array of background skills. He
learned the geography of the world in greater detail, and
of Mars, Venus, and Mercury; he studied that of the Milky
Way Galaxy itself, though, of course, most of it was well
out of reach. Oh, to explore those farthest stars...!

In due time the baby arrived. Orlene was radiant. She
had done her job; she had produced the heir. He was a
robust boy who seemed to resemble Gawain more than
Norton and was named Gawain II. Norton was glad for
her, but felt somewhat out of sorts. His own service had
now been performed, but he couldn't bring himself to
leave, and Orlene didn't want him to. "We'll start doing
things again," she promised him. "As soon as Gaw-Two
is ready for baby-sitting."

But she didn't use any baby-sitters, human, robot, or
golem. She was too attentive a mother for that. That was,
of course, one reason she had been selected for the ghost
marriage. She paid attention to Norton in a dutiful man-
ner, and very sweet attention it was, but she paid more
attention to the baby. She insisted on personally breast-
feeding Gaw, because that was nature's way, and on wash-
ing his soiled diapers by hand, because she didn't want




54          Bearing An Homylms

to risk the chemicals of mechanized washing. She wouldn't
put him in the sonic shower, concerned that the sonics
could injure his undeveloped nervous system. She super-
vised every aspect of his little life with loving concern,
because that was what she deemed a good mother was

for.

Norton could hardly quarrel with this; he believed in

nature. Yet aspects of it bothered him. For he was largely
excluded from the process; officially he had nothing to
do with the baby. The comprehensive equipment of the
estate went mostly unused, and he was part of the equip-
ment. Orlene also took Gaw to visit his legal grandparents,
who, she reported, exclaimed in pleased wonder at his
resemblance to his ghost-father. Norton, of course, was

not invited on that trip.

He sank into a pointless depression. He was glad for
Orlene's success and he had known the nature of his posi-
tion from the outset. But still he found it difficult to accept.
He had somehow supposed that the arrival of the baby
would free Orlene to be with him, Norton, as she had
been before the conception; now it was apparent that the
baby had pre-empted whatever attention she might have
been ready to bestow on him. He wished that somehow
all this could have been his to share, estate, baby, and
Orlene. He had become accustomed to the luxurious life-
style of Gawain's means and to the constant attentions of
a lovely young woman. In fact, he realized, he had been
spoiled. He wanted, as Orlene had said at the outset, too

much.

In the midst of one such reverie, the ghost reappeared.

Norton was almost glad to see him. "Well, sport, you've
had a year," Gawain said. "How's it going?"

"Successfully," Norton said. "You now have your heir."
"Ah, yes!" Gawain was so delighted he sailed into the

air. "I can finally go to Heaven!"

Gawain was going to Heaven? Norton shrugged. "Only
you can decide that. Take a look at your son. He's sleeping
in the crib in the bedroom."

"But I can't go near Orlene."

               55

"She's in the kitchen now, I believe, taste testing new
baby food. She wants Gaw's first solid food to be just

right."

The ghost popped out. In a few minutes he popped
back, looking worried. "He resembles me too much."

"You object to that?"

Gawain paced the floor. "Something I should tell you,
Norton. On my travels this past year I met some inter-
esting people."

"Why not? I certainly have no objection, and if I did,
it wouldn't matter. I like to travel myself."

"I met some of the Incarnations."

"The whats?"

"The Incarnations. Two of them, anyway. War and
Nature."

"I'm not sure I follow you, Gawain."

"They are personifications of fundamental concepts or
forces. There are a lot of them, but only a few major ones.
They sort of supervise their functions—Well, my point
is, I talked with Nature, the Green Mother Gaea, and she
promised to put my essence in my heir."

Norton wasn't sure how serious or relevant this was.
"There can't be a literal blood connection—"

"Yes, there can be—if Nature so decrees. I saw some
of her power—I tell you, I wouldn't want to cross that
creature!—and as a favor to me, she—"

"You mean there is a literal Incarnation of Nature, who
can change—?"

"That's exactly what I mean."

"So Gaw-Two really is of your bloodline—by magic?"

"I think so. I didn't stick around to watch; I just took
Gaea's word. She scared me some; I mean, I'm a ghost,
but the things she can do, that any of them can do—it's
a completely different kind of power." Gawain wiped his
brow, looking pale. "But there's one aspect I forgot."

"The baby certainly resembles you! I thought it was

coincidence."

"No. Gaea did it. I think she's the strongest of the
earthly Incarnations, but I wouldn't want to cross any of
them."




56           Beamy An Hourglass

Norton didn't quite believe this, but did have respect
for nature. A literal Incarnation of Nature should indeed
be formidable. "So why are you worried? She delivered,
didn't she?"

The ghost paced faster. Had he been solid, he would
have stirred up dust from the aseptic rug. "There's a fam-
ily malady, one of those recessive things, that tends to
skitter sidewise across generations. My older brother died
of it; that's why the estate devolved to me. It usually
takes them out young—before age ten, sometimes sooner.
And it's getting worse."

"But you were taken out by a dragon!"

"An allosaur."

"Whatever. You didn't die of the malady."

"No. But I carry it in my genes."

Norton began to get an ugly suspicion. "You don't
mean—?"

"Yes. I think the baby shows the stigma."

"But Caw-Two is healthy! Orlene had that checked out
thoroughly!"

"This malady doesn't show at birth. It's a semipsychic
thing that starts as a corruption of the soul and spreads
to the physical body. The victim is literally damned—to
a short life and a long hereafter in Hell. A doctor wouldn't
be equipped to recognize it; even in this modem age, they
tend to be skeptical of the supernatural. They think they
know everything and that what doesn't show on their
charts doesn't exist. But—" He shrugged wearily. Evi-
dently he knew, or supposed he knew, the signs.

"You say it kills the victims young or not at all?" Nor-
ton asked, dismayed despite his uncertainty. "So if you're
wrong about the stigma, then Gaw will make it through
without getting it later?"

"Young, yes. Always. Once the stigma becomes evi-
dent to a doctor, it's way too late. It's probably too late
when the baby is born; it's an incurable, nonreversible
progression, like a tree rotting at the core. The victim just
wastes away and dies."

"Surely modem science or magic can—"

Piws Anthony               57

Gawain shook his head. "No. They tried everything to
save my brother, but he died at age seven. I was only
four at the time, but I remember—" He shook his head.
"Oh, I should have kept my finger out of the pie! I've
ruined it! There will be no heir! Oh, woe, woe!" He tore
his insubstantial hair.

This looked serious. But Norton had an idea. "Maybe
Sning knows."

"Sning?"

"A friend of mine." Norton touched the ring, to wake
it, though he wasn't sure the little snake ever slept. "Sning,
go check Gaw-Two. I want to know if he's got the fateful
malady that runs in Gawain's family."

Sning came to life, slithered off his finger, and zipped
across the floor. Gawain stared. "Where did you get that?
That's not part of my estate!"

"Your wife gave it to me. In return for your baby."

The ghost shrugged. "Oh, well. I'm nervous about rep-
tiles now, since one killed me. Will it hurt the baby?"

"No. Sning will just check."

In a moment Sning came back. Norton put his hand
down and the snake curled back into ring form. "Does
Gaw have the malady?" Norton asked.

Squeeze.

Norton felt cold. "You're sure?"

Squeeze.

"How long will he live? How many years?"

Squeeze.

"Only one year?" Norton asked, appalled.

Squeeze.

"It says only one year?" Gawain demanded tightly.

"That's what he says," Norton agreed heavily. "Of
course, Sning could be wrong. He's not good at math."

"No, it's not wrong. I saw the stigma. It doesn't matter
whether it's one year or seven; it's inevitable." The ghost
paced in another ragged circle. "That Green Mother! She
must have known! No wonder she granted me that 'favor'
so readily!"

"These Incarnations you describe—are they evil crea-
tures?"

58           Bearing An Homylass

"Well, Satan is the Incarnation of Evil. But God is the
Incarnation of Good. Most are neutral, though I think
they favor God, or at least the existing order. But Nature—
Gaea, the Earth-Mother—if you cross her, she's real trou-
ble, and you don't always know when you cross her. She
can be nice, real nice, but she can be real mean too. Oh,

she's cost me everything!"

Norton didn't comment. It seemed to him that even if
a personified Nature existed, it would be hard for her to
keep track of every detail of the heredity of every baby
born on Earth. It had probably been an oversight. But
Gawain did not seem to be in any mood at the moment

to concede that.

"We should have this verified medically," Norton said
after a pause. "Even though this may be beyond medical
competence. There are always breakthroughs, so that what
is terminal in one generation becomes curable in the next.
Can you direct the estate doctor to investigate your broth-
er's history and compare symptoms?"

"I'd better," Gawain agreed glumly. "But you'll have

to tell Orlene."

"The doctor can do that."

"Sure—his way. Look, Norton, I may be crude, but
even I can see that's no good. Some of those doctors get
their kicks needling people. Better it be done your way."

Norton thought of the doctor who had tested him for

fertility. He sighed. "Yes."

The ghost vanished. With dread in his soul, Norton

went to tell Orlene.

First she refused to believe it. But when the estate
doctor conducted his investigation, using as thorough a
program of scientific and magical tests as existed, guided
by the case histories of others in the family, and verified
the condition, Orlene had to believe. Then she was angry—
at Gawain, Nature, Norton, herself—everything. She
concocted desperate schemes to undo the damage, to bar-
gain for her baby's life, to arrange somehow divine inter-
vention to save Gaw-Two. But, of course, all this came
to nothing, and she sank into a terrible depression. Noth-
ing could console her.

               59

Norton was helpless, as the baby's health declined.
Gawain had been right; the malady had become worse in
recent generations, and its course was savage. He could
not comfort Orlene, for now it was apparent that her love
for Norton was definitely secondary to her love for the
baby. He could only accept her as she was, the perfect
mother rather than the perfect partner. Gawain the Ghost
disappeared.

The end came with seeming suddenness, though most
of a year had passed since the baby's birth. Orlene was
sitting, garbed in black, by the crib where the failing infant
lay. She was only a shadow of her former self, looking
almost as wasted as Gaw-Two. Both science and magic
had failed; all they could do was leave the baby alone. It
was a death watch.

Death came, personified. He was a hooded figure garbed
in black. Orlene saw him first, issued a stifled scream,
and flung her emaciated arms protectively about her baby.
The dark intruder paused—and now Norton was able to
perceive him more clearly. At first Death had been no
more than a shadow, but now he was solid.

"Must you do this?" Norton demanded of the figure.
"Who are you, that you bring such grief?"

The figure turned to face him. Under his hood was a
skull, bare of hair or skin or flesh. His eyes were hollow
squares. "I regret the necessity," he said, his voice oddly
soft. "I am Thanatos, and it is my duty to collect the souls
of those who expire in balance."

"You are—the Incarnation of Death?"

"I am."

"And you get your kicks from stealing innocent babies?"

Thanatos' dark hood turned toward Orlene, then toward
the crib, and finally back to face Norton. He drew back
one sleeve to expose a heavy black watch. One skeletal
finger touched that timepiece. "Come with me a few min-
utes, mortal, and we shall talk."

Norton experienced a chilling awe of this somber fig-
ure. He had not believed in the so-called Incarnations,
despite the ghost's assurances, except possibly as mock




60            Bearing AM 'Hourglass

presentations. Now conviction was growing. Thanatos
was no joke; neither was he callous or indifferent.

They walked out of the room. Orlene did not move.
She stood by the crib, her thin arms extended in a futile
gesture of protection. Her face was drawn, her hair dull,
with only her eyes still large and beautiful. She did not
even breathe. Time seemed to have halted.

Outside the apartment, in the hall, a gallant pale horse
stood. Somehow this did not seem surprising. Norton got
up behind Thanatos on the horse. Then the horse leaped.

They passed through the levels of the city as if these
were holograph images. Halls, apartments, service areas—
all shot past like so many segments of a cutaway dollhouse
as the horse sailed up. In a moment they reached the park
at the surface. The animal's gleaming hooves landed with-
out jarring, and now they were riding through the forest.

They came to a glade where the sun angled warmly
down, and the horse halted and the two riders dis-
mounted. The horse fell to grazing while Thanatos and
Norton sat on a fallen log and talked. Somehow it no
longer seemed strange to be talking with a skeleton in a
cloak.

"I wish to explain about the baby," Thanatos said. "He
is not innocent, odd as that may appear to you. He is in
balance. Do you comprehend the term?"

"Balance? Not the way you must intend it. Do you
weigh him?"

Perhaps the skull-face smiled; it was hard to tell, through
the fleshless grin it always had. "In my fashion. I have
devices with which to measure souls, determining whether
the accumulated evil overbalances the good. If the bal-
ance favors good, that soul is sent to Heaven; if evil. Hell.
A person really does determine the nature of his afterlife
by the nature of his life, by exercising his free will. But
some souls are in perfect balance between good and evil
at the time of the client's demise, and these must remain
in Purgatory."

"You mean there really are places called Heaven, Hell,
and Purgatory? I thought they were mere constructs of
human imagination."

               61

"That, too," Thanatos agreed. "They are not precisely
places so much as states of being. They exist for our
culture, as do the several Incarnations, for here there is
sufficient belief in them. In other cultures, other frame-
works exist. I have very few clients in those cultures
where other beliefs obtain."

"But / never believed in Heaven, Hell, or Incarna-
tions!" Norton said.

"Not consciously, perhaps. Do you believe in Good,
Evil, and personal choice?"

Telling point! "The baby—how can there be evil on
his soul? He has not harmed anyone. In fact, he's a victim
of circumstances manipulated by others."

"True. Gaea is very sorry about that; she had not been
paying full attention, so her gift to Gawain was flawed.
By the time she discovered that, it was too late for her
to correct it. Ge must obey Ge's laws, too."

"Gaea—Ge—you mean Mother Nature?"

"The Green Earth-Mother, yes. She is extremely
powerful, but also extremely busy. She thought it a simple
favor to one who was trying to do better in death than he
had done in life, and she did not look deeply. Even Incar-
nations make errors—and such errors can be worse than
those of mortals."

"This error destroyed a man's line!" Norton cried.

"Gawain will be given a second chance," Thanatos
said. "Gaea has interceded with Clotho for that. This is
her manner of apology."

"The baby will be cured?"

"No. That case is lost. Gawain will have the oppor-
tunity to remarry, more successfully."

Norton felt another chill. "Remarry? He's going to
divorce Orlene?"

"No."

"She'll bear another baby for him? But why, then,
should he remarry?"

"Orlene will have no other baby. This is the major
portion of this first baby's accumulation of evil—respon-
sibility for his mother's untimely demise."

62             

"His mother's demise!" Norton repeated, shocked.

"I regret to inform you of this. But it will be easier for
you if you understand. You bear no share of the guilt for
this disaster. The blame is the baby's."

"But the baby has done nothing!"

"The baby is about to die. That destroys the mother."

"But the baby didn't choose to die!"

"In this case, I regret, the sin of the father is visited
on the son. Had Gaea not interfered, the baby would have
been healthy. You are of excellent genetic stock."

"Oh, certainly," Norton agreed. "My family has always
been healthy. But still—this transferal of guilt—I was the
one who sired the baby! I had a dream—had I not—"

"I do not profess to agree with every aspect of the
system," Thanatos said gently. "I only assure you that it
is so. You are blameless, in the case of the son and the
case of the mother. You must understand that, while the
fate of the baby is in doubt, that of the mother is not; she
will proceed directly to Heaven. She is a good woman,
as pure in her distress as she was in her happiness, and
insufficient evil attaches to her for the manner of her
demise to deny her her destiny. I will not be present for
her; you will be. I hope your knowledge of the full situ-
ation will abate your discomfort. You are a good man and
can have a good life, if you can pass this crisis without
being corrupted."

"The concern of Death for my welfare is touching,"
Norton said bitterly. "You tell me my—Gawain's baby
must die, and the woman I love must die, but I should
ignore all that and enjoy myself? Why do you bother?"

"Because I dislike unnecessary pain," Thanatos replied
seriously. "Death is a necessary thing and it comes to all
living creatures in its proper time; it is right that this be
so, for a proper death is the greatest gift to follow a proper
life, but the manner of its occurrence differs. I prefer that
the transition be accomplished with as little unpleasant-
ness as possible and that no extraordinary measures be
taken either to extend the agony of demise or to shorten
the natural term decreed by Atropos."

               63

"Atropos?"

"An aspect of Fate, who is another Incarnation. Atro-
pos cuts the threads of life. When a person dies, the pri-
mary burden always falls on the living; therefore much
of my own concern is with the living, as it is with you. I
feel compassion for mortals, for their lot is often difficult."

"Compassion!" Norton exclaimed.

"I realize this is difficult for you to understand or accept,
but it is so."

Norton stared into the hooded skull-face and discov-
ered that he believed. This Death-specter, Thanatos, really
did care. Thanatos was trying to help Norton bear what
it seemed had to be borne. "That's all? You use your
valuable time just to ease my concern?"

"No time is passing," Thanatos said. He lifted his arm,
showing the solid black watch. "I used the Deathwatch
to suspend time so that I could converse with you at ease."

"Thank you," Norton said, finding it simplest to accept
this additional incredibility. He remembered how Orlene
had frozen in place and he saw now that nothing in the
forest moved, except themselves and the horse. Even the
clouds were frozen in the sky, and the shadows had not
budged. Truly, a supernatural power was in operation!
"Must be nice, having a device like that. To control time
itself, at need."

"You have a similar artifact," Thanatos said. "That
may be the other reason I paused for you."

"Other reason? What is the first reason?"

"The fact that you were able to perceive me. Few
people not directly involved with death can sense my
presence."

"I love Orlene!" Norton said. "Anything that affects
her welfare affects mine!"

"Demonstrably true. And so you saw me—and I saw
your ring."

Norton glanced at his left hand. "Oh, Sning. Orlene
gave him to me."

"Excellent magic can be incorporated in small things,"
Thanatos said. "Sning, as you call him, is of demonic
origin, and almost as old as Eternity."

64             

"But he's not evil! How can he be a demon?"

"Demons, like people, differ. He is good—as long as
he remains bound to the service of Good. You are for-
tunate to command his loyalty."

This turn of conversation was so surprising that it dis-
tracted Norton from the horror of the main topic. "Sning,"
he asked the ring, "is Thanatos genuine?"

Squeeze, squeeze, squeeze.

"How can you verify this? Do you need to touch him?"

Squeeze.

"You object?" he asked the specter.

Thanatos shook his skull, no.

"Do it, then, Sning."

Sning slithered off Norton's finger, into his palm, and
toward the hooded figure. Thanatos pulled at the bone
fingers of his left hand, and they slid off—in the form of
a glove. Beneath it was a human hand, fully fleshed, com-
plete with a smidgeon of dirt under the nails. He extended
his hand, and Sning touched it with his tongue. Then the
little snake curled back around Norton's finger, while
Thanatos donned his glove and the hand became bone
again. When in place, the glove did not show at all; the
hand seemed to be genuinely fleshless, and Norton was
sure it would feel that way.

"He's genuine?" Norton asked Sning again.

Squeeze.

"And all that he tells me is true?"

Squeeze.

"You are a good demon?"

Squeeze.

It was enough. "You have amazed me," Norton said
to Thanatos. "I did not believe in you, but now I do. I
appreciate your courtesy—but I'm going to try to save
Orlene."

"Naturally. It is your way. The world is better for your
concern." Thanatos stood and gravely extended his hand.

Bemused, Norton stood also, accepting the hand. It
did indeed feel like bare bones.

"Mortis!" Thanatos caUed. The magnificent stallion

               65

trotted back, and they mounted. Then the animal ran a
short distance and plunged down through the ground and
the occupied levels of the city. This time Norton could
see that all the people there were as still as statues. One,
in a rec-room, was caught in mid-leap, hovering half a
foot above the floor. Time was indeed frozen.

All by the mere touch of a bone finger on the Death-
watch! What dreadful power this Incarnation possessed,
to be thus casually employed for the sake of a private
interview. If this was an adjunct to Death, what power
did the Incarnation of Time possess? Norton's imagina-
tion failed.

They landed on the floor of Gawain's level, dis-
mounted, and reentered the apartment. Orlene remained
frozen by the baby. Thanatos reached again for his watch.

"Uh, thanks," Norton said, somewhat awkwardly. He
was not resigned to what was happening, but he no longer
blamed Thanatos.

The somber figure nodded. Then time resumed.

Thanatos stepped to the crib and reached for the baby.
Orlene stared at him and screamed: "No! No! Go away,
Death! You shall not have him!"

Thanatos paused. "He is in pain. I will relieve him of
that."

"No! We have medicine!" She shoved at Thanatos, but
her hands passed through him without resistance, as if he
were a ghost. He had been solid for Norton, but not for
her.

"There is a time to die, and his time has come," Than-
atos said sadly. "You would not want him to suffer longer."
He reached down and drew out the baby's soul, like trans-
lucent tissue. Gaw-Two's labored breathing stopped and
he relaxed, looking strangely comfortable in death. His
travail was over.

Orlene sank to the floor in a faint.

Thanatos faced Norton again. "I regret," he repeated.
"Yet it is a necessary thing I do." He folded the soul and
put it in a black bag he had brought forth. He walked out.

Norton felt numb. He went to Orlene and lifted her to

66             

the couch. She felt horribly light; she had lost even more
weight than he had thought. This ordeal was destroying

her!

Then he used the phone. "There has been a natural
death," he told the face that came on the screen. "Please
send appropriate service to this unit."

The girl nodded. This was routine to her; she did not
feel the horror of it. He held the connection long enough
for her to get a fix on the address, then disconnected. He
went to attend to Orlene.

Now, he knew, came the hard part. He was numb, but
not insensitive. What would he do when she woke?

She woke, and he did it. He told her the baby was
gone. This was not the occasion for euphemism.

"I know it, Norton," she said. "Please excuse me. I
have some things to attend to." She went to the bedroom.

Was that all? He could hardly believe it!

She was that way for several days, calmly going about
her business. Norton did not know what to make of it.
She had been so desperate and, now that the worst had
happened, was so composed. Had Thanatos misjudged
her? Perhaps, after a suitable period, the two of them
could enjoy each other's company again and generate
another baby, a healthy one, for the estate. Slowly, Nor-
ton's hope strengthened.

Then, ten days after the death of the baby, when Orlene
had set all her affairs in proper order, including careful
instructions for the disposition of her few individual
belongings and her body so that there would be no awk-
wardness, she took poison. Norton found her slumped at
the piano and knew as he saw her that it was too late,
that her last note had been played. She had, of course,
arranged it that way. She had not even said good-bye—
and in that she had not been cruel but sensible, knowing
he never would have let her do it, had he known.




CHRONOS

Orlene had not truly loved him, Norton now knew. She
had not been free to, so she had transferred it all to the
baby. She had loved Gaw-Two—nothing else. Norton had
been a means to the end of the accomplishment of her
contract and good company along the way. Perhaps she
had thought she loved him, but now the truth was shown.
Had she loved him, she would not have left him like this.

It was ironic, he thought, how she had used her magic
perception, the glow, to determine the best prospect for
a consort—and then been defeated by a problem in another
area. The liability had not been in herconsort, but in her
husband, who had interfered with the process and sub-
verted it, with the best of intentions. And perhaps the
liability had also been in Orlene herself, for she had proved
unable to survive the first great disappointment. Another
woman would have cried and suffered, then gone on to
conceive another baby, one who would redeem the effort
and restore love and happiness.

Norton himself had been an almost coincidental figure,
as intended by the ghost—and now was in love with a
dead woman. What recourse did he have?

He doused his fire and retreated to the lean-to he had

67




70          Bearing An Homyflas

were parked on top in the twenty-first century; it was one
of man's necessary compromises with nature. Some cities
featured natural wildernesses; others had magic gardens
or alien landscapes. Many stocked exotic creatures in
special habitats. From space, it was hard to tell the planet
Earth was still inhabited by man—and that, Norton felt,

was the way it should be.

The ghost fell in beside him as he walked. "I've got
her, Norton," Gawain said without preamble. "Lovely
beyond belief! Sexy as a woman can be without driving
every nearby man to madness. Name's Lila. Just come

see her, and you'll—"

"Go away," Norton said. "I told you before, I'm not

interested in any other woman."

"But you can't go on moping forever! It's been four
months, and you're a healthy, living man. You have nat-
ural urges. And Lila is ready for you; she's seen your
picture. She likes you, Norton! In her arms you'll for-
get-"

Norton swung his fist furiously through Gawam's body.

"Can't you understand? I don't want to forget Orlene! I

love her! I always will!"

"This isn't healthy, Norton," the ghost remonstrated.
"Your body's fine, but your mind is in an unreasonable
depression. I know how it is; I would be in a funk for
days after I let a dragon escape. It would really be better

if—"

"Never!" Norton cried. "Go find another stud! I'm out

of this!"

Gawain shook his head. "You don't know what you're

missing. Lila, when she walks—"

"Away! Begone, foul spirit!"

Daunted at last, the ghost vanished.

But every month or so, Gawain returned, insisting on
pestering Norton with reports. Another man had been
found—Lila had accepted him—she had not been given
a choice—the two were going at it like professionals—
Lila was pregnant—the man had skipped town, good
riddance!—the fetus seemed to be developing normal-
ly—the heir seemed assured.

               71

Meanwhile, Gawain insisted on giving Norton the les-
sons in dragon fighting he had originally promised. Norton
finally relented to that extent. It was evident that the ghost
was trying diligently to stay away from his second wife
and incipient baby, observing but not interfering in any
way, but still lacked confidence to depart this world
entirely. Thus he used Norton as a companion to keep
himself out of mischief. Too many fingers spoiled the pie.
So Norton studied dragon slaying, though he never
expected to make use of this skill.

"First you have to have a good sword," Gawain said.
"Preferably an enchanted one, but it's best to leam on a
mundane one, to be sure you have the basic skill. My old
sword will be excellent, and I'm sure the estate will release
it to you."

"I don't want a sword!" Norton protested. But in the
end he had to concede it necessary for this training and
he accepted Gawain's sword, which was shipped to the
park for him. The weapon was enchanted, but they pre-
tended it wasn't, and he made progress in handling it and
developing stamina.

The months passed, and Norton's depression eased
without entirely dissipating, like a mountain slowly
weathering down. There was indeed pleasure in compan-
ionship, even that of a ghost, and in activity, even practice
in swordplay. And at one point the sword was useful: two
anti-wildemess thugs, enraged by Norton's stern chal-
lenge to their despoilment of the park—they had not only
littered, they had cut a live sapling down—attacked him
with their knives and were brought up short when Norton
calmly drew his sword and demonstrated his growing pro-
ficiency with it. He cut a lock of hair off each, using swings
that somehow seemed to be heading for their necks, and
they fled, fearing that an ear or a nose would be next.
Norton was not generally a violent man, but he did indeed
feel like a hero in that instance. If there was one thing
that really set him off, it was abuse of the wilderness;

there was so little of it remaining, and what there was,
was so carefully cultivated. He deposited the locks of hair




72             

in the police box; the authorities would analyze it and
have the identities of the culprits in an hour. Unless this
happened to be a first offense, which was doubtful con-
sidering their attitude, they would be arrested and pen-
alized before the day was out. A wildemess-phobia-spell
or litter-eating-enchantment was just the punishment that
type needed!

Gawain, indulging in his periodic checks on the status
of his heir, reported in due course that Lila had birthed
a fine, healthy daughter. Not as good as a son, of course,
but at least it was proof that this pie had been finger-free.
"And the next should be a boy, who shall inherit the
estate. Primogenitor, you know—the first-bom male."

Norton shrugged. This really wasn't his business.

"There's no man on the estate now," Gawain said as
if just thinking of it. "You could still go and—you know."

"No," Norton said, but without the force of his prior
refusals. After all, over a year had passed, and there was
only so much wilderness to discover. The pleasures of a
comfortable apartment and a voluptuous woman...

Gawain pounced on his hesitation with the practiced
expertise of a warrior. "At least come see her! I swear,
you never saw architecture like hers! And she's a pas-
sionate creature, too. She gets bored, you know, alone
on the estate."

"But there are surely other men—"

"Ah, but none as good as you, Norton! I really would
prefer to have my son sired by you! He may grow up to
protect the wilderness..."

Norton wavered and lost. "All right."

They took the nearest elevator to the basement, then
matter-mitted to the city of Gawain's estate. Matter-
mission was not cheap transport, but the estate was pay-
ing for it. Then they took the belts to the address. Soon
they were there. It was just as Norton remembered it;

the mere sight of the door was a shock to his system.
Here he had first seen Orlene...

"Oh," Gawain said apologetically. "I can't—"

"I remember. You can't share a room with her. She




               73

can't see or hear you, and may doubt you exist." Norton
wondered what power determined the ghost's impercep-
tibility. Could the woman have seen him before she mar-
ried him? Would he have vanished the moment she said,
"I do"? What was the point in this loss of awareness? The
supernatural did not seem to make a great deal of sense
at times.

He knocked on the door, feeling like a teenage suitor,
though he was now nearing forty. In a moment its viewer
scanned him; then it opened. Lila stood there. "Oh, you're
Norton!" she exclaimed breathily. "I know you from your
picture!"

Norton looked at her. Voluptuous she was indeed. Too
much so; she had evidently put on weight during her preg-
nancy and not bothered to take it ofT after. Now she
reminded him somewhat of a cow. Orlene had always been
trim, even during her gravid period; she had not deposited
flab on her thighs or chin. Lila had. She was still volup-
tuous rather than fat, but before long that distinction would
become academic.

But it was more than that. Lila, in his eyes, was an
imposter here. He knew she was legitimate; she had done
the job she was supposed to do. She had succeeded where
Orlene had failed, delivering a fully healthy baby, and she
deserved credit. But his emotion refused to concede that.
He could not touch this woman without feeling unfaithful
to Orlene.

Sick at heart, he turned away. He knew he would never
return here.

He was on Mars when Gawain caught up to him again.
He was trekking across the cold, red sands, wearing a
planet-suit and respirator. The ghost fell in beside him,
as he had done in the park on Earth. Gawain, of course,
needed no respirator; he was in shirt sleeves. At times
Norton wondered about that, too. Surely Gawain had
been killed in armor; why wasn't he still wearing that?
Did ghosts have phantom wardrobes? Could they change
clothing at will? Evidently so.

74             

"There's really not much to see here," Gawain said.
"Just sand, sand, and more sand. Why are you here?"

"Because it's far from Earth," Norton replied crossly.
"I like to see new things."

"And it makes it harder for me to find you?"

"That, too."

"I bet you thought I wouldn't be able to get here, since
magic is not an interplanetary force."

"True."

"But you forgot I have access to the estate matter-
mitter. It was science, not magic, that brought me here."

"Live and leam."

"And now I have found you again."

"So I noticed. Now go away."

"Not quite yet."

"Gawain, you have your baby! If there's no male heir,
a female qualifies. Why don't you retire to Heaven now?"

"Well, actually. Heaven is not quite assured."

"Wherever. It can't be worse than impotence on Earth,

can it?"

Gawain shrugged. "Maybe, maybe not. But I'm not
going yet, because my business on Earth isn't quite fin-
ished. I need a male heir. This is not a legal matter, it's

personal."

"Then don't waste your energy with me! Go find another

bull for your cow."

"Oh, I have, I have! But these things take time."
"You mean I'm stuck with you for another nine

months?"

"Not exactly. But I do feel responsible for you."

"You—for me?"

"Yes, me for you. After all, I got you into this. I brought
you to Orlene and I messed with the heir's bloodline. So
I set you up and pulled you down. I can't blame you for

being upset."

"That's over now," Norton said grimly. "You meant no

harm."

"Still, it's a burden on my soul."

"How can a ghost have a burden on his soul? I thought
a ghost was a soul."

               75

"Yes. So the burden has strong leverage. I feel the
weight of it, pulling me down toward Hell."

"But you were destined for Heaven!"

"Yes, I was, at the time of my death," Gawain agreed.
"But the balance was close. You know the bit; it's as easy
for a rope to pass through the eye of a needle as for a
rich man to go to Heaven. Because I was a man of honor,
even though my employment was not the kind you
approve, I was more good than evil—barely. Then when
I messed up your life, my balance shifted to negative."

"I thought a person's earthly account was fixed at the
moment of death. After all, if damned souls could change
their status after death, they'd all be scrambling to tilt
themselves back toward Heaven, after sinning freely in
life."

"You're right; it's fixed at death," Gawain agreed. "Or
at least the initial setting is fixed; those who go to Hell
will eventually win their way to Heaven, but they have
a few centuries or millennia of misery before they expiate
their sins sufficiently. A dead man has only a millionth of
the leverage a live man has; that's why it's so much better
to set your course correctly in life. But ghosts are bor-
derline cases, as are the Incarnations. They aren't yet
completely committed to Heaven or Hell, you see. If they
interfere with the affairs of the living, they must answer
for it, and the charge goes on their account. That was the
risk I took, trying to arrange for my heir. Most people
won't risk it, which is why there are so few real ghosts
around, but I'm a fool for lineage. So now I'd better undo
the damage I've done to your life, or it's Hell for me,
literally."

At last Norton grasped the nature of the ghost's con-
cern. "I'm sorry if you are doomed to Hell, but the damage
is done. If I could rejoin Orlene—I mean, if I could get
to know her before any of this happened, I surely would.
But that's impossible."

"No, no, it's not!" Gawain said eagerly. "There is a
way! I knew you'd be interested. I talked to Clotho about
it, and she agreed to arrange it—if you wanted."




76

Searing An Howl-glass Piers Anthony 77

"Arrange what?"

Now the ghost was diffident. "Well, I assumed you'd
like to travel back to see Oriene, before I married her. Of
course, there is a small complication—"

"I don't trust your small complications!"

"But it's an opportunity that comes only once in a
lifetime! What future on Earth have you got, anyway?"

"Not much," Norton admitted. "That's why I'm tour-
ing Mars."

"I mean, as a living man?"

Norton halted abruptly, stirring up a swirl of red dust.
It settled about his boots more slowly than he was used
to, because of the reduced Martian gravity. That dust
could really be something in the storm season! "My life

will end?"

"Well, not exactly," Gawain said, shuffling his feet

without raising any dust.

"Maybe you'd better tell me just precisely exactly what
the hell you have in mind, to save your soul from Hell."

"Nice phrasing, that," the ghost said uncomfortably.
"You see, I discovered there is one person, one entity,
who can travel back in time, and he's just about to vacate
his office. So if you get there before then, you can assume
it. You're a good man; Clotho says you qualify and she

should know."

"Who is this Clotho you keep mentioning?"
"Oh, didn't I tell you? She's another aspect of Fate.
There are three, you see; she's the spinner. So if you take
that job, you'll have the power to travel in time and you
can do anything you want, any time you want. You can
go meet Oriene when she's a child or when she's seven-
teen. Maybe you can spare her the whole problem that
caused her death and live with her the rest of her life. It's
all right with me; I've got Lila now and a son in the

making."

"You're talking paradox! It's impossible to change the

past!"

"Not for this office. This is the one person who is

immune from paradox, because he controls time."

"What's this about an office?"

"The office of Chronos. The Incarnation of Time."

"The Incarnation of—you mean, like Thanatos?"

"Exactly. In fact, Thanatos was the one who suggested
it. He talked with you, remember. He likes you. He rec-
ommended you for the position, and the Green Mother
endorsed it—I tell you, Norton, it's yours if you want it.
You can be .the new Chronos!"

Norton was stunned. "What—what happened to the
old Chronos?"

"Nothing bad. He's getting born, or maybe con-
ceived—I'm not sure when it counts—so he has to step
down. He'll go to Heaven; his account is in good order."

"Getting born? But his whole life should be ahead of
him!"

"No, it's behind him."

"I don't—"

"Well, that's the complication. You see, Chronos lives
backward. He has to, to know when everything has hap-
pened—I mean, when it will happen. That's his job—to
time things. So when you assume the office, you'll pro-
ceed backward in time, until the date of your birth or
whatever; then you'll have to step down, because you
won't exist any more. But since you're close to forty, you
have about as much life behind you as ahead of you; you'll
come out even that way. Time is no office for a young
man! And you'll be able to be with Oriene again! Just
think of that!"

"My head is spinning! There are so many ques-
tions—"

"Well, come and take a look! If you change your mind,
you don't have to take the Hourglass."

"The Hourglass?"

"The symbol of Chronos' power. When you take that,
you assume the office, till birth do you part. But we must
hurry; we have a long way to go, and I promised Clotho
you'd be there today."

"Today! But I need time to think! A decision like this—
I never even heard of the office of Chronos before! I—"




78           Searing An Hourglass

"You can think on the way. Come on—summon a dune-
scooter; it will take too long by foot."

Bemused, Norton obeyed. He spoke into his suit radio,
and in a moment the scooter was on the way to his coor-
dinates.

While they waited for it, Norton pondered his decision.

To live backward—to see Orlene again, alive and happy—
yet he knew it would be impossible to interact with her,
for that would change history. If he went to her before
she married Gawain, so that she never became the ghost-
bride, then Gawain would not summon Norton to sire the
heir, so Norton would never meet her and love her—
paradox. It just made no sense! It was impossible.
Obviously he would not be able to interact with her, but
only to watch her invisibly, the way Gawain had; Norton
would be no more than a ghost to her. And yet even that
was tempting, as the only way he could see her at all.

They reached the nearest transport station, then matter-
mitted to Mars City and from there to Earth. Gawain
faded into invisibility during this part of the journey,
because not everyone understood about ghosts, especially
customs inspectors. But he faded back in when they were
alone, continuing to direct Norton to the correct address.
This, as it turned out, was in a rundown section of a
declining city. There were no pleasant levels here, no
wilderness park topping; just a single level of decrepit
pavement and foam-concrete apartment buildings. It was
the kind of place a stranger was apt to get mugged.

Sure enough, a group of young toughs spotted him and
spread out to cut him off. Norton was weaponless; he
had, after all, been exploring Mars until recently, and it
would have been pointless to carry Gawain's enchanted

sword there.

"Don't worry about it," Gawain said. "I'll see you

through safely."

"But you can't touch anyone!" Norton muttered.
Gawain smiled. Suddenly he was in the uniform of a
riot cop, cattleprod at the ready. "Set me up," he mur-
mured.

Piws Anthony              79

Norton caught on. "Hey, sir," he said loudly to his
companion. "This ain't a bust; we're just checking for
draft dodgers."

Gawain waved the prod. "Anybody I catch is a dodger.
I guarantee it. I never missed a quota yet. A few pricks
on max with this and he'll confess. 'Specially if I ram it
up the—here, I'll prove it! Wanna make book on whether
I can net one within one minute?" He veered to head
toward the biggest of the approaching toughs. "Hey, you—
c'mere! Got something to show you." He gestured with
the prod, smirking.

The tough slipped between two buildings and vanished.
The others faded back warily.

Gawain brought a phantom radio to his face. "Hey,
Snorkel—spread the net; we've got some live meat here!"

Suddenly the street was empty. Norton smiled; the
ghost did have his uses.

They came to a halt in a rubble-strewn vacant lot.
Norton was surprised, because space was precious.
Gawain looked at his watch, and that, too, surprised Nor-
ton; how could a ghost have a functioning timepiece?
"Fifteen minutes to spare; he'll be along soon."

"Chronos?"

"Sure. He has chosen this treasured spot to pass on
the Hourglass."

"You mean this is where he was bom, so this is

where—?"

"Oh, no, of course he wasn't born here! That address
is far away."

"But you said he lived backward, so—"
"He does—and you will too. But it's not a literal retrac-
ing of his life. That would be pointless."

"I think it's impossible! The paradox involved—"
"I told you—Incarnations are exempt from paradox.
His life proceeds forward, for him; it just seems backward
to us."

"I'm not sure I like this at all! It doesn't make sense!"
Gawain's mien became serious. "Believe me, it does
make sense; you just have to leam to appreciate the man-




80           Bearing An Homylass

ner it makes sense. Now Fate has gone to some trouble
to set up this excellent deal for you. Note that no one
else is here to take the Hourglass. The chance of a lifetime
is being handed to you on a platter—all because the Incar-
nations are sorry about that little mistake with the baby.
They help one another out in cases like that, you see.
You would be ungracious indeed to turn it down at this

late hour."

"But I never asked for it!" Norton protested. "I'm not
sure I could handle it! I know nothing about time! All this
is so—I mean, why hereT'

"Because this is where they erected a fine monument
to Chronos, savior of the world, or something like that.
It's a very significant spot for him. For the office."

Norton looked around. "What monument, wheref I
think we have the wrong address."

"In the future, of course," Gawain explained patiently.
"He comes from the future, remember. This whole region
will be renovated and formed into a splendid park, dom-
inated by the monument. People will throng to visit it.
Naturally he feels close to this spot."

Norton was becoming increasingly nervous. "Why isn't
he here, then? There can't be more than ten minutes left."

"He's approaching from the other direction. You'll see
him only at the moment of the transfer of the Hourglass."

"From the future?" Norton asked, his brain seeming
to heat with the effort of digesting this concept.

"All you have to do is take the Hourglass when you
see it," Gawain said. "It will appear right here." He showed
where someone had marked a crude X on the packed
ground. "You'll have to handle it yourself after that,
because we'll be going in different directions."

"Different directions?" Norton felt like an idiot, unable
to organize his thoughts, let alone his attitude.

"I'll continue forward," the ghost explained. "You'll
be going back. You'll be doing your own thing. Actually,
I'll probably just relax and go to Heaven, catching it while
I qualify so I don't have the chance to mess up again. It
doesn't make any difference; you won't see me."

               81

The ghost's balance would be shifted to positive by
this good deed, Norton remembered. Assuming it was a
good deed. Well, if it wasn't, Gawain would pay the price!
The ghost would not have another chance, for Norton
would be committed.

Assuming he took the Hourglass. He hadn't decided
yet whether to do that. He didn't like to be jammed into
something like this, especially when there were so many
imponderables.

"Oh, but you have to," Gawain said, guessing his
thought. "Believe me, Norton, this is the job for you!
Gaea says you're perfect for it, and Clotho says they need
a man like you to—" He broke off.

"To what?" Norton asked with abrupt suspicion.

"Look out—it's time!" Gawain was peering at the region
above the X. "I guess this is farewell, friend. May your
past be happy!"

Norton looked. There was nothing over the X. "It's
not time. There's a minute to go."

"Your watch could be off."

"Quit avoiding the subject. Why do the Incarnations
want me as Chronos?"

"Well, I'm not really in a position to know, being only
a ghost—"

Norton turned and started to walk away.

"Okay, I'll tell you!" Gawain screamed. "It's Satan,
the Incarnation of Evil! He's up to something—"

"I'll go to Hell?"

"No, not you! He can'ttouch you without your per-
mission—or your acquiescence, anyway. He'll send all
humanity to Hell, somehow, if he isn't stopped."

"How can I stop Satan? I'm only one man—"

"There it is!" Gawain cried.

This time he was correct. A tall, white-caped figure
had appeared at the marked spot, bearing a bright Hour-
glass. So it was true! Chronos had arrived from the future.
And his office was there for the taking.

The Hourglass shone like the Grail, its brightness
inherent and marvelous. A thin thread of silvery sand fell

82           Bering An Hourglass

from its upper segment to its lower. The upper chamber
was virtually empty; in fact, in a few seconds the flow
would stop, the measure completed. That process had a
mesmerizing effect; there was a transcendent significance
to the termination of that flow.

Norton's mind was a whirl of speculations and doubts—
but though he had come to no decision, his body acted.
He stepped forward, reached up, and grasped the shining

Hourglass.

The figure of Chronos faded out in the fashion it had
faded in. The white robe seemed to detach itself from that
fading figure and cross over to Norton as he took the
Hourglass. He found himself standing on the X spot, the
robe coalescing about him, sinking into his body, per-
meating him and giving him an odd sensation of time-
lessness and power. Now he held the symbol of his new
office—but he did not know what to do. The universe

seemed frozen.

A faint whisper came to him: "Over... over!"
Without thinking it out, Norton turned over the Hour-
glass, just as the last sand passed through the central

aperture.

The new upper chamber, almost full of sand, began to
spill into the nether one. The first sand touched the bot-
tom—

And the universe changed.




5

LACHESIS

It took Norton a moment to figure out the nature of the
change, for it was subtle, but he did know it was horren-
dously significant. He remained in the vacant lot, and the
other two figures remained also, and the wind still blew
the flag at the top of a nearby building. All ordinary things.

Yet the two figures did not seem to be looking at him,
but rather through him. He glanced down at himself and
found himself solid, though surrounded by the diaphanous
white robe, which seemed to be more mist than material.
What was the matter with those people?

Then he realized one aspect of what bothered him: one
figure was Gawain the Ghost—but who was the other?
A man in a Martian hiking costume—

Himself! Standing and watching—what?

"Hi!" he said, somewhat tremulously, but the figures
did not respond.

It was coming clear. This was himself—as he had been
a minute ago, waiting for Chronos to appear. Himself—
moving backward in time. Evidently the former Norton,
oriented toward the future, could not perceive the present
Norton, oriented toward the past.

And that flag on the building—Norton could feel the

83

S4          Beamy AM Homylasf

wind and knew in which direction it was blowing. But the
flag was extending in the opposite direction. Either the
wind at the top of the building differed from the wind
below—or the flag was blowing into the wind.

Norton fished in his pocket for a fragment of paper.
He held it up to the wind. It tugged directly into the
wind—the opposite of what it should have done. He let
it go—and it fluttered windward like a salmon forging

upstream. Strange!

He stretched his arm so that his wrist slid out from the

sleeve of his new white cloak and he looked at his watch.

It was running backward.

So it was true! Chronos lived backward. The course
of his life was opposite to that of the rest of the universe.
The flag tugged into the wind because he was perceiving
it backward. He felt the wind going back toward its
source—but that did not change its actual effect.

He could not communicate with his former self, because
he was now in a different frame. People were geared to
perceive things of their own frame; they simply could not
relate to something outside it. He himself had not seen
what there was there to see, standing on the spot marked
X: himself as Chronos. So now he knew how it was. In
fact, he reminded himself, that was no stranger out there;

it was Norton-normal. He had followed normal time until
he took the Hourglass and turned it over to start the sand
of his term of office. Now he followed the new time. He
could relate to the rest of the world, perceiving it clearly,
because he understood it. His new life continued for-
ward—in reverse.

But what was he supposed to do now? Surely there

was more to this job than merely existing!

His eye fell on the ring Orlene had given him. Maybe
this could help. "Sning, are you still functioning?"

Squeeze.

"That's a relief! Do you know anything about this time-
reversal effect?"

Squeeze.
Excellent. Now all he needed to do was figure out the

               85

right questions. Sning's presence was an enormous com-
fort to him at the moment! "Is it true that I am living
backward, so am seeing the world like a holoshow played
in reverse?"

Squeeze.

"But how can I relate to normal people, then?"

Squeeze,squeeze,squeeze.

Of course; he had phrased his question improperly.
"Can I relate to normals?"

Squeeze.

"Is there something I can do to effect this interaction?
So they can relate to me, too? So they can see me?"

Squeeze.

"Does it have anything to do with the Hourglass?"

SQUEEZE!

So the Hourglass was important; that was hardly a
surprise! Norton contemplated the instrument. The thin
line of sand was still gently glowing, off-white in color, a
steady thread connecting top and bottom.

Very well. This flow measured time, and it was evident
that, though the instrument was called an Hourglass, it
actually measured his full career. He had about thirty-
nine years ahead of him—behind him—until the date of
his birth, when presumably the sand would run out and
he would have to pass the thing on to someone who had
lived before him. That much he understood and accepted
now, albeit grudgingly.

But obviously there was more to this office than merely
living backward. Surely Chronos had a job to do—and
surely, then, Chronos had to relate to the real world. The
Hourglass enabled him to do that—if he only could figure
out how.

He studied the instrument. There were no visible con-
trols on it. He turned it over—and suffered an abrupt
wrenching of his being. Hastily he turned it back, and
normality was restored. What had happened?

In a moment he worked it out; if the Hourglass mea-
sured his life, reversing the instrument would reverse his
life. He would be undoing what he had just been doing;




86           Bounty/An Hourglass

he would be returning to the moment of his assumption
of the office, a few minutes hence. The wrenching was
because living backward biologically was not normal; his
blood would be reversing its flow, and his digestion—just
so. He would lose his free will, unraveling the just-made
skein—and to what point? To renege on the commitment
he had made when he took the Hourglass? That was not
his way! So he would not do that again! He could continue
his natural course, though that was now opposite to that
of the rest of the universe. He would see this office
through—whatever that might mean.

"Sning, are there other ways to affect my status?" he
asked the ring.

Squeeze.

"Even though there are no physical controls on the

Hourglass?"

Squeeze.

Whatever would he have done without the little snake!
Orlene had given him a greater gift than he had realized
at the time—and there, of course, had been the earliest
true indication other love. She would always be with him
while Sning was with him—and he had no intention of
parting with the ring, ever.

But back to business! "But how7 Do I just will it to do

what I want?"
Squeeze.
Oh. Well, he would find out. Let me travel swiftly in

time! he thought grandly.

The sand in the Hourglass turned bright blue. The world
outside became a gray void. He was traveling—some-
where. Swiftly.

Stop! he thought, alarmed.

Abruptly the scene was stationary. The sand in the
Hourglass was now black.

He stood in a dusky glade. Before him was something
like a large cabbage-palm, and monstrous ferns were
everywhere. There were bottle-brush things, but no grass.
This was definitely not familiar territory!

He walked, examining the scenery. The only really

Piws Anthony              87

familiar thing he spied was a distant fir tree. He saw no
animal life—though of course any animals would hide
from a strange creature like himself, so that was not in
itself abnormal. He listened, but heard no buzzing of
insects. Where was he? Had he moved in space rather
than in time?

"Sning, did the Hourglass malfunction?"

Squeeze,squeeze.

"It moved me in time?"

Squeeze.

"Which direction? Forward?"

Squeeze, squeeze, squeeze.

Hmm, a problem there. Had his question been impre-
cise? Perhaps so. Which direction was "forward"? The
way he lived, or the way the world went?

"Did it move me into the world's future?" That worried
him, because it was evident that human life had been
eliminated, or at least greatly restricted here, and perhaps
all mammalian life too. War or other disaster?

But Sning reassured him: squeeze, squeeze.

"Into my future—the world's past?"

Squeeze.

Back on track! He had it now. Forward, to the Hour-
glass, had to be his forward. Since he hadn't specified
direction in his thought command, the Hourglass had sim-
ply accelerated him in the direction he had been going.
Instead of moving backward at the rate of one minute per
minute, or one year per year, he had moved much faster
and farther. Obviously years, for the city was gone; it had
not yet been built. How long had this spot been inhabited
by man? Decades, surely! In fact, it could be centuries,
for even the local vegetation had changed radically.
"How many years into Earth's past have I gone?"
Squeeze, squeeze,squeeze.
"That's not three years, is it?"
Squeeze.

Norton smiled. That meant yes—that it was not three
years. The three squeezes had been the signal of Sning's
inability to answer.




Searing AM Hourglass

88

"Is the answer better expressed in centuries?"

Squeeze—squeeze, squeeze, squeeze.

That was a new one! Four squeezes, for a yes-no
answer. But there had been a pause after the first. That
translated to yes—can not answer.

"Centuries are better than years—but still not enough?"

Squeeze.
He was getting better at this! "How about millennia?"

Four squeezes, with the pause after the first.
This was getting serious. "Units of a million years?"

Four squeezes.
Serious indeed! "Units of a billion years?"

Squeeze, squeeze.
"So it's not a billion years back—but a lot of millions?"

Squeeze.
"How many hundred million—to the nearest unit?"

Squeeze, squeeze.

"What do you mean, 'No'? That was a numbers ques-
tion!"
Squeeze.
Oh. "Two hundred million, approximately?"

Squeeze.
"The time of the dinosaurs?"

Squeeze.

"Then how come I don't see any dinosaurs? No, cancel
that; like most naturalists, I have a passing interest in
paleontology. This is obviously along about the Triassic
period; I should have recognized it before. No grasses,
no flowering plants, but plenty of palms and pines and
cycads. I'll rephrase my question: are there dinosaurs
here—or rather, the pre-dinosaurs, the developing lines?"

Squeeze.
"But not right at this spot. I'd see some if I walked

around enough, or waited here long enough, if my appear-
ance or smell or noise didn't keep them away?"

Squeeze.

Now Norton noticed that there was no wind, no move-
ment of fern or frond, not even when he brushed against
them. In fact, he had no contact with them; his hand

               89

passed right through them. "Ah, I get it—time is fro-
zen! The way Thanatos froze it—I'm Chronos now, so I
can do that trick too! I ordered the Hourglass to stop,
so it stopped me—absolutely, right where I was at the
moment." He contemplated the black sand in the Hour-
glass. It still flowed from upper to lower chamber, mea-
suring out his life with its silken thread of motion; he was
not frozen, just the world. "So black is the color of abso-
lute stasis—of everything except me."

Squeeze...squeeze, squeeze,squeeze.

Another qualified yes. He had better run it down; Sning
did not squeeze just for the fun of it. "The world is in
stasis?"

Four squeezes.

"The world seems in stasis?"

Squeeze.

Fair enough. He was way out of his own time; he
couldn't go around stopping the clock of the universe
incidentally. Probably Thanatos hadn't really stopped the
world, either—but the appearance was as useful as the
reality. Perhaps Norton was in a special state of accel-
eration, so that the world seemed still by comparison. He
stretched out his arm to view his watch—and saw that it
had stopped.

Now, wait! He had not stopped, and he was wearing
his watch. Was it broken? He brought it close to his eyes—
and found it was moving, after all, forward.

He stretched out his arm again—and the watch stopped.
Experimenting, he discovered that when the watch was
more than a foot out from his torso, it reflected the world's
time; when it was closer, it kept his own personal time.
That was a worthwhile discovery! His ambience was lim-
ited, so that he himself could reach out of it. And of course
that had to be; otherwise he would be carrying chunks of
the world backward with him, and that wouldn't do. He
verified by further experiment that his time frame stopped
at the level of the soles of his feet and the top of his head,
and spread out like an aura between; actually, the white
cloak pretty well defined it.




90           Beamy An Hourglass

Then he remembered that his watch had been running
backward when he had checked it before. But he had
been holding it out from his body then, so that was the
world's time. His time was forward.

"So black sand means stasis—that can affect me also,
if I so choose," he said aloud. "Partially, anyway; my
blood flow does not reverse in my hand when I reach out,
but my watch does change. So it's a kind of compromise
state."

Squeeze.

"Thank you for alerting me about this, Sning. I'm
awfully glad to have your advice."

The little snake did not squeeze, but turned a darker
shade of green, evidently with pleasure.

Norton reviewed another aspect. "And when the sand
is blue—that's the color of accelerated motion in time?"

Squeeze.

"So I can tell what's going on by the color-coding of
the sand. But how can I be here at all? This is far outside
my timeline! No, don't give me three squeezes; I'll figure
it out in a moment. I'm here—but not solidly. I'm like a
ghost here. I can't touch anything, and probably no crea-
ture can touch me or even perceive me. So it's like looking
at a holo—the world is a holograph, less real for me than
it seems, and it is not aware of me at all."

He paced along the paleontological terrain. "I can travel
anywhere in time, probably, forward and back. But I can't
do anything; it's just a visit, a sightseeing tour. Only in
my own time span—the span of my living life—can I
actually affect the world. Once I figure out how."

Squeeze.

"Good enough. Let's go home now." He concentrated.
Back to starting point—but not as fast.

The Hourglass glowed a little more brightly. The black
sand changed color, becoming pink. The world moved.

The sun traveled across the sky, picking up speed as
the sand darkened. Night came—and passed in a minute.
Day and night, of course! He saw an animal, in the day,
but it was gone so quickly he had only a fleeting impres-
sion of something reptilian. The creature might have taken

               91

half an hour to pass, but that would have been mere sec-
onds to Norton. Rain came, making the herbiage sparkle
momentarily.

The pace picked up. Now it was like an old-fashioned
motion picture, the frames flickering; he was able to tune
out the dark intervals and see the land as a continuing
thing, the plants growing and aging and disappearing.
The seasons passed, but there seemed to be no winter
here, just a browning of some plants; this was before the
day of deciduous trees. Overall, there was very little
change.

Faster, he thought. The sand became a brighter red,
and the world buzzed through its paces at accelerated
velocity. A fir tree sprouted near him, grew in seconds to
a robust specimen, stabilized—and was abruptly gone.
A bolt of lightning? Root rot? Life ended so suddenly for
plants! But, of course, a century or more had passed.

A hundred million years, he discovered, was a long
time, even at the rate of a century a minute; he would
have to watch, at this rate, for a couple of years, his time.
Full speed, he directed, and the grayness of impossible
temporal velocity returned.

Then he remembered: he had changed his position! He
had walked away from his starting point, looking at veg-
etation. He would land a similar distance away—perhaps
in the middle of a building. In the middle of a wall!

Before he could correct his error, the world firmed.
He stood in the vacant lot, on the X. The two figures
remained nearby.

"But I moved!" he protested, relieved.

Squeeze,squeeze,squeeze.

Again he worked it out. He had moved—but he had
been outside his bailiwick, unable to affect that world.
So apparently he had not affected himself, either. It might
have been a different story, had he traveled only a year
or two and walked about. He would have to be very
careful in future. Past. Or whatever. This time the nature
of the system had saved him from his own folly, but that
might not always be so.

"Well, at least I'm learning how to use this thing!"

92           Bearing An HouigUiss

Squeeze.

"But I still don't know my job or how to relate to people
here. Do you know?"

Squeeze, squeeze, squeeze.

"That's what I thought. You know a lot, but you've
had no experience with the Hourglass itself. Well, I'll
figure it out." He smiled. "In time." Actually, this chal-
lenge appealed to his wanderlust; what better form of
travel could there be than through time? The horizons
were unlimited!

He studied the Hourglass again. The sand was now
dull white. He had learned what white, blue, and black
meant—and red. Red meant traveling backward, or oppo-
site his normal route. It was like the red shift in astronomy.
Now, if he could just find the other colors and understand
what they signified—

The two figures began to move. They retreated from
the X spot, walking backward. Surprised, Norton watched
them until they were out of sight. Now he was alone.

Of course—Norton-normal and Gawain the Ghost had
arrived about fifteen minutes before the rendezvous. That
time had now expired, backward. His jaunt to the distant
past had taken several minutes, his time, which might
have passed here, too; he wasn't sure yet how that worked.
But what was he to do, now that he was alone?

He found it awkward carrying the Hourglass con-
stantly, so he set it on the ground. Then he locked his
hands behind him and paced in a circle, much the way
Gawain had done. Did he really want to take on the
immense complexities of this office? He had agreed to it
almost casually, but he saw now that it was a most unusual
commitment. The chance of a lifetime, as the ghost had
said—but also the challenge of a lifetime. It was not too
late to reverse the Hourglass and travel back to the time
of acquisition; presumably someone else would turn up
to take the office if he bounced it. Did he want that?

He turned to look back at the parked Hourglass—and
found it right behind him, exactly in the position he had
left it—except that it was within easy reach, not several

               93

paces behind. Had he paced in a full circle and returned
to it? He didn't think so.

He walked straight away from the Hourglass and turned
again. There it was, right in reach.

He paced backward next, watching the Hourglass. It
slid along with him, not rolling or jumping, just remaining
exactly in position relative to him.

"You mean I can't leave it behind?" he asked aloud.

Squeeze.

The question had been rhetorical, but Suing had
answered.

Norton picked up the Hourglass, held it a foot above
the ground, and let it go. It hung there in the air. When
he stepped away, it followed him. When he stepped into
it, it retreated. Only when he moved it directly with his
hand did it change its position with respect to himself. It
was like a satellite, except it did not rotate.

Suddenly frustrated and rebellious, he grasped it and
hurled it violently from him. But the moment it left his
hand, it stopped, remaining in the air at shoulder height.
It had no inertia, no momentum.

He could not, literally, lose it.

"But I don't want the thing following me all the time
like a hatchling," he remarked aloud. "People will stare."

Sning squeezed three times, not having any sugges-
tions.

Then a new figure appeared. It was a middle-aged
woman. She was walking forward, toward him, from the
opposite direction in which the other two figures had
departed. She carried a roll of paper.

Forward? Could she be in his time frame?

She waved to him. She saw him! Excited, Norton waved
back—but there was no reaction from the woman. Why
was that?

"Hello," Norton said cautiously.

The woman came to stand a few feet from him. She
unrolled her scroll. There were words printed on it. HELLO,
CHRONOS.

"Hello," he said again. "Can't we talk verbally?"

94            

She passed her arm across the scroll, and it went blank.
Then new words appeared. WE CAN INTERACT—BUT YOU

MUST LEARN HOW.

"I'm trying to!" he exclaimed. "But no one perceives

me!"

She changed her sign again. I AM LACHESIS—AN ASPECT

OF FATE.

Fate! Gawain had mentioned her. This was an impor-
tant contact! "How can I talk to you?" he asked. "Can

you understand me?"

Her new sign explained, i AM DOING THIS BACKWARD.

FOLLOW MY INSTRUCTIONS, AND WE SHALL RELATE.

"I'll follow them!" Norton agreed. He realized now
that she was only partially aware of him, perhaps could
not see him at all, but knew he was there. So she was
following a routine to help him, trusting that he was
responding. Once they managed to establish a genuine
interaction, he would find out why Fate, in whatever
aspect, was doing this. For now, he was grateful for her

help.

YOU ARE LIVING BACKWARD. I AM LIVING FORWARD. WE
ARE BOTH INCARNATIONS, BUT WE DO DIFFER IN THIS AND
OTHER RESPECTS. WE MUST ALIGN.

"I agree!" he said uselessly.

THE HOURGLASS IS THE TOOL. YOU CONTROL IT WITH
YOUR WILL.

"I realize that," he said as she changed the page.

IT IS VERY STRONG MAGIC. MIS JUDGMENT CAN WREAK
HAVOC.

"So I discovered! I've been to the Age of Dinosaurs!"

THE COLOR OF THE SAND IS THE KEY.

"That, too, I have already ascertained."

WILL IT TO BE BLUE FOR AN INSTANT, THEN GREEN.

"Okay," he agreed. He concentrated. Blue briefly, then
green. It hadn't occurred to him before to control the
Hourglass by orienting directly on the sand color.

The grayness closed as the sand changed color, but
altered almost immediately. Now the sand was green.

"Congratulations, Chronos," Lachesis said.

               95

"Hey, this time I hear you!" he exclaimed.

She smiled. She was perhaps in her forties, her hair
nondescript brown and bound in a bun, her face devel-
oping lines. She was somewhat heavy-set and generally
unimpressive, but her eyes had a timeless, colorless qual-
ity that made him know that this was indeed a creature
of incalculable power and sublety. "And I hear you,
Chronos, and see you clearly at last. We are now in phase."

"Because the sand is green?"

"Come with me, Chronos, and I'll explain." She stepped
forward and took his arm. "It's the least I can do, after
what we've been to each other."

He suffered himself to be drawn along with her. "We
have?"

She laughed. "Of course you don't remember! It's in
your future. My past. I envy you! But I mustn't hold you
in phase too long this time; no sense wasting your magic.
Ah, here we are." She paused at a piece of string dangling
by a building. "Take my hand, Chronos."

He obeyed. She tugged on the string—and suddenly
they were in a comfortable room, with elegant scenic
murals on the walls that looked almost real enough to step
into. He remembered Orlene's puzzle pictures with sharp
nostalgia. This was the kind of apartment he would have
liked for himself. "Nice place you have, Lachesis."

"Oh, it isn't my place," she said quickly. "It's yours."

"Mine?"

"This is your mansion in Purgatory. Here in this edifice
time travels your way always; no need to strain the Hour-
glass. Let it go normal again."

"Normal?" But as he looked at it, the falling sand turned
from green to white.

"When you turned the sand blue for a moment, you
jumped backward, in real-world terms, a couple of days."
She glanced at him alertly. "You did do that? It will be
two days before the office changes hands, and I have
every intention of being there with my signs to get you
started, but that's in my future."

"You were there, and I did it," he agreed.

96           Hearing An Hourglass

"Good. And when you turned the sand green, you
aligned yourself with universal time. You normally live
backward, compared to the rest of us, but green turns
you about so that your forward matches ours. It is a
temporary state for you, requiring magical energy, so you
don't do it unless you need to interact with a normal
person. In this case, the need existed. But it isn't wise to
do it too long, because of a possible three-person-limit
complication."

"A what?"

"We'll go into that technical matter at another time; I
don't want to confuse you at the outset."

"I'm already confused! Why did you have me turn the
sand blue for an instant? Couldn't I have green-phased
at the outset?"

"You could have, Chronos. But that would have car-
ried you on beyond your term of office, since you were
so close to its edge. I preferred to give you a couple of
days' leeway to avoid that risk. You see, you can't travel
physically beyond your term; you become insubstantial,
unable to interact with us."

"So I have discovered," he agreed ruefully.

"Had you turned the sand green then, I would have
been leading you here—and you would have vanished
from my ken before arriving. You see, to you this is the
beginning, but to the rest of us it is the end. To us, your
term will expire and that of your successor will com-
mence. Suddenly we will have a vastly experienced
Chronos replacing the old novice. He'll have us all step-
ping smartly! He will know all our futures in a way none
of us can." She fixed him with her disconcerting gaze
again. "Time is power, Norton. You will learn to do things
Satan Himself can not handle. No one can touch Chronos
in his area of expertise. You will be able to change reality
itself. See that you do not abuse that power."

Norton did not feel powerful at all. He noticed that
now she called him by his given name; obviously she did
know him from her past, his new future. "I will try to
handle the office properly," he said. "Uh, about Purga-
tory—"

PiersAnthony                97

"Purgatory is not part of the physical world," she
explained. "When you want an extended interaction with
a person, bring that person here, and there will be no
problem."

"I don't quite understand."

"Of course you don't! You have just stepped into one
of the most complex offices of the firmament; it will take
you years to get the full hang of it. Fortunately, you have
time—literally. You are Time."

"I think you'd better explain the whole thing," he said.
"I'm pretty much baffled."

"That's what I'm here for—this time." She glanced at
him slyly, as if making an off-color allusion. "And I will;

I owe it to you, as I said. Only first I'd better introduce
myself completely."

Norton nodded agreement, somewhat in awe of this
unprepossessing figure with the knowing attitude and hyp-
notic eyes. Lachesis walked to the center of the room.
She shimmered—and in her place was an old woman.
Her hair was gray and curly, her dress conservative—a
long dark skirt, antique feminine boots, a frilly but
unsuggestive blouse, and a small archaic hat. "Atropos,"
she announced, accenting it on the first syllable. "I cut
the Thread of Life."

"I thought Death did that," Norton said, startled by
more than one thing.

"Thanatos collects the souls. I determine when those
souls will become available."

Norton nodded. He was not yet certain of the distinc-
tion, but did not feel ready to question it more closely.
He had encountered Thanatos in the performance of his
office and developed an abiding respect for that entity. In
fact, it was really the example of Thanatos that had moved
him to accept this perhaps-similar office of Chronos;

Thanatos had shown that human concern and caring did
not disappear, even in so awful a chore as taking the life
of a baby. Death had stopped being a specter to Norton
with that encounter.

Atropos whirled—and became Lachesis again, in her




98             

dowdy, middle-aged outfit, her suit helping mask her
somewhat portly figure. Her hair was now free of the bun,
longer than Atropos', with less curl and more color. "I
am Lachesis," she announced, pronouncing it with a hard
C, accented on the first syllable—LAK-e-sis. "I measure
the length of the Threads of Life."

"I thought Chronos was supposed to—"

"Chronos controls time, not life," she corrected him.

Again this distinction was not fully clear to Norton;

again he kept his mouth shut.

Lachesis made a little leap—and landed as a volup-
tuous, bouncy young woman whose hair was long, loose,
and midnight black with stars sparkling in it. Her gown
was low-cut in front and high-cut below, showing breast
and thigh to advantage. She wore an intoxicating perfume.
"And Clotho," she concluded, again accenting the first
syllable. "Who spins the Thread of Human Life." She
stretched a fine thread between her delicate hands.

Norton hoped his eyes hadn't popped too obviously when
this creature appeared. "I thought maybe Nature—"

"Gaea determines the way things are," she said. "Not
the courses of individual lives. But all the Incarnations
interact to some extent." She gave him a sultry smile,
aware of her impact on him. Had Gawain's second wife
looked like this at the time he saw her, what might have
happened?

"Are you really three people?" he asked. "You look
quite different in each—"

"You may have heard it said," she said gravely, "that
a woman is a young man's mistress—" She twirled so
that her skirt flared, showing her thighs to a naughty height.
"—a middle-aged man's companion—" She ceased her
motion, and she was Lachesis again, sedate. "—and an
old man's nurse." She shimmered into Atropos, who now
wore a nurse's uniform and looked formidable. "It seems
I am all three. Which are you?"

Norton was startled again. "Uh—-middle, I suppose.
At the moment."

Lachesis reappeared. "So I suspected. Now I am your
companion, though I have been other to you in the past."

               99

"I—you mean Clotho—in my future?" he asked awk-
wardly.

"Yes indeedy! You have not yet experienced what I
remember." She grinned. "Naughty boy!"

Norton blushed to think of what he might be fated to
do with Clotho that Lachesis already remembered so inti-
mately. "I haven't yet gotten the hang of living backward,"
he confessed. "It seems quite awkward, especially when
people, normal people, apparently don't see me at all."

"You can change that at will," she assured him. "The
Hourglass is your emblem and your tool, and an excellent
one it is."

"By willing the sand green?"

"That's it. That phases you in to the normal course.
Didn't I tell you about that—or am I about to? You do
that when you want to talk to a normal person or an
Incarnation."

"So I can move to the beginning of my original life,
almost forty years ago, turn the sand green, and live a
normal term as an Incarnation?"

She smiled tolerantly. "Hardly, Chronos, for several
reasons. First, that would fatigue the magic, and you'd
lose cohesion in a few days; green mode is a short-term
thing for you, as I understand it. Second, you have a job
to do, and you can do it effectively only by living your
normal course. Third, you aren't going to do that, even
if you could; I ought to know." For an instant, sultry
Clotho glanced at him from beneath lowered lashes.

Norton found that unnerving. If Clotho was also the
old Atropos, which one of Fate's three minds was ana-
lyzing him as he performed what he supposed was pri-
vate? All three of them had those disturbing eyes. A man
who played games of any kind with one of these women
was apt to become the object rather than the subject.

"No, you can't remember, can you!" she teased him.
"Oh, I am enjoying this! After what you did to me in the
halcyon bloom of my innocence—oh, yes!"

"My job," he said doggedly. "You said you'd tell me
what I am supposed to do and how to do it."




100        Beamy An HowyUm

She sighed with mock resignation. "Yes, you always
were somewhat single-minded about that, and on the whole
I believe you have done a decent job. Very well, I will
start you off. You work most closely with me anyway."
She paused as if organizing her thoughts. "It is the busi-
ness of Chronos to establish the chronology of every event
in the human section of the universe. Effect must always
follow cause, age must follow youth, action must usually
follow thought. Evidently your backward existence facil-
itates such timings. Without Time, all would be without
form and void."

"But I thought that was automatic!" Norton protested.
"A function of the universe, the way things are!"

"Now you know better, Chronos. Nothing in the uni-
verse is happenstance; everything is determined by the
sum of the fundamental forces. Your art is to fit it all
together so neatly that it seems automatic. Timing is crit-
ical, and Chronos is responsible."

"But I'm only one person! I can't possibly keep track
of every event in—in the human section of the universe!"

"You have a competent staff, of course. Your office
personnel here in Purgatory handles the routine. Natu-
rally, you don't do it all personally. This is the twenty-
first century, after all! You make the major decisions, and
your staff implements them immediately. A significant
number of people remain in the annex here at the mansion,
matching your time flow, so as to provide continuity. I'm
sure your predecessor left you highly skilled and dedi-
cated personnel, knowing the office would pretty much
have to run itself while you got broken in. But you do
have the authority now; if you choose to do something
foolish like reversing the course of time for the whole
world, your staff will dutifully arrange to put effect before
cause and keep the rest consistent."

"I can do that? Reverse time for everyone?"

She nodded. "This is no minor office you hold, Chronos,
as I have hinted. Your power is unique. But don't let that

go to your head."

"I hope not!" He shook his head, trying to clear it, as

              101

if some of that power had already messed it up. "What,
specifically, should I be doing now?"

"First, perhaps you should put away your Hourglass
when you're not actively using it. That will free your
hands."

"Yes. But I don't want the thing trailing me in space,
either."

"I suppose it would do that, if you let it. The Hourglass
is the symbol and essence of your office; it can never
leave your presence. Not until you pass it along to the
next or prior Chronos. But meanwhile, all you have to
do is squeeze it down to size and put it in your pocket."

"I can do that?"

"Try it."

He tried it. He put his hands on the top and bottom of
the Hourglass and squeezed; it compressed smoothly,
becoming a smaller replica of itself, then collapsed into
a mere disk. "It's not broken?"

"It is eternal. Impossible to break."

"But how can the sand—"

"As I understand it, the Hourglass has not actually
changed its form, merely its presentation. Just as folding
a paper does not change its real dimensions or the nature
of the writing on it, the Hourglass retains all its properties.
To it, your world has squeezed down to two dimensions.
All is relative."

Norton shrugged, not trying to grasp that, and put the
disk in his pocket. "Will it still work in that shape? I mean,
if I will the sand to change color—?"

"It should. Your contact with it can never be severed,
as I said, so it should respond to your directive."

"Anything else I should do?"

"I do have a few glitches to correct. I spin my threads
carefully, but nothing in this cosmos is perfect, and some-
times they unravel. If you are ready to assume the har-
ness, we can tackle them now."

"Just tell me what to do."

She conjured a tiny notebook from the air and riffled
through the pages. "This one will do. Two threads got

102          Bearing An HouiyUm

crossed, so that each person will experience the fate of
the other. Since one is scheduled to suffer a grievous
accident soon, that is an error of consequence." She closed
the notebook and it vanished. Then she put her two hands
together, fingers extended and splayed, and drew them
apart. Several scintillating threads stretched between them.
"Take me back to where they cross," she said.

"Wait! You said one person must suffer a grievous acci-
dent! Why allow that to happen? Why not make both
threads smooth, both lives pleasant?"

She shook her head. "That is not the way the cosmos
operates, Norton. We do not live in a simple or peaceful
universe. The eddy currents of violence swirl constantly,
and consequence follows consequence. If I attempted to
simplify this particular life—which I could indeed accom-
plish—it would only lead to a greater mischief for other
lives. God and Satan are at war—have been since time
began—and the fallout from their strife is with us always-
It is not for me to dictate on whom that fallout shall fall;

it is only for me to mesh it properly. I am the servant,
not the master—and so are you. We both must do what
we must do, implementing the rules that exist."

Norton did not agree with that at all, but realized that
he lacked a basis from which to argue. So he dropped it
for the time being.

He peered at the threads she held between her spread
fingers. Most went from finger to finger, but two were
crossed. "How—?"

"This is analogy, of course," she said. "Or a convenient
facsimile thereof. If I had the real crossing in my hands,
I could unsnarl it here. You must take me to the actual
space-time site."

"Yes, but—"

"Oh, I keep forgetting! You've never done this before.
Very well—I will talk you through it, step by step. First
orient your Glass."

"This?" Norton brought out the Hourglass and drew
it back into shape. It remained functioning perfectly; the
sand was still falling, and more of it had accumulated in
the nether chamber.

              103

"Yes, that. Expand its ambience to include me. You
can tell by the brightness."

Confused, Norton willed the Hourglass: Expand ambi-
ence.

The glow intensified. Lachesis brightened, literally; she
glowed like the Glass. "That's enough, Chronos. Ease off
a little; you don't want to take your entire mansion with
you."

He diminished his thought and the glow faded slightly.

"That's good. Hold it there. Now turn the sand blue—
but only slightly, only briefly. We're going back just a little
way."

He concentrated, and the sand shifted color, turning
faintly blue.

"Now travel along the threads till we come to the cross-
ing."

"How—?"

"Oops! Too far. Back up a bit."

He turned the sand ever so faintly pink. Suddenly he
saw the threads between her fingers expand, perhaps in
his mind's eye, until they were veritable cables. The Hour-
glass seemed to have become a cablecar, cruising along
the cables, carrying Norton and Lachesis with it. In the
distance Norton could see other cables, extending from
horizon to horizon. Then another cable closed with the
first, and the two touched.

He concentrated, fading the pink almost to white, and
the Hourglass coasted to a halt just at the crossing.

"Excellent," Lachesis said. "You're developing the
touch already! Soon you'll be the expert I remember."
She stepped forward, put her two hands on the cables,
and lifted them apart. Norton was amazed by two things:

first, her ability to separate such monstrous and solid
cables so readily; and second, the fact that he knew these
cables were mere threads stretched between her fingers.
How could she do any of this?

"That's it," she said, returning. "You may revert us to
normal now."

" Norton relaxed—and abruptly the cables were gone

104          Beamy An Hourglass

and the two of them were back in the mansion in Pur-
gatory. "That was it?" he asked dazedly.

"Yes. You did very well." She glanced at him apprais-
ingly. "But I think this is enough for you now. Relax,
explore your mansion, get acquainted with your house-
hold staff. I will return tomorrow, your time, so that we
can wrap up the other snarls; none of them are as critical

as this one was."

His tomorrow—her yesterday! "But I don't—"
"You'll find out." She changed form again, becoming
a large spider. The spider shrank to normal spider size,
ascended a thread, and disappeared. He realized that this
was the type of thread he had taken to be a string when
she brought him here from the empty lot. She traveled
by threads.

Norton was alone again. He still had only the faintest
notion of what he was supposed to do.




-6-

SATAN

As it turned out, he had no trouble. The household staff
was well trained and polite and ready for the changeover.
Indeed, they acted as if they had been working for Norton
himself for a long time. Lachesis had said time flowed
backward here, which meant these people should be from
the world's future, but now he wasn't so sure.

As soon as Norton stirred, the head butler made an
appearance, ready to handle any emergency discreetly.
Norton was treated to an excellent meal served by a pretty
maid and shown the complete premises. Much more
quickly than he expected, he felt at home. It was some-
what like staying at a good hotel, and somewhat like living
at Gawain's estate.

Gawain's estate—where Orlene had been with him.
Suddenly this was less enjoyable.

He learned that all these personnel were souls in Pur-
gatory, here because they had been in perfect balance
when they died. It was not a bad afterlife for them and
not a good one. By definition, it was in between. Even-
tually, if they served well, they would graduate to
Heaven—but it took much longer to accomplish this in
Purgatory than it would have in life. Life was intense and

106         Beamy An Homylass

leveraged, he remembered; the Afterlife was diffuse and
relatively calm. At least this was the case in Purgatory;

Norton could glean no information on what went on in
Heaven or Hell. All he knew was that every soul wanted
to go to the former, and no soul to the latter.

He was relaxing in the afternoon—day and night
seemed to follow the normal course here, though he sus-
pected this was artificially arranged—watching the holo
unit—which was filled with news about the changeover
in the office of Chronos—when he had a visitor.

"Who?" he asked the butler, not believing the
announcement.

"Satan, sir," the man repeated calmly.

"I have no business with the Devil!"

"Shall I inform him you are indisposed, sir?"

But already curiosity was mixing with awe and horror.
"I—can he do anything to me here?"

"No, sir. One Incarnation can not interfere with another
without the other's consent, here or anywhere. Incarna-
tions are inviolate, especially when in uniform."

"Uniform?"

"Your cloak, sir. It is a barrier of time, acting auto-
matically against any physical threat."

Norton sighed. "Then I suppose I'd better find out
what he wants. Show him in." One day ago he would have
scoffed at the notion of meeting the Incarnation of Evil!

Satan was ushered in. "The Prince of Evil, Father of
Lies, my Lord Satan," the butler announced formally
without a trace of disrespect. These were the Devil's legit-
imate titles.

Norton had been braced for a demon creature with
horns and a forked tail. He was disappointed. Satan was
a perfectly ordinary-looking middle-aged man in a con-
servative, dark red business suit. His hair was reddish-
brown, neatly trimmed and combed. He was clean-shaven.
There was no trace of fire in his complexion. His gaze
was bland, and he had a faint atmosphere of some mas-
culine fragrance.

Satan stepped briskly forward and extended his hand.

              107

Norton saw no convenient way to avoid it, so he shook
hands. Satan's fingers were firm and warm, but by no
means hot. There was nothing to indicate any infernal
association.

"Uh, to what do I owe the, uh, honor of this visit?"

"Oh, this is merely a social call," Satan said with a
winning smile. His teeth were white and even. "You are
new to this office, so I thought I'd be neighborly and offer
any assistance you may require."

Norton frowned as they sat down. "I am new here,
true. Perhaps I misunderstand. I thought you would not
be interested in—in helping anyone else."

Satan laughed. The sound was wholesome and warm.
"My dear Chronos—I am an Incarnation, like yourself!
Each of us has his duty, and it behooves us to cooperate
with one another. We have a common interest in order."

"I thought—I do not mean to be offensive—that you
opposed order." Norton remembered the nefarious rep-
utation of the Prince of Evil, the origin of all mischief.

Satan made a gesture of bafflement. "Me? Oppose
order? By no means! I support order; in fact, I would
prefer to have more of it." He smiled again, magnetically.
"Perhaps I differ slightly with God as to which one of Us
should govern; but apart from that detail. Our designs are
similar."

Against his will and better judgment, Norton found
himself warming to this affable entity. "Well, in fairness
I have to say that I do not side with you."

"And why should you, Chronos? No one in his right
mind wants to go to Hell! I would go to Heaven Myself,
were it feasible."

Norton had to smile. Satan's humor was infectious.
"You don't like Hell? Why do you stay there, then?"

"Because I have a job to do, sir! Who else would assume
My office, if I were to desert My post?"

Who, indeed! "Is it a necessary office? Why not just
let Good predominate?"

Satan shook his head sadly. "Alas, the human condition
does not permit. There is both good and evil in every




108           

person, and so there have to be final repositories for those
aspects in the Afterlife. Without good and evil, free will
would be meaningless and life would be pointless. Each
person must choose his fate by how he lives, thereby
defining his fundamental nature. Naturally the average
person hates and fears the consequence of the evil in
himself. If he did not, he would never make progress into
good. But the flesh is fallible, and each person is also
sorely tempted by the immediate benefits of the exercise
of evil. Only in the course of life can his true direction
be determined. Every person professes to love good and
hate evil, but in his actions his real preference emerges.
It is a most interesting study." He shrugged. "But I did
not come here to bore you with shop talk, Chronos. How
may I help you?"

"I'm not sure there is any need," Norton said, impressed
by Satan's discussion without trusting his motive. "Lach-
esis has been helping me."

"Of course she would," Satan agreed readily. "She is
absolutely dependent on your service. I am sure she will
make you most welcome, in one aspect or another." He
made a small gesture with his two hands that might have
suggested the Hourglass, but surely did not.

Norton remained uncomfortable with his visitor. He
was sure Satan had an ulterior motive. But there was no
point in antagonizing so powerful an entity. So he con-
tinued to make conversation, wishing Satan would either
get to the point or leave.

"We must all do the best we can in our offices," Satan
continued blithely. His capitals and noncapitals could
actually be heard; he did not use them for Incarnations
as a class, even when he was included in their number.
"We are all, in fact, artists, shaping our duties into mon-
uments of accomplishment. I am always pleased when I
am successful in extirpating the evil from a soul that would
otherwise have been lost. That is, of course, what we do
in Hell; we travel the avenues of last resort in dealing
with the intransigent cases."

"Uh, no doubt," Norton agreed uncomfortably. He was

              109

aware that Satan was proselytizing; what bothered him
was the fact that the arguments seemed to make sense.

"I understand you lost a loved one," Satan said sym-
pathetically.

"She's in Heaven now," Norton said. He didn't want
to discuss Orlene with Satan, either. He felt that Satan's
attention would somehow sully her memory.

"I trust you are aware you do not have to be alone,"
Satan remarked. "Here in Purgatory there are many souls,
male and female, and all are eager to improve their balance
by serving the Incarnations. Allow Me to demonstrate the
possibilities."

"No need," Norton said quickly.

"No problem, sir. Just let Me summon your downstairs
maid—" Satan snapped his fingers, and suddenly the maid
was there, dustcloth in hand, her hair bound in a kerchief.
She looked startled. "No, no, that outfit will never do,"
Satan said in the manner of a kindly uncle. Abruptly her
clothing changed, and she was garbed in a fetching eve-
ning gown. She was considerably more shapely than Nor-
ton had realized. "Oh, yes, the hair," Satan said, and the
kerchief was replaced by a tiara studded with flashing
diamonds. "Maid, would you like to serve your master
in a more personal capacity?"

The girl looked down at her lovely outfit and touched
her shining hair. "Anything my master wishes," she agreed.

"Look, I have no desire for—" Norton protested,
though he was privately intrigued by this exploration.

"Oh, my, I nearly forgot," Satan said. "Of course you
don't want the aspect of a stranger, for you are not a
promiscuous man these days." And the maid changed
form and became the precise likeness of Orlene in her
most vibrant health.

Startled, Norton stared. Orlene had never looked bet-
ter!

"We can tailor her personality, too," Satan said. "I like
My art to be thorough. She can be, in every material and
social respect, the object of your interest."

"But—but she's not the one I know!"

no

Bearing An Houiylfiss

Satan squinted at him. "In what manner have you known
her, other than appearance and personality?"

"I—I just know this one is different!"

"Does it matter? She will serve you equally well. Per-
haps better, for she has Eternity to gain by a successful
performance."

Disconcerted by the perfect likeness and the plausi-
bility of Satan's argument, Norton could only stammer:

"But she isn't—the one I—it's just not the same!"

"Isn't it?" Satan frowned benignly. "It has been said
that man does, woman is. Yours is the performance that
matters; she needs only to be its object. Try her, Chronos;

I'm sure you will be pleased."

"Try her?"

"I am sure you would not wish Me to assault your ears
or hers with the vernacular description, especially since
the same interaction can be described more precisely in
polite language. I am, as I mentioned, at heart an artist;

I appreciate the qualities of language. I have little sym-
pathy with prudishness per se, but much with beauty. She
can assume another form if you prefer. There is no decep-
tion here, only an effort to alleviate discomfort."

"Any form she assumed—I assume would represent
damnation for me," Norton said uneasily.

Again Satan flashed his winning smile. "I see you remain
cautious. I assure you that damnation is not so readily
come by, my dear associate. You will neither rise to Heaven
nor sink to Hell until your term in office is done. As an
Incarnation, you are largely immune to changes in your
status, and what you do or do not do with any willing
woman is irrelevant."

"But with a soul in Purgatory, a mere spirit—?"

"All are tangible to one another and to Incarnations
here. This is not Earth, where spirits can not freely go."

Norton shook hs head. "This is not the type of pleasure
I care for."

"Ah, you will get over that soon enough. Ultimately,
every living person is dedicated to his own pleasure."

"You're right," Norton said. "I do remain suspicious

              111

of your motive. You are seeking to corrupt me, and I'm
not sure I can afford to believe anything you say."

"Well, I am rightly called the Father of Lies," Satan
said equably. "I do take a certain modest pride in the
quality of My artifices, and many mortals find them suf-
ficient."

The scoundrel was proud of it! Norton was disgusted.
"Well, if that concludes your business here—"

"Almost," Satan said, not rising. He made a trifling
gesture, and the maid resumed her own form and scurried
from the room.

"So it wasn't just a social visit?"

"There is one minor favor—"

"Why should I do you any favor?"

"Well, it is a very small one, and I am prepared to pay
rather well."

Payment for a favor! He had been through that with
Gawain! "What can you offer another Incarnation, aside
from temptation to mischief?"

Satan studied him, and now his eyes had the same
disturbing intensity Norton had noted in the eyes of Fate.
"I understand you like to travel, Chronos."

"Yes. I suppose that was the main reason I took this
office, so I could travel in time. Once I learn to do it
precisely, I'll—" He broke off, not wanting to say too
much to the Prince of Evil.

"To see your woman again in life," Satan finished
smoothly.

So he couldn't hide this from Satan! Did that mean it
was an evil notion? Chilling thought! "What is this favor?"

"Merely to conduct one of My minions on a brief tour."

"Why can't he travel himself? I hardly know my way
around Purgatory yet."

"A tour in time. Only you can arrange that."

That was right—he was now the Master of Time. He
did not want to do any business with Satan, but he was
curious. "To where in time?"

"Just a few years, for a few minutes. He won't do any
harm; he'll just talk with a man."

222           Bearing An, Hourglass

"Just talk? To threaten him?"

Satan shook his head. "My dear Chronos, I do not
threaten people! That is counterproductive. This is actu-
ally, though I blush to confess it, a good deed."

"A good deed—by the Prince of Evil? How can you
expect me to believe that?"

"You can verify it for yourself. There is no secret here;

all is open. This man stands to lose the chance of his
lifetime. My minion will merely put him on the right track."

The chance of a lifetime—that was what Gawain had
told Norton himself, when broaching the matter of the
office of Time. But what chance would Satan offer any-
one? "Why should you do a good turn for any mortal?"

"As I mentioned, sir, I. do believe in order. My office
can not function without order. This mortal man's good
fortune will contribute to a lifetime of order in that aspect
of reality."

Norton shook his head. "You will have to do better
than that, Satan! You must have a dozen other ways to
promote order on Earth, without traveling in time to help
any one person. Why do a favor for a mortal?"

"Well, Chronos, you are in a position to verify it directly.
I will give you the coordinates so you can go there alone
and see that this man will suffer no ill, only good, as a
result of My minion's intercession. Only when you are
completely satisfied on that score need you actually con-
duct My minion there. That is fair enough, isn't it?"

Grudgingly, Norton nodded. "But I don't know how
to travel precisely in time yet. I mean, to a particular
point in human events. Lachesis took me on one trip, but
we had her threads for guidance."

"I will be glad to assist you in this," Satan said. "I
have only the friendliest possible intent. You have merely
to select on the calendar the specific date and hour and
to will your Hourglass blue, with a preset stop at that
spot. That is a fine supernatural instrument; it will obey
you implicitly. Once there in time, you must negotiate the
geographical distance."

"By walking? That will limit my effectiveness."

              113

"Chronos, you are the Incarnation of Time. That means
you have a certain practical control of space, too, for time
and space are linked. You can travel anywhere on Earth
you wish and to the colonized planets, too."

Norton shook his head. "I don't see how, unless you
mean by using conventional transport facilities."

"I am here to show you how. Simply take the Hour-
glass—"

"No. I don't want to travel with you."

Satan took no offense. "No need, My dear associate.
I will explain the technique to you so you can practice
yourself. First I must clarify the underlying theory."

"That would be appreciated," Norton said grudgingly.
He wanted to be away from Satan, but he did need this
information.

"Motion, like evil, is everywhere," Satan said in a
somewhat didactic manner. "The Earth spins about her
axis with a surface velocity of close to a thousand miles
an hour at the equator, which translates to about sixteen
miles per minute or a quarter mile per second. That might
seem to be a fairly formidable velocity."

"Faster than I can run," Norton agreed. "I am aware
that this rotation causes day and night. But what—"

"Yet it is dwarfed by other aspects of motion. The
Earth also revolves around the sun at a velocity of approx-
imately eighteen and a half miles per second."

"Causing the seasons and the year," Norton said. "But
how does this relate—?"

"But our sun, too, is moving, for our Milky Way Galaxy
is rotating, and so the sun is carried around that galactic
axis at the rate of about a hundred and fifty miles per
second. Just as Earth's motion about the sun is about
seventy-five times as rapid as the motion of a spot on
Earth's surface about Earth's own axis, the velocity of
galactic rotation is about eight times as great as that. Yet
even this is relatively insignificant. The known universe
is expanding, so all matter is in motion with respect to
Galactic Rest. In that sense, we are traveling at approx-
imately half the speed of light, or ninety thousand miles
per second. Impressive, isn't it?"




114            

"Yes," Norton agreed. "But I still fail to see the rele-
vance to my situation."

"Peace, comrade; I am coming to that. The point is
that, though you and I appear to be at rest at the moment,
we are in fact subject to numerous and potent vectors of
motion. It is a complex scheme we exist in! And since
motion is a function of time as well as of space—"

"Hey!" Norton interrupted. "If I move in time without
moving in space, I'll drift right off the face of the Earth!
If I travel into the past a single hour, the Earth, as part
of the moving galaxy in the expanding universe, will have
moved ninety thousand miles every second, or—"

"Half a light-hour, or three hundred and twenty-four
million miles, or the distance from Earth to Jupiter," Satan
finished heartily. "Yes, indeed, Chronos, you would be
lost in a moment, literally."

"But since I live backward, I should be totally out of
phase! Because I'm going back to a time when Earth was
far elsewhere from where it is now, but I'm the only one
going back there, not the Earth itself! And when I jump
to another time—"

"Relax, Chronos," Satan said. "Your very existence is
safeguarded by the formidable magic of the Hourglass. It
counters all the motions of the universe and maintains
you in exactly the same location with respect to Earth's
surface, regardless of how you use it. Without that pro-
tection, it is true, you would perish the instant you trav-
eled in time, for you would in effect be flung deep into
the core of the planet or out into the vacuum of space.
That Hourglass remains with you and protects you from
all mischief, its ambience forming your cloak." He smiled
engagingly. "It even protects you from My mischief."

"Can that be true?" Norton asked, dazed.

"Naturally anything I tell you is suspect. But I seldom
concern Myself with trivial or obvious lies; they are nei-
ther artistic nor productive, and so are not worth My
effort. Ask your serpent ring. That is not one of My
demons."

So Satan knew about Sning! "Does the Hourglass really
protect me from evil?" Norton asked the little snake.

              115

Squeeze.

He liked the Hourglass better! "And it can help move
me in space as well as in time?"

Squeeze.

"Indubitably, Chronos," Satan said smoothly. "All you
have to do is use it to void certain aspects of the motion-
alignment-spell. Then you will move—or rather, fail to
move, while the universe moves past you. With a little
practice, you will be able to travel anywhere on Earth at
the rate of many miles per second. But do try it cautiously;

the Hourglass can protect you from any exterior malaise,
but only to a limited extent from your own folly."

"Folly?"

"When you void part of its magic, you reduce its power
to protect you. You could indeed get lost."

Excellent warning! Norton had already experienced
one careless jaunt into the distant past. Couple that with
a voiding of its protection—could he have gotten himself
eaten by a dinosaur? No, for he had never been solid,
outside his allotted term of office. But inside his term,
there might have been more trouble. Yes, he would have
to be very careful, and Satan's warning was extremely
well taken. Still, he did need to learn how to use the
powers of the Hourglass. "How do I nullify any of it?"

"Simply set the sand on yellow, then nudge it toward
blue or red—red is best—so you're differing from normal
time only slightly. Actually, I believe you can do it on
your own backward time, but it is better to orient on
Earth-normal when you're learning, so as to minimize the
effect. That way you are dealing only with Earth's present
motions, rather than with the added complication of Earth's
past or future motions."

"Uh, yes," Norton agreed, laboring to grasp this. If
Earth was presently flinging outward from the universal
center at half the speed of light, and he voided the pro-
tective spell while moving forward in time, he could mul-
tiply the effect and jump in space at several times the
speed of light. He did not want to risk that! "Why yellow?"

"That is the nullification mode. You wouldn't want it

r

116          Beamy An HoungUiss

to happen while you were in another mode; you might
travel in space by accident, disastrously. So you must
make a very conscious effort, which is another protection
for you. But you can get the other modes once you are
in yellow."

"Uh, yes. But what do I actually do, to—?"

"Motion begets motion. You tilt the Hourglass toward
the force you wish to negate. The greater the tilt, the
greater the negation; right angles is full negation. But it's
on a logarithmic scale, so the first part of the tilt provides
comparatively little effect. Another protection against
carelessness."

Norton was coming to appreciate the qualities of the
Hourglass even more. This thing had powers he had never
dreamed of! He concentrated, willing the sand to turn
yellow. In a moment it did. Then he tilted the Hourglass
slightly away from him. Nothing happened.

"You have to put it in gear, as it were," Satan said.
"Yellow is neutral, maintaining what you had before, which
was white. Here in your mansion all visitors share your
mode, and the Hourglass assumes you are merely dem-
onstrating sand colors. But when you go to yellow, then
to an additional color, and then tilt, it knows you mean
business."

Norton concentrated, nudging the sand into a red tint.
Then he paused. "Why is red best? Why not green, to
match universal time precisely?"

"Why, I hadn't thought of that," Satan said. "I suppose
there could be a disadvantage to moving in space while
phased in to the solid world."

A disadvantage—such as smashing through a building
while in the solid state! Norton knew he never wanted to
travel on green. Meanwhile, sticking to his normal time
seemed to make sense when he was learning. Satan was
really being quite helpful. Maybe he was not as bad a sort
as he had been painted.

Norton tilted the Hourglass about five degrees.

He shot forward like a cannonball. Quickly he reversed
the tilt—and shot backward even faster. He righted the

              117

Hourglass and found himself falling through the air, from
a great height above the planet.

Evidently he had tilted too much. He had shot away
from the surface of the Earth at a tangent, forward and
then backward, leaving the ground behind. Ground? Since
he had started from Purgatory—but he really didn't know
where Purgatory was. Maybe it was near ground level,
but part of another aspect of reality. Anyway, he had
jumped right out of it. But why so much faster backward
than forward, when he had tilted the Hourglass the same
amount?

Because he was tapping into different forces. The ones
Satan had described were surely not the only ones—and,
of course, since a number of them were not straight-line
forces, such as Earth's revolution around the sun, they
would be constantly changing his orientation to the major
motion, that of the universal expansion. So tilting the
Hourglass in a given direction would produce a different
degree of motion each time. He would always have to be
careful! Even with a logarithmic scale, he could find him-
self traveling too many miles per second.

But now he had the Hourglass upright—and was
plunging toward the ground increasingly rapidly. What
was wrong?

Then he cursed himself for a fool. Gravity was wrong!
He had popped into the sky and righted the Hourglass,
so it was no longer moving him—but gravity was another
matter. What would happen when he landed?

Well, he wasn't quite phased in to reality, so probably
he would pass right through the ground without impact.
That would leave him buried in rock, unable to see where
, he was going. As Satan had said, the Hourglass could not
protect him from his own folly. He had to get moving—
under control—before he lost control entirely.

He tried to return to the mansion. He tilted the Hour-
glass slightly forward—and moved at a lesser velocity
past the surface of the planet. But he did not seem to be
getting closer to home, wherever that was. Actually, he
would settle for a soft landing anywhere on the surface,
where he could pause and take stock.




118            

He took a moment to ponder, despite his inclination
to react wildly. He could avoid plopping into the surface
at the speed given by gravity simply by jolting himself a
few million miles from the planet—but that didn't seem
wise. What should he breathe? Also, he wasn't sure he
could get into deep space, because magic was a planetary
phenomenon.

He had set the sand on yellow, then tinted it pink.
That should mean he was traveling forward in time, but
not as fast as the normal Earthflow. He might be advanc-
ing at half the normal rate—did that make sense?—so
each second of his matched only half a second of the
world. Thus if he nullified the part of the spell that
moved him along with the turning Earth, he might pro-
ceed, not at the thousand-or-so-mile-per-hour rate of
rotation, but at half that, five hundred. Still a lot of
velocity.

But he had not tilted the Hourglass all the way, so
should have tapped into only a small fraction of that
motion, no more than forty or fifty miles per hour. That
was not the case; he had actually moved at more like
five thousand miles per hour. The Earth's rotation couldn't
account for that!

So he was using one of the far more powerful forces—
and might have to draw on it again to return. But gravity
had drawn him closer to the ground, so he couldn't
simply reverse his prior course without going through
a segment of the globe. In short, he was probably in
trouble regardless of what he tried, unless he froze time
completely. But that wouldn't get him home either.

"Sning!" he cried. "Can you help me?"

Squeeze.

"Can you tell me how to return safely?"

Squeeze.

What a relief! He was now within a mile or so of
the ground and still plummeting. "Let's play hot and
cold! Squeeze when I start to do the right thing!"

He focused on the Hourglass and considered tilting
it marginally toward. Sning squeezed. So he did tilt it,

              119

very slightly—and started to move forward. He increased
the tilt, encouraged by Sning, until he was traveling
downward at a forty-five-degree angle, his forward motion
equal to his descending motion. This was an improve-
ment, but not enough to prevent him from passing through
the ground in short order.

Should he tilt the Hourglass back the other way?

Squeeze, squeeze. Sning was telling him no.

What, then?

Squeeze.

"What do you mean, 'yes'?!" Norton demanded. "I
don't know what to do!"

Squeeze, squeeze.

Approaching disaster, or at least discomfort, sharp-
ened his thinking. "You mean I know what to do, if only
I think of it?"

Squeeze.

"But what I need is to stop falling, and I don't have
any control for that!"

Squeeze, squeeze.

"I do have a control? But I can't tilt the Hourglass
up, unless I just lift it—"

Squeeze.

He was almost at the ground, sliding into a small
cultured lake where tourists were fishing from magic
carpets. He jerked the Hourglass up—shot up as if
launched from a catapult. He wondered whether the
tourists were staring, then realized they couldn't see
him; he was not phased in to their time scale.

Hastily he corrected and, after yo-yoing a few times,
got himself stabilized about a mile up.

So it was movement of the Hourglass, rather than
tilt, that did it—when it was in the yellow mode and in
gear. Satan had misled him. No—probably Satan hadn't
known. He had seen the prior Chronos—now who would
that be? Himself, hence?—tilt and move off, so thought
that was the only way it was done. There might be a
lot that the Prince of Evil did not know about the office
and accoutrements of Chronos, and it was best that Satan




120          Beamy An Hourglass

remain ignorant. All Satan's helpfulness might have been
an effort to get to understand the workings of the Hour-
glass better, for no legitimate purpose.

With his broadened control and Sning's guidance,
Norton finally made it back to the place and moment
he had started from. Satan remained sitting; to him only
a minute or so had passed. Let him never know how
precarious a ride Norton had taken!

"So now you know how to do it," Satan said with a
friendly smile. "No trouble at all, was it? Now you can
take My minion to his interview."

"I'm not sure—"

"Oh, yes, of course! Silly of Me to forget! You want
to see the nature of My coin. I said I was prepared to
pay well and indeed I shall."

"No, I—"

"That's all right, Chronos. I will show it to you. It
is an excursion to the aspect of the continuum you can't
reach conveniently alone—distant space."

"Space?" Satan had him off balance again, perhaps
intentionally. What was he up to now?

"You control time, Chronos; that seems to overlap
into space, but that is not strictly the case. You travel
by standing still and permitting the world to pass by you
in selected fashion. I can control space, for evil is every-
where. You can range to the ends of Eternity; I can
range to the ends of the contemporary universe. This is
what I offer you—travel in the universe, such as you
have never known and can not know on your own. Let
Me show you—a sample of what I offer in exchange
for the token favor I ask. I am sure you will agree it is
a bargain."

A bargain? Travel far beyond Earth was impossible,
since magic was associated only with solid matter, like
gravity, but did not have the infinite range of gravity.
Five thousand miles or so above Earth, there was no
magic—not until a person stepped onto some other planet
and drew on its magic. Satan himself would have to use
a matter transmitter to visit Mars or Venus.

Therefore this had to be an empty promise, a bluff.

Norton decided to call Satan's bluff. "Yes, show me."




-7-

BEM

Satan gestured—and suddenly Norton was zooming out
through space at an accelerating rate that left the planet
Earth far behind in a moment, and then the sun itself. He
was in deep space, light-hours from his home planet, head-
ing toward the center of the Milky Way Galaxy, watching
the stars streak by. He had no discomfort; he seemed to
be magically protected, so that he felt pleasantly warm
and could breathe; evidently the cloak was protecting
him.

He had called Satan's bluff—and it hadn't been a bluff!
How was that possible? Had he misunderstood the limi-
tations of magic? It certainly seemed so!

There were moments of darkness as he passed through
bands of galactic dust. Then he was in a channel of starless
space, sliding along a glowing spiral arm of the galaxy,
the individual stars shining along its curving length like
jewels. He looked up and saw a globular cluster of stars
passing overhead, a bright ball orbiting the center of the
galaxy at right angles to the plane of the great disk of it.
Then he curved up toward that cluster, departing the ga-
lactic plane, spiraling in. The tiny cluster swelled enor-
mously, becoming a miniature galaxy-ball itself, with

111




222           Beamy/An Hourglass             '

something like a hundred thousand closely packed stars.
What a spectacle!

As he came toward it, he decelerated. He entered it—
but now it was evident how large it was—many light-
years across, the stars thinning out at the edge, so that
there really was a good deal of space between them. He
coasted on in toward the center, where day was eternal
and stars virtually rubbed elbows. He came at last to a
magnificent space station shaped like a giant spoked wheel,
with tiny spaceships docked around the rim. But as he
slowed and came closer, he discovered that these ships
were not small, but large; the scale of the station dwarfed
them. They were of many types, some being as sleek as
needles, others resembling Earthly battleships floating in
space, complete with layered armor and projecting can-
non, and still others resembling collections of saucers.

It was to one of the needles Norton finally came. He
phased through the hull in ghostly fashion and landed on
a deck in what he took to be the control region. Windows
or screens opened out to provide a panoramic view of the
wheel station, the docked ships, and the myriad stars
shining beyond.

A spaceman got up from the pilot's seat. He was tall,
lanky, blond, and handsome in a rugged prairie way; his
legs bowed out slightly and he wore a blaster at his hip,
bolstered for a rapid draw. He eyed Norton appraisingly,
a stalk of timothy grass projecting from the comer of his
mouth. "So you're my co-pilot," he drawled, his lips thin-
ning. "You shore don't look like much, stranger! Any
good with a blaster?"

"No," Norton confessed. What had Satan gotten him
into?

"Ever blast any buggers?"

"What?"

"Bems."

"Bems?"

"You know—the Bug-Eyed-Monsters who're trying to
take over the Glob. The Geniuses hired us to clean the
Bems out of this sector of space. I lost my co on my last

              123

mission, but they said they'd send a replacement." He
grinned boyishly and chewed on his timothy. "I was sorta
hoping for a Femme."

"Femme?"

"Pardner, where you been? You don't know what a
Pemme is? A human woman, or reasonable facsimile
thereof, maybe twenty years old, shaped like that sand
dingus you're holding, hot-blooded and not too smart."

"Oh. There must be a mistake. Not only am I not a—
a young female—I also know next to nothing about space-
ships or monsters or Geniuses."

"A mistake for shore!" the spaceman agreed. He
hawked disgustedly, looked about, found no spittoon, and
finally swallowed it. "We'll get this here nonsense cleared
pronto!" He strode to a communications console and
punched buttons with his dirty thumb.

A head appeared on the screen. The face was small
and squeezed together, as if shoved aside by the hugely
bulging braincase. The skull was hairless and traversed
by purple veins and seemed almost to pulse with the over-
capacity of gray matter it enclosed. This, surely, was a
Genius—the end product of human evolution, virtually
all mind and no body.

"Yes?" the head whispered. It seemed the vocal cords,
too, had been largely displaced by brainstuff.

"Bat Dursten here, sir," the spaceman drawled. "My
new co-pilot just moseyed in—but he says he don't know
nothing about ships or blasters or Bems, and he shore
don't look like much. Sending him—that musta been a
glitch. I need a replacement pronto—maybe a nice li'l
Femme."

"There is no error, Dursten," the Genius whispered
sibilantly. "Norton is to be your companion for this mis-
sion. He is competent."

"But he's a greenhorn!" the spaceman protested.
, "Never even blasted a Bern!"

"He will suffice," the Genius insisted, the veins in his
forehead turning deeper purple.

"Goi-dang it, sir—" Dursten started rebelliously.

124  

But something strange was happening. The Genius was
staring with his two bloodshot orbs intently at Dursten—
and the spaceman's hair was lifting as if drawn by an
unseen hand. Smoke began to curl from it, and his timothy
wilted.

Dursten felt the heat. "Ow!" he yelled as he slapped
at his hair, spitting out the grass. "Okay, okay, sir; he's
the one! We'll make do somehow."

"I rather thought you would see it my way," the Genius
said, smiling with his little pursed mouth as he faded off-
screen.

"What happened?" Norton asked, amazed at this inter-
change. He could see a dark patch where the man's hair
had frizzed.

"Aw, he used his psi on me," Dursten said, rubbing
out the last of the heat. "They do that when they get
riled."

"Psi?"

"Don't you know nothing? All the Geniuses got psi
power. They can't do nothing with their spindly li'l bodies,
so they do it with their hotshot brains. That one tagged
me with telekinesis and pyro. Just his way o' making his
point. I'm stuck with you."

"He lifted your hair and burned it—by sheer mind
power?"

"That's what I said, Nort."

"But he wasn't even present! He must be somewhere
else on the Wheel."

"Somewhere else in the Glob, you mean. Geniuses
don't never risk their hides in space. Distance don't mat-
ter none to them; if a Genius can see you, he can tag you.
If he'd been really mad at me, he'da stopped my heart."

"If the Geniuses can do that, why do they hire mer-
cenaries?" Norton asked. "They should be able to stop
the hearts of the Bems themselves."

Bat Dursten sighed. "You really are a greenhorn! Okay,
since I'm stuck with you, reckon I'd better fill you in on
the scene so you'll be able to cover my flank. The Geniuses
share the Glob—that's this star cluster here—with the

              125

alien Bems. Things have been quiet for a century or two,
but now the Bems are getting grabby. They rustled several
human planets, raped the women, ate the men, and did
mean things to the kids. They're trying to take over the
whole dang Glob! Naturally the Geniuses don't like that—
but Geniuses won't never leave their plush cells deep in
their planets for nothing. So they've got to hire more
regressive types of human critters like us. They pay pretty
well, and I reckon it's a good cause, so we're for hire.
Me, I sorta like blasting Bems anyway; wouldn't want
none o' them to get fresh with my sister, for shore! But
Bems are immune to the Genius psi, so we got to use old-
fashioned weapons. Which is okay by me; real men don't
use psi. We're massing for a big battle now; we're going
to raid a Bern planet and give them buggers a taste o'
their own snake oil."

Norton was getting the picture, but still had trouble
with an aspect of it. "The Bems—if they're really bug-
eyed monsters, their metabolism must be quite different
from ours."

"That's for shore!" the spaceman agreed readily.
"They're a cross atween bugs and cuttlefish, with huge
eyes all over and tentacles and slime dripping. Real yucky!"

"Then how could they have any sexual interest in human
women? Surely the women would be as repulsive to the
Bems as the Bems are to the women."

Dursten scratched his tousled head. "Now that there's
a puzzle, now I think on it. But it's a fact that Bems always
chase Femmes, 'specially the luscious ones in bikinis. We
got a lot o' pictures o' that, so we know it's so. If it wasn't
for us noble spacers to rescue them dolls, there'd be no
luscious ones left." He paused thoughtfully. "Strangest
thing, though—some gals seem 'most as worried 'bout
us as them."

"There's no accounting for taste," Norton said. "I sup-
pose if you want the girls for similar purposes—"

He was interrupted by a siren wail. Red lights flashed
on the control panel.

"Yow, that there's the campaign alert," Dursten said.




226          Bearing An Homglass

"Get your butt into that there co-pilot's seat, Nort. It'll
just have to be on-the-job training. I shore hope you're a
fast study."

Norton got into the seat. Automatic safety clamps fas-
tened him down. Dursten hit the castoff switch, and the
ship dropped off its anchorage on the Wheel.

"Watch it, now. I'm throwing her into null-gee for
maneuvering," the spaceman warned. The weight left
Norton; only the seat restraints kept him from floating
away.

Then the ship accelerated, and he was thrown back
against the seat. This needleship had plenty of power!

"One other thing I better tell you about the Bems, just
in case," Dursten said as he concentrated on his piloting,
getting his ship into formation. "They're shape-changers."

"What?"

"You heard me, Nort. They can take any form, just
like that. So if you ain't certain, fire first."

"But I don't have a blaster!" Norton said. "Anyway,
if I'm not sure it's a Bern—I mean, I wouldn't want to
shoot one of our own people."

"There is that," Dursten agreed, as if he hadn't thought
of it before. "That's how my last pardner got it. After I
plugged him, I realized he was only green from space-
sickness, but it was too late. Had to deep-space him."

"You killed your partner?" Norton asked, shocked.

The spaceman shrugged. "I thought he was a Bern.
These things happen when you got a quick trigger finger."

Evidently so! "I hope you don't make any similar little
mistakes on this mission," Norton said sincerely.

"Naw, no chance. You and me's the only people on
this ship. So if you see anyone else, he's a Bern."

"How do we know we're not Bems? I mean, for all I
know, you could be one, or for all you know, / could."

Again Dursten paused for a new thought. His hand
twitched near his bolstered blaster, giving Norton a hor-
rible scare. But then the spaceman had another notion.
"Say, the robot can tell. Here, I'll check us out now. Hey,
Clankcase!"

              127

A robot trundled up, its feet evidently held to the deck
by magnetism. "You yelled, sir?" it rasped.

"Yeah, shore," Dursten said. "Check out Nort here.
Is he human or Bern?"

The robot oriented on Norton. Its body was cubistic,
with a television screen where its face should be. A pair
of eyes appeared on the screen, and these inspected Nor-
ton closely, though not quite in focus. A nose appeared,
and this sniffed him, its nostrils flaring. A mouth formed.
"Say 'Ah,'" it said.

"Argh," Norton said, suddenly realizing that if the robot
decided he was a fake, he could not protect himself; he
was bound to the chair.

An ear appeared, sliding to the center of the screen to
listen better, shoving the other features to the side. "How's
that again?" the mouth said from the border.

"A R G H H H H!" Norton repeated clearly.

The eyes slid back to the center, squinting thoughtfully.
"He's human," the mouth said. "Probability of ninety-
eight point three-five percent, plus or minus three per-
cent."

"Plus or minus three percent?" Norton asked, shiv-
ering with relief. "Doesn't that mean ninety-five point
three to one-hundred-one point three percent?"

One eye drifted off the screen while the other bore
unwaveringly on him. "Correct," the robot rasped blithely.

"Well, now check Mr. Dursten."

"Shux, I know I'm human!" the spaceman protested.
But the machine clanked around to focus its screen face
on him.

"Human," Clankcase agreed in due course. "Ninety-
six point one percent probability, plus or minus the stan-
dard three percent deviation."

"What?" Dursten lipped thinly. "You gave him a higher
rating than met His finger itched toward his blaster.

"He is more human than you," the robot explained,

"Get out of here, you bucket of bolts!" Dursten growled,
and the robot dutifully retreated.

"I suppose you had better explain to me how to pilot
this craft," Norton said. "Just in case."

128            

"You kidding?" the spaceman exclaimed derisively. "I
boned up on piloting for three years afore I even touched
my first ship—and I wrecked that! Then it was two more
years afore I touched another."

There was a metallic rattle of laughter from the rear.
"That's why, you silly asteroid!" Clankcase chuckled.

"Get lost, you metal moron!" Dursten snapped.

"Lost? Honest?" the robot asked. "A foolish man said
that once to my cousin, and—"

"Cancel that there directive!" Dursten said quickly.
Then, privately to Norton: "That 'Little Lost Robot' got
written up as a feature story in the tabloids. But that ain't
part o' this here sequence."

"Why do you put up with such perversity from the

inanimate?"

The spaceman scratched his head, dislodging some
dandruff. "I shore don't know. It's just always been that
way with robots. We need 'em for routine chores, so—"
He shrugged. "Now I think of it, I'd trade Clankcase in
a minute for a better assistant, like maybe a nice, plump
Femme. A Femme would really be useful."

Norton realized that opportunities for socializing were
limited in space. The spaceman's mind naturally was on
the distaff. "About the piloting—I can't be a very good
co-pilot if I don't know anything. Maybe if you just showed
me how to signal for help—"

"Aw, I'll show you how to pilot," Dursten said. "It'll
take 'bout ten minutes, give or take three percent."

And indeed, what had taken the spaceman five years
to master was transmitted in ten minutes. It was mainly
a matter of moving the steering stick and pushing the firing
button when a target ship was in the cross hairs on the
combat screen. The ship was largely automatic, and what
little was not was handled by the robot. An idiot could
pilot the ship—which was perhaps fortunate.

However, Dursten explained why it had taken so long
for him to qualify. He had been easily distracted by avail-
able Femmes at the Academy. Femmes seemed to cause
more trouble than Bems did!

              129

The fleet drew into formation and warped through space
at Woof-factor 5 toward the enemy planet. Stars streaked
by the port like fireflies.

Suddenly a red light flashed. "Oh, fudge!" Dursten
swore. "An enemy fleet is intercepting us. We'll have to
fight."

"But I thought you like blasting Bems," Norton said.

The spaceman's handsome face lighted like a nova.
"Say, yeah! I forgot about that!"

The Bemships turned out to be warty boulders. They
spread out to engage the human fleet. Soon the two for-
mations degenerated into separate dogfights.

A Bern boulder loomed before their own needle, its
ports resembling huge, faceted eyes. Light squirted from
one of its warts. "The danged zilch is shooting at us!"
Dursten exclaimed indignantly. "Well, just for that I'll
blast it out o' space!" His features suffused with righteous
anger, Bat Dursten concentrated on the obnoxious enemy
craft, getting it in the cross hairs. His thumb jabbed the
firing button. "Take that, fertilizer-brain!" he raged.

A beam of light speared out. It struck the boulder. The
boulder exploded into smithereens, soundlessly. Norton
remembered that sound did not carry well through the
vacuum of space.

"Got you, you alien bugger!" Dursten exulted.

But another boulder was bearing down on them. A
spurt from a wart just missed their needleship. Quickly
the spaceman reoriented, bringing the cross hairs to bear.
He punched the button, and the enemy ship smithereened
like the last one.

Norton checked the rearview screen. "Bat, there's one
on our tail!" he warned.

"You take it, Nort; I got to watch the front."

So Norton oriented the aft laser gun, fumbling its cross
hairs into place. He fired, but his beam missed. The enemy
squeezed a wart back, coming closer. Norton, his hand
shaking, got the wobbly cross hairs aligned and mashed
the firing button so hard it bruised his finger.

This time he scored. The light lanced forth. The alien




130          Beamy An Hourglass

vessel burst apart, splatting some of its garbage on his
viewscreen. Norton wrinkled his nose; he could almost
smell the alien stench.

He turned back to Dursten—just in time to see a young
woman approaching the spaceman. She was absolutely
luscious in her scanty costume, and her flesh jiggled like
gelatin as she walked.

The spaceman looked up at her. "Say, sweetie—
where'd you come from?" he asked, ogling her attributes.

"I replaced your robot," she said with a phenomenal
smile. "How can I be of service?"

Dursten glanced at Norton. "Say, co-pilot—why don't
you take over the reins while I catch an errand in the
back?" he suggested, unbuckling his safety harness.

"But—but how could there be a replacement when
we're in deep space?" Norton asked.

The spaceman paused to scratch his head, his eyes
remaining on the Femme. "Say, I never thought o' that!"

"The Genius teleported me in, of course," the Femme
said. "Did you think of a way I can serve you?"

"Well, as a matter o' fact—" Dursten began, floating
from his chair.

"I'll thank the Genius," Norton said, touching the com-
municator. His brief course of instruction had included
this, too. The panel had few controls besides an on-off-
switch.

"You do that," Dursten.agreed, drifting toward the back.
He had forgotten to turn the gravity back on, so he had
to hold on to the Femme for support.

The head of the Genius appeared on the screen. "Yes,
Norton," the pursed lips said.

"Uh, sir, did you teleport a buxom young human woman
to this ship? A, er, Femme?"

"Certainly not! Spaceman Dursten becomes combat-
unready when distracted by temptations of fair flesh."

An accurate assessment! "But there's one here!"

The Genius frowned. "Yes, now I detect an alien pres-
ence there. It is immune to my power. Destroy it imme-
diately." He faded out.

              131

So the shape-changing Bems had infiltrated this fleet,
and one was aboard this ship! Norton looked for a blast-
er, but found none. He spied a loose support rod in his
chair, evidence of slipshod construction, and wrenched
it out. It would have to do as a weapon.

He set out for the rear of the ship—but his feet left
the deck in the null-gee, just as Dursten's had. He didn't
know how to turn on the gravity, so had to put up with
it. Pilots, he thought irately, should wear magnetic shoes,
just as the robots did! Clankcase had had no problem
getting around.

Clankcase? The Femme said she had replaced the robot.
And her feet had been firm on the deck. Bems, as he
understood it, could not teleport or do other psi, but they
could change shape. The Bern must have been in the shape
of the robot before!

Norton grabbed his chair and pulled himself down close
to the floor. Sure enough, there were moist sucker marks
where robot and Pemme had passed. No doubt about it—
there was a Bern aboard.

Norton used the chair as a brace and shoved himself
forcefully toward the rear of the ship. In a moment he
sailed into the back chamber, where Dursten was in the
process of scrambling out of his space suit while the
voluptuous Femme giggled and jiggled gelatinously.

"Halt, alien!" Norton cried, brandishing his rod.

Dursten glanced about. "What alien?"

"That Femme," Norton said. "She's a Bern!"

"How can you say a mean thing like that!" the Femme
cried.

Norton did feel like a heel, for she was an eye-popping
morsel of pulchritude, but he had to answer. "Because
your sucker feet stick to the floor! We float in free-fall."

She glanced down at her firmly anchored feet.
"Curses—foiled again!" she cried. She charged him, arms
extended.

Norton knew he should hit her with his rod, but three
things prevented him. First, she remained the most lus-
ciously curvacious item of distaff flesh he had ever seen,




132           Searing An Hourglass

and it was against his instinct to brutalize that. Second,
when he tried to ready the rod, he lost his grip on the
case of stored cans of beans that had anchored him, so
he could not strike effectively. Third, she was on him
before he could do anything.

Her mass carried him right back into the control room.
She was naked now, and felt every bit as luscious as she
looked. Her hand struck his rod and it flew free. Now he
was weaponless!

Bat Dursten was unable to help; he was too busy climb-
ing back into his space suit. "To think—I almost kissed
it!" the spaceman muttered, looking sick. "A Bem-
Femme!"

Norton was unable to gain any purchase, for the Bem-
Femme had hold of him and lifted him aloft. This was
easy enough for her to do, since he weighed nothing at
the moment, while she had good sucker purchase on the
deck. He found himself captive as the woman's shape
melted beneath him. Her pretty face sagged into putty;

her lovely breasts became great blisters of flesh. She
metamorphosed into a mass of gelatin surmounted by three
enormous bug eyes. Her two arms became three tenta-
cles, still holding him tight. Her torso quivered injellylike
ripples, as it had before, but somehow the effect was less
aesthetic.

"Just wait till I form some good, hard teeth!" she said
from the gaping orifice that was all that was left of her
once-human mouth. "I'll chomp you to bits!"

Helpless, Norton stalled for time by engaging in dia-
logue, hoping Dursten would complete his dressing soon
and recover his blaster. "How did you get aboard, Bern?"

"I stowed away while the ship was in port," she said.
Already fierce teeth were growing in the orifice.

"Are there many of you in the fleet?"

"Sorry—that information is classified."

How like a military creature! "If you're going to con-
sume me anyway, why can't you tell me?"

She scratched behind a bug eye with the tip of a free
tentacle. "I suppose it's because I don't know the answer."

              133

Oh. "Why didn't you kill us before we suspected your
identity?" Where was Dursten?

"Too risky to tackle two at once. I planned to eat Dur-
sten first, then do you when I got hungry again. It takes
a while to digest a man; go too fast, and you get gas."

Norton could see why a gelatinous creature would not
want to get gas. "But you could have eaten him when we
were both strapped in our seats!"

The Bern blinked all three bug eyes. "Say, I never
thought of that! Why didn't you speak sooner?"

"Why didn't you eat him the moment you got him
alone?"

"Well, he is a handsome man, and not too bright—"

"You mean you'd actually—?" Norton asked, shocked.

"Oh, we do it all the time to beautiful Femme humans.
I thought it would be a nice change to do it to a handsome
Manne human this time."

"But you're a completely different species!"

"True. But space duty does get dull, and novelty is the
vinegar of life."

"Spice of life."

"Whatever. Now I'm ready to eat you."

Norton, set back by the dialogue, could not think of
another question. This was unfortunate, because now the
teeth were thoroughly formed and the orifice was ready
to commence consumption. "Help, Bat!" he screamed.

"I can't get my foot into this $&%!! space boot!" the
spaceman swore from the back room.

The Bern's orifice gaped. The huge, gleaming, new saw
teeth glistened with saliva. The three tentacles hauled
Norton down into the maw. "Bat, forget the boot!" he
yelled. "The monster's eating me!"

"Be there in two shakes of a croggle's tail," Dursten
called back. "My blaster floated away; got to find it."

Norton struggled, but still had no purchase. He kicked
the monster in an eye, shattering the orb.

"Oh, you mean thing!" the Bern complained. "Why did
you have to do that?"

"All's fair in war," Norton said, trying to kick at another
eye, but he could not get correctly aimed.

134            

"Well, no matter," the Bern said philosophically, blink-
ing her two remaining eyes. "I will grow a new one as
soon as I digest you." She sprouted several more tentacles
to pin his extremities, rendering him completely helpless.
The monster was surprisingly strong.

"Bat!" Norton yelled desperately, but heard only a
muttered curse as the spaceman still searched for his miss-
ing blaster.

The descent into the maw resumed. In her natural shape,
the Bern seemed larger; she really could consume him
entire. He continued to think of the monster as female,
because of the Femme form it had assumed. Was this the
end?

The teeth closed on his boots and began to crunch
through them. Saliva washed over the leather. Apparently
the Bern could digest these, too.

Then Norton had an inspiration of sorts. "Sning!" he
cried. "What should I do?"

Squeeze, squeeze, squeeze.

So much for that. "Well, save yourself, anyway," he
said to the little snake. "Get out of here before the maw
reaches my hands and chews them and you up."

Sning uncoiled and slid from Norton's finger. He floated
a moment in air, also being subject to free-fall, then wrig-
gled forward, using the air itself to slide against. He moved
to Norton's pocket where the compressed Hourglass was
and tapped it meaningfully with his nose.

The Hourglass! Of course! Would it work when folded
away? According to Lachesis, it was unchanged, merely
seeming different. Norton willed its sand to turn red.
Travel! In time! he thought fiercely.

Suddenly he was in space, alone. He had traveled, but
the ship had not. He realized that the ship was not a
planet; the spell did not align him with it automatically.
The other way! he thought, hoping this command sufficed.

Evidently it did. In a subjective moment, he was back
in the ship, homing in on his prior situation. Stop.

He stopped. He was floating in the control room, behind
the two pilot seats. Dursten and Norton himself were

              135

discussing the mechanism for controlling the ship. Neither
saw the new Norton. Neither robot nor Femme was in
evidence; this must be the time right between their appear-
ances.

The prospect of paradox overwhelmed him for the
moment. Could he interfere with the events of his past
self and change events he had already experienced? He
had been told he was an entity apart, in control of time—
but he had never consciously tested paradox. He might
change the lives of other people—but how could he change
his own? Yet if he did not, he would be consumed by the
Bern. This did not appeal any more than the prospect of
paradox did.

Now he saw the Pemme approaching. Hastily he willed
the sand and slid forward a few minutes, managing to
keep his place within the ship. He floated behind the Bern
as she held his former self aloft. This was what he had
come to undo.

He remembered how he had been wrenched when he
turned over the Hourglass, because that reversed his own
timeline. Would it do that now, returning him to this point,
or a point before the Bern had grabbed him? He had to
try!

He turned the glass—and found himself moving back-
ward, along with the scene. The Bern retreated with her
burden to the back room, while he—

He turned the Hourglass over again, and forward prog-
ress resumed. The Bern returned.

This wasn't getting him anywhere, because it wasn't
changing reality, just his present perception of it. Reality
was like a holo he could run forward or backward but
could not change. But change was what he needed.

Still, if he could affect reality one way, he could affect
it another. He concentrated on the Hourglass, turning the
sand black.

The scene froze, except for himself. The Bern held the
prior Norton aloft, both of them like statues.

Funny—he didn't remember being frozen before. But,
of course, the objects were not aware of that, and his

136   Piers Anthony 137

prior self was now an object. When they resumed action,
they thought it had proceeded uninterrupted. So he could
have been frozen...

Norton stepped forward, windmilling in air when his
feet lacked traction, grabbed a tentacle, and wrenched it
off his other self's arm. The tentacle was cold, slimy, and
repulsive, but he was able to unwind it. Then he tackled
the others. Soon he had his former self free. They were
floating, the now-self animate, the then-self a statue.

Very well. He had rescued himself from the Bern. But
how could he recombine?

One way to find out. He concentrated on the Hour-
glass, turning the sand white again. Normal time resumed.

The Bern waved her tentacles. "Hey, where'd you go?"
she exclaimed indignantly.

"I'm not sure," the then-Norton said.

"Don't worry about it," the now-Norton said. "We've
got to get rid of this monster before she eats us both!"

"My thought exactly," the other Norton agreed. "No
sense giving her gas." He floated to the drifting rod,
grabbed it, and tried to stalk the Bern. This wasn't very
successful.

Then the Bern helped. She shot out a tentacle and
grabbed the other Norton around the waist. Thus
anchored, then-Norton raised the rod with both hands
and brought it down on what passed for the Bern's head.
An eye shattered; now-Norton wasn't certain whether it
was the one he had kicked in before, a new one, or whether
this was happening before he had kicked that eye.

"Ooooh, that smarts!" the Bern exclaimed, retreating
toward the control panel.

Then another strange thing happened. Norton's position
jumped. He found himself in the other body, the tentacle
around his waist, the rod in his hands.

He had recombined! Time had progressed beyond the
point at which he had commenced his time travel, so now
there was only one of him. His experience had combined,
too; he remembered being mysteriously freed from the
clutch of the Bern, as well as remembering doing it while

time was frozen. He had been in two halves, and now
was whole again. One half was longer than the other,
having never been frozen in time, but both were himself.
That slight difference in the experience of the two selves
gave him a special perspective, like binocular vision, pro-
viding a new perception of the depth of reality.

The Bern, however, was righteously angry about her
shattered eye. "You struck me!" she screamed. She shot
out another tentacle to grab the rod and wrest it from
Norton's grasp.

"I bashed your head in," Norton said. "How come you
aren't unconscious?"

"I have no head," the Bern explained. "You hit my
apex."

Norton brought up his foot and kicked the monster in
the crotch. But the Bern did not react. "Why aren't you
doubled over in pain?" he asked. "Male or female, that
should hurt!"

"I have no crotch," the Bern said, gesturing with the
rod. "That's merely a nether bifurcation."

Norton grabbed the rod back. The tentacles did not let
go, so he wrestled the rod about until it was endwise and
shoved it violently through the jellylike central mass of
the monster. Still there was no reaction.

"But I just stabbed you through the heart!" he cried.

"I have no heart," the Bern said.

Three more tentacles whipped forward. One of them
grabbed the Hourglass, which was now floating next to
Norton. "Hey, that's mine!" he shouted. "Give it back!"

"Make me!" the Bern sneered.

But Norton couldn't make her, for she dangled the
Hourglass just out of his reach. He couldn't change time,
because he didn't have the Hourglass. He was in trouble
again.

The Bern slid her maw forward until it intersected the
rod that was still stuck through her body. Then she used
the maw to spit out the rod. Being gelatinous certainly
had its advantages!

"Now it's your turn," the monster said, focusing a bug
eye on Norton and hauling him in toward the maw again.




138            

He kicked her in the teeth. Ouch! His whole foot felt
numb from the shock. Futhermore, the maw caught his
boot again and the teeth crunched into it.

There was a blast of terrible heat. "Ooooh, you
shouldn't have!" the Bern gasped, collapsing against the
control panel.

Norton pulled his boot free of the crumbling teeth and
twisted out of the failing grasp of the tentacles. Now he
saw Bat Dursten, blaster in hand. The spaceman had finally
gotten his boots on, his weapon back, and had blasted
the Bern!

"In the nick o' time, as usual," Dursten said, blowing
the smoke from his muzzle and bolstering his weapon
with practiced flair.

"I should have finished you when I had the
chanmphnn," the Bern said, trailing off into gibberish as
her mouth melted. In fact, the entire monster was dis-
solving, her substance bubbling across the control panel
and dripping to the floor.

"Nonsense," Dursten said briskly. "The good guys
always win. It's in the script." He glanced carelessly at
Norton. "You okay, Nort?"

"I think so." Norton decided not to comment on the
spaceman's inordinate delay in appearing.

"Well, let's get back into action," Dursten said briskly.
Then he looked at the control panel. "Yaup! The cussed
critter's melted into it! That gook'll ruin the wiring!"

The Bern marshaled enough animation to form a small
mouth in the dribble near the floor. "That's what happens,
you klutz, when you blubb-drip-popple-ugh." The rest of
her plopped to the floor inertly.

"What did you call me?" the spaceman demanded
ferociously.

One more bubble popped from the subsiding mass.
"Gludz!" it breathed, and was no more.

"Why, you sidewinding bugger!" Dursten shouted,
stomping the gook with his boot. "You take that back,
hear?" But the muck only squished under his boot with
the sound of a chuckle.

              139

"How is it that the Bern falls to the floor, while we
drift in free-fall?" Norton asked.

"Forget that!" Dursten snapped, drifting. "The fool
stuff's shorted the wiring! We're out of control! We'll
crash on the dang alien planet!"

"But we're in deep space!" Norton protested. Then,
as he peered out the front viewport, he saw that there
was indeed a planet rushing up below.

"Hang on, pardner!" Dursten cried, grabbing onto the
pilot's seat and hauling himself into it.

Norton followed suit, though a dribble of Bern had
splatted across his chair. In a moment they were both
securely buckled in, watching the ground rush up. Norton
caught a glimpse of seas, continents, mountains, jungles,
and shining prismatic cities. It looked very much like the
kind of planet he'd like to visit—but not at this velocity.

There was a jolt that flung them forward against the
restraints. "The retros," Dursten explained. "They're on
automatic, to brake us so we don't crash so hard."

"That's nice," Norton gasped. Indeed, they were no
longer falling as fast—but the descent remained harrow-
ing.

Then the ship crashed, and everything went up in
smoke.

Norton shook his head, clearing it. He was hung up
on the branch of a giant, serpentine, purple tree, mirac-
ulously unhurt. Bat Dursten was strewn over another
branch. The wreckage of their needleship was below, sink-
ing slowly into a bubbling gray-green bog. This was
obviously a Bern landscape!

Dursten hauled himself upright. "Looks like the Bern
planet we came to raid," he remarked. "It's the scum of
the Glob! Well, let's get going."
"Get going where?" Norton asked.
"To hijack a Bemship and go home, of course."
It seemed to Norton that would be easier said than
done. On the other hand, he had no better suggestion.
They climbed down the tree to the ground. A giant

140          Bearing An Hmnyfass

antlike thing rushed up, its mandibles clacking menac-
ingly. Dursten's hand was a blur as he drew his blaster
and blasted the thing. It exploded, and pieces of it splatted
into the trunk of the tree. "Guess I fixed that creep," the
spaceman remarked, bolstering his weapon.

"But how do you know it wasn't friendly?" Norton
asked, appalled at the wanton killing.

"You kidding? Ain't nothing friendly on a bugger
planet," the spaceman assured him. He led the way away
from the tree, scouting for a suitable enemy to hijack.

Norton followed. There still wasn't much else to do.
He wished he could linger long enough to study the exotic
alien wilderness, but Dursten wasn't waiting. Spacemen,
it seemed, had no interest in wilderness.

They skirted an arm of the bog. The gray-green gook
hissed, menacing them. Eyeballs sprouted all over it.
Instantly Dursten's blaster was in his hand.

"Don't—" Norton warned.

He was too late. The spaceman had hair-trigger reflexes.
He fired. The gook puffed into noxious fog that spread
out, threatening to envelop them. The eyeballs were hazier
now, but still managed to focus on the prey.

Dursten backed off. "That thing ain't dying!" he
exclaimed. "It's worse'n it was! Why didn't you say some-
thing, Nort?"

"I tried to warn—"

"Well, let's mosey on. We got a long way to go afore
night."

"But there's no night, here in the Glob," Norton pointed
out. "Too many close stars—"

The spaceman scratched his head with the muzzle of
his blaster. "There is that," he opined. "We'd better eat
something so we don't get hungry." He grabbed a rich
red fruit from a nearby tree.

The fruit hissed and squirted brown juice at him. Dur-
sten jumped back, but got some on his space suit. There
was a sizzle, and smoke curled up as the acid etched
channels in the material. "Then again, I reckon I ain't
that hungry yet."

              141

They came to a large, clear, glassy crystal standing on
a block in the jungle. "Wonder what this bauble is?" Dur-
sten said, reaching out to tap it with the butt of his blaster.

"Don't—" Norton cried.

Too late, of course. His protective reactions were just
not as fast as the spaceman's whims. Dursten's butt
touched the side of the crystal. The crystal vibrated. Light
emanated from it. A humming sound developed, waxing
and waning rhythmically as the light pulsed.

"Better get on out of here!" Dursten cried.

Norton's sentiments exactly! The two men fled as a
Bern spaceball came into sight on the horizon.

"It was a signal station!" Norton gasped. "Now they
know we're here!"

Ahead loomed a huge saurian shape. It looked some-
what like a green carnivorous dinosaur with a toothache
and somewhat like a twenty-ton grasshopper with teeth
on its knees. It opened its ponderous and marbled jaws.

This time Norton did not cry warning. He grabbed
Dursten by the collar and hauled him around behind the
bright yellow trunk of a tree.

The saurhopper bounded forward—just as the pur-
suing Bern sailed up on its antigrav saucer. The two crashed
together.

"This way!" Dursten cried, taking charge of the situ-
ation, undismayed by the sheer coincidence of their escape.
He ran for the alien ship that now rested in a small glade
to the rear.

"But suppose there are other Bems inside?" Norton
asked.

"I'll plug 'em," the spaceman said confidently. He was,
of course, a man of action and quick decision.

Sure enough, a second Bern loomed in the irising door
aperture. Dursten drew and fired in a single motion—but
his blaster made a little, stupid pfft! and sagged in his
hand. Its charge was gone.

The Bern had no hands, so it didn't carry a blaster.
But it started to change shape.

"We'd better hide," Norton said cautiously.




142 Beamy An Hourglass

But stalwart Dursten was already charging the ship.
Norton had to follow or let him go alone. He followed.

The Bern had sprouted half a dozen tentacles by the
time they reached the ship. Dursten made a flying tackle
that knocked the monster off its nether tentacles. Norton
came up and shoved the mass out of the door-iris to the
ground. He caught hold of one of the spaceman's legs and
hauled him inside the ship.

"Thanks, pardner," Dursten drawled as he got up and
thumbed the button to close the iris. "Next time I'll get
me a six-shooter blaster so it don't poop out so fast." He
forged to the control section of the ship. "Good thing I
studied how to operate Bemships too," he remarked.

To Norton, the controls looked similar to those of the
needleship. He could probably operate them himself. Per-
haps the Bems weren't, after all, so different from humans.

The acceleration couches were like saucers. Dursten
and Norton seated themselves within them, and automatic
safety harnesses came out to secure the men. Dursten
punched buttons, and the ship lifted from the ground and
hovered over the purple tree.

Another Bemball loomed close. Dursten's hand struck
the firing button. A wart spat a shot of something—and
the other ship exploded.

"Did you have to do that?" Norton demanded. "We're
in a Bemship now; maybe the other one was just being
neighborly."

"The only good Bern is a blasted Bern," the spaceman
said, hawking and looking for a spittoon. As usual, there
was none; this was, after all, the space age.

"Maybe if you just got to know a Bern, you'd find it
pretty similar to our own kind. They speak our language
and chase our women and breathe the same kind of air
we do."

Dursten scratched his head as he piloted the ship off-
planet. "Never thought of it that way. Got to admit that
one on the needle was interesting when she took Femme
form."

That wasn't precisely what Norton had meant, but he
let it pass. At least he had made progress.

              143

Dursten glanced down at the dwindling disk of the
planet. "Well, I reckon it's time." He slapped a red button.

"Time for what?"

"Time to blow up the planet, of course."

"Blow up the planet!" Norton exclaimed, horrified.

"That's what we came for, you know, Nort."

"But it would be so much better to—to conquer it and
exploit its resources! Or to make a peace treaty with the
Bems so they won't bother human planets any more.
Maybe they could teach us how to shape-change."

"There is that," the spaceman agreed. "Maybe I
shouldn't have let that bomb drop."

"Bomb?"

"Sure, the planetbuster bomb. It'll blow any moment
now."

"Any—?" Norton said, freshly appalled.

Then the bomb detonated. There was a burst of light.
The planet split into two halves that flew apart.

Norton stared, sheeriy horrified. "The planet's bro-
ken!"

"Sure," Dursten drawled carelessly. "Bems make good
bombs, I'll say that for 'em."

"But why would one of their own ships carry such a
devastating weapon?"

Dursten shrugged. "Guess they planned to use it on
one o' ours. Now let's get on home, mission accom-
plished."

Norton turned away, grief-stricken for the death of an
entire world and all the wilderness on it. He spied some-
thing behind them, in the ship, and blinked.

It was another Bern. But this one was small, with rather
cute little tentacles and prettily shining eye facets. The
spaceman was preoccupied by his task of setting course
for home, so Norton unbuckled himself quietly and got
out of his dish. He went to meet the little Bern. "What
are you doing here?"

"I'm Baby Bern," the creature piped from a mouth that
formed in the top part of its globe. As if to illustrate the
point, it started sucking on a tentacle.

144            

"You mean those were your folks who—" Norton
stopped.

"We're going on a family picnic," Baby Bern said,
blinking two or three wide eyes.

Not any more, Norton thought grimly. There was no
longer a planet to picnic on, and no other Bems to picnic
with. This baby was an orphan. "Just a moment. Baby,"
he said.

He turned to Dursten. "How do you feel about
orphans?"

"Poor things need a foster parent or something," the
spaceman said promptly. '"Specially orphans o' the void."

"Would you take care of an orphan child?"

"Me? I ain't no family man!"

"But you are a spaceman, embodying the best and
brightest and noblest qualities of the human species."

"There is that," Dursten agreed.

"So if an orphan of any type needed protection—"

"Aw, shore, I reckon so."

"Well, turn around and meet the orphan."

Bat Dursten, the pride of the space fleet, started to
turn.

Norton abruptly sailed through the wall of the ship and
out into space. Helplessly he accelerated, feeling no phys-
ical discomfort. He zoomed between the stars of the glob-
ular cluster and on out into deep space, heading for the
Galaxy-proper.

He was, he realized, on his way back to Earth; his
sample excursion was over.




8-

CLOTHO

Satan was awaiting him back in his mansion. "Did you
enjoy your visit, Chronos?"

It took Norton a moment to collect himself. "I confess
it was quite an experience! I did not realize your power
extended so far!"

"My power is damn near universal," the Prince of Evil
said smugly.

"but one thing perplexes me. You know I live back-
ward, so outside my mansion here I have to make a special
effort to align myself with normal people, if I want to
interact with them. But in the Glob that was not the case."

"Astute of you to notice," Satan said.

"But how, then—?"

The Father of Lies smiled winningly. "Elementary, My
dear associate. That is a CT globular cluster."

"Cee Tee?" Norton asked blankly.

"Contraterrene. Antimatter. Where the atoms are made
up of negatrons in the nucleus and orbiting positrons, the
precise opposite of the local persuasion."

"Oh. I've heard of it. But isn't such matter instantly
annihilated by contact with normal matter?"

"Not when it's isolated. In a CT galaxy, our type of

145




146           

matter is abnormal. This happens to be a CT globular
cluster orbiting our terrene-matter galaxy. No actual con-
tact."

"Very interesting. But since I belong to this galaxy—"

"You are a special case, Chronos. A very special case.
You are an Incarnation, and not just a garden-variety one
at that. You are the Incarnation of Time."

"Yes, and I live backward. Which is why—"

"But you see. My dear sir, contraterrene matter, being
opposite in charge, is also opposite in time. Therefore its
frame is yours. That is why you, alone of all of us, are
able to relate normally there."

"Oh." Norton would have to think about that. "You
mean that human beings have evolved there, just like us,
though there has never been any connection between us?
With the same language and everything?"

"It is called convergent evolution," Satan said. "And
this is what I offer you, sir: a pleasant visit there whenever
you choose."

"A pleasant visit!" Norton exploded. "I almost got
wiped out!"

"Oh? I doubt it. As an Incarnation, you are fairly com-
prehensively protected from incidental mischief."

"A Bern was going to eat me!"

"Bern?"

"Bug-Eyed-Monster, as if you didn't know! I was lucky
to escape with my feet intact!"

"Oh, that kind of Bern. I assure you, you could not
have been in genuine danger. The worst that could have
happened would have been a premature termination of
your visit. You would have returned here when your sit-
uation there became unplayable. I thought you under-
stood that."

"Now he tells me," Norton muttered. But he had to
admit, to himself, that it had indeed been an exciting
adventure and change of pace. His wanderlust had always
taken him to new sides of new mountains, and that CT
Glob had been a really different mountain! "You have
other visiting spots?"

              147

Satan gestured expansively. "An entire universe of
them, sir! A good many of them CT, aligned with your
natural inclination, perfectly safe for you. Some are sci-
entific, some fantastic, some mixed like our present world.
There is some very nice material in the Magic-Lantern
Clouds. And all I ask in return is this one trifling little
favor."

Norton still did not trust the motive of the Father of
Lies, but found himself tempted. An entire CT framework
to explore, with all types of people and cultures and
planets, and no problem about reversed time! In retro-
spect, he discovered he had enjoyed the little adventure
with Bat Dursten and the Bems, though it helped to know
that he had not actually been in danger. If he ever returned
there, he might use his power as Chronos to go back to
the instant before Dursten released the planetbuster bomb
and save the Bern planet from destruction. The least he
could do now was listen to Satan's plea. "Do you care to
provide a little detail on that favor?"

"Certainly," Satan said briskly. "I would like to do a
favor for a man about twenty years ago. I am in a position
to know, because of hindsight, that a single choice of his
had profound effects on his life. He made the wrong choice,
and it led to his early demise. Had he made the right
choice, it would have led to love and life with a beautiful
and wealthy heiress, and phenomenal well-being for him.
So now I would like to correct My error of omission and
send a minion back to advise that man of the correct
choice."

"Why should you, the Prince of Evil, care to do a good
deed for a mortal man?" Norton asked suspiciously.

Satan grinned disarmingly. "I have My favorites, too,
Chronos. I try to reward those who help Me, and I am
generous when pleased. In death, this man impressed Me
favorably and rendered good service; now I wish to reward
him by granting him, retroactively, the one thing he thought
forever beyond his reach—an excellent life. He will prob-
ably go to Heaven thereafter, and so I shall lose him—
but as I said, I am generous and I keep My promises."

148

              149

Bearing An Homylass

Norton wasn't sure he believed that, but he doubted
there was any percentage in arguing with the Father of
Lies. "Give me his spacetime address."

"Certainly!" Satan conjured a scroll on which was writ-
ten neatly in blood a place and time.

"Kilvarough," Norton read, taking the scroll. "The Mess
o' Pottage shop." He looked up. "What's that man's
name?"

Satan scratched his head, a bit like Bat Dursten. "Did
I omit that detail? How silly of Me! The name escapes
Me at the moment—I do have countless clients, you
know—but I will have My minions research it before we
meet again. You will, of course, want to verify the situ-
ation yourself before you act on this and you can find the
shop with the present information."

"Yes," Norton agreed. "Understand, Satan—I'm mak-
ing no promise. If I don't like the deal, I won't take your
minion."

"Understood, of course. I know better than to attempt
to deceive a person of your perspicacity." Then Satan
raised his finger, marking an afterthought. "But until I
locate that specific name, there could be confusion. Allow
Me to provide you a ready way to contact Me, in case of
need." He curved his fingers, and abruptly a thin chain
was there, anchored to an amulet. "Accept this, sir, and
blow it to summon Me. I will hear it, wherever and when-
ever, and come to your aid."

"Well, I really don't think—" But already Satan was
pushing it into his hand. The amulet was a little horn with
a flared rim, made of brass. Norton shrugged and put the
chain on over his head. He didn't anticipate needing Satan's
aid in anything, but there was no point in antagonizing
him. He could simply ignore the amulet.

Sning squeezed twice, not liking even this gesture, but
Norton felt that in this case expedience was preferable to
affront. Let it be, he thought, and, reluctantly, Sning shut
up.

Satan stood and saluted with one hand. "Farewell, sir!"
He vanished in a small puff of smoke.

Before Norton could organize his thoughts, the butler
appeared. "Another visitor, sir."

"Who?" Norton asked shortly. He did not seem to be
physically tired from the adventure in the CT Glob, but
a great deal had happened recently, and he was about
ready to call it a day.

"Clotho, sir."

"Who?"

"An aspect of Fate, sir."

"Oh." Now it registered. He had seen only a flash of
the youngest form of Fate and had been impressed, but
the name had not made the same impression her body
had. "Show her in." Fate was a remarkable woman, with
her three forms.

Clotho stepped daintily in. She was not only young,
she was lovely. She had done something to her hair so
that it fell loosely to her shoulders in a gleaming cascade,
and her dress was alluring. It was bright blue, with a peek-
a-boo bodice that offered a startlingly intimate peek.
"Ready for this day's work, Chronos?" she asked.

"I think I've already had a day's work," he replied.

"Oh? Will we do this tomorrow? It's my future and
your past, remember. I assume I'm doing things in proper
order for you, but it's easy to get confused."

Norton laughed, relaxing. "No, it's my confusion, not
yours. You introduced me to my office and showed me
how to function, and now we'll do more substantial work
together as I leam the details of my job. I'm sure I'll get
it all straight in due course. What I meant was that Satan
has been here this morning—it is morning?"

"Midday," she said. "Time is normal for you, here in
your mansion. But when I depart here, it will be earlier
than I arrived. I'll have to avoid meeting myself, to pre-
vent needless confusion."

"I know the feeling!" Then something else occurred to
him. "It was afternoon when Satan came to visit me, and
then—why did I think it was morning? It should be eve-


i"

ning'

"Probably you have spent the night," she suggested.




150            

"I plan to come to orient you tomorrow, in my Lachesis
aspect, as that is your last day of office."

"Yes, then a day has passed for me," he agreed. "But
I don't remember it! Satan sent me to an—an alternate
universe for an adventure, but—"

"How long were you there?"

"It's hard to tell. It seemed like an hour, but things
fuzzed out when I was traveling, so—"

"So it could have been a day," she finished. "Satan is
the master of deception. He can make an instant seem
like an eternity, and vice versa. It is illusion, of course;

only you can truly control time. But Satan's illusions can
be doozies."

"Yes, that must be it. I spent a day there, all told, and
returned here. Anyway, Satan wants a favor, and—"

"Don't trust Satan!" Clotho said. "He is the most sin-
ister and devious of the Incarnations! He is always con-
cocting mischief."

"I don't plan to take anything he tells me at face value.
But he has been helpful, so I will at least give him a hearing."

"Well, leave me out of it," Clotho said. "I suppose we
all have to leam about Satan in our own fashions. Now—
let's get to work. Do you know how to use your Hourglass
to read individual threads?"

"Not yet," Norton admitted.

"Well, you were good enough at it yesterday, so I know
you'll catch on readily." She proceeded to teach him how
to orient on the particular life-thread of a person, and
how to fix on the exact place that thread had to be started,
kinked, and cut. He was interested, but he kept being
distracted by her peek-a-boo display that served as a back-
drop for the threads as she held them up between her
hands, and feared he seemed inattentive at times.

The start of each thread was a mortal birth, each kink
was a key event in that life, and the cut end marked the
termination of that life. These were only the special lives,
Clotho explained; his staff and hers did most of the routine
planning. Norton found it confusing at first, but soon he
had the Hourglass ticking off indications rapidly. Each

              151

minuscule grain of sand, it seemed, was something like a
mortal life, matching each of Fate's fine threads.

He glanced at his Hourglass with new appreciation.
All those fine grains of sand—all of humanity, represented
in this one instrument! Each single grain too small to
perceive by itself, yet of total significance for its person.
Did the cosmos care about any single grain of life-sand?
About when or where it flowed, or the satisfaction of its
tiny existence?

After several hours, Clotho paused and stretched, flex-
ing the peek-a-boo. "All work and no play," she said and
moved into his arms.

Startled, Norton froze. "Is something wrong?" he asked.

"Oh, haven't we done this before, in your scheme?"
she asked. "I keep forgetting—you're coming from the
other direction. This is new to you, isn't it?"

"Everything is new to me," he agreed.

"Well, I think this is the time to begin, then, because
in the recent past we have—" She paused. "But why
should I spoil it for you by my memories? Come on, I'll
lead you through."

"Through what?"

"Silly boy! Why do you think I came as Clotho? I am
the young man's—"

"Oh. You—Lachesis—did say something about—"

She cut him off with a kiss. She was a most attractive
woman in this guise, but his painful memory of Orlene
remained, and he wasn't ready for this. He drew away.
"I hardly know you!" he protested.

She laughed, unrebuffed. "With any other person, I'd
say you were joking! But that's all in your future, isn't
it? Very well—what do you think is holding you back?"

Norton pondered. "I don't suppose you'd care to believe
anything about my not being a casual sort of person?"

She laughed merrily. "You? You forget that I measured
your thread before you assumed this office! You're fully
casual with women!"

"You know me too well!" he agreed ruefully. He kept
allowing himself to be deceived by appearances, when by




252          Bearing AM Howiylms

now he ought to know better. Clotho had those deep eyes
of Fate and she was no young or innocent damsel. No,
indeed! She was an Incarnation, with all the subtle power
that implied. "But all that stopped when I met Orlene.
She was the first true love I experienced, and—"

"Oh, yes, of course—that's still fresh in your mind!
How silly of me to forget! It is my position to help you
get over that so you can focus without reservation on
your office. Very well—we'll take time off to go see your
mortal woman."

"We?"

"Well, you could take me with you if you chose; it's
in your magical power to do so. But I agree: for this,
you'd better go alone." She fished in her dark hair and
drew forth a single strand. "Here is Orlene's thread. Trun-
cated, as you can see; only a third as long as it should
have been. You can, of course, restore the full length, if
you wish. The powers of the Incarnations are great, but
none are absolute where they overlap those of other Incar-
nations. Orient your Glass on this, and you'll find her
anywhere you choose."

Norton had been learning the technique of thread ori-
entation. He touched the Hourglass to the thread, then
willed the sand blue.

The mansion vanished. He was zooming along the
thread as if riding a cablecar. Events of the world rushed
past, glimpsed momentarily. Slow, he thought, and prog-
ress eased, the glimpses becoming longer.

It was Orlene's life he was following, backward. Her
individual motions were too rapid for him to focus on,
but her surroundings had more staying power. A building
she had spent time in—perhaps a school—abruptly van-
ished. It had been unconstructed, and she moved on to a
lesser school, more crowded. Trees around her home
slowly shrank, their foliage flickering on and off through
the seasons, the deciduous trees becoming suddenly
clothed in bright leaves which then faded to green and
eventually sucked back into the twigs and branches. The
lawn grass kept jumping high, then smoothing down till

              153

nearly bald, then being mowed high again. The house
became brightly painted, then abruptly turned dull.

He brought himself to a random halt. He was in a
school class, looking at a girl about ten years old. The
scene was strange; in a moment he realized this was
because he was viewing it backward. He had halted him-
self, not time, and now was living normally, for him. No
one here was aware of him—but if he changed to match
the world's time flow, he would become visible, disrupting
the scene, so he let it be.

This was evidently a cooking class, with the teacher
demonstrating how to bake a pie by using pyro-magic.
Under her reversed guidance, the demonstration pie pro-
ceeded from brown to gold and on into pasty white. Nor-
ton watched the young Orlene, a pretty girl even at this
age. Alas, she was not paying full attention, but was whis-
pering with a female companion in girlish fashion. Her
pie would probably be botched.

He turned the sand red and moved a few years into
this Orlene's future, then watched her backward again.
This time she was lying on her bed at home, in jeans and
a man's shirt—what was there about men's shirts that
caused girls to prefer them to their own?—chatting into
her holophone. It was a boy in the image, tousle-haired,
animated, obviously full of the enthusiasm of the moment.
Orlene was now about fifteen, and was assuming much
of her adult beauty; he recognized some of her little man-
nerisms, as yet unperfected. He felt a surge of nostalgia;

this girl was in the visible process of becoming the woman
he had loved.

He moved three more years along her life, to her age
eighteen. Now she was playing squash with a young man.
It was a game that brought the active players into close
proximity, since they shared the court as they slammed
the ball against the wall, and therefore seemed to be pop-
ular for mixed couples. The man was obviously beating
her, but the motions of her body as she strove for points
were beautiful. The ball rebounded and flew at her, and
she swung her racket backward to intersect it, whereupon

154           Bearing An Hwiylass

it flew back from her while she wore a look of expectant
concentration. Orlene had matured into a healthy, lovely
young woman, and it was sweetly painful for Norton to
look at her. Those limbs, that torso, that face with the
backward-flying hair—he had known them all intimately,
in her present future. Those lips—he had kissed them,
years hence. Orlene—he would love her and loved her
still.

He followed her through to the beginning of the game,
when she was fresh, clean, unglowing, and ready for any-
thing. She bade hello to her opponent-date and strode
backward away from him to the female changing room.
Norton hesitated, then decided not to pursue her there;

he knew what her body was like, but this was inappro-
priate peeking.

He was not doing this just to be a voyeur. He wanted
to rescue the woman he loved from her dreadful fate.
Now he knew he could do it; his experience in rescuing
himself from the Bern in the Glob had proved that. He
was immune from paradox; he could change his own past
and those of others without nullifying his present. He did
not intend to abuse this power, but he did intend to spare
her.

Where was the best place to act? When was best?
Probably before he, Norton, had met her, so he would
not have to interfere openly with himself. Would this nul-
lify his association with her? Yes, surely it would—but
that would be replaced by a new association, a better one.
In fact, he could void the whole ghost marriage and marry
her himself.

But first he had better make sure of his power. He
wanted to interact with her in a noncritical period of her
life, not to change anything, just to be sure he knew what
he was doing. This was no ordinary person; this was
Orlene!

He moved back along the thread to her childhood, to
the time when she was seven years old, on her summer
vacation after her first year of formal school. Now she
was not using a holophone, because that instrument had

Piety Awthony               1S5

not yet been commercially developed; the old sonic ones
were still extant. Anyway, she was too young for social
interchanges with interested boys; she was a wild-honey-
haired spirit, running through one of the early city rooftop
parks. The trees were still in big pots, and ramparts
showed; true wilderness was a thing of future parks. A
lot of the bad old pollution and messiness remained in the
world; soon the political climate would change, greatly
facilitating improvement, but it had not happened at this
moment.

She was with a party of children, but strayed from
them, skipped happily down a bypath, and got lost. Wor-
ried, she gazed at the several bifurcations of the paved
path, unsure which to take. Norton, having traveled past
her immediate future, knew that she would be lost for a
good thirty-five minutes, an eternity at that age, and be
in tears before a park attendant rescued her from bewil-
derment and brought her back to her party. This was the
appropriate time to approach her.

He tuned in to the beginning other isolation and turned
the sand green. Now he was in phase with her.

"Hello, Orlene," he said gently. He was a grown man
and she was a child, but he felt almost shy.

She stopped her nervous ambulation and turned quickly
to face him. "Oh—I didn't see you!" she exclaimed. "Who
are you, mister, in that funny dress?"

He was wearing the white robe of his office, of course.
"I am—" He hesitated; he hadn't thought this through.
He couldn't tell her he was Chronos; she would hardly
understand. Neither could he tell her he was her future
lover. "A friend."

"Can you tell me how to get back?"

"I'll try. I think it's this way." He gestured toward the
correct path, and they walked along it.

"How did you know my name?" Orlene asked brightly.

"I've seen you in school."

"Oh, you're a teacher!" she exclaimed, as if it were
the most important thing in the world.

"Well—" But she was already skipping ahead, her piggy-
braids flouncing.

156            

I love her even as a child, he thought, surprised and
somewhat awed at the extent of his own commitment. He
had been, as Clotho had chided him, free with women;

this one had chained his soul. He followed after, trying
to think of suitable comments to make or questions to
ask.

Then Oriene made a glad little cry. "There they are!"
She ran to join her group.

The adult guide turned at the sound of her voice. Nor-
ton hastily shifted sand and faded out of contemporary
view. Oriene was all right; she was an innocent child. She
had been spared a bad half hour. He was glad he had been
able to do her that small service. But adults were another
matter. They would ask the wrong questions.

So his dialogue with Oriene had amounted to nothing.
There had been no meaningful personal interaction.

No, not entirely true. She would probably forget the
stranger in the white dress, but he had discovered the
extent of his captivity. Now he knew he needed to rehearse
himself better for questions. It had been a good practice
session.

Should he go back those few minutes in time and replay
it, trying to effect a more personal contact? He decided
not to. He had verified what he wanted to; he could inter-
act with her without wreaking havoc or generating par-
adox. Now he could proceed with confidence to change
her life significantly.

He moved back and forth along her life-thread, sam-
pling it here and there, zeroing in on the appropriate region.
He traced, somewhat erratically, her life up to the point
at which the family of Gawain the Ghost had contacted
her and made her the offer she could not refuse. There
had been other men in her young life—Norton spied on
these passing relationships with a certain voyeuristic jeal-
ousy, though he knew from his own prior experience that
she had been a virgin bride. Oriene had been looking for
Mister Right and had not been able to choose among those
who were handsome and stupid, smart but poor, or rich
but degenerate. She, like any sensible girl, wanted per-

              157

fection in a man, and it was hard to come by. Thus she
was the perfect candidate for the ghost marriage: attrac-
tive, intelligent, pristine, and reasonably ambitious for
security and creature comfort.

There was a period of about three months before
Gawain's family came, when Oriene had no romantic
attachment. This was ideal for Norton's purpose.

He located a day when she was home watching a dull
holo rerun and phased in. He knew the young woman of
twenty would not be even fractionally as accepting as the
girl of seven had been, so he planned his approach more
carefully. But he planned no deception; that would be the
wrong way to start a relationship as important as this.

He knew she was alone today; that was a major reason
he selected this time. Her father was away on a business
trip, and her mother was on a shopping spree. So Oriene
was minding the house. There would be a good six hours,
if he managed it correctly—and if he did not, he would
wind it back and try again. That was one huge advantage
of his present office: he could replay scenes to correct
errors. Of course, he would have to undergo the discom-
fort of reversing himself also, because he did not want
several copies of himself competing for her attention. But
with luck he would not make any bad errors, and would
not have to run his own line backward for more than a
minute or so at a time.

He phased in outside her house and stepped up to the
door. Again he felt something very like stage fright; his
pulse was racing. But he kept a rein on himself and held
his thumb on the pattern-recognition panel. In a moment
Orlene's image appeared on the doorscreen. "Sorry, we
aren't buying," she said pertly.

"I am not a salesman," Norton said. "I am a story-
teller." He had cadged many a meal that way in his past
life; he had always told good stories that made people
welcome him. This was the age of holo entertainment,
but there was a special quality to genuine, live, personal
narrative that still attracted people. The machines and the
spells could never take over entirely!

Bearing An Homyhw

158

"A what?"

"A storyteller. In this futuristic age, I revert to old-
fashioned values. I tell stories by hand. By mouth, I mean."
"You're selling holotapes?"
"No tapes. Just myself. Every narration an original! If

you care to listen, I will—"

"Sorry," she said, and the screen blanked.
He had blown it. She was, of course, not paying much

attention to strangers. This was a sensible attitude for

young women alone in houses.

He overturned the Hourglass and reversed time for

himself and her, unwinding the prior sequence. Naturally

she would not be aware of this; her life was erased to that

extent.

"You're selling holotapes?" she asked as he resumed

forward motion, thirty seconds back.

"No tapes. Stories. About young women who play
pianos with rare skill and squash with lesser skill."

She hesitated, surprised. He had described her, of

course. "What is this?"

"Stories about people who like picture puzzles," he
said. "And walks in parks. And babies."

She stared at him through the screen. "Who are you,

really?"

"I doubt you would believe that."

"Try me."

"I am Chronos—the human Incarnation of Time."

She laughed. "One for one! I certainly don't believe

that!"

"I can show you tricks with time—"
"Don't bother, thank you." The screen faded.
He rolled time back again. "Try me," she said.
"Your future associate. You will enter into a ghost mar-
riage and—"

The screen faded.

He reversed time again. "Try me," she said.
He held up his left hand. "Sning, show her."
Sning uncoiled and slid into his palm. "Oh, how cute!"
Orlene exclaimed. "I've got one just like it!"

              159

"You gave me this," Norton said. "It's yours."
"I did not! I have mine right here!" She paused, then

brought up a duplicate snake ring.

This made Norton pause. Could Sning meet himself?

Why not? Norton had met himself in the Glob. Sning had

probably doubled up that time, too. "Maybe they should

meet."

She put her ring on her finger and paused again, evi-
dently thinking a question at it. After a moment she
shrugged and opened the door. "He says you're okay,"
she said, almost apologetically. Norton entered, feeling
somewhat the way he had felt when he first met her,
almost three years hence. She was so lovely, and he so
ordinary, and he wanted so much from her; how could he
make known his ambition?

He touched the table with his left hand, and Sning
slithered off to join the other snake. Apparently dupli-
cation of creatures was no problem, though he was sure
paradox lurked in the shadows. How far did his immunity
extend?

"May I get you something?" Orlene asked.
"No, thanks. I think I'd just better tell you what is on

my mind." He drew out a chair and sat down at the table.
She took a chair opposite. "You certainly act as if you

know me."

"Let me show you my nature," he said. "What I have
to say will be more credible, once you understand that."

"Perhaps," she agreed noncommittally. He wondered
whether she was inspecting him for glow. Perhaps not;

she was looking at him as an intriguing stranger, not as a
marriage prospect, so the glow might not be in evidence—
if, indeed, he was at this stage a good marriage prospect
for her. Of that he could hardly be sure. He loved her,

yes—but there was already more to this relationship than
love.

"I am Chronos, the Incarnation of Time." This time
she did not retreat; she was intrigued enough to listen. "I
can reverse the flow of time, in part or in whole. Here."
He fished in his pocket for a pebble he had saved for its




162        Beamy An Homykw

Norton started to laugh—and it froze in his throat.
What was the distinction between bad intentions and bad
results? Now he could tell her the truth—but he found

his tongue balking.

If he told her, developed a relationship with her now,

married her, and shared her life—ah, such joy in the mere
contemplation!—so that the ghost marriage never took
place—discounting any paradox, since he was immune—
what kind of a life would it be? He was no longer an
ordinary man; he was Chronos, living backward, able to
relate to ordinary people only by reversing his own life
course temporarily. As a normal man, he could have done
it; in his present capacity, there was really nothing he
could offer her. He had been thinking only of himself, not

of her.

"I thought I had something," he said. "I fear I do not."

"Well, what were you going to tell me before you had

second thoughts?"

He breathed deeply. She had asked; he should tell. "I—

in the near future—when I was still a normal man—I met
you and loved you." There; it was out.

"I had gathered as much," she replied. "The way you
have been watching me, your possession of my ring, and
the way you glow so brightly. It had to be love."

Her candor set him back. "Don't love me!" he blurted.
"I was the unwitting cause of your death!"

"My death!"

"It—it's a complicated story. I don't want that to hap-
pen—but the alternative I had in mind, of taking you away
from that course now—that's no good either. I love you,

but I can only hurt you."

"Hurt me? No, you would not do that. The glow—"

"Ask Sning!"
She paused. "My ring says no, you would not hurt me.

But your ring says yes, you would."

"They are the same ring—but mine has more experi-
ence. Do not associate with me when you meet me in two
years. Then perhaps you will have a better life."

"But if you are the one I am fated to love—"

PiersAnthony               163

"It's a cursed love!"

She shook her head, perplexed. "You're not making
much sense, you know."

"Look at my choices. If I—if we have a relationship
in two years, you will have a baby who dies and you will
suicide. But if we have a relationship now, when I am
Chronos—I live backward! I could associate with you
only for perhaps half an hour at a time, beginning now,
and each time I met you, you would be younger. Not only
would you not remember me, you would soon be too
young for—" He spread his hands helplessly.

She nodded. "Now you are making sense, and your
ring confirms it. I think I would like you, and probably
love you, since you do glow; but to keep meeting you for
the first time when I was a teenager, and always having
it happen when I was younger—I am not at all sure I
could handle that. Though I remember meeting a strange
man in a white cloak when I was a child, in a park—"

She shook her head. "It is strange enough talking with
you now!"

"Yes. If there were some way I could start with you
now and continue forward—but the maximum that could
last is about four years, because after that I became
Chronos and turned backward, and I can't step physically
beyond my living time frame. I could look at you there-
after, but never interact with you, and you would never
see me. It's no good; you deserve so much more! I love
you and I want what's best for you, and your best life is
without me."

Slowly she nodded. "Your ring agrees. I am sorry, but
I can't argue with your case."

He sighed. "I—I'm sorry I bothered you. I should have
left you entirely alone. Let me go now, and never deal
with me again." What a shambles reality had made of his
aspiration!

"Here is your ring," she said, returning one of the
Snings.

Norton took the little snake and let him curl around
his finger. "Are you my Sning?" he inquired. Would it
make any real difference if this were the other?




164

Squeeze.

Probably the two Snings would merge in Norton's pres-
ent, anyway. "Farewell, Orlene."

She smiled. "I don't usually do this sort of thing. But
this once—" She came to him and kissed him.

The sudden contact was ineffably sweet. Norton held
himself frozen, knowing that if he let himself go to the
slightest degree, he would enfold her in his arms and
babble foolishness about somehow making it work, and
thereby do her a colossal disservice. But for this timeless
instant, his love was back with him, healing the abyss
into which his heart had fallen. Orlene lived and, with
luck, would pursue her normal, full life. It was better that
she do it without him. Believing that, he could bear it.

She broke away and smiled; he recovered his volition
and retreated out the door. Before he could change his
mind, he changed the sand and quickly phased away.

"Well, I bungled that," he muttered aloud. "But I sup-
pose I just had to learn the hard way."

Squeeze,squeeze.
"No?" But as he pondered the implications, he realized

Sning was right. He had not handled it as well as he might
have—but perhaps he had given Orlene the key that would
save her life, and in the process he had immeasurably

improved his own outlook.

Squeeze.
"Did you enjoy meeting your other self, Sning?"

Squeeze.
Norton smiled as he moved forward through time. "So

maybe it was worthwhile after all. Now I am ready to
accept the new reality and do my job as Chronos."

Then he remembered the time-space address Satan had
given him. He had not kept the parchment on which it
was written, but retained the information. He had no
intention of helping Satan; the dialogue with Orlene had
finned up the resolve. But his curiosity sharpened. Who
was this person who commanded a favor from Satan Him-
self?

Norton traced down the address. It was not in Kil-

Piws Anthony              165

varough itself, but in a floating city above it, a traveling
shopping center and fair. Flying carpets abounded in its
vicinity, and the stores glittered with magic items. Below
lay the somber metropolis of Kilvarough, evidently one
of the stops on the route of the floating complex. Gypsy
cities, they were called.

The time was about twenty years before Norton's "pres-
ent." He would be a teenager now—and he had no inten-
tion of looking himself up. It had been confusing enough
with Orlene! He went to the Mess o' Pottage shop and
watched it in his normal mode, the reverse of world time,
so that no one was aware of him.

A man was inspecting magic stones. He had evidently
decided on a large Wealthstone, the kind with a floating
six-rayed star. As Norton watched, the man checked a

Lovestone and then a Deathstone, then retreated from
the store.

Norton jumped ahead to catch the man's recent future,
after he bought the Wealthstone. By a series of jumps and
pauses, Norton traced the man to his somewhat dingy
apartment in Kilvarough. There the man discovered that
his stone was not as good as represented; it produced
only small change, not riches.

Norton jumped ahead three more hours, checked the
man's apartment—and saw his body lying on the floor,
blood pooled from a gunshot wound in the head.

So Satan was right. The man had made a bad choice
and had therefore taken his own life. He had no future
on Earth, literally. Satan planned to give him a better
future—and what was wrong with that?

Norton moved back in world time, avoiding the actual
suicide; he certainly didn't need to torment himself with
that gory killing! More deeply perplexed at Satan's motive,
he phased himself back to an episode he had only glimpsed
in passing. A pretty young woman had had trouble with
her carpet near a billboard advertising the supposed
delights of Hell—what would Satan think of next?—and
the proprietor of the Mess o' Pottage shop had rescued
her. Now Norton was able to re-create the detail: the




166            

client had spotted the woman by using the Lovestone,
but the proprietor had foisted off a worthless stone and
taken the woman for himself. It had been a highly prof-
itable bit of flimflam, for as Norton traced their sub-
sequent lives, he verified that the woman had made a
significant difference. She was beautiful, wealthy, loving,
and loyal—in fact, she was far better than the conniving
shopkeeper deserved. If Satan interfered, so that the
client chose the Lovestone to buy, the man would gain
the woman for himself and have a deservedly better life—
the kind of life Norton himself would have liked to have

with Orlene.

Now Norton was in doubt. Should he, after all, do

Satan this favor? He wanted to be fair, and it certainly
seemed that Satan had a good cause this time. Maybe
Norton could not grant himself a lifetime of romance, but
he could do it for this other man and feel a vicarious

satisfaction.

"Should I?" he asked Sning.

Squeeze,squeeze.
"Why not? I don't like Satan, but I do want to be fair.

Shouldn't I support him when he's right?"

Squeeze,squeeze,squeeze.

Of course the little serpent could not answer such a
comment directly! Well, Norton would think about it. The
lives of ordinary people were governed by the threads of
Fate; maybe he should ask her why she had allowed so

gross an inequity in this case.

He set his Hourglass and traveled back home to his
present time. He hoped Clotho would be awaiting him,
but she wasn't. Apparently she had not properly coor-
dinated things this time. Instead, Satan was there.

"Well?" the Prince of Evil asked.

"I checked your situation," Norton said. "I see nothing
wrong with what you contemplate—but I haven't yet made

up my mind."

"My amulet," Satan said, peering at him. "Where is

it?"

"Oh—it bothered someone I visited, so she destroyed

it with holy water. Sorry about that."

rwrsAntHoay             167

Satan seemed to swell. His face reddened, ano a wisp

of smoke drifted from one nostril. "Destroyed one of

My—!"

Then Satan got control of himself and settled down.
"It is of no consequence; it was only a trinket. So you
are still considering My errand?"

"Yes."

"Remember, I am prepared to pay well for such minor
favors. Here, I will provide another sample."
"Oh, you don't need to—"

But Satan gestured, and suddenly Norton was sailing
through space, as he had done before, on his way to a
contraterrene frame, where time flowed backward. He
hadn't protested quickly enough, it seemed.










ALICORN

He arrived this time at a different location, in a Magic-
Lantem Cloud, coming to rest on the surface of a lovely
Earthlike planet. Here space was not densely crowded
with stars, so it was evident that distinct days and nights
were feasible. Stately oak trees shaded the greensward,
and daffodils grew in pleasant clusters.

Immediately before him stood a marvelously lovely
young woman. Her hair was long but curly, like a mass
of golden shavings, and she wore a long and modest dress
that could not conceal her aesthetic contours. Her eyes
were gray-blue, her lips red, and her hands and feet were
quite dainty. She was staring at Norton with an attitude
of faint surprise and dismay.

"Hello," he said experimentally.

"But I meant to conjure a steed!" she exclaimed indig-
nantly. She held up her right hand, one of whose delicate
fingers bore a large and obviously magic ring.

"It seems your conjuration glitched," Norton said apol-
ogetically. "I'm just a man."

"A demon, belike!" she snorted. She stamped her petite
foot angrily. "The magic works but once a day; now it is
wasted, and I am stranded afoot. What use have I for a

mere man?"

              169

Why was it that the prettiest young women were the

least interested in men? "Uh, maybe I can help you find
another steed."

She studied him appraisingly, as if he might after all
be of some use. "Be that a magic ring you wear?"

He glanced at Sning. "Yes, in a manner of speaking."

"Then do you use it to conjure me a steed to replace
the one you usurped," she commanded imperiously.

"But it's not that kind of ring."

Her eyes fairly flashed fire. "What manner of man are
you, to tease a maiden so? You owe me a steed!"

Norton wasn't sure about that, but she was so pretty
and sure of herself that he really did not want to disappoint

her. He would have to show her the nature of his ring.
"Sning—"

Sning uncoiled from his finger and slithered across his
hand and dropped to the verdant ground. He expanded
as he did so, becoming a regularly sized green snake, and
then a python, and finally a monster a foot in diameter.

"Sirrah!" the Damsel exclaimed, drawing a gleaming
dagger. "Ye shall not consume me without a fight!"

"Oh, Sning doesn't eat people," Norton said uncer-
tainly. "He's friendly. I think he's offering himself as a
steed." He was amazed at this development; he had never
suspected that Sning could change size. Maybe it was a

talent limited to visits to contraterrene worlds, where the
rules might differ.

"Fool would I be indeed to trust my tender flesh to the
back of that fell reptile!" she cried.

"I'm sure it's safe. Here, I'll show you." Norton
approached the monstrous Sning and climbed clumsily
onto an elevated loop. The snake's flesh was firm and dry
and slightly resilient, quite comfortable, and not slippery.
Norton had no trouble maintaining his perch. "See—Sning
will carry you anywhere you need to go. Miss—"
"Excelsia," she said. "And who be ye?"
"Norton." Fresh from his dialogue with Orlene, he did
not care to go into the Chronos business yet. He won-
dered, irrelevantly, what her rule was for the use of "you"
and "ye," as it did not seem consistent.




170            

"I'll not ride that creature alone, sirrah!"
Norton shrugged. "I'll ride with you, of course." He
had not intended to separate from Sning anyway. "You

can take another coil."

Warily she approached a loop behind his own. She

mounted, sitting demurely sidesaddle. "But where are the

reins?"

"I think he's under voice control. Where are you going?"

She cocked her head prettily. "Why, I had not decided."
"You wanted to conjure a steed without having a des-
tination?"

Cute annoyance fleeted across her face. "Well, usually

I fetch in a handsome unicorn, and we decide together."

A unicorn. It figured. Back on Earth such creatures
were hideously expensive, and the prospective owner had
to show a pedigree as detailed as that of the animal before
being permitted the purchase. Unicorns, like dragons, had
gone underground during the so-called enlightened period,
having their horns amputated, which, of course, robbed
them of most of their magical powers. But they still bred
true, and now there were some fine breeds openly dis-
played. It had been a similar story with winged horses.
In time there would be greater numbers of them; but at
present, rarity put a premium on all such magical steeds.
Here, it seemed, such animals were more common.

"Why not go to the unicorn corral, or whatever, and

fetch one now?"

Excelsia issued a tinkling peal of laughter. "Sirrah, no

one fetches a unicorn other than by compulsion of magic
charm, and then it can only be accomplished by a lovely

virgin like me."

Oh. Just so. "Well, maybe some other type of steed.

One you can keep from day to day so you don't have to
conjure a new one each time you want to ride."

Again she cocked her head, considering. She did not
seem to be unusually intelligent, but her beauty made up
for that. "There be only one magical steed a person can
keep, and that one be already under the spell of the Evil

Sorceress."

              171

"What steed is that?"

Her face became rapturous. "The Alicom."

"The what?"

"He be a winged unicorn, the finest equine flesh extant,
the adoration of every fair and innocent maiden. For that
steed I would give anything."

"Anything?"

She glanced sharply at him, making a moue. "What
was that thought, sirrah?"

Norton reddened. "It's just that—as I understand it—
if you gave that gift that only you can give, you wouldn't
be able to keep the Alicom."

"True," she agreed shortly. "But it makes no never-
mind; for no one can capture the Alicom anyway."

"Well, let's expore this. Exactly what are the barriers
to acquisition?"

She frowned. "What was that word?"

"Acquisition. That is, capturing the Alicom."

"Oh. First there be the Evil Sorceress, who must be
slain ere the preserve be approached. Then—"

He didn't like this. "Slain? Isn't there a gentler way?"

"Who intrudes on her territory but slays her not, she
turns to slime."

Point made! "One can't reason with her?"

"Reason with that bi—" She paused. "I fear I know
not the applicable term."

"Of course you don't," he agreed gently.
, "Have you ever tried to reason with a woman?" she
demanded challengingly.

"I'm sure I wouldn't get far," he conceded, and that
mollified her. "Assuming we get by the Evil Sorceress,
what other barriers are there?"

"The Evil Estate be fraught with hostile creatures and
unkind spells. It be virtual death merely to set foot within
it."

She was serious, and that made him nervous, but he
felt obliged to leam whatever he could about this. "We
might not set foot," he said. "We could ride Sning in, so
only his coils would touch the ground."




272            

"There be that," she agreed, pleased.
"Let's assume we get safely into the Evil Estate. Then

what?"

"The Guardian Dragon," she said.

"Dragon?" Gawain the Ghost had trained him in dragon
slaying, but from that training Norton had gleaned a pro-
found respect for the battle prowess of the species. It was

best to avoid a dragon!

"Huge, enormous, and tremendous," she said, her

attractive eyes narrowing with anticipated horror. "A big
monster, very large, and of formidable size. He slays all
who dast approach. He patrols the region around the Ali-
com's pen, and none may pass unchallenged." She glanced
obliquely at him. "Unless you, kind sir, perchance—?"

"As it happens," Norton said unwillingly, "I've had
some training in dragon fighting. But of course I've never

actually—"

"OhJoy!" she exclaimed, clapping her little hands with

maidenly delight. "Then we can pass the monster!"

Norton wanted to demur, but her expression of plea-
sure was so gratifying that he left the qualification
unvoiced. It was very hard for a reasonable man to dis-
appoint a lovely woman. "So if we should somehow get

to the Alicom—"

"Then still be the victory not ours," she said, "for he

be the wildest of creatures. Fire snorts from his nostrils
and sparks from his mane, and were he not cruelly teth-
ered in place, he would bound into the sky and vanish
from human ken forever." Her gaze lowered, a token of

sorrow at the loss.

"Is there any way to tame him so he will stay volun-
tarily with you?"

"Aye, there be a Word of Power. Utter it, and he be

tame."

"What Word is that?"

She shrugged tragically. "Alas, I know not!"

"Well, first things first. How does one kill the Evil

Sorceress?"

"For that, methinks only the Enchanted Sword will

do."

Piws Anthony              173

That sounded good; it helped to have magic when inter-
acting with a dragon. "Where is that?"

She shrugged again. It was an intriguing motion, the
way she performed it. "I know not, sirrah. It is said that
the Sword will appear only to a truly worthy Hero, lifted
from deep water by a hidden hand."

Norton sighed. He surely did not qualify for that Sword!
He should have known there would be a catch. Also, he
saw no water near—and if there had been any, how would
he know which deep water, where?

Sning brought his head around to look at him. "You
have an answer?" Norton inquired. Then, quickly: "Don't
answer in the usual way!"

Sning's face was not structured for smiling, but he
tried. It would be some squeezing, in his present form!
Then he nodded his huge head, once.

"You can lead us to the Enchanted Sword?"

Nod.

"Great! Go to it, then!"

Sning returned his head to the front and commenced
motion. Now his coils undulated, so that Norton and
Excelsia bobbled up and down as if on merry-go-round
steeds—and sideways, too. At the bottom of a loop their
feet dragged in the greensward, so Norton hefted his heels
to the top of the coil and rode with his knees bent before
him. Whatever magic kept him on seemed to have no
trouble with that. But when Excelsia tried to lift her own
feet higher, her voluminous skirt tended to fall away from
her shapely legs, embarrassing her. Norton pretended not
to notice; certainly she had no cause to be ashamed of
flesh like that, however.

Sning coursed rapidly through the forest, field, and fen,
and drew up at a large mud-puddle.

"This?" Norton asked, dismayed. "No shining, still,
mysterious, deep water lake?"

Sning pointed his nose firmly at the puddle.

How far reality differed from myth! Norton resigned
himself and dismounted. He approached the puddle. His
feet sank squishily into its margin, and he worried that it

174          Bearing AM tiwiyuus

might be quicksand. "Wait!" he told himself. "I shouldn't
be afraid of sand! It's the essence of the symbol of my

office!"

"Office?" Excelsia inquired, perplexed.
"Never mind." He brought out his Hourglass and waved
it at the sand. Instantly his footing firmed. He put the
Hourglass away again and trod on up to the marge of the

puddle.

As his toes touched the obscure murk, there was a

ripple in the center. Slowly an object pushed up. It was
a weed-strewn, filthy old sword with a rusty blade.

Well, he was no King Arthur; he probably didn't rate
a first-class accommodation. Norton leaned forward and
grasped the handle of the Sword. The thing seemed stuck,
so he had to exert considerable force to lift it clear of the

mud.

No wonder! The hand that had brought the weapon up

did not let go. As Norton heaved, he drew forth not only
the Sword but the mud-soaked little man holding it. The
man was garbed in archaic clothing topped by a large,
floppy hat. "Who're you?" Norton asked, surprised, as
he swung the Sword over land, dangling the man.

"I'm the Sword Elf, of course," the man said grumpily.
"You sure took your time rescuing me."

"Was that what I was doing?"

"Sure," the Elf said, brushing ineffectively at his coat-
ing of mud. "I only use the Sword as bait so someone will

pull me out of that black hole."

Myth was taking a further beating! "How long have

you been in there?"

"Oh, a century or two. Hard to keep proper track of

time in the dark. But they sure don't make Heroes like

they used to."

"Are you telling me this Sword is a fake? That it's not

enchanted?"

"It's enchanted, all right," the Elf said. "Do you think

anyone would bother with a fake sword?"
"This will slay the Evil Sorceress?"
"Sure. That's what it's for."

Piers AwtSony               175

"How is it against dragons?"

"Adequate. Dragons have counterspells, diminishing
the effect. Of course, it helps if you know how to use a
sword and how to tackle a dragon. The most devastatingly
enchanted weapon in the world won't do much in the
hands of an ignoramus."

"Good enough." Norton was willing to take things at
face value, since this seemed to be a face-value world.
He would have to trust in the quality of the training Gawain
had provided him and in the potency of the Sword's
enchantment. He walked back to Sning.

The Elf followed, mounting a third coil. It seemed Nor-
ton had picked up another companion.

"Well, let's tackle the Evil Sorceress," Norton said.
There didn't seem to be much else to do except carry on
with the episode, and if he encountered something lethal—
well, he would be returned to his mansion in Purgatory
so that he could proceed with his job. But he was so
constituted that he had to make an honest try to improve
things here; he couldn't simply quit.

Sning got under way, zooming across hill and dale and
around mountain and moor. Norton enjoyed the scenery;

this was indeed his type of exploration. "This be almost
as good a ride as on a normal steed," Excelsia confessed.
She had found out how to tuck her skirt in around her
bent knees so that nothing showed, unfortunately.

In due course the Evil Estate hove into view. On it
stood a great old stone castle with a few window slits and
tall, dark towers. Snow topped its lofty turrets, though
the climate was pleasant enough at ground level. It was

surrounded by giant, ugly trees. It looked like the bleakest
and e vilest of places.

They slid up to the ring of trees. Immediately a great,
gnarled branch swung down menacingly. Norton swung
his Sword up to intercept it—and the blade sliced through
the wood as if it were soft cheese.

The tree made a groan as of bending in a cruel gale
wind and whipped its stump away. Reddish sap dripped
from the wound. Norton looked at the Sword with new




176           Bearing An Hour/floss

respect. Where the contact with the wood had cleaned
away the mud and rust, the blade virtually gleamed. This

was, indeed, an excellent weapon!

They slithered on past the trees without farther chal-
lenge. "Serves ya right, woodhenge!" the Elf called back,
and the trees shuddered woodenly with impotent rage.

But now they faced the gloomy Evil Castle itself. A
chill draft seemed to issue from it. Norton wondered
whether he really wanted to do this. By the look of it,
this was no pleasant resort and no pleasant deed he had
to perform. He might get trapped in there, unable either
to complete or to terminate his mission, so he couldn't
return to Earth. Could the Alicom really be worth it?

But already Sning was drawing up to the somber front
portal. Then the snake shrank to his former size, forcing
them to dismount. Norton put down his hand, and Sning
slithered up and curled around his finger again. "We have
to go inside?" Norton asked with resignation.

Squeeze.
"We can't simply go around the castle and tackle the

Dragon directly?"

Squeeze, squeeze.

Norton sighed. Probably there were guards in the cas-
tle who could riddle passers-by with arrows or spells. "I

don't much like this business."

"But you are a Hero!" Excelsia protested brightly.

"Onward and Upward!"

"Suppose the Evil Sorceress turns us all to slime?"
"She can't do that while you hold the Enchanted

Sword," the Elf said. "First she must disarm you."
That was good to know. Norton braced himself and led

the way to the front portcullis.

It lifted as he approached. "Oh, it seems we're
expected," he said. That did not encourage him.

He stepped forward—but Sning squeezed his finger
twice, rapidly, and he paused. "A trap?"

Squeeze.
He glanced up at the gleaming spikes of the portcullis.

"What goes up can come down, I'm sure."

              177

Squeeze.

"Very well. I'll spring the trap." He stepped up to the
trough in the stone floor where the deadly iron spikes of
the portcullis normally rested. Then he leaped across.

The spikes slammed down with horrible force. A cloud
of rock dust billowed up. This was exactly what Norton
had expected, but the sheer ferocity of it unnerved and
angered him.

He turned and struck at the portcullis with his Sword,
adrenaline giving him strength. Again the blade cut through
as if touching only cooked noodles. In a moment he hacked
out an opening, so the others could step through. Now
more of his blade was clean and shining. His supposed
Heroism was being recorded by the brilliance of the blade.
The castle shuddered and groaned; its fangs had been cut.

They entered a dark and unpleasant hall. Light flick-
ered from a guttering torch at the far end.

"Any more traps here?" Norton asked Sning.

Squeeze, squeeze, squeeze.

"Any immediate threat to life or limb?"

Squeeze, squeeze.

He decided to chance it. "Keep close together," he
told the others.

Excelsia and the Elf were happy to oblige. They
crowded in so close to him that he worried about insuf-
ficient elbow room if he had to use the Sword. He didn't
want to cut any of his companions! On the other hand,
Excelsia was an extremely attractive woman, pleasant to
be this close to. Now that he had given up on Orlene, he
was becoming more aware of that sort of thing—not that
he had ever been unaware.

Then they heard the tromp, tromp, tromp of a giant.
Damsel and Elf crowded in even closer. "Sning, are you
sure... ?"

Squeeze.

The tromping came to the intersection of halls at the
torch. Norton braced himself to face the giant—and saw

nothing. The tromping continued toward them. No giant,
just the noise of one.




278           Bearing Aw Hourglass

No, not quite true. The boots of the giant were there.
They were tromping along by themselves.

The three of them stared at the marching, empty boots.
Was that footwear animated by magic or did it contain an
invisible giant? It did make a difference. Mere shoes they
could probably ignore, but an invisible giant was likely

to be troublesome.

The boots halted immediately before them. The noise

stopped. Now the boots looked exactly like discarded

apparel.

Norton set himself and poked the point of his Sword

toward the knee of the theoretical giant. He encountered
no opposition. He sliced across the tops of both boots.
Nothing. It seemed they were, after all, only boots.

He tucked the Sword in his belt and reached for a boot.
He put his two hands on it and tried to pick it up. The
thing would not budge; it was as if a giant did indeed have

his foot in it.

Norton stood and turned back to the others. "I sup-
pose—"

He was interrupted by a swift kick in the rear. He was

boosted into the air and moved a yard down the hall. One

of the boots had booted him!

He caught his balance and rubbed his bruised posterior.
The Elf was trying without complete success to restrain
a smirk, and even innocent Excelsia seemed amused.
Norton himself didn't happen to find it very funny, but
realized that it would not profit him much to lose his
temper. "Let's just go around these."

The Elf obliged, walking to the side. The boots came
to life again, walking swiftly to get in front of the little
man. The Elf stopped, not wanting to get kicked himself.
Getting kicked oneself was never a laughing matter.

"Maybe if we jumped over," Norton suggested.

"Sure," the Elf agreed. "You first."

Norton considered where he would get kicked if caught
in the act of jumping over the boot and decided not to

risk it.

Excelsia tried another approach. She walked to the

             179

left, where no boot was. But suddenly a pair of giant
gloves or gauntlets arrived, hovering in mid-air about bead
height. The right one closed in a fist before Excelsia's
face, then extended its massive forefinger and waggled it
wamingly. She emitted a frightened squeak and stepped
back.

Now the boots were before the Elf, to the right, and
the gloves before the Damsel, to the left. Norton strode
up the center—and the right boot and left glove moved
to close the gap. He, too, was blocked.

Well, at least it was clear what Sning had meant about
there being no immediate threat or trap in the hall. The
disembodied boots and gloves were neither—but they
were effectively blocking progress. There would be no
problem if the party simply retreated.

But retreat meant failure, and Norton had had enough
of that. He became omery. He drew his Sword again.
"Out of my way, objects, or pay the penalty!"

Nothing moved. He stepped forward—and the right
boot swung up in a kick. Norton sliced down with the
Sword and cut it in half. The two fragments fell to the

floor and lay there, twisting about like a dismembered
reptile.

"Ooo," Excelsia said with sympathetic horror. "You
killed it!"

"I gave it fair warning," Norton said. He stepped for-
ward again and cut the fingers off the glove that grabbed
for him. It, too, fell writhing to the floor. Excelsia twisted
her own fair fingers as if afraid they would separate, but
did not protest again. Even delicate Damsels had to yield
to practicality on occasion.

The other boot and glove attacked. Norton got the boot,
but the glove caught him in a stinging slap to the side of the
head that sent him careening into a wall. The glove came
at him again, forming a fist that aimed at his nose; this time
he got the blade up, and the glove split itself against the
Sword and plopped to the floor.

It took Norton a moment to recover his equilibrium,
for that blow had had giant force! Next time he encoun-
tered something like this, he would act more ruthlessly.




180            

"Ooo, you're hurt!" Excelsia said, dabbing at his face
with a dainty handkerchief. The dabbing did not do much
good for his face, but her attention uplifted his spirit.

They proceeded on to the torch. As they reached it,
Sning squeezed Norton's finger three times: warning.

He paused. How he wished Sning could speak directly!

"Danger, maybe," he said.

Elf and Damsel looked around. "Where?" Excelsia

asked.

Norton shrugged. "Sning warned me. There's some-
thing."

"Listen, Mac, we can't dawdle here forever," the Elf

said.

"You dawdled for a century in that mud-puddle," Nor-
ton pointed out. "What's the hurry now?"

"A critter can build up a lot of impatience in a century,"
the Elf said. "I'm going ahead." He marched past the

torch, into the cross-passage.

The torch flared monstrously, sending out blinding bril-
liance. Norton covered his eyes as he stumbled back, but
the damage was done; for the moment he couldn't see a

thing.

Gradually his sight cleared. He looked about—and

found himself alone in the passage. Excelsia and the Elf

were gone.

Alarmed, he looked for them—but they remained lost.

The fragments of the boots and gloves were gone, too.
That gave him a notion. "Sning, am I in the same hall I

was in before?"
Squeeze, squeeze.
"I blundered into another passage while blinded?"

Squeeze, squeeze, squeeze.
"I got moved to a new passage, or got closed off from

the other passage?"

Squeeze.
"By the action of the Evil Sorceress?"

Squeeze.
"Are the others in immediate danger?"

Squeeze, squeeze,squeeze.

              181

Damn those indefinite answers! "Their safety—does
it depend on what I do?"
Squeeze.

He was improving his touch! "Can I find them?"
Squeeze, squeeze, squeeze.

"Not till I deal personally with the Sorceress?"
Squeeze.

That was what he had suspected. The Evil Sorceress
had perceived him as the leader and had separated him
from the others, and now intended to test him alone.
Divide and conquer. If he prevailed, his companions would
be safe; if he did not...

"Then I will deal with her immediately."
Squeeze.

Norton strode ahead, past the torch, shielding his eyes
as he did so, but this one did not flare up. However, as
he entered this new hall he discovered a pack of half a

dozen grotesque little monsters, gnarled goblin things.
They charged.

The fastest one came at him first. It was globular in
shape, with tiny legs and arms, its whole torso consisting
of a ferocious face dominated by a huge mouth rimmed
with inward-pointing teeth. No need to question the little
monster's intent; it would chomp a bite out of any anat-
omy it reached.

Norton pointed his Sword at it, and the monster gaped
its maw to swallow the Sword point first. The blade slid
right through the back of its head-body, slitting it into
halves. Defeated, the thing puffed into bad-smelling smoke.

But already the next two monsters were on him. Nor-
ton slapped at one with the side of his blade, knocking it
into the other. The second gaped its maw and took a bite
out of the first. In a moment the two had become one—
and Norton ran his Sword through that one. These things
were easy enough to dispatch, but he was sure he would
have been in painful trouble if either of them had gotten
through to chomp him.

Soon he had polished off the remaining three, though
one did take a piece out of his boot. He walked on down

182           Bearing An tiimigutss

 

the hall, turned a corner—and there were five more little
monsters and a hovering glow. He dispatched the mon-
sters as they came at him, then stood before the glow.

What was this?
Squeeze.

"Safe to touch?"
Squeeze,squeeze, squeeze.
"Safe to leave alone?"

Squeeze, squeeze.
So he reached out with his left hand, holding the Sword

ready in his right, and touched the glow. It flickered—
and became a round bed with a lovely woman draped on
it. Her hair was shining silver, her eyes silver too, and so
were her long nails. She wore a harem-style outfit that
showed off precisely as much flesh as she wished it to,
and it seemed she was generous in both anatomy and

wish.

She gazed at him from beneath long silver lashes. "Well,

now, Hero," she said huskily, inhaling.

"Uh—I take it you are the Evil Sorceress?"
"The same," she breathed. She had remarkable breath

control.

"And I found you by capturing the glow?"

"Naturally." She shifted her decolletage.
"You don't seem so horrendous to me."
"The legend was doubtless exaggerated."
"But I must slay you, lest you turn me into slime?"
She nodded, sending a ripple through her flesh. "How-
ever, there is no need to rush it, Hero." She shifted posi-
tion on the bed, and more flesh showed.

Sning squeezed his finger wamingly. Yes, he was sup-
posed to slay her.

"Here, I will bare the target for you," she said, shrug-
ging partway out of her upper clothing, so that her front
was exposed. "The point right here." She touched a spot

between her amazing breasts.

But how could he? This was no toothy little monster;

this was a living, breathing (!) human being, lovely beyond
belief, and he was no murderer.

              183

SQUEEZE!

"I can't," Norton said, dropping the Sword.
"I knew you couldn't do it," the Evil Sorceress mur-
mured as the Sword clattered on the floor. "You are an
innocent male fool." She lifted one sleek arm, her fore-
finger coming to point at him.

Sning uncurled convulsively and sprang through the
air to land on her outstretched hand. The little snake
buried his tiny fangs in the Evil Sorceress' finger.

"Oh, snot!" she exclaimed, jerking her finger aside as
she felt the puncture. A silvery flash jumped from it, just
missing Norton, and struck the ceiling. Immediately the
ceiling turned to slime and began to drool down toward
the floor.

"Oooh, you little creep!" she screamed at Sning. "I'll
bite your head off!" And she brought her hand to her
mouth, where sharply pointed teeth now showed between
the blood-red lips.

But Sning was already wriggling away. He dropped to
the bed and thrashed toward Norton. The Evil Sorceress
slammed her fist down at the little snake's body and
grabbed for him with her claws. She gouged out chunks
of bedding, but Sning squiggled aside and off the bed,
landing on the Sword. The Sorceress flopped on her front
and grabbed for him again; the Sword glowed menacingly
as her hand came near it, and she had to desist. She could
not touch the Sword, so Sning was safe.

Already Sning's poison was taking effect. Norton had
understood that the little snake's bite would not kill a
human being, yet it seemed it was more potent against a
truly evil person. The Evil Sorceress' finger glowed red
and swelled like a sausage. But the change in the rest
of her was more striking.

Her lovely facial features melted into homely ones.
Her breathtaking bare bosom became baggy, her stunning
cleavage a wrinkled crevice. Her sleek arms and smooth-
fleshed thighs became flabby limbs. Now, stripped of her
enchantment, she was revealed as an ugly old crone.

Shocked, Norton watched as she died. This was almost




184          Bearing An Houiglws

as bad as the dissolution of the Bern had been during his
visit to the space opera of the globular cluster, far away.
He marveled at the transformation from beauty to ugli-
ness; how could he ever have found that thing attractive?
Another part of him was more cerebral; why, he won-
dered, was it so much easier to watch an ugly old crone
die than a lovely young woman? The two were separated
only by age. He knew that goodness and evil could not
be judged by appearance, yet his mind felt more com-
fortable now that he knew the Evil Sorceress was in real-
ity ugly.

The transformation continued. After turning ugly, the
Evil Sorceress began to melt. She dissolved into a puddle
of slime, exactly as had the Bern.

Then the castle itself melted. Chunks of it dissolved
and collapsed. Norton had to dodge a segment that fell
from above. The walls thinned and sagged.

Hastily he scooped up Sning and the Enchanted Sword
and scrambled to escape the developing ruin. Soon he
was able to spot Excelsia and the Elf in their separate
chamber; they had been hard pressed by the mouth-
monsters, but had survived by diligent exercise of her

stiletto and his active boots.

Norton forged across to join them. "Come on—we've
got to get out of here before the whole thing falls on us!"

"About time you showed up!" the Elfgrumped. They
scrambled out, dodging the slimy chunks. As they made
it to the greensward at the rear patio, the entire remainder
of the castle fell in with a grotesque sucking sound.

"Ugh!" Excelsia exclaimed expressively.

"Good thing you slew the Evil Sorceress," the Elf said.
"I knew we were going to get slimed if she won."

"I didn't slay her, actually," Norton confessed. "I lacked

the nerve. Sning did it."

The Damsel cocked her head at him. "You are no Hero?"

"I'm afraid not."

"But he's an honest man," the Elf said. "The Enchanted
Sword goes for that kind, too, in a pinch."

Unpersuaded, Excelsia turned away. Norton stood
diminished in her eyes.

PiersAwthauy               185

They continued into the estate. The land here was
lovely, with pleasant little paths winding along among fruit

trees. "Oh, let's pause for refreshment!" Excelsia said,
reaching for a bright red apple.

SQUEEZE, SQUEEZE!

Norton jumped across and dashed the apple from her
hand. "Poison!" he cried.

Indeed, the moment the apple touched ground, it smol-
dered as if being eaten from inside by some horrible acid,
then burst into flame. Excelsia stared at it, wide-eyed.
"Yes, of course," she agreed faintly. "Everything belong-
ing to the Evil Sorceress would be poison to ordinary
folk. So silly of me to forget."

"What about the Alicorn?" Norton asked.

"Oh, he does not belong to her," she said quickly. "He
is her captive, not her creature."

That seemed to make sense. They walked on through
the poisonous orchard. Soon the terrain opened out into
a circular valley whose center was a mound. On the mound
was a palisade—an enclosure surrounded by a tight fence
of sharpened stakes that hid whatever was inside. But

Excelsia knew. "Therein—the Alicorn!" she breathed
rapturously.

There was, however, a more immediate concern. From
the far side of the mound galloped a horrendous red
Dragon. This was one of the centipede variety; it had
fourteen or sixteen pairs of legs and a long spiked tail,
while black smoke snorted from its mouth.

Norton stepped forward. "This is my job," he said. It
wasn't that he relished the prospect of doing battle with
the Dragon; it was that he knew it was better to face the
thing than to be run down from behind. Gawain had taught
him that. "Never let a dragon see your rear," the ghost
had cautioned. "It will either toast it or take a bite out of
it, or both." Also, Norton was sure Excelsia would be
easy and delectable prey for the Dragon, and he couldn't
permit her to be hurt. If he got killed here, he would be
wafted back to Earth, unharmed—he had the word of the

Father of Lies on that. But the Damsel had no such assur-
ance.




186            

The word of the Father of Lies. There was something

about that notion that bothered him.

The Dragon swerved to meet him head-on. It was
therefore a stupid creature; the smart ones were more
careful, taking time to scout and sniff, for scarce was the
man who braved such a monster without the benefit of
some potent enchantment. All the background Gawain
had drilled into him was coming to the fore now, and for
the first time he really appreciated it. So much of dragon
fighting was tactics! One had to grasp the nature of the
beast and exploit its weaknesses; a man was smarter than

a reptile, usually, and that could count.

The Dragon was indeed large, as the Damsel had warned
him. Its mass was elephantine. It blew out a tongue of
orange flame—and Norton jumped aside. Gawain had
prepared him for this, too; fire-breathers always blasted
first, hoping to toast their prey conveniently before com-
ing within range of the prey's defenses. This was virtually
instinctive; they were not smart enough to reason it out.
But they had to inhale deeply first—and so Norton had
watched for the expansion of the torso and had moved
the moment the contraction occurred. It was as if he had
been in this business all his life, thanks to the ghost.

An instant after the fireshot, the Dragon was beside
him, snapping at the spot where Norton had stood. Nat-
urally Norton had dodged aside again, avoiding the teeth.
It was amazing how easy it was. Of course, he had the
benefit of much smaller mass, so could move much less
predictably than the behemoth could. He knew what to
do now; he rammed the point of the Sword into the mon-
ster's passing ear. This was intended to penetrate to the

creature's token brain and kill it.

Unfortunately, Norton's reflexes weren't as good as
his knowledge. He failed to allow sufficiently for the Drag-
on's velocity, and the Sword struck behind the ear and
sliced away several scales and severed a neck muscle or
two. Blood gouted as the Sword jerked clear of the wound.

Pain-maddened, the Dragon braked all fourteen or six-
teen pairs of legs and screeched to a halt. Norton knew

Piws Anthony              187

he was in for it; a careless man seldom got a chance for
a second stroke. The Dragon whirled, becoming un-
conscionably agile for its mass, and brought its head about
to snap at Norton's tasty rear.

Norton whirled himself, slicing desperately at the
Dragon's nose. He scored, but not perfectly; the blade
lopped off the tip. But that didn't stop the creature, which
thrust the bloody snout at him and knocked him down.

On his back, Norton made one more attempt. He
whipped the Sword up to stab at the monster's eye. This
time his aim was good, for the Dragon was almost sta-
tionary. The point sank into the huge orb and found the
tiny brain behind. One ordinary blade could not have done
it, for the orb was surrounded by bony armor, but this
one's enchantment sliced through the bone.

The Dragon went crazy. Its brain wasn't much, but it
did need the thing to work its jaws and similar sundry
tasks. It yanked its head up, blood jetting from the eye
socket and splattering Norton. The great body threshed.
Norton rolled out of the way. The creature flopped over
onto its back and lay there, with all fourteen or sixteen
pairs of legs twitching in the air. The Dragon was in its
death throes—but its blind reflexes could still kill Norton.

"Oh, you're so brave, after all!" Excelsia exclaimed,
clapping her hands. She approached Norton, evidently
thinking to embrace him; then she saw the gore on him
and desisted, wrinkling her pert nose distastefully.
"Couldn't you have done it a little more neatly?" she
asked plaintively.

Norton brushed himself off as well as he could and slid
the blade of the Sword along the greensward to clean it.
Now it shone more brightly than ever, and he wasn't sure
it was only the cleaning that accounted for this. It cer-
tainly was an excellent weapon.

"Well, one hurdle to go," the Elf said briskly. "Let's
get on with it."

Norton, battered, tired, and gunked with gore, would
have preferred a rest break. Heroism wasn't an ideal life!
The final challenge—the steed no one could tame! He




188         Bearing An Hamylass

hoped the Damsel wasn't headed for disappointment.
Women liked horses—but a unicorn was no ordinary horse,
and the Alicom was no ordinary unicorn. This creature
could be more dangerous than the Dragon.

They marched up the mound to the palisade. There
was no gate in it; the wall of stakes formed a tight enclo-
sure. Inside was grim silence.

"Sirrah, use your blade to open a gate," Excelsia told
Norton. "I shall not be barred from my steed!"

Norton put his hand on the hilt of the Sword, then
hesitated. "A gate that let us in would also let the Alicom
out," he said. "Maybe we should peek over the top first."

"That's using your noggin," the Elf agreed. "In fact,

let's poke up a hat."

"A hat?" Excelsia asked, her fair brow furrowing.
The Elf removed his hat from his head. His skull was
almost bald, now that it showed. "Balance it on the end
of the Sword." Norton extended the Sword, and the Elf

set the hat on the tip.

Norton lifted the hat slowly up beside the palisade,
while Excelsia tapped her dainty foot impatiently, "This
be sheerest nonsense, sirrah! What think ye a hat can

see?"

The palisade points were about eight feet above the
ground. Norton elevated the hat beyond that point—and
abruptly there was a ferocious squeal, and a spear thrust
through the hat and withdrew.

Spear? No, that was the horn of the Alicom!
Norton brought down the hat, lifted it from the Sword,
and gravely handed it back to the Elf. The Elf held it
before his little face and sighted through the twin holes
in it at the Damsel. No one spoke.

That was one unfriendly equine creature in there!
They retreated a reasonable distance and considered.
"Probably the Evil Sorceress abused him," Norton sug-
gested. "That made the Alicom mean."

"Nay, he be merely untame," Excelsia said, but her
voice lacked conviction. That strike had been too swift
and sure, too vicious, after such complete silence. The

              189

Alicom had to have been listening to them, pacing them,
biding his time, concealing his awareness until he had the
chance to strike. Had he been able to understand their
dialogue, he would have known the hat trick was coming,
but he was only a cunning animal. Cunning and savage.
"That animal will kill ye, lassie," the Elf warned her.
"Oh, no, unicorns never harm my kind," she insisted.
"This be no ordinary unicorn," he reminded her.

The Damsel acknowledged this logic by bursting into
maidenly tears. "Oh, woe!" she cried. "How may I tame
the untamable?"

Norton exchanged a glance with the Elf. Obviously
they had to come up with something. "Isn't there sup-
posed to be a magic Word?" Norton asked.

Excelsia brightened instantly. "The Word! We must
find the Word!"

The Elf frowned. "If there be a Word, why did not the
Evil Sorceress use it to tame the beast?"

"She didn't know it!" Excelsia said.

"Neither do we."

"But we shall find it!"

Norton sighed to himself. The Evil Sorceress had had
years to search out the Word and had evidently failed.
How could they succeed in an hour?

But the Damsel was threatening to cloud up again. "I
guess we'll just have to guess at it," he said. "We can
stand outside the enclosure and shout words until we
come to the right one."

"Why didn't the Evil Sorceress do that?" the Elf asked.
"She didn't think of it!" Excelsia said eagerly.
Again Norton was doubtful. The Evil Sorceress had
struck him as smart and ruthless. She had surely wanted
to ride the Alicorn, otherwise she would not have held
him captive. Her power would have been enhanced if she
could have used that magical steed. Yet she had failed.

Was there really a magic Word? Or was that only a
myth?

He looked at Excelsia and knew he couldn't tell her
there was no Word. So they would have to try it.

190          Beamy An Hourglass

They stood in a line and called words at random.
"Valor!" the Elf cried bravely. "Beauty!" Excelsia be-
spoke prettily. "Uncertainty..." Norton muttered doubt-
fully.

The other two glanced sharply at him, and he was

abashed.

They tried another round. "Courage!" the Elf cried.
"Modesty," Excelsia murmured. "Time," Norton said.

Again the other two glanced askance at him. "Well,"
he said awkwardly, "the Word could be anything. Maybe
the Sorceress only tried conventional words. How do we
know? Maybe 'time' was it."

Indeed, the silence continued inside the enclosure. "We
are at risk of taming him without knowing it," the Elf said.
"We must test it."

"We know how," Norton said. He borrowed the Elf's
hat again and poked it up above the palisade.

Nothing happened. "Can it be?" Excelsia asked, her
eyes glowing and her bosom heaving with hope.

Norton wasn't sure. "Let's try something else." He
cast about, and finally removed his shirt and draped it on
the blade of the Sword. Then he poked that up, wiggling
it to make it seem lifelike.

The hom speared it.

"That infernal creature tried to trick us!" the Elf said
indignantly. "He pretended to be tame and then struck."

"And he was too canny to fall for the same lure twice,"
Norton agreed. "We have a real problem here."

Even the Damsel was sobered by this. "We must get
closer to him," she decided. "So we can see him react to

our words."

It was a good suggestion, but impractical. They could
not see the Alicom without entering this enclosure, and
that would be suicidal before they discovered the Word.

"Why does not the beast break down the wall?" the
Elf asked irritably. "He plainly has the means."

Excellent question! If the Alicorn could spear a target
above the palisade, he could surely spear the palisade
itself.

              191

But Excelsia had the answer. "He be tethered, of course.
So he can't fly out."

"Then why have an enclosure at all?" the Elf asked.
He seemed to have a considerable practical streak.
Excelsia cocked her head and shrugged.
But this time Norton had the answer. "To keep the
Dragon out. The Evil Sorceress wouldn't have wanted
those two creatures fighting. With the Alicorn tethered,
he would be at a disadvantage against the Dragon and
might get eaten. That must be why he doesn't punch holes
in the fence or kick it down. He doesn't want the fires of
the Dragon to come in. Not while he can't escape. And
the Dragon was too stupid to realize he could bash or
burn down the palisade."

The Elf nodded. "Then we can take down the wall."
No sooner realized than done. Norton hacked out a
section and stood clear as it fell outward with a resounding
crash. Now at last they had a view of the interior.

The Alicorn stood there—and a magnificent creature
he was. He stood about seventeen hands at the shoulder,
with two enormous white wings rising from that shoulder
region and a gleaming black horn at his forehead. The
rest of him was a burnished red, not the shade of blood
but the hue of fire. He fairly gleamed, and his eyes stared

back at them with a disconcerting awareness. Dumb ani-
mal? Unlikely!

He was indeed tethered. A silver chain was locked to
his right hind leg and anchored to a silver stake. Silver,
of course, was resistant to magic; that was why the Ali-
com could not break it. The Evil Sorceress had stooped
to mundane means to pen him.

"Oh, you Noble Creature!" Excelsia exclaimed, walk-
ing toward the Alicorn with arms outstretched. "All my
young, pretty, innocent, and genteel life I have longed for
the like of you!"

"Don't do that!" Norton cried, suddenly realizing that
the Damsel was mesmerized by the beauty of the beast.
But she was already stepping within range.

The Alicom never hesitated. He lowered his hom and




292           Bearing AM Hour/floss

leaped to the limit of his tether. The terrible horn stabbed
right through the Damsel's body and withdrew so rapidly
that the Alicom seemed hardly to have moved. But now
there was blood on the horn, and Excelsia collapsed, her
blood pouring out. She had been speared neatly through
her maidenly heart.

Norton was frozen for an instant in shock. Then he
drew his Sword and charged the Alicom.

"Don't do that!" the Elf cried, exactly as Norton had.
But he, too, was too late. Norton stepped within range.

The Alicorn charged, the deadly horn leveling. The
Sword sliced down. The blade severed the horn at its

midpoint.

Blood gouted from the stump of the hom. The creature
stiffened, then collapsed beside the woman, mixing his

blood with hers.

"You fool!" the Elf cried. "Now ye have two deaths
for one—and what be gained?"

Norton gazed at the bodies. For a moment he seemed
to see Orlene, collapsed at her piano. What had he gained,
indeed! He had been as much a fool as Excelsia had been
and had only magnified the damage by his thoughtless
violence. This gallant quest of his—he had converted it
to disaster. Some fantasy hero he was!

Of course, he realized that he was not a fantasy hero.
He was Chronos, Master of Time, with a job to do back
on Earth. Why had he allowed the Devil to distract him
like this? He should never have deluded himself about his

position.

Chronos? Of course—there was the answer!
He brought out the Hourglass and turned the sand red.
He reversed time for the immediate region and willed the
sand to flow up. That left himself out of the change.

The Alicom trembled, then righted himself, collapsing
to his feet. Blood gouted back into his hom. The severed
end of the hom flew back into place. A moment later, the
Damsel was unpunctured, and walked blithely backward
out of the compound. Then the palisade became unbacked.
Since Norton had excluded himself from this reversal, he

PiersAnthony               193

was both standing apart and participating, backward. So
he moved to rejoin his prior self, merging, then stilled the
sand and returned to normal time. All was well again.

"Never have I seen the like!" the Elf exclaimed. "You
are a Sorcerer!"

Oops—he had forgotten to include the Elfin the rever-
sal. The little man had seen it all and remembered it. Well,
it wasn't as if there was supposed to be any secret. "I'm
not a sorcerer; I'm Chronos."

"What are you talking about?" Excelsia demanded.

"It's complicated to explain," Norton said.

"Then don't bother. Go ahead and hack down the wall."

The Elf pursed his lips in a soundless whistle. "Damsel,
ye know not what ye ask."

"I want to see that divine steed!" she insisted.

"I don't think that's wise," Norton said.

"But we know he's tethered!"

"Better explain. Wizard," the Elf said.

"Wizard?" Excelsia demanded. "Riddles again, belike?"

"I am afraid," Norton said carefully, "that if I open

this wall and let you see the Alicom, you will be so smitten

by him that you will walk right into his hom and perish."
She opened her mouth for an angry retort, but stalled

out before speaking. Evidently this was the type of thing

she knew she was prone to do.

"Still, we do need to see this creature," the Elf said,
his practical streak taking hold again, "so we can verify
the Word. Maybe if we tie her up—"
"What?" Excelsia screeched undaintily.
"Perhaps if she merely promises not to go near the
Alicom until we're sure it's safe," Norton suggested dip-
lomatically.

Excelsia pouted. "Oh, all right!"

The Elf shook his head bemusedly. "If only ye knew,
Damsel!"

"Never mind," Norton said quickly. "It never hap-
pened."

"What never happened?" she demanded.

"I'll bring down the fence," Norton said. "Remember,
Excelsia, you promised—"




2 94          Seamy An Hourglass

" Tis a mess of foolishness o'er naught," she grumped.

Nevertheless, he chopped much more carefully at the
wall than he had before, so as to open a smaller hole and
be on guard against her passage.

The Alicorn stood as before. To the stallion, this was
before; no awareness of his prior fate remained in his
memory. The double disaster had been undone. The beast
was still magnificent—but now Norton and the Elf had
firsthand evidence as to why the Evil Sorceress had not
approached him. Without the Word, approach was death.

What was that Word? They had to come up with it—
and Norton was sure that no random search would do it.
If there was a Word, it had to be well hidden.

Excelsia peeked through the hole and saw the Alicorn.
"Ooooo!" she exclaimed melodiously, starting forward.

Norton moved to intercept her, and she stopped. "I
was not going in there," she said somewhat insincerely.
"He's so beautiful. All my young, pretty, innocent life—"

"Let's try words again," the Elf suggested. "Do we
have any better way?"

"Do we?" Norton echoed. He was not pleased with
himself. He had met the Damsel, acquired the Enchanted
Sword, slain the Evil Sorceress—approximately—and the
Dragon, and now was balked by what should have been
the simplest aspect of this adventure: speaking a Word to
an animal.

Squeeze.

Could it be? "Sning—you say there is?"

Squeeze.

"You know it?"

Squeeze.

"A way we can leam the Word quickly?"

Squeeze.

"Well, let's get to it!" He looked up at the other two.
"Sning can help us find the Word. All I have to do is find
the right questions to ask him."

"That's one mighty useful snake," the Elf remarked.

"Even if he weren't, I would value him," Norton said.
"He was given to me by one I—"

PiersAntbowy               195

SQUEEZE! SQUEEZE! SQUEEZE!
Norton froze. He trusted Sning's warning—but what

was its nature? Had he been about to say something wrong?
Squeeze.

Oh, yes—he kept forgetting that he did not have to
speak his questions aloud. You object to my speaking of
your value to me? he thought.

Squeeze, squeeze.

Is there some other threat?
Squeeze.

Some new monster approaching?
Squeeze, squeeze.

Norton pondered. The Elf and the Damsel watched
him, mutually perplexed. They judged him to be an odd
one. Some error in what I'm saying?

Squeeze, squeeze, squeeze.

This was difficult! Something all right to think, but not
to speak?

Sning hesitated, then gave one squeeze.
What could that be? Norton glanced at the Elf. "I was

about to say something wrong, so Sning warned me. But

I haven't figured out what—"

"The Word," the Elf said wisely.

"The Word!" Norton and Excelsia repeated together,
and Sning squeezed affirmatively.

"But why should it be wrong to—?"

"Ah, we have all been fools!" the Elf cried. "Know ye
not that the power of a Word adheres to him who speaks
it? If you had spoken it—"

Now Norton understood. "Then the Alicorn would be
tamed by me—"

"And by no one else," the Elf agreed. "I knew, but I
forgot. A century of mud on my brain may have dulled
it. 'Tis folly for us all to be crying out words; only the

lass must speak that one to the steed. She be the one who
wants him."

"I had somehow thought the Alicorn would be com-
pletely tamed," Norton said. "So anyone could approach
him."




196            

The Elf spat to the side. "Who would want a com-
pletely tame steed? That were as tasteless as a completely
tame woman! He must be tame only for his master. Mis-
tress."

Norton nodded. A steed no one could steal, who would
be as wild to strangers as he was now, unless cautioned
by the one he respected. That did make sense. Perhaps
the Alicom was tame now for a former master, who had
died or gotten lost. "If I discover the Word and whisper
it to Excelsia, and then she speaks it aloud to the Ali-
com—?"

Squeeze.

Now he had it straight. But one thing still bothered
him. "If Sning knows the Word, the Evil Sorceress must
have known it, too. I mean, she was a Sorceress and she
had magical sources of information. Yet she never used
the Word. She must have had reason."

Excelsia had stood silently all the while, adoring the
Alicom through the hole in the fence. Now she looked at
Norton. "She surely would have used it if she could!"

"True, Sning?"

Squeeze.

"She knew it and could not say it?"

Squeeze.

"There's no actual danger in using the Word—apart
from making sure the right person uses it?"

Squeeze.

"And once that person uses it, it can't be used again,
so no one else can take away the Alicom's loyalty?"

Squeeze.

Until, perhaps, that person died, leaving the Alicom
free again. It was a firm commitment.

Squeeze.

Norton shook his head. "The Evil Sorceress certainly
would have wanted to use it. Was she physically incapable
of pronouncing it?"

Squeeze, squeeze.

"Emotionally incapable?"

Squeeze.

PiwsAnthony              197

"Ah!" Excelsia exclaimed, clapping her hands. "I can
guess what Word she could not say! The one that coun-
tered her nature!"

"She was a creature of hate," the Elf agreed.
Norton thought back to the moment of Sning's first
warning on this subject. He had been commenting about

Sning, who had been given to him by Orlene, the one
he—

Excelsia marched up to the Alicorn. The beast braced,
ready for his devastating attack. "Love!" she cried.
The Alicorn shuddered. Then he furled his wings and

bowed his head until the terrible horn touched the battered
earth.

"It could be a ruse!" Norton warned.
Squeeze, squeeze.

Excelsia approached the stallion and put her small fair
hand on his muscular shoulder near where one of his
wings sprouted. "Love," she repeated softly. He lifted his
head and brought his nose around to nuzzle her neck. He
had indeed been tamed.

She stooped to untie the knotted silver chain from his
hind leg. Her human hands could do what neither his
hooves nor his horn could. In a moment he was free—
but he did not move. He waited for her directive.

The Elf walked toward them. Instantly the Alicorn was
alert. His wings unfurled and his horn took a bead on the
intruder. A small puff of fire showed at his nostrils.

"It's all right, Alicorn," Excelsia said. "These are my
friends."

The creature relaxed. If she said it was all right, it was
all right, for her word was his law. But woe betide the one
she did not speak for!

Excelsia jumped up on the steed's back, managing to
achieve a sidesaddle position though there was no saddle.
Norton knew how difficult it could be to mount a standing
horse without the aid of a stirrup. Perhaps she had a little
magic of her own—the magic of Damsel with Equine.

"Oh, I'm so happy!" Excelsia cried, waving to Norton
and the Elf. "Onward and upward, Alicorn!"




198            

The Alicom spread his great white wings, pumped them,
and launched himself into the air. There was hardly any
downdraft; most of his impetus was magic. In moments
Damsel and stallion were high aloft.

"Well, the job's done, the adventure complete," the Elf
remarked. He held out his hand. "You won't be needing
the Enchanted Sword any more."

Norton stared at the diminishing speck in the sky.
Somehow he had expected more thanks for his effort than
this. "I suppose not." He handed the Sword over.

The Elf took it by mid-blade and held it up over his
head, horizontally. A mud-puddle began to form around
his feet. Slowly he sank into it.

"But I thought you didn't like mud!" Norton protested.

"I don't," the Elf agreed, sinking further. "But that's
fantasy for you. The Damsel gets to fly, while the Elf gets

stuck in the mud."

Something caught the comer of Norton's eye. He looked
around. The slain Dragon was reviving!

"Hey, wait, Elf! I have further use for that Sword!"

The Elf's descent into the widening puddle paused.
"What for? You're finished with the Quest."

"The Dragon! He's not quite dead!"

"Of course he's not quite dead! He's immortal! He dies
only for an hour, then he resumes his post. Naturally he'll
be somewhat irritated by the loss of the Alicorn he
guarded—but that's a new Quest."

"But that means I need a weapon!"

"Nah. You won't be staying long. Otherwise you'd be
worrying about when the Evil Sorceress revives. It takes
her two hours, 'cause she's worse; but when she does,

hoo man!"

Norton looked wildly at the fallen castle. Sure enough,

it was beginning to re-form from the mound of slime.
"None of this destruction was permanent? It's all coming

back?"

There was no response. He looked—and the Elf was

gone. Only his hat and the Enchanted Sword remained
above the mud, and in a moment they, too, sank out of

sight.

              199

Norton felt very much alone. Now he was without
weapon or companions—and the Dragon was climbing to
its fourteen or sixteen pairs of legs, larger than ever and
quite annoyed. Norton would have to cross the Dragon's
path to escape this region.

Squeeze.

Suddenly he felt better. "Sning! I've still got you!"
Then he drifted from the planet and zoomed back toward
his own realm. This visit was over—none too soon.







10-

GAEA

Satan was waiting for him again as he returned. "Did you
enjoy yourself?" the Prince of Evil inquired politely.

Norton looked at him narrowly. "You don't know?"

"My dear associate! How could I?"

"You sent me there. You ought to be able to tell how
things are. Otherwise how could you be sure you weren't
sending me to my doom?"

"One Incarnation can not harm another."

"Without the other's consent. If you placed me in a
challenging situation and I failed to meet that challenge,
would that constitute my consent for harm?"

"There is no danger to you in the fantasy scheme! It
is nothing but a living adventure."

"I thought that was rather convenient," Norton said.
"I arrive just in time for a classic fantasy adventure, com-
plete with Damsel in Distress, Enchanted Sword, sturdy
Elf, Evil Sorceress, Dragon, and Alicom. True chance
would have had me land in a barren wilderness. And my
prior trip, too—with spaceman, Bern, psi powers, shape-
changing, and wreck on an alien planet. Another arranged

adventure."

"Well, My clients would not be interested in dull vaca-

200

PiersAnthony               201

tions," Satan pointed out. "I try to reward them well for
their services to Me. Heaven, you know, is a pretty dull
place; My settings have the excitement of challenge and
success."

"So others have interacted with Bat Dursten and his
Bems, and with Excelsia and her Alicom?"

Satan looked modestly uncomfortable. "Or reasonable
facsimiles thereof," he agreed. "There is no harm in it,
and a scripted adventure is, after all, an aspect of My
specialty: an interesting and amusing fabrication."

"Yes, I remember. You are the Father of Lies."

"Certainly. Fiction is but an accepted lie, and so it is
My business. People have been brainwashed into sup-
posing that there can be no benefit in lies, but lies of this
nature can be exceptionally rewarding. If you would care
to visit other settings, such as the Wild West, or Mystery
Sleuth, or Complex Historical, or Torrid Romance—"

"The antimatter frame has quite a spread of habitats!"

"Indeed. Plenty of room for all My favored friends."
Satan leaned forward persuasively. "There are many sce-
narios within each setting, too. If, for example, you found
Excelsia attractive. We could arrange for her to—"

"Never mind that." Norton had indeed found her
attractive, but didn't care to have Satan know it. "If you
have such an excellent way to reward your minions, why
do you need to bother with me?-Your friend in your
past—"

"Ah, you checked him? Did you discover any flaw in
the life I contemplate for him?"

"No. I just don't follow your motive. Why not send
him to delights in the globular cluster or the Magic-Lantern
Cloud, instead of taking all this trouble with me?"

Satan shrugged. "I suppose I could. But I have prom-
ised him a happy life in this world and I always keep My
promises."

Norton hesitated. He did not trust the Father of Lies,
yet this particular case did seem to check out. "I'll give
it further consideration."

Satan stood. "As you wish, Chronos." He turned about




202            

in place and, somehow, by the time he completed the turn,

he was gone.

Norton took a meal and a snooze. He wasn't sure how
much objective time had passed, in whatever direction,
or what day it might now be beyond his mansion, but he

himself had been quite active.

In due course Clotho showed up. She stepped into his
arms immediately and kissed him, then hesitated. "Or is
this too soon for you now, in your lifeline?"

Norton realized that there had been, or would be—
depending on viewpoint—a romance between them. He
still loved Orlene but knew that was over. He had been
intrigued by Excelsia, but did not want to get involved in
such fashion with a creature who played roles for Satan.
Clotho he trusted. "I think it is right for me now," he said.
"But it's newer to me than to you."

"There was a time when it was otherwise," she said,
smiling. "This will be my pleasure."

Indeed, she led him through a quite satisfactory liaison,
for she was conversant with what pleased him, including
some things he hadn't known before would please him.
He realized he was going to enjoy experiencing the other
encounters she remembered. His separation from his past
was now virtually complete. Clotho was excellent medi-
cine ... except for those knowing eyes.

Then they set up for the day's work. For this, Clotho
shifted to Lachesis, who glanced at him obliquely while
pretending to be ignorant of what her other aspect had
just been doing. Then she put her spread-fingered hands
together to draw out the first cat's cradle of crossed
threads. She paused. "That's odd."

"You have a tangle?"

"A crossed set, where there shouldn't be." She frowned,

trying to make it out.

"That reminds me. Satan wants a favor, and I checked
it, and it seems all right. But maybe I should consult with
you, just in case it disturbs your threads."

She looked up from her network. "That would be wise.
Satan must never be trusted. He builds deceit upon deceit,
until reality disappears."

PiwsAnthony             203

"It's a favor for a man about twenty years in your past.
He had a chance to meet and marry a lovely and wealthy
young woman, but missed it and committed suicide instead.
Satan wants to reverse that so the man can have a good
life."

"Suicide," she said. She shifted to Atropos. "That's
my department," the old woman said. "And Thanatos'. I
schedule the terminations, he executes them." She moved
her fingers in intricate patterns, conjuring threads. "Spe-
cific space-time address?"

Norton gave it. She zeroed in. "Got it. There's the
severed thread. He—great Heaven!"

"What's the matter?"

"That's Thanatos!"

"Yes, he would have collected the soul."

"Not that. This life—it's the mortal man who assumed
the current office of Thanatos, just as you assumed the
office of Chronos. He didn't suicide; he killed the prior
officeholder. That's how that office changes hands."

"They murder their predecessors?" Norton asked with
horror.

"Thanatos deals in death," she said grimly. "Never-
theless, the current Thanatos is a good one—perhaps one
of the best. He cares for his clients in a way that others
of his office did not; and he did balk Satan in a critical
situation, thereby preserving the scheme of the world as
we know it. It would be disastrous to allow Satan to
eliminate him!"

"I thought Satan couldn't harm other Incarnations!"

She collapsed her network of threads and put one with-
ered hand on his. "Dear boy," Atropos said. "Satan never
allows himself to be bound by any law he can circumvent,
and he is the ultimate master of circumvention. There are
ways and ways."

"But how—?"

"If you take his minion to that nexus and the minion
persuades the man named Zane to buy the Lovestone and
win the lovely young woman—" Her old eyes seemed to
sparkle. "You young men do like lovely young women,




204          Beamy An HouiyUiss

don't you! I can't imagine what for." When he did not
respond, she resumed making her point. "Then he will
indeed be happy. He will have an excellent life. But he
will, by the same token, not assume the office of Than-
atos. Then Thanatos will not save the Magician's daughter
Luna from Satan's mischief, and she will not be on hand
to balk him in that most critical political nexus not far
hence."

"I don't remember any—"

"It is, I believe, beyond your assumption of the office.
Satan thought to use your ignorance to facilitate his ploy.
Since you also have not met Thanatos—"

"I met him—before I become Chronos. But his face
was a skull; I wouldn't know him in mundane life."

Atropos pondered momentarily. "I think you must meet
him formally now—and Luna, too, so that Satan can not
again deceive you about them."

Norton's head was spinning. What a disaster he had
almost precipitated! The elimination of the Thanatos he
had encountered, who had so kindly explained to him
about the baby. Thanatos had cared about him; it would
have been the crudest irony to remove him from his office
in return!

Atropos spun threads in her hands and manipulated
them. "This way," she said. "Adjust your time; we'll be
entering the normal world."

Norton brought out the Hourglass to turn the sand
green. He was surprised to discover that it was already
green. That didn't make any difference here in his man-
sion, but he didn't remember putting the Glass on that
setting. "It is ready."

Suddenly they were sliding along cables strung through
chaos. Norton's eyes could not follow any one of them
to its end; all seemed to extend to infinity. They filled the
universe in a multidimensional splay of colored lines. He
felt somewhat as a tiny bug might, caught in an endless
array of tumbled pickup sticks.

Then the universe firmed again. They were at the
entrance to a wealthy estate. "He's visiting her now,"

              205

Atropos explained. "I dislike interrupting their tryst, but
this is important." She knocked on one of the bars of the
gate with a wrinkled knuckle,

Immediately two griffins charged to the gate from the
other side. They had muscular lions' bodies and fierce
eagles' heads and wings. But their savagery abated as
they spied Atropos; evidently they had encountered her
before. "This is a friend," she told them, much as Excelsia
had told the Alicom. "Show us in."

They turned their beaks toward Norton. Nervously he
held up the shining Hourglass. Immediately they relaxed;

this, too, they had seen before.

Now Atropos opened the gate, and Norton followed
her in. The two griffins paced them, forming an escort.
"Actually, neither of us is in any danger; it is to protect
the griffins that I introduced you."

"To protect themT'

"Your cloak, as an extension of the Hourglass, will
instantly age-to-oblivion anything that attacks you. Only
your good will deactivates it." She smiled toothily. "For-
tunately for those who might happen to touch you."

Such as Clotho, who had touched him most intimately.
He had not realized his misty cloak had such power; it
would have been terrible if he had inadvertently aged
Clotho to Atropos during their liaison!

They approached the door to the house. It opened.
Thanatos stood there, with a comely woman of perhaps
forty beside him. "Welcome, Incarnations!" Thanatos said.

"Perhaps you did not realize," Atropos told him, "that
there has been a change. This is the new Chronos."

Thanatos looked at Norton. "You jest, Thread-Cutter!
This is the Master of Time I have known twenty years,
since he helped me understand my own office."

"Uh—whom you will know," Norton said. "That
is—"

Thanatos laughed and took his hand. "Of course, friend!
You live backward. So this is when you meet me! Twenty
years after I met you."

"Yes," Norton agreed. "But we also met when I was,
uh, mortal. You came to collect a baby—"




206            

Thanatos peered at him more closely. "Oh, yes! I
remember now! The demon ring! I did not make the con-
nection; you appear different in your robe of office."

"Not more so than you do," Norton said.

They all laughed. "I am hoist in my own petard, as
Mars would say." Thanatos drew back his dark hood, and
now the features of the customer at the Mess o' Pottage
shop emerged. "Well, welcome to the office, old friend!"

Atropos took Norton's arm and drew him toward the
other occupant of the house. "And this is Luna Kaftan."

The woman smiled. "I, too, am glad to have you meet
me at last, Chronos, though we have been friends all this
time. You saved my life, long ago."

"Uh—I'm really not clear what—"

"Of course you don't remember! I had been slain by
-a dragon, and you turned time back to unslay me."

As he had done for Excelsia. "Uh, good," he said inad-
equately.

"Come in, friend," Luna said, taking his arm and draw-
ing him to the center of the room. "We realize we owe
you explanations. We have grown accustomed to your
knowledge, forgetting it needs an origin. You have been
an excellent friend to all of us, and it is time for us to
clarify things for you."

And clarify they did. Luna, born the daughter of a
powerful Magician who had foreseen the first of Satan's
current series of efforts to subvert the system, was now
a Senator, influential in Congress; it was understood that
she would in the near future be instrumental in balking
Satan's plan to take over the government and influence
the nation and the world enough to swing the total balance
toward evil and make him the final victor over God. No
one knew exactly what Satan planned to do, but all knew
that Luna was the key to stopping it. She had to be pro-
tected. There had already been horrendous episodes. But
Chronos' role was to be critical, for he alone could lit-
erally change history. Everything else that had happened
could become invalid, and all their memories and expe-
riences could change—if Chronos did not hold firm against

              207

the wiles and guiles of Satan. What Chronos had done—
would do—to balk Satan was not clear to any of them;

evidently much of it had been erased by changes in reality
already. But if he won, they would remain as they were
now, ready to defeat Satan.

"But I must have won," he said. "Since you are here!"

Luna shook her head. "No. We are at the moment only
a theoretical present; our reality is subject to your action.
We sincerely hope you will prevail, but we are largely
helpless to assist you in that effort."

Atropos told Thanatos and Luna of Satan's latest trick—
trying to get Thanatos vacated before he even assumed
the office. "Because Chronos didn't know—at his begin-
ning," she concluded. "Satan was striking at the outset—
and he almost bypassed us all."

"The last shall be first," Luna agreed. "We have been
napping in that respect, but it seems that ploy was foiled
because Chronos did not take the minion there, and now
knows better. Yet my stones indicate that Satan is not
through with him, and the issue remains in serious doubt."

How blithely she talked of her own potential defeat or
nonexistence! "What can Satan do, now that I am alert?"
Norton asked.

"I'm not sure," Luna said. "But there is something."

"It is impossible for any of us to be sure," Atropos
said, "when our own history is being changed."

"But I haven't changed any!" Norton protested. "I
won't—"

Atropos shook her head. "There is something," she
said, repeating Luna's words. She brought forth her
threads. "That strange crossing—and now I think it's not
coincidental." She concentrated, peering closely at her
network. "Can't seem to spot it specifically."

"Satan couldn't have done anything in any past time
without Chronos' cooperation," Luna said. "And Chronos
has not cooperated—and as he progresses into our past,
he'll be increasingly careful, so Satan will have no oppor-
tunity to fool him. If Satan hasn't managed anything yet,
he'll never have the chance—as well he knows."




208         BearmgAn Howiylass

Now Thanatos turned his hollow-skull gaze on Norton.
Even though Norton knew this was merely the effect of
the hood, which the man had drawn close again, it remained
disconcerting. "Are you certain Satan's minion did not
accompany you to the past?"

"No demon went with me," Norton said. "Unless you
mean Sning?" He held up his hand, showing the snake

ring.

"He is not of Satan," Thanatos said. "I meant some-
thing Satan might have given you, that you accepted. You
have to accept it; that is the nature of this. Evil can never
touch the person who refuses to accept it. But evil can
be subtle. Satan might have concealed the minion's nature
and purpose."

"All Satan gave me was a scroll with the address, which
I didn't keep—I memorized it—and an amulet to—" Nor-
ton stiffened. "Oh, no!"

"The demon!" Luna agreed. "Satan knew you would
want to investigate, and once you carried his minion

there—"

"How could I have been such a fool!" Norton cried in
an agony of conscience. "Sning tried to warn me, but I
didn't understand. Satan said it was just a little horn—"

Thanatos nodded. "The horn of a demon." he said.
"Do not blame yourself unduly, Chronos; all of us have
been deceived by the guiles of the Father of Lies. All of
us have learned the hard way. Once he almost convinced
me my magic was gone."

"But your life is not changed, Thanatos," Atropos said.
"I checked that first; the snarl is not there."

The Deathhead grinned. "Obviously."

"No, I didn't take the horn there," Norton said. His
knees felt weak. "I could have eliminated you, Thanatos,
without ever realizing! You who were so kind to me when
you took the baby! When you took the time to explain.
I feel terrible! It was just blind luck that I didn't—"

"You two met before?" Luna asked. "Perhaps, then,
it wasn't luck. Paradox may have been brought into play."

"I thought I was immune," Norton said.

              209

"You are. But there are special cases. When did you
meet Thanatos—in our time?"

"About a year and a half ago, maybe less. Before I
became Chronos. It was partly because of Thanatos that
I took the office. I knew, because of him, that it was
possible for a good person to function as an Incarnation."

"He is a good person, isn't he?" Luna said, bestowing
on Thanatos a momentary gaze of such love and respect
that her beauty was intensified. Then she turned back to
Norton. "Had you had no connection with Thanatos, you
could have eliminated him without consequence to your-
self. But you met him and were influenced by him; thus
your elimination of him would have constituted a variety
of paradox, even though the result occurred later in your
own life. He had to be there to talk with you in your
normal life—and I know from my own experience why
he did it and that a different man in that office would not
have done it." She smiled at the Death-figure.

"Well, he noticed my ring—"

"I have a houseful of similar enchantments." She turned
and reached to a shelf, picking up a tiny elephant formed
from a single blue topaz stone. In her hand the elephant
came to life and trumpeted faintly. "He would not have
found your ring remarkable."

Norton looked at Thanatos, who did not react. "Then
why—?"

Luna took Thanatos' bone-arm, showing no aversion
to its form. "Because he saw that you were suffering, and
he had compassion. Few in his office have had that qual-
ity, and of course Satan doesn't comprehend it." She turned
again to Thanatos. "I went with him first because I was
required to, but when I grasped his inner nature I loved
him. He saved my life—as all the Incarnations have—
but I would have loved him anyway."

"That other woman," Norton said. "The one he would
have married, had he not become Thanatos instead—she
was beautiful and wealthy and good—but so are you! He
lost nothing!"

"Nothing!" Thanatos agreed.




210           Bearing An Houiglass

"So you could not readily eliminate Thanatos," Luna
concluded. "Paradox did help there."

"Not—readily?"

"It is possible," she explained. "Paradox is not abso-
lute for you. You will tend to avoid it, rather than confront
it head-on, even when only mortals are involved. Incar-
nations are much more difficult to change, so paradox is
stronger with them. But if you do meet it directly, it can
not stop you. So you could have eliminated Thanatos
without consequence to yourself, but it would have
required a more specific effort."

"I made no effort!" Norton said.

"Yes. So you avoided eliminating him, for a reason
Satan was not equipped to understand. Satan's ruse mal-
functioned by seeming coincidence. That is the way such
things operate; without your will, paradox will not be
abused, even when only normal people are involved. What
happened to Satan's hom?"

"I visited—the woman I loved," Norton said, abruptly
aware that Atropos was merely another form of Clotho,
with whom he had so recently made love. "She made me
destroy the thing."

"There is the seeming coincidence," Luna said.

Atropos shook her head. "Still, there is something. Did
you go anywhere before then?"

"Yes. I visited her when she was a child. And, you
know, somewhere along the way part of the hom was
lost—"

"Not lost," Luna said. "Departed. The part that was
the messenger-demon took off to do its mischief."

"When?" Atropos demanded of Norton.

"When Orlene was ten years old—or maybe seven—
that's the first stop I made—call it about fifteen years
ago, your time. No, more like seventeen. I entered normal
time to chat with her in a park. That could be where it
left."

Atropos explored her threads. "Nothing in that period."

"Actually, I paused at a number of places in her life.
But I didn't phase in to normal time—"

              111

"Probably that wasn't necessary. The demon could have
dropped off while you were traveling." She continued to
check. "There does seem to be something eight or nine
years ago." She put her old eye close. "Yes, threads I
never crossed, in that general range."

"The minion, for sure," Luna said. "It made a change.
It couldn't get to the primary target, so took a secondary
one. Now we must discover what that is."

"A change in the past, to get rid of you—without
touching Thanatos?" Norton asked.

"Or to nullify me," Luna said. "I am the real target,
not Thanatos—and in this case I am easier to get at, since
I am mortal and you never before interacted with me. In
any event, Satan does not care how he gets his way—as
long as he does."

"But you are the same—I mean, you haven't changed,
have you? Or would you know if you had changed?"

Luna smiled. "I understand your concern, Chronos.
But no, I don't believe I have changed—yet. My stones
indicate that Good retains the advantage over Evil, and
that would not be the case if Satan had his way. Still,
mischief is in the making. We should be able to undo it
if we act correctly and promptly."

"First we must discover what the damage is," Thanatos
said. "Perhaps this is merely a diversion."

"It's oddly minor," Atropos said, still peering in per-
plexity at her threads. "Nothing significant, really. No
one was killed, harmed, or even frightened."

"Keep looking," Luna said. "Satan is devious, but we
can be sure he knows how to score."

"I'm afraid I still don't understand," Norton said. "If
the demon did something to change the future—our pres-
ent—why isn't it finished now? And if it isn't, why can't
I simply go back to fix it? If Atropos can just pinpoint
the moment—"

"It's the three-person limit," Atropos said, still tracing
her threads. "An aspect of the paradox resistance." She
glanced up to spy Norton's look of bafflement. "Thanatos,
you understand it, don't you? Explain it to him, for
Chronos certainly has the need to know."




212           

Both Thanatos and Luna chuckled. "Indeed, he
explained it to me many years ago, when I was new in
office," Thanatos said. He opened his cloak and removed
it; with that action, he became a completely ordinary young
man, the one called Zane. Twenty years had not aged him
at all; evidently Incarnations did not age the way normal
people did. That aligned with Norton's observation of the
prior Chronos: it had been an adult man, not a newbom
baby, who brought the Hourglass. So he himself would
probably remain his present physiological age until his
term expired. "Chronos was kind to me," Zane continued.
"Now I shall be kind to him at his commencement." And
he settled down and explained it so that Norton could
understand.

The reason no change had occurred in the present was
that it had not yet occurred in the past. Whatever the
demon of Satan had done was quiescent, evoking no
change in the life of any human being. But that was merely
a delayed implementation, a literal time bomb that would
in due course have its effect on human events. The moment
it did, the future from that point on would change, in
whatever manner the initial alteration determined. That
would surely include Luna; if she were not eliminated as
a person, she would certainly be nullified as a force to
balk Satan. So they had to locate and nullify that change
before it touched the human fabric; only in that manner
could they be assured of success.

"But how long—?" Norton asked.

"Atropos is trying to determine that," Thanatos said.
"She can trace living threads readily, but inanimate threads
are more devious. It could be five more minutes—or five
more years."

Norton felt another chill. Time bomb indeed! "Maybe
I can go back and destroy the demon before it escapes.
It was in my possession, after all."

Thanatos shook his head. "You can not. That is the
other aspect of Satan's mischief. The three-person limit
prevents you." And he explained about that.

Chronos was the only entity who could travel in time

              213

and he was largely immune from paradox—but there were
limits. His easiest way was simply to proceed along his
natural life course, backward to the date of his birth. It
required magical effort to reverse his direction and match
that of ordinary people, as he was doing now, more effort
to travel through historical time, and more yet to take
physical form and act in such a time. But the magic of
the Hourglass made it possible, and he could indeed change
reality by changing the past. But in such cases, he was
there in two persons—himself in his original, normal life,
and himself in his return as Chronos. Doubling himself
was in his power; it had to be, for him to use his power
effectively. But tripling himself was another matter; then
he was making a third appearance at a given time, inter-
fering with himself as Chronos, and the potential for
paradox magnified exponentially.

No one could interfere with an Incarnation with impu-
nity—not even if that Incarnation was himself. That strained
the power of the Hourglass, for it was itself being doubled
and was opposing itself. It was theoretically possible for
this to occur, but so awkward that it was hardly worth-
while to try. If he did try, most likely he would bounce
off and land in a time when there was no duplication,
possibly doing incidental mischief in the process. In short,
the risks were probably greater than the likely benefits;

mischief in time was the most awkward to undo—because
of the three-person limit. Chronos could do damage that
Chronos could not correct.

"And Satan knew that!" Norton exclaimed. "He knew
I could not change my mind once I changed the past—
even if it was inadvertent."

"True," Thanatos agreed. "Had you taken the demon
to the Mess o' Pottage shop, you would have nullified the
best efforts of Atropos and myself, for in such interactions
Chronos is more powerful than Thanatos. The rest of us
can double only by your action—and we can be rendered
nonexistent by your action, too. Only God and Satan, the
true Eternals, are exempt from that."

Something about this explanation bothered Norton, but




214            

he was not able to pin it down. "Then there is no way to
stop what Satan's minion has done?" he asked. "If I can't
return to stop the demon—"

"There should be a way," Luna said. "Satan's minions
do not endure long apart from him. That demon must
have done its deed and expired. If we can identify what
he did and nullify it before it impinges on human events,
then the victory will be ours. We probably have time,
because Satan sought to distract you; he would not have
bothered, had the deed been truly irrevocable."

"It was some distraction!" Norton admitted ruefully.
"He said he was showing me the nature of his bribe to
encourage me to take his minion to the Mess o' Pottage.
All the time he knew this was pointless or impossible. He
was certainly angry when he learned I'd destroyed the
horn, though; he must have thought the mission had been
a complete failure."

"We were lucky," Luna said. "We could have been lost
before we had a chance to fight back. But that secondary
mission can still destroy us. How is it coming, Atropos?"

"I have almost pinpointed the time and place," Atropos
said. "But not the deed. I only know that when it mani-
fests, it will give Satan the victory. My threads have ten-
sion on them that threatens haywire shifting. I need to
comprehend it further."

Norton's mind had been running back over his recent
experiences with Satan. The globular cluster, the Magic-
Lantern Cloud, and his adventures there—suddenly the
thing that had bothered him came clear. He had doubled
himself in those adventures, rescuing himself from the
Bern and saving Excelsia from the Alicom. It had been
not only possible but easy. How, then, could the three-
person limit be such a formidable force? Did it exist at
all?

"Gaea," Luna said.

"I will take Atropos to her," Thanatos said, rising and
resuming his cloak.

"Take us all," Luna said. "Chronos must meet her,
too."

              215

"Gaea—another Incarnation?" Norton asked. It
seemed to him he had heard that name before; Gawain
the Ghost had said—

"The Green Mother," Luna explained. "Nature."

Yes, that was it; Gaea had changed the baby for Gawain
and thereby had caused terrible mischief. The memory of
that banished Norton's three-person speculation from his
attention; he wanted to meet this powerful yet fallible
entity.

The four of them walked out to the estate parking lot,
paced by the guardian griffins. They were certainly beau-
tiful animals! Beside the parking lot there was a small,
verdant pasture. A handsome stallion of pale hue grazed
there.

"Mortis," Thanatos called.

The pale horse perked up his ears and trotted over. He
was a truly splendid animal, with a sleek hide and firm
muscles; had he had wings and a horn, he could have
passed for another Alicom. This was, Norton remem-
bered, the Deathhorse—the steed who carried Thanatos
to his appointments.

"We need transportation for four—to the Green
Mother," Thanatos said to the horse.

Mortis stepped onto the pavement—and shifted into
the form of a pale limousine. Norton gaped. "That—but
that's a machine!" he protested.

Thanatos drew his cloak about him more tightly; as
the hood closed, the skull-face manifested with its grue-
some grin. "Mortis is an excellent steed—but perhaps no
more remarkable than your little ring." He opened a door
for the ladies.

Squeeze. Sning liked that comparison. He was another
creature who converted from living to dead, or vice versa.

Norton walked around the car, noting that the tag in
back said, MORTIS. And he had thought the Alicom was
remarkable! When magic and science were one, such mir-
acles were commonplace. He opened a door and climbed
in.

He found himself in the back seat beside Clotho. She




216           Bearing An Houiylass

shrugged at his startled glance. "I want to be presentable
for Ge," she explained.

Of course. Fate changed bodies the way others changed
clothes. This made it seem like a double date, for Than-
atos and Luna were companions, while he and Clotho—
well, what did it matter? His old existence as a mortal
was behind him.

The car started smoothly, driving itself. It turned
about—and abruptly it was zooming through space and
matter. The world was rushing past in a smear of color.
Then this slowed, and they were driving into the gate of
a truly sumptuous estate with luxuriant trees of many
varieties and a sparkling lake. It was the kind of place
that could charge tourists for visits.

A huge shape loomed in the sky ahead. Norton peered
through the windshield. "That—that's a—"

"A roc," Luna said calmly. "The largest of birds. Ge
has made her estate into a preserve for rare and magical
creatures. It's hard to imagine how she salvaged the rocs."

The roc swooped toward them, its wings seeming to
span the whole horizon. It pounced on the car, its mon-
strous talons poking into the windows and vents, and
picked up the vehicle together with its occupants as if
this were no more than a mouse. In moments they were
dangling high in the air.

One talon was near Norton's face, projecting from the
top of the window to the ceiling of the car. The talon was
like fine blue steel, an inch in diameter at the window and
tapering to a needle point. What a bird!

Luna turned to Thanatos, unruffled. "Ge is testing us,"
she remarked. "Perhaps you had better perform a token,
just to reassure her."

"Gently," Clotho cautioned him. "We are fairly high at
the moment."

"Gently," Thanatos agreed. He reached up and touched
a talon with a skeletal finger.

The bird shuddered—and so did the car. The roc had
felt the touch of Death, and that was a touch no creature
ignored. The roc spiraled down to the ground and set the
car gently back on the road. Then it hastily departed.

PienAuttwny              217

Norton realized why caution had been advisable. Than-
atos could have stunned or killed the big bird—but that
would have led to a crash landing. So he had merely given
warning—and the roc, recognizing a power more sinister
than its own, had yielded.

But a new problem loomed.A cloud formed, and rain
slanted down from it, turning rapidly to sleet and then
snow. From the right puffed smoke and steam; then a vent
opened and molten rock poured out. The lava was not
moving rapidly, but it was hideously hot; the vegetation
it touched burst instantly into flame. The snow, on the
other side, was already piling so deep that the ear could
not plow through it.

Clotho shook her head. "Ge." She sighed as if address-
ing a naughty child. "Mortis, follow my thread." She flicked
a finger, and a thread flew out, passing through the wind-
shield without touching it and extending in front of the
car, glowing.

Mortis followed it. The thread wound through the slush
melted by the lava, left the road, traveled along a ridge
that held the lava temporarily at bay, and went across a
narrow channel that concentrated the lava. The car speeded
up to hurdle the ditch, then slued about to follow the
curving thread toward the main mass of lava. This seemed
hazardous indeed to Norton, particularly since the trac-
tion was treacherous and the visibility almost nil, but the
thread of Fate knew exactly where to go. That, of course,
was part of Fate's business—to know the intricacies of
man's interaction with Nature. They threaded their way
successfully between snow and lava, sometimes with each
close enough to touch on either side from a window, some-
times pausing, then scooting forward, avoiding a minor
avalanche, and emerged onto a firm, dry road. Fate had
foiled Nature.

Then Norton experienced an urgent need to relieve
himself. His gut knotted and his bladder swelled. "Uh, if
we could stop a moment..." he said.

Luna fidgeted. "Ge again; we all feel it. No way to
avoid it, and stopping won't relieve it. It's her specialty
for intruders: instant flu." Her cheek seemed greenish.




218            

Indeed, now Norton's stomach roiled. Beside him,
Clotho looked seasick, and Thanatos seemed about as
sick as a skeleton could be.

Clotho turned to him. "Your turn, Chronos."

Oh. Norton lifted the Hourglass, turned the sand blue,
and willed the immediate region to be included in a short
hop. There was a small jump, and the discomfort abated.

He had brought the car and occupants five minutes
into the past, which was his future, before the illness

commenced.

Clotho took a deep breath. "Thank you, Chronos. A
girl doesn't like to look sick in public." She brought out
a small mirror and checked her young and pretty face.

He had not violated the three-person rule, since he had
not duplicated himself. Well, perhaps he had, because he
had been phased in to real-world time. The others and
the car would be duplicated for five minutes, but by the
time the other earful of them caught up to this spot on
the road, this car would be gone, and so there should be
no problem. The other earful would fade out, leaving this

one.

Or could the other earful have been retroactively erased?
That would avoid the three-person problem. There was
still a lot he did not understand about his office.

Now the mansion of the Green Mother Nature was
before them. It seemed to be formed of vegetation, its
thick wood alive and leafy, with a streamlet flowing from
level to level in the manner of a fountain. Animals peeped
from crannies—bunnies, wrens, lizards, and perhaps an
elf or two. This was indeed the handiwork of the Earth-
Mother.

The car parked, they got out, and Mortis reconverted
to equine form and set about grazing beside the mansion.
Had they really been inside a horse all this time? Norton
shook his head, filing the matter as another wonder to be
pondered at leisure at such time as he was alone with a
campfire. The four walked up to the entrance.

Gaea met them there. She was a stoutish woman of
middle age with a crown of woven leaves and vines and

              219

a dress of leaves and pine needles; green was certainly
her color. She seemed to Norton to possess an aura of
competence and power; this was no innocuous creature.

If green was Nature's color, he reflected, then surely
black was Thanatos', and white his own. But what would
be Fate's color?

"We're in trouble, Ge," Clotho said without preamble.
"Satan tricked Chronos into taking a demon back in time
to eliminate Luna. That was partly balked by paradox,
but there's a sleeper. I can't quite track it down."

Gaea glanced at Norton. "My apology for my error,"
she murmured.

No confusion there! She was referring to the problem
with Oriene's baby. "Accepted," he said. He knew she
had helped facilitate his present office as compensation
for that error.

Gaea turned to Clotho. "Let me see it."

Clotho held out her hands, the network of threads
between them. Gaea peered. "May I?" she asked.

"You may," Clotho replied.

Gaea made a little gesture with a hand near the threads.
They changed—and the environment changed. The
threads became curling green vines with sprouting leaves—
and the five human figures in the mansion seemed to be
standing in an enormous garden, existing on the scale of
insects.

The vine-threads wove through the fabric of this new
reality in an amazingly complex scheme. Everything
seemed to relate, in some obvious or devious fashion, to
everything else. Of course, that was the nature of reality,
or the reality of nature, and of fate, and this manifestation
was hardly surprising, since these were the very Incar-
nations of Nature and Fate.

Gaea walked along a vine. "Here it is," she said. "Here
is where the threads were crossed."

The others crowded close. Norton saw that a tiny stem,
something like a section of fine straw, had been moved,
so that it crossed the main vine in a slightly different place.
The change hardly seemed significant.




220           Bearing An Howiglass

Clotho concentrated—and the vines expanded, until
the large vine seemed to be the diameter of the height of
a man and the small stem was three inches through. "I
will analyze the small one," Gaea said. 'That one's dead,
but I believe it holds the key." She gestured. A glow
formed about the small vine and the place from which it
had been moved. Colored light radiated from that region,
separating into prismatic components, bathing them all in
rainbow hues.

"There," Gaea said, pointing to a dark band amidst the
colored light. "The spectrograph shows it. Contamination."

"Dangerous?" Clotho asked.

Gaea frowned. "No. It's cyanide, but that was there
before the interference. It has been chemically nullified,
so that its effect on a human being would be minimal. A
few hours of queasiness, no more."

"Why should Satan act to nullify an existing poison?"
Thanatos asked.

Clotho inspected the larger vine. "Oops," she said.
"Now at last I fathom it. What an insidious plot!"

Gaea looked at her expectantly. "You had slated a poi-
soning?"

"Not exactly," Clotho said. "Here, Lachesis can explain
it better." She shifted to middle-aged form. "I do not slate
people for doom any more than Thanatos kills them,"
Lachesis said. "I merely weave the threads in necessary
patterns. Some mortals must prosper and some must
decline, and there is no guaranteed personal justice in
this. My concern is not for individuals, but for the pattern
as a whole. In this case, a certain older man of indifferent
qualities had to be woven out in order to make way for
a young woman of superior qualities. So—he was acci-
dentally poisoned, mostly by his own carelessness. He
swallowed a pill contaminated by cyanide and died at the
age of sixty-two. It was small loss for the world, though
he was politically prominent."

"Cyanide," Luna said thoughtfully. "I remember—"

"The same," Lachesis agreed.

"I don't understand," Norton said.

              221

Lachesis faced him. "This remains in your future—
but you do need to know now. The senior Senator from
Luna's state died in office, so a special election was sched-
uled. Luna ran for that office with the support of the
Forces of Good and won. This is the office she now holds."

"Luna is a Senator?" Norton asked, surprised. He might
have heard about it before, but it hadn't sunk in.

"And an excellent one," Thanatos said with a certain
possessive pride. "At the moment, the Senate isn't in
session, so she's not in the news, but normally she is.
She was first elected eight years ago and is now well
established with a firm base of support. She may one day
become our first female President."

"I haven't decided to run yet!" Luna protested, embar-
rassed.

Norton was embarrassed too. He had been so much
out of touch with contemporary affairs that he had never
heard of Senator Kaftan during his ordinary life.

"But after you balk Satan in that critical showdown,
you will be the front runner," Lachesis said. "I see it in
the threads."

No wonder Satan didn't like Luna! A powerful female
political figure, allied with the Incarnations themselves,
possessed of a legacy of magic from her Magician
father—she would be in an excellent position to balk
any political ploy the Prince of Evil tried! Obviously he
had something in mind and needed her out of office so
she couldn't interfere. "Then the demon I took back in
time—-"

"Went and nullified the contaminated capsule that the
original Senator was destined to take," Lachesis con-
cluded. "So when he takes it, he won't die and will remain
in office, and there will be no special election for Luna
to win. She will remain a lesser officeholder and not
become a Senator, and will not be in a position to foil him
politically at the critical moment."

Subtle indeed! "But couldn't she win the office in a
normal election?"

"Against an incumbent? No chance! The Senator has




222            

to be dead before giving up his seat." Lachesis grimaced.
"And even if she did manage to oust him, it wouldn't be
the same. Taking office four years later, she wouldn't have
the same seniority. That's important for key committees
and influence—especially the committee chairmanship
that will give her the specific authority she needs. No,
Luna has to win that seat when she did—which means
we have to restore that capsule before the Senator takes
it."

"But this is murder!" Norton cried, aghast.

"We do deal in life and death," Gaea said, with a sig-
nificant glance at Thanatos.

"But in their proper pattern," Lachesis said. "Is it really
murder to restore the events of the past to their original
settings?"

Norton was confused and unhappy. "To poison a per-
son knowingly—"

"Have you any notion," Lachesis asked grimly, "how
many people will knowingly be poisoned—and tortured,
murdered, and literally damned to Hell—if the minions
of Satan win political power on Earth?"

"No," Norton said.

"With political power, Satan can and will make the
worship of God a crime punishable by torture until recan-
tation. Thus all those who are not good enough or strong
enough to resist such torture—and that is the majority—
will become worshipers of Satan, and the balance of power
will shift to Him. He will have His way with both Life
and Afterlife, and there will be no reprieve from Evil. On
that day, the death of one corrupt Senator will not even
be noticed, for Good itself will be dead."

"But—you are saying the end justifies the means!"
Norton was still deeply troubled. "If we do evil in the
name of good—"

"Why don't you step into Hell and see what Satan's
power is like?" Gaea asked him. Her eyes were like blue
skies with roiling clouds in the background.

"I can do that? Visit Hell?"

"You are an Incarnation. You can do what you choose.
Even Satan can not deny you that."

223

Piers Anthony

Norton considered—and found that he did not need
to visit Hell to know that Satan was evil. He did not like
killing, but it was true that the ethics of his revising the
past were problematical. Was he guilty of murder if he
did not set about revising history to eliminate every death
that had occurred during his projected term of office? If
he decided to let history stand as it was, deaths included,
was it right to allow Satan to make the decision about
which person should be spared by a spot revision? Viewed
that way, the sacrifice of the Senator seemed to be the
lesser of evils. He did not like becoming the instrument
of the Senator's demise, but he preferred that to the evil
Satan would generate if the Senator lived. It seemed he
had to choose among flawed means to achieve the smallest
total evil for the society, cutting one thread for the benefit
of the majority. He had to respect the judgment of the
other Incarnations, who had been in office longer than he
had and who had had more experience with the mach-
inations of Satan. "No, I will help you to restore the
original past. I will take you back to when the demon
changed—" He broke off, remembering the three-person
barrier. "Except you tell me I can't go back there, having
been there once before as Chronos."

"There is a way," Gaea said. "But it is not easy."

"None of this is easy," Norton said.

"None of it is," Gaea agreed. "You can not return
directly to that time. But you can return to a spot on the
timeline that is no closer than your elapsed personal time,
and anchor yourself then, and—"

"Wait! Wait! I'm hopelessly confused! No closer than
what?"

Luna came and took his hand. "You are new in office,
however long we have known you in it. We keep forget-
ting, because you have been so knowledgeable in our past.
I will explain, while they narrow down the precise coor-
dinates of the demon's interference." She guided him to
another huge vine, and they sat down on its resilient sur-
face. She had a remarkably compelling presence and a
quiet air of authority and she was, despite her age, a




224           Searing An. Hourglass

beautiful woman. Norton could understand how Death
himself loved her.

"Time is objective," Luna said, "and subjective. It
passes in the world and it passes for you—and though
your normal course is opposite to that of the world, time
is equally real for both of you. When you live a day, the
world lives a day, and this ratio holds regardless of direc-
tion. So, since it has been about six hours from when you
loosed Satan's minion on Earth, in terms of your life, the
same amount of time has passed on Earth since the change.
You can no more return to a spot within that six hours
than you can duplicate yourself; it is an aspect of the
same limit."

Norton shook his head. "It almost seems to make sense
when you say it."

She smiled. "Almost! It will make more sense to you
as you mature in office."

"Nonetheless, I can't accept all of it."

"What can't you accept?"

"First, I can duplicate myself; I have already done so
more than once. So—"

"Duplicate once, yes; it is the second duplication that
is the barrier."

"Yes. But since my original life counts as one, and my
present backward life as another-—"

"Did we say that? That was a misunderstanding. Your
prior, mortal life is excluded. Only your present Incar-
nation relates. You have no further connection with your
mortal existence; that is one reason you are immune from
any paradox involving it. So your normal backward course
is one, and your jump to our past is another."

"But I have doubled up, and interfered with my prior
Chronos self—in fact, once I rescued my prior self from
destruction."

She pursed her lips. "That's interesting! But it does
not violate the three-person rule. It does not matter whether
your doubles are together or far apart; you can not con-
veniently go triple."

He nodded. "Yes, I see how it applies now. But the

Pievs Anthony               225

other thing is this business of six hours. It has been a lot
longer than that since—"

"I calculated it," Lachesis called, overhearing him.
"Your time in Satan's frame doesn't count for this, only
your time in this one. You slept for three hours, talked
with Satan for half an hour, and spoke with me for an
hour and a half before we realized the problem and went
to join the other Incarnations an hour ago. Six hours total."

"I see," Norton said, surprised at the accuracy of her
assessment. But, of course, she was Fate, the Mistress
of the Threads of Life; this was her business.

"At the moment," Luna said gently, "it is enough for
you to know that these six hours are barred to you by
direct effort, but that you can penetrate them by an
extraordinary measure."

"I land seven hours later and—what?"

"And turn back the clock," she said. "You must reverse
time and take the whole world with you. That will put
you in the same category as you were—would be—will
be, for you—when you live through that period as
Chronos. You will pre-empt that period."

"You mean, by that device I'll actually erase whatever
I was doing in my normal course then?"

"We believe so. There is a risk, if that normal course
covers something important, but Lachesis sees no prob-
lem in her threads. Perhaps that period has never hap-
pened for you, because of your pre-emption, so nothing
is lost."

Norton's head was spinning again. "How do you know
my so-called normal Chronos self will go?" he asked.
"Maybe I'll actually be tripling myself. That's theoreti-
cally possible, isn't it?"

"I suppose it is," she agreed with a certain reservation.
"There may be an infinite progression, like a picture within
a picture, or mirrors facing each other. But it is convenient
for us to call it the three-person limit. Our understanding
is more restricted than yours will be; perhaps we under-
stand only part of your nature. At any rate, we are rea-
sonably certain that if you reverse time for the world, for




226            

those six or seven hours, you will be able to reach the
moment the demon acted, despite your prior trip there,
and to nullify the demon just before it acts. Then you can
relax, with the world returned to its original course, the
damage undone—and protected by the same three-person
limit that at the moment is causing us so much difficulty.
Reversing Satan's ploy."

"But what, when—?"

"When you come to that period in your normal life? I
believe you will simply jump over it, having already lived
it pre-emptively. The three-person limit should not harm
you, but merely cause you that inconvenience—if we
judge it correctly."

"It seems reasonable enough to me," he said. "Thank
you. Senator—"

"Luna."

"Luna. Now I think I know what I'm doing."

"Thank you," she said, touching the back of his hand
with her cool, delicate fingers. "It is my career you are
preserving."

Norton looked across at the others. Lachesis was fac-
ing him. "We have now pinpointed it exactly," she said.
"We can give you precise coordinates. Are you ready to
save the world from Satan, Chronos?"

Norton breathed deeply. "I hope so," he said.




-11

DRAWKCAB

They took him to the spot where the deed had been done—
not the contamination, but the decontamination of the
capsule. The capsule was already in a bottle in the Sen-
ator's suburban residence, in storage for later use. It was
an irony of the type Satan specialized in that this Senator
had acted to block more effective regulation of the pro-
duction and marketing of exactly such products as this,
so that slipshod quality control was practiced in the inter-
ests of cost-economy, and many people were harmed by
such contamination. But now it suited Satan's purpose to
preserve the life of the Senator, so he had acted.

The demon had simply come, denaturized the capsule,
and expired. Norton would have to catch the demon just
before it did the job and cause it to expire early. That was
all. Gaea had provided him with a vial of holy water for
the purpose. Norton had donned a conventional suit, con-
cealing his white cloak, so that he would not seem remark-
able among the mortals.

The room was empty and dusty now; the Senator's
house had been sold after he died, and this wing of it was
in disuse. Of course, it might remain empty if Satan's ploy
worked, for in eight years the Senator could have died of

227




r

228            

natural causes. Satan didn't care about the Senator; he
just wanted to see that Luna was not the person who
replaced him.

Norton concentrated on the Hourglass, turning the sand
blue, and zoomed through time to the designated moment.
The other Incarnations could not come with him for this
mission; they had to maintain their own positions in this
historical period so that Satan would not suspect what
effort was being made here.

He arrived at the designated time and slowed to his
normal pace. He raised the Hourglass, about to invoke
the major magical attempt of his brief career, when he
noticed something. He had overshot his target time by a
few minutes and come within the six-hour limit. That was
readily fixed; he would simply back up till he was clear,
before engaging the rest of the world. He had not yet
phased in to reality, so there would be no three-person
complication. But there was another thing—something

that jarred.

He was in the same room he had started from, a gen-
erous eight years hence, but now it was filled with sup-
plies: bottles of bourbon, smoked hams, cans of caviar,
and other signals of rich living. The Senator evidently
believed in taking care of Number One first. One high
shelf was devoted to medicines—more than one man
should need in a lifetime. Among these was the bottle;

Lachesis had described it precisely, so Norton would know
it without fail. All this he had anticipated. But there was
another presence, and that was what had made him pause.

Sitting across from the key bottle and watching it
intently was a small demon. The creature was so small it
could have been a figurine, with little snub-homs, red
shoe-button eyes, and a leathery forked tail. But it was
no figurine; it was a living—if that term applied—minion
of Satan.

Had the demon survived its mission? No, the other
Incarnations should not have been wrong about a detail
like that. This must be another demon, a contemporary
one, assigned to guard the capsule until it was used. That

              229

could only mean that Satan was aware of this counterplot
after all. The Satan of this time, eight years before Nor-
ton's present. Since Satan did not live backward, he could
not know what his future self had done—but he surely
had recognized his minion. So he must have assumed,
correctly, that his future self was up to something nefar-
ious and he was seeing that no one interfered with what-
ever that was. He would not know why the demon from
the future had nullified the contamination, but he would
know there was good, or rather evil, reason. Satan was
evil, but not stupid.

This posed a problem for Norton. The little demon
could not perceive him at the moment, for Chronos was
not obvious in his normal state. The demon was existing
forward, while Chronos existed backward. Only when he
phased in to the world—or made the world phase in to
him—was he apparent to others. But when he did reverse
the world, he would be apparent to this demon. That
would tip off Satan, the Satan of this time, and there could
be all manner of trouble. In fact, that might be this demon's
purpose—to catch Chronos himself when he approached
the capsule and balk his effort.

Mischief indeed! He had to do something about that
guardian demon, for the creature would surely interfere
with him one way or another. If it summoned its master
to this spot, Norton's little vial of holy water would be
relegated to the status of mere annoyance. Holy water
destroyed the things of Satan but could not touch Satan
himself, just as Satan's minions could spread mischief in
the world but not touch God Himself or directly harm
other Incarnations. Maybe the demon would not be able
to stop Norton, because, of course, the world would be
proceeding backward. But he didn't care to take the risk.
Why should Satan post a demon, if it couldn't do any-
thing?

But if Norton phased in and tackled the demon, extin-
guishing it with the holy water—wouldn't that action alert
Satan? Again Norton wasn't quite sure, and hesitated to
gamble. Too much was at stake.




230           Searing An Houvglass

He pondered, then decided that the best thing to do
was to avoid the demon. If the creature never knew
Chronos was present, it would never give its master the
alarm. Satan would assume that all was well (ill)—until
it was too late (early). Norton would approach the capsule
only at its moment of change, then use his holy water. A
swift, surgical strike—and victory.

He walked away from the chamber, passing through
the wall. In his normal mode, the universe was hardly
aware of him, and he could ignore it to the extent he
found convenient. He was very much like a ghost. He
emerged onto a busy street, one of those old-fashioned
kinds with concrete sidewalks, asphalt road surface, and
ornamental shrubs planted along the sides. Most suburban
streets, even on this day eight years in the past, were
traveling composition sheets that carried both people and
vehicles to and from their residences, just as they did in
the nether levels. Evidently the Senator was conservative
and had prevented modernization of his region. It was a
status symbol to live primitively when the common man
lived modemistically; it was also a type of posturing—
the humble servant of the people. This should be a good
place for Norton to phase in to; he could lose himself in
the throng, and the demon in the house would never know.

Norton reddened the sand and moved fifteen minutes
forward in the world's time. This put him safely beyond
the six-hour limit. There was a large clock on the facade
of a store, another archaic affectation; its hands jumped
from 11:03 to 11:18 A.M.

Now he turned the sand white, for his normal progress
backward. And he concentrated—and caused the sand to
reverse, flowing up to the top chamber, causing the out-
side world to match his timeflow. He had once thought
that the falling sand measured his own passing life, but
now knew that was only approximate. The sand mea-
sured—everything.

He willed the magic to include the entire world and
felt the massive engagement of magic as the spell of the
Hourglass took hold. This was potent sorcery and rep-

              231

resented the limit of what the Hourglass could do. A sig-
nificant portion of the magic power of the planet was being
drawn on here, channeled to this purpose. He knew he
would have to give the instrument a rest, once this mission
was over, so it could cool and recharge.

The white sand flowed up and the world phased in to
Chronos' timeline. The facade clock started to tick back-
ward; the breeze reversed—and so did the people. A car
had been approaching Norton on the street; now that car
was moving backward. Pedestrians walked backward.
Some of them looked startled.

Startled? Norton had not expected this! These people
were aware! They realized that they had reversed, though
they were powerless to prevent it. This was a new wrin-
kle. Would it make a difference?

He glanced at the Senator's mansion. Was that a face
looking out the window? Probably just a perplexed ser-
vant—but it could be the demon. Norton decided to get
out of sight of the building. He strode down the street.

Now a problem manifested. He was moving with the
flow of pedestrian traffic—but the other people were
walking backward. Norton was following a young man—
but the man was facing him. To the man, Norton realized,
it was as if he, Norton, were striding backward. Certainly
Norton differed from others here.

How much easier this would have been on a normal
moving belt! Then he could simply have stood in place,
facing back, and not attracted attention.

No help for it. The man before him was starting to
gawk. Perhaps this one did not realize he was now living
backward, so saw Norton, who traveled forward into the
past, as a freak. Norton turned about and proceeded to
walk backward.

Unfortunately, this was not his natural mode. The oth-
ers could walk backward at speed with confidence, because
they were reversing a course already traveled; Norton
was not. He was new to this scene. He tripped on a crevice
and stumbled, windmilling his arms. This was no good
either!




232           Bearing An Hourglfiss

He looked back at the Senator's mansion. Someone
was emerging from it, he thought. The little demon?

Norton ducked into an alley, just wanting to get out of
sight. Now he didn't bother to walk backward; that was
too much trouble and not much for either safety or con-
cealment.

He heard a groan. He went to the source—and found
an old man lying in a pile of garbage, bleeding from the
head. He had evidently been mugged and needed help.
Norton started toward him—and suddenly another man
charged backward toward them, holding a wallet.

Norton paused, uncertain what was happening. The
running man went right to the fallen one, bent to tuck the
wallet into his back pocket, turned him over, and retreated
a step while the victim hunched himself back to his feet.
The other man brought out a blunt instrument, unclubbing
the victim's head. Then he retreated, while the victim,
his head unbruised, scalp untorn, proceeded blithely
backward after him at a slower pace, just as if nothing
had happened.

Norton, furious, charged the mugger. He caught the
man's blunt-instrument arm and swung him about. Star-
tled, the mugger cried, "!yeH"

"You mugged him!" Norton accused.

The man stared at him. "!gniog er'uoy erehw hctaW"
he exclaimed.

Norton paused. Backward speech! Another compli-
cation ! No doubt the people of the world were able to
understand one another, since they were all living back-
ward, but he, Norton, was living forward. Their speech
was gibberish to him. He should have anticipated this,
but had had no prior experience, since he had to phase
in on green to interact with normals. Physical involvement
was different from aloof observation!

Frustrated, he wrenched the blunt instrument from the
man's grip and threw it away. "Get out of here, you crim-
inal!" he cried, shoving the man away.

The man, surprised, ran backward away from him,
disappearing around a corner. Norton stood, trying to get

PiwsAwtlwny             233

oriented. Had he disarmed a mugger just after—just before
the mugging and prevented the crime—or had he merely
witnessed it? The man had had the blunt instrument at
the time of the act. Obviously he had completed the crime
before time reversed; would he be balked when time
reversed again, after (before) Norton's mission ended
(began)? Norton hoped so. Therefore a perfect replay of
prior events wasn't possible, with his interference. Maybe
he had saved an innocent victim some trouble.

He looked around for that victim, thinking to warn him
of the danger, but the man had gone. He must have taken
another route. Anyway, the mugging hadn't happened yet.

Norton walked along the alley. He was in the unsightly
service area where garbage cans sat and the pavement
was dirty. Garbage cans? This was another aspect of the
past that wasn't all that aesthetic! Far better to use a
modern banishing-spell for that sort of thing! But, of
course, such spells were expensive, and not every person
was able to invoke them properly; sometimes a bungled
spell brought extra garbage into a house instead.

He glanced up and saw a magic carpet fly backward
high above the buildings, the only present evidence of the
good modem life. This was not two hundred years ago,
even though it might seem like it.

He found a back step and sat down. He had time to
pass, away from observation by the demon, and this was
as good a place as any. It was private because it was ugly;

crowds did not seek this particular region out.

His wandering eye spied graffiti on the opposite wall.
Idly curious, Norton studied them. Most were in male
hand, large, dark, and crude in both execution and con-
cept: four-letter words describing sexual and scatological
concepts, as if mankind were hopelessly enraged at the
universe and determined to demean it. These graffiti were
basically rapes of the viewers, assaults on whatever sen-
sitivities passersby might possess. No beauty or gentle-
ness or caring here, just ugliness. Norton felt ashamed to
be a man. But he noted one thing; the words were not
backward. Time was reversed, but not space. So if he




234          Bounty AM Hourglass

really had to talk with someone, he could do it by writing.
Lachesis had done that at the outset of his career as
Chronos; she had known. Now he realized the signifi-
cance of that approach.

Nestled below the male efforts were a few female offer-
ings. These were small, neat, and polite, and seemed to
represent genuine efforts to communicate. "My John
avoids me, but I still love him. What should I do?" one
asked plaintively. Below it was an answer in a different
feminine hand: "Mine, too; it hurts." And another: "Stay
the course, sister; he'll get tired of the tart." And another:

"Who wants him, then? Used goods." And a final one:

"Who you calling a tart?" Norton had to smile, somewhat
wanly. He liked the company of these anonymous but
distressed women better than he did that of his own kind;

at least they seemed sensitive and human.

He noticed that nothing on the wall had been erased.
All contributors and readers seemed to honor this rule:

thou shalt not erase another person's message. It was all
right to talk back to a message by writing a contradicting
one, but not to destroy the original, no matter how crowded
the wall got. Small messages were written within large
ones; there was much overlapping, but no actual molest-
ing. Here was the ultimate free society!

Norton knew that all men were not loud, crass boors
and all women were not sweet and troubled innocents.
They just came across that way on walls. Perhaps it would
be the same if the rest of society were similarly free and
anonymous; the constraints of civilization did have a lot
to offer. The graffiti were the exposed underside of soci-
ety, just as this service alley, with its garbage cans, was
the backside of the town. Both sides, actually, were prob-
ably necessary.

Moved by a curious emotion, he got up, went to the
wall, scrounged in the debris at its foot for a fragment of
chalk, and wrote below the feminine messages: "This John
loves you, not the tart."

He returned to the step. Would the original woman
ever see his offering? Would it mean anything to her? Or

              235

would it be blotted out by the excretions of mocking male
graffiti? He probably would never know. That was the
problem with anonymity. But he had had to speak, how-
ever feebly, for his kind.

He looked at the wall, tracing to the place where his
own contribution was—and his graffito was gone. Star-
tled, he peered closer—then realized that its absence was
explicable. He and the world were moving backward in
time, so his present situation preceded his message on
the wall. His words would appear in due course, when
time resumed its normal flow.

But the message had not been there when he first sat
down! How could he explain that?

He pondered and worked it out. He was not an ordi-
nary member of this scene. He had not been here on the
original go-round. What he did was not a reversal of what
he had done before; it was new. So he was, in fact, chang-
ing reality in some small degree. His graffito had not existed
before he had made it, but did exist now—or would exist
when normal time resumed, though he probably would
not retrace his course to make it. He was exempt from
paradox. He did what he did and it was done—though a
normal person could not have done it that way. Normal
rules did not apply to Incarnations. He was continuing to
learn his trade.

To the right, a desultory mongrel dog wandered up,
tail-first. The animal meandered to a pile of refuse and
paused, partially squatting. Sausage-shaped chunks of the
refuse lifted from the ground and squeezed into the dog's
waiting posterior. Norton watched, disgusted but fasci-
nated. Of course biology was backward too! The dog, a
mere animal, did not realize what had happened—but
how would a human being react to this particular necessity
of life?

' The dog, satisfied, trotted backward on past Norton
to a garbage can to the left. The lid was off and the con-
tents partially scattered. The dog went and neatened it
up; fragments of garbage jumped into the can, and then
the lid sailed to seal it as the dog removed its nose.




236          Beamy AM Hourglass

Then a demon appeared, walking backward. This one
was larger than the one by the capsule bottle. They were
searching for him! That meant Satan did have some notion
of what was going on. The backward flow of time had
surely given him the hint! How he planned to stop Chronos
was a mystery—but Satan's craft and power were great,
and Norton did not want to meet that challenge directly.
He had to avoid the demon!

The thing was regressing down the street, tail-first,
peering from side to side. Soon it would spot Norton.
And—there was another backing in from the opposite
side! They had him cornered.

Norton jumped up and turned the old-fashioned round-
knob handle of the door behind his step. The door opened;

evidently the occupants were not worried about intrusions
from this direction—or maybe they were simply careless,
or believed they had nothing worth stealing.

The doorway opened directly into a kitchen. A woman
sat there eating a snack. She was a housewife in her thir-
ties, not yet past the age of sex appeal, but frowsy in her
curlers and housecoat. She was not aware of Norton, and
this was not surprising, because she had distractions of
her own. She was consuming her snack backward, and
this evidently bothered her, but she couldn't stop it. What
she had eaten had to be uneaten.

The cup of coffee was not bad; she brought it to her
mouth and tilted it, and the flow of fluid into the cup was
hardly visible. Her throat worked, bringing up a swallow.
Then she set down the cup, its level of coffee raised, and
stared at it with dismay.

Next she put her hand to her lips and spat out a few
indelicate crumbs. Then she opened her mouth wide and
ejected a bite of coffee cake. This was followed by another,
and another, until the full cake was there. She stared at
it with odd horror. "?gniod I ma tahW" she asked out
loud.

"It's all right," Norton answered, closing the door
behind him so the demons wouldn't see him. "Time is
backward."

              237

Startled, she looked at him. "?uoy era ohW" she
demanded, drawing her housecoat open to reveal her
bosom. Her reactions were, of course, reversed; she had
intended to conceal herself.

"Don't be concerned," Norton said. "I'm hiding
from—" But he paused as he realized that his words were
gibberish to her, as hers were to him. Each was living
backward relative to the other, though they moved in time
together. She could see him and hear him, but could not
understand him.

The woman scrambled from her chair—and almost
fell, again because of her backward reactions. Norton
hurried across to steady her, and this alarmed her even
more. "!em hcuot t'noD" she cried, colliding with the
wall. A dish rose from the floor, where it had evidently
shattered, and nudged back to the jostled shelf with its
companions.

He had to reassure her! Norton found a pad of note-
paper on the table, and a pencil; she had perhaps intended
to make out a grocery list. i AM A FRIEND, he wrote.

She stared at the sheet. He knew what her problem
was: in a normal time sequence, his reassurance would
have occurred before her fright that caused him to write
it, and this cause-after-effect was difficult for her to accept.
But she was living backward now, so his actions changed
her reality. She was remembering what had happened in
the immediate future.

Best to take her mind off the incipient paradox. I'M
HIDING FROM DEMONS, he wrote on the sheet.

",snomeD" she repeated doubtfully.

"Snomed," he agreed, imitating her pronunciation. It
was amazing how alien ordinary human speech sounded
when pronounced backward' Then, on paper: I'M UNDER

A SPELL. I SPEAK BACKWARD.

",h0" she said, her face brightening with comprehen-
sion. ".drawkcaB"

"Drawkcab," he agreed, aware that he was mangling
the pronunciation and punctuation. He wrote: THE WORLD

IS GOING BACKWARD.




238            

She nodded agreement, her glance flickering warily
past the unconsumed coffee and cake. Perhaps, he real-
ized, she had thought she was being sick. Now she knew
it was merely a different reality.

"?yhW" she asked.

Norton tried to phrase an answer she would be able
to understand and accept, but found himself at a loss.
How could he tell her that he was responsible, and be
believed? To prove it, he would have to reverse the effect—
and that he refused to do.

He was spared the awkwardness of answering by the
arrival of another person. A man ambled into the kitchen
backward, tilting a bottle of beer in his mouth. He was
evidently the woman's husband, for she evinced only
boredom at his presence. He was in baggy trousers and
undershirt, his hair tousled, his face unshaven for this
day. What he was doing home at this hour Norton didn't
know; maybe this was one of the intermittent periods of
underemployment the society suffered, so this family was
subsisting on state funds while waiting for the economy
to improve. The man unpoured the last drop of beer into
the bottle as the final bubble descended into his mouth,
then capped it and set the bottle into the refrigerator. Then
he noticed Norton.

Norton held up his last sign: THE WORLD is GOING BACK-
WARD, hoping to forestall a jealous-husband reaction. The
woman tried to pull herself together again, and again suc-
ceeded only in further displaying her private flesh.
",drawkcab gnivil er'eW" she said.

"?eh si Ueh eht ohW" the man demanded, glaring at
Norton.

",snomed morfgnidih s'eH" she explained.

"—lleW" he began, then paused. "?drawkcaB"

",drawkcaB" she agreed firmly.

"!top eht ffo tog tsuj I tuB" he said, annoyed.

The woman looked at her unconsumed repast. "?did
uoY" she asked, making a connection. "—snaem taht
nehT"

"!taht toN" he exclaimed. "!t'nseod ti ,on ,h0"

              239

Norton had by this time figured out what "top" trans-
lated to. He repressed a smile, remembering the dog in
the alley.

"!ereh fo tuo gnitteg m'l" the man cried, charging back-
ward out of the kitchen. But his reflexes, like those of
the woman, betrayed him. Their dialogue had evidently
been in sensible order for them, but their actions remained
reversed. And though their individual phrases or sen-
tences were backward, their separate verbal exchanges
seemed to be more in the order of present consciousness.
Norton's presence altered their reality to a degree, but
not enough to reverse them totally or to provide them
true self-determination. The man, despite his horror, was
backing toward what looked to be the bathroom.

Well, Norton thought, this was a necessary conse-
quence of reverse biology. What was ejected from the
body in the form of coffee, cake, or whatever had to be
taken in in some other fashion. The biology of men and
animals did not differ that much.

"!oN !oN" the man screamed from the hidden room.
There was the sound of a toilet flushing backward. A
pause, then a scream of sheer horror and outrage. It seemed
the job had been done—or undone, as the case might be.

Norton decided to vacate the premises before the man
returned to the kitchen, as he might be in an ugly mood
after taking on that ugly load. Norton cracked the door
open and peeked.

The demons were gone. He had slipped their net. He
slid out, leaving the family to its adjustments. The last
thing he saw as he glanced back inside was the woman's
face as she looked toward the bathroom. She wore a
somewhat smug expression, as if she thought the man had
gotten what he deserved.

Norton made his way across the street, then walked
carefully backward to a small park. There he selected an
isolated bench and sat on it. That way, he seemed no
different from the normal people and did not attract
unwelcome attention.

Perhaps an hour had passed; it was now, according to

240            

the park clock, just after 10 A.M. Norton watched the
clock click back to the hour and heard it bong ten times.
Even the bongs were in reverse: !GNOB ,GNOB He saw
the squirrels leaping backward from branch to branch and
assembling nuts from scattered shells and regurgitated
interiors. Periodically a person would back past, attract-
ing the whole peanuts to his swinging hand and depositing
them in a bag.

A young couple backed past Norton and into the bushes
behind his bench. They were not aware of him, intent on
their liaison. But they became conscious of the reversal,
and this seemed to affect their lovemaking. Norton lis-
tened unashamedly, trying to visualize what was happen-
ing. To experience the gratification first, followed by the
buildup—that might be unsettling. Sure enough, after a
while the couple backed away from the bushes with per-
plexed expressions.

The sun moved slowly eastward. Morning was arriv-
ing. Rush-hour traffic developed on the street, the cars
and carpets crowding crazily backward at a hazardous
velocity. People hurried back past the park without notic-
ing it, paying no attention to Norton. He was just a char-
acter on a bench, not rating either a backward or a forward

glance.

But he became aware of another problem. The progress
of time was not perfect. At first he thought it was his own
boredom stretching things out, but when he checked his
watch, which measured his personal time, against the park
clock, he discovered that the clock was taking a minute
and a half to back up one minute. What was wrong?

The question prompted the answer: the magic was
weakening. The Hourglass was powerful but not omni-
potent, and the reversal of the whole world was a con-
siderable chore. After two hours, the Hourglass was losing
its edge, processing the enormous magic less efficiently.

He concentrated, willing the magic back to full potency.
This was effective; the normal pace of time resumed. But
now he had to keep his mind on it, because, when his
attention slipped, so did time. He could not simply wait

PiersAnthony              241

for the key moment to arrive; he had to will its arrival.
Fortunately, this was not difficult; it was like holding on
to a suitcase. It did require effort, but the effort became
automatic.

The clock bonged past nine and started toward eight-
thirty. Then it bonged nine again. Norton jumped up,
alarmed. He had started nodding, and time had not only
slowed, it had resumed forward progress. That was no
good! He concentrated again, and the clock bonged nine
a third time and proceeded safely on backward.

Norton paced around the park, afraid to sit down again,
lest he lose concentration. He had several hours to go
and he meant to see it through.

He started into an intersection of paths near a backward-
spouting fountain—and saw a demon on the intersecting
path. The creature was approaching backward, so didn't
see Norton; that was the second time he had been in luck
this way. He was walking forward when others were not
near to see, pausing when they were. But if he paused
here, the demon would come back far enough to spy him,
and that could not be allowed. Norton retreated hastily
the way he had come. He hid behind a tree and watched
the demon pass. Surely the thing was looking for him;

Satan did not send his minions out in public without good
reason, for people tended to react negatively to demons.
It wasn't that Satan cared how human beings felt, but he
did not like them getting jolted back to righteous living
that would cost him souls. So he kept his operators covert,
except for his continual ad campaign to convince people
that Hell was in fact a fun place. No one with any sense
believed that—but there were a lot of stupid people in
the world. Satan also maintained discreet recruitment sta-
tions, but no demons were ever in evidence there; it was
strictly soft sell.

But all this walking and skulking about was making
Norton tired. He wanted to rest his feet—but didn't dare.
Then his eyes fell on his ring. "Sning!" he said happily.
"Will you warn me if I start to lose concentration?"

Squeeze.

T

242   243

Piers Anthony

Gratefully he sank onto a bench. Oh, that relaxation
felt good to his legs!

Fifteen minutes later, Sning gave him a good, hard
double squeeze. He snapped alert. "Thanks, Sning," he
said. "I needed that. Stay on the job."

In this manner he endured till 8 A.M. Then he got up
and walked some more. He had to make it to just after
five in the morning; he was halfway there.

He spied another demon and avoided it. They were
really cruising the area! Fortunately, they were handi-
capped by having to proceed backward. But they would
probably be thickest at the time and place of the capsule
nullification; how would he get there without being caught
by them?

It was getting harder to keep time on track. He had to
concentrate more intently, making up for the slowly fading
power of the Hourglass. He felt as if he were running a
marathon; the miles were passing, but his strength was
depleting. Would he be able to make it to the end? He
had to! But it was not going to be easy. He had not prac-
ticed willing before; he had no muscles for the purpose
and wasn't sure even how to tell the nature of fatigue of
the will.

He went to the public facility for a routine call of nature.
His own biology was forward, but the other men were
retreating from the urinals with distinctly uncomfortable
expressions. They had no real choice about using the
facilities, but he couldn't blame them for not liking what
happened there. Normal processes did not seem aesthetic
when reversed. There was probably some philosophy to
be gleaned from that realization, but right now he was
too busy keeping time moving to cogitate on that. He
used the facilities, hoping no one would notice that he
was not reversed, then backed away, adopting the appro-
priate disgruntled expression.

Sning squeezed his finger more frequently, but he made
it to 7 A.M. without significant incident. Two more hours!

Now doubt was seeping in, clogging the channels of
his concentration. Could he make it to 5 A.M.? His effort

of will was not the same as a physical effort, yet he felt
himself tiring. The Hourglass continued to fade, so that
he had to fill in with more will, and his will was becoming
exhausted. The park clock began wavering again, and the
people and vehicles performed a strange kind of dance,
moving backward and forward and backward again as the
flow of time fluxed. Sning's squeezes were almost con-
tinuous, and these, too, were losing effect. Norton was
sweating, though he was standing still. This was awful!

"Sir, may I pleh uoy?"

Norton looked dully at the speaker. It was an attractive
young woman who leaned toward him and away from him
as time wavered. "No, I—" he began, then felt a surge
of dizziness.

She caught his arm, steadying him. "?era you ilL" she
asked solicitously. "Here, tis nwod. m'l a nurse."

Her speech was phasing backward and forward, too,
as time changed. He had to get it back on track! He put
forth a special effort, and the normal backflow resumed.

"?ytilaer degnahc siht ti sl" she inquired, ".sselmrah
s'ti tub ,ot tsujda ot drah s'ti wonk I"

Norton was getting better at comprehending backward
speech, though this was far from perfect. The woman had
caught on to the fact of the backward flow of time and
was trying to reassure him. She assumed that it was the
shock of reversal that was making him ill. Well, in a way
it was.

"Thank you," he said.

She glanced at him, startled. "?aisahpA" she inquired.

Oops—he had dazzled her with his own backward
speech. She thought it was aphasia. Well, again it was
close enough. "Yes," he said.

"!suoires si sihT !nam roop uoY" she exclaimed.

Norton scraped a section clear in the dirt beside the
bench and leaned down to scratch a message with his
forefinger. IT'S ONLY VERBAL, he wrote.

She rummaged in her purse for some paper and a pen.
CAN YOU READ THIS? she wrote.

He nodded yes.




244           

",thgir lla er'uoy sseug I nehT" she said. She stood,
ready to depart.

Then Norton spied another demon. The creature was
walking rapidly backward; no chance to avoid it.

Norton put his face in his hands, hoping he would not
be recognized.

"!kcis er'uoy, hO" the girl exclaimed, bending to assist
him. She had a nice figure, and her body helped conceal
him from the gaze of the demon. But time wavered again
as he lost concentration. He corrected that, and the demon
retreated on past.

",uoy evael dluohs I kniht t'nod I" the woman said.

The truth was that he appreciated her help, misguided
as it was. He borrowed her pencil and paper. WHAT'S

YOUR NAME?

".agleH ?eman yM"

"Agleh," he repeated carefully, and she smiled. He was
conquering his verbal aphasia!

Agleh took him to her apartment at the edge of the
park and made him comfortable on her couch, from where
he could see her wall clock. She was perplexed by his
being so intent on the clock when he had a watch of his
own, but she humored him. She was, it developed, a single
girl, working at a local hospital, and this was her day off.
She had a tender heart and could not refrain from helping
people who were in trouble. He told her his name, Notron,
and explained that he wasn't really sick, but was pursued
by demons. She looked at him with increased sympathy
and didn't argue. He wasn't sure that was a good sign,
but let it go.

She offered him breakfast at quarter to seven. Norton
tried to demur, but S^insisted, certain that food would
be good for him. But she had for the moment forgotten
the new reality of eating.

She brought dirty dishes from the sink and set them
on the table, then sat down and delicately disgorged a
poached egg and a glass of milk.

Norton did not eat. He could not, for she had given
him nothing. Why should she? She had adjusted nicely

              245

to living backward and was replaying in reverse her mom-
ing meal; she expected him to do likewise.

Norton sighed. He had not intended to deceive her
about this matter or his nature. Words were unlikely to
persuade her, so action would have to do.

He took her pristine egg and milk before she could
prepare them and return them to her refrigerator, and he
consumed them both. They were very good, for he was
indeed hungry.

Agleh stared. Then she laughed. "!drawkcab er'uoY"
she exclaimed.

"I'm backward," he agreed.

"?—woH"

He wrote it on her pad. i AM CHRONOS, THE INCAR-
NATION OF TIME. MY LIFE PROCEEDS BACKWARD.

She looked again at the empty dishes, and again at
him. She shrugged. "—siht tub ,yad ym ni cigam nees d'l
thguoht I" she exclaimed. "!esle gnihtemos er'uoY"

"Sey," he agreed, again speaking carefully to get it
right. He brought out the Hourglass, with its white sand
flowing upward, and showed her how the instrument fol-
lowed him when he set it down in mid-air.

"?taht ees I yaM" she asked.

He handed her the Hourglass—but when she tried to
take it, she could not. Her hand passed right through it.
To her, it was a ghost-object.

That surprised him as much as it did her. He remem-
bered how the Bern had grabbed it in the globular cluster.
Had it been in a different state then?

Agleh looked at the empty dishes. He knew what she
was thinking: where had that food come from? She had
uneaten it and he had eaten it; when time went forward
again, it would be the other way around. When and how
was that meal ever prepared?

She glanced again at the shining Hourglass.
"... xodaraP"

i AM IMMUNE FROM PARADOX, he reassured her in writ-
ing. Then, in the course of the next half hour, he clarified
his nature for her, including the manner in which his pres-




246            

ence changed reality. She was not reversing her life pre-
cisely now, for he had not been with her on her forward
living through the morning. Now she was living backward,
but interacting with him. She could remember her recent
future—since meeting him.

"!thgir s'tahT" she exclaimed. "!rebmemer od I"

He explained how he was trying to balk Satan's ploy,
but had run low on willpower to keep the reversal going.
Now, thanks to her support, he was doing better; time
wasn't wavering.

I'M IN YOUR REALITY, she wrote, getting it straight.
Actually, she put a new sheet of paper on the pad, with
the words already there, then went over them from right
to left with her pencil, and they disappeared as she did
so. When the sheet was blank, she brought another to set
over it, with new words. At first she had been startled,
watching herself do this, but now she accepted it as a
matter of course. Norton realized that his way of writing
must appear similarly strange to her.

However, the novelty of this situation carried Norton
only so far. The power of the Hourglass was still fading,
and it required horrendous mental effort for him to keep
time flowing backward. At six-fifteen time wavered again.

Fortunately, Agleh now understood. " !nataS thgif tsum
uoY" she said. ".uoy pleh lliw I" Her backward expres-
sions were organized only by phrase or sentence; beyond
that, his time frame took over. Probably, he realized, the
rest of the world was speaking completely backward; near
him, the effect was distorted by his own counterlife. That
could also account for the way people seemed to become
aware of their situation in his presence; elsewhere they
might not know that there had been any change at all. He
was sure that his presence would have generated many
minor paradoxes, like eddy currents in the contrasting
time flows, if he had not been immune.

But he did not see how Agleh could help him, generous
as her offer was. He tried to explain the problem: his will
had to brace the Hourglass, and his will was giving out.

Her brow furrowed in concentration as he collapsed

              247

the Hourglass and put it away. ",emiT" she said. ".emit
era yllaer uoY"

CHRONOS, he wrote again. IT is AN OFFICE.

She glanced at him sidelong. "?nam lamron a era uoy
nehT"

"Sey," he agreed wryly.

".drawkcab gnivil tuB"

"Sey."

She wrote again: BUT OUR WILLS ARE THE SAME.

He shrugged, not seeing the relevance.

LET MY WILL SUPPORT YOURS, she wrote.

Norton's mouth fell open. Was that possible?

They tried it. Norton relaxed his will, and when time
wavered, Agleh concentrated on the objective. It worked—
but her will was only a fraction as effective as his. She
could buttress him, but could not carry the load alone.
Still, that was a great help; it extended the period he could
operate.

She touched him, putting her hand on his arm, but
proximity did not seem to make a difference to the Hour-
glass. She was doing all she could, simply by sharing his
will.

But now they were standing close together. Agleh ran
her tongue over her lip. "?ekil eb dluow ti tahw rednow
I"

Norton frowned. "What what would be like? Satan's
victory?"

A slight flush crossed her face. "—wonk uoy—namow
a—nam A"

Norton figured it out. A woman—a man. Now it was
his turn to blush. One moving in one direction in time;

the other, the other. Was it possible?

",rednow I" she repeated, licking her lips again.

She was a pretty woman, and though he had known
her only briefly, he liked her and sincerely appreciated
her help. He wondered, too—what would sex be like in
such conditions?

But then time wavered badly, the sand shifting back
and forth in the Hourglass. Agleh's support had tided him
through almost an hour, but this thought was distracting!




248           

",emit rehto emoS" Agleh said. She was as quick as
he to realize that if her will could support his, it could
also detract from his.

"Some other time," Norton agreed ruefully. He found
himself disappointed, but the flow of time did firm again.
He benefited from her support—to a degree.

She backed away from him. Then she shrugged and
came back. He half-spread his arms, concentrating on the
Hourglass so that time would not waver. She came into
them with a kind of half-turning motion, as if being reeled
in, and slowly brought her face up to meet his. Gradually
they kissed, and it was like any other kiss: pleasant but
not strange. They were in phase for this.

Time wavered. He concentrated to return the flow.
Then he lifted his head and looked at her face for a moment
before releasing her. She opened her eyes and stepped
away from him.

They had kissed, and it had been backward for at least
one of them—and yet the same.

"?effl ruoy ni nemow rehto neeb evah erehT" she asked.

"Other women," he agreed. "But the one I loved—
died."

",deiD" she repeated.

"I think she was—like you."

".uoy knahT"

"I—" he began, but hesitated. Then he used the paper
to explain, though it took a while: that he not only lived
backward but didn't even belong in this period of time;

that his normal existence was eight years in her future;

that in due course he would return to this present time
but would have to hurdle it, so as not to reduplicate him-
self. Thus this meeting of theirs was all there was or could
be. If he encountered her in his normal progress, they
would be traveling in opposite directions. There was, lit-
erally, no future for them.

But, she inquired alertly, what of his prior life, before
he assumed the office of Chronos?

Norton did a quick reassessment. Eight years ago, in
his original life, he had been thirty, in one of the duller

Piws Anthony             249

periods of employment. He had finally given up the mun-
dane existence entirely, to hike the parks and tell stories
for his supper. But suppose he had met a woman such as
this? Would he then not have met Orlene?

And not have caused Orlene's death?

"Here is my address of that time," he said abruptly,
writing it out on the paper. If such an encounter turned
out to be paradoxical, then it simply wouldn't occur; he
didn't have to worry about that. "But I'm younger then,
and know nothing of my future as Chronos. Maybe it
would be better not to tell me."

",dnatsrednu I" she agreed.

It was at that point he became fully aware of the futility
of trying to have any continuing relationship with a normal
woman. He had run up against this with Orlene, but that
had been a special case. Now he realized it was not a
special case; backward existence prevented any close
relationship with any normal person. This was the penalty
he paid for his office. Clotho had known, and had pro-
vided him with an alternate fulfillment. Clotho understood
the problem of the Incarnations, who were human yet
unhuman, himself most of all. As another Incarnation,
Clotho could handle it. But Agleh—

",rettel a uoy etirw ll'I" she said.

"A letter, yes," he agreed, surprised.

"?ti dnes I dluohs erehW"

"Where?" Norton pondered. "To Chronos, I suppose,
in care of Purgatory." Did the mail service deliver mail
to Purgatory? It seemed to him that Thanatos had men-
tioned that it did, in the course of their last conversation.
He wrote the address out for her: CHRONOS, c/o PURGA-
TORY. "But I can't be sure the letter will reach me or that
I'll be able to answer. And if it does reach me, I don't
know when." Perhaps two years before she wrote it?
Reverse time had its pitfalls.

Now it was close to six in the morning. He had come
within striking time of his mission. Soon after 5 A.M ....

A.M.—how significant each marker of that had become!
A. for Ante, M. for Meridian—before the meridian of




250           Bearing Aw Hourglass

noon. A convenient contraction. It had never seemed very
important to him before.

But it was time for him to orient on the conclusion of
his mission. He had avoided the questing demons—yet
how could he reach the right capsule at the key moment
without alerting them? They would be clustering close,
and though, as an Incarnation, he was theoretically immune
to molestation by Hell's minions, he wasn't sure they
couldn't balk him on this. After all, he was the one trying
to change reality or to unchange it. The advantage prob-
ably lay with the present status quo.
",pleh ll'I" Agleh volunteered.
Involve her with the minions of Satan? Norton didn't
like that. NO. DANGEROUS, he wrote.
WHAT IF SATAN WINS? she wrote back.
She had him there. "Hell on Earth," he muttered.
",htraE no lleH" she repeated. And, on paper: CAN

YOU DO IT ALONE?

Norton considered. Probably he would have to wait
till the last moment, then charge in and hope that nothing
balked him. It was a one-chance effort. What were his
chances for success? Fifty-fifty? With the fate of the world
at issue, he did not like that. But how could he improve
the odds?

YOU CAN'T, she wrote.

He sighed. She was probably right. But he wasn't sure
how she could help. He certainly didn't want her getting
involved with demons; she was too nice a girl. "I'll just
have to try it by myself," he told her firmly.

She started to protest, but he was firm. The memory
of Orlene and her fate bothered him, and he was deter-
mined not to be responsible for any more mischief to a
mortal.

Agleh relented reluctantly. She wrote: COME BACK IF—

"I will," Norton promised, hoping he wouldn't have
to return here. He squeezed her hand and left.

He was getting better at walking backward, though his
leg muscles protested. Much could be done with periph-
eral vision and careful attention to sound. By walking

PursAwtbony             251

ahead of another person, he could be reasonably certain
there were no obstacles in the immediate vicinity, because
in forward time he would have been following that person,
and the other naturally avoided problems of terrain. In
any event, he was now familiar with .this region, and that
helped.

His plan was to get as close to the key room as he
could without being observed and hide until the proper
moment. He would catch the demon just after it changed
the capsule—which would be just before in normal time—
and douse it with the holy water before it retreated back
to its association with his prior self. Of course, that would
not prevent it from rejoining him, but that was not the
point; this would prevent it from messing with the capsule.
If he timed his action precisely, the watching demons from
this present time might not be able to balk him.

He backed to the shelter of a tree and paused there as
if resting. A bird-dropping jumped up from before him to
rejoin its origin; good thing he hadn't been standing there!
The other pedestrians continued on by, retreating toward
their homes without paying him any attention. It was early
morning now; the sun was no longer beaming down. When
he believed no one was watching, Norton backed slant-
wise across the lawn to another tree, and thence to a side
gate into the Senator's estate. Now he was in a walled-
in garden, a pleasant place. A child was there, just unpick-
ing a flower; the stem became whole as she placed the
severed ends together.

What was she doing here at this hour? The flower
wasn't even open yet; it was waiting for a direct ray of
sun.

",olleh ,h0" she said, becoming aware of Norton.

"Olleh," he replied, then essayed a question. "Ereh
evil uoy od?"

She glanced at him, her brow quirking at his odd pro-
nunciation and emphasis, ".rotisiv a fo rueffuahc eht fo
rethguad eht m'l .oN"

Norton found this too much to assimilate, so he just
smiled. He wanted to get away from her and into the




252            

house. "Gnol os," he said, beginning to back away non-
chalantly.

"!ynnufer'uoY" she said.

Norton proceeded through the garden, handicapped by
its unfamiliarity. He stumbled against the footing for a
potted tree. Well, now he was alone; he turned about and
walked forward.

A man stepped out before him from an alcove in the
estate wall. ".sonorhC"

Norton froze. This man recognized him! "Who—?"

The man only smiled. Then Norton saw his eyes. They
were like glassy lenses, with dim red lights behind. Demon
eyes!

He had been caught by a demon lurking in human form.
Now, in the immediate vicinity of Chronos, the demon
could interact somewhat on his terms. "SyortseD" it said
and grabbed for Norton.

That was warning enough. Norton let his cloak spread
out beyond his suit. The man-demon's hands aged and
weakened as they came into contact with that cloak. Hast-
ily he hauled them back, cursing backward.

".olleH"

Both men turned. It was the little girl. She had followed
Norton, perhaps curious about the odd man.

The demon leaped for her. The girl shrieked but was
caught. "!lliK" the demon cried. He drew a wicked-looking
knife and held it poised near the child's face while his
other hand held her by the hair.

Norton knew he would not be able to disarm the demon
before the girl was stabbed. She was a hostage—and the
demon would not hesitate to kill her. True demons were
minor incarnations of evil, serving only the major Incar-
nation.

"What do you want?" Norton asked.

",ereh yats tsuJ" the demon said.

Stay here—until it was too late—or early—to stop the
other demon's change of the capsule. Or until the last
power of the Hourglass gave out. Either way, Satan's
victory. He could not tolerate that.

              253

But if he acted, the child would die. He couldn't tol-
erate that either.

Time wavered—and that gave him a notion. He con-
centrated, or rather relaxed, letting time flow forward.

The demon put away his knife and let the girl go,
bounding back to Norton's vicinity. This time Norton
grabbed the demon, his white cloak extended, and held
him fast.

The demon screamed. "You're killing my body!"
Indeed, the body was aging. The skin wrinkled; the
clothing rotted and fell away. In moments the shriveled
body collapsed. It had died of old age.

Norton dropped it. The girl was staring, horror-stricken.
"You dried him up!" she cried.

"I had to. He was going to hurt you."
"Say—you don't talk funny any more!"
Norton remembered. He concentrated, reversing time
again. It was like picking up a monstrous load after inad-
equate respite.

"!erom yna ynnuf klat t'nod uoy—yaS" the girl
exclaimed.

Norton took her by the arm and led her away. He knew
the demon, now separated from the ambience of Chronos,
would not recover—except that that execution would be
undone by the resumed retreat of time. Avoidance was
therefore best.

"!pu mill deird uoY" the girl cried, horrified.

Something nagged at Norton. It was the demon's last
cry: "You're killing my body!" Of course that was literally
true; a demon could not take physical form on Earth.
Only in very special circumstances did that happen. The
demons he had seen before were mere evil spirits, with
no substance. This one had had substance—because it
had taken possession of a living being.

That meant the demons could act physically here. They
could not hurt him, Norton—but they could harm others.
That made Norton vulnerable. They could take hostages.

This was too much for him to handle alone. He had
dispatched one demon—or at least sent it back to Hell
by destroying its living host—but he couldn't afford to
chance that again. He had rescued the child, but there
were too many other potential victims, and he knew that
the minions of Satan would use them. He didn't worry
about destroying the living hosts, for he knew that a demon
could enter a human body only when invited, and that
only the worst elements of society would ever do that
inviting. But he couldn't stand to have the blood of one
innocent victim on his conscience.

"Go home," he urged the girl. "Find your family and
get far away from here. Fast. There is evil afoot."

Wordlessly, the child nodded. Then she ran, taking off
backward so fast her hair flung out behind her head, in
the direction of her flight.

Norton, reluctantly, returned to Agleh. "You were
right," he admitted. "I can't handle it alone. Those demons
are taking possession of human bodies and they are
unscrupulous. But I'm still not at all certain you can help,
and I don't want to risk—"

She waved aside his incomprehensible explanation.

TELL ME THE DETAILS, she Wrote.

His eye fell on his ring. "Okay, Sning?" he asked.
Squeeze.

"She can really help?"
Squeeze.

Agleh pointed to the ring. "?cigaM" she asked.
"Cigam," he agreed. And explained briefly about Sning.
"?pleh I nac woh ,gninS" she asked the ring.
Squeeze,squeeze, squeeze.

"He can't answer that sort of question," Norton
explained. Then, on paper: YES-NO ANSWERS ONLY.
".yrroS .h0" She considered for a moment, then wrote:

CAN SNING HELP?

Squeeze. It seemed Sning could read.

Norton was startled. "Directly? Physical action?"

Squeeze.

Time was running short. Together they worked out a
campaign. The problem, Sning explained when they found
the correct questions, was that demons could emulate
human beings by taking possession of human hosts. The
minions of Satan could no longer be readily distinguished
from innocent people. Norton and Agleh had to find a
simple way to tell humans and demons apart, so that they
could leave the former alone and eliminate or avoid the
latter.

Sning's poison could make a human being very sick,
but should have no effect on a true demon, since that was
only a spirit. The spirit demons were patrolling the area,
trying to spot Chronos, while the demon-possessed bodies
were acting to block him physically. There was no telling
how many of each there were, but probably enough to do
the job. Satan would have sent in the largest number
immediately after the capsule was changed, as that was
the critical moment; the network six hours after the event
had been relatively thin.

Norton had presumed that the possessed people were
worshipers of Satan, doomed to Hell and not worth his
sympathy. But now he wondered: could demons somehow
borrow the bodies of good people too? Sning reassured
him; they could not. Goodness was anathema to the crea-
tures of Hell. But his concern about the hostaging of inno-
cent people in the area was valid, Sning agreed. Only the
Senator himself was free of that threat, as Satan would
not harm the man whose life he was trying to save for
worse things.

Norton couldn't tell the innocents from the possessed,
at a distance, and he couldn't afford to get up close with-
out knowing. How could he identify the possessed ahead
of time and get by them?

"The regular demons are really thickening," Norton
remarked, glancing out the window. "There's one patrol-
ling the street now."

Agleh looked. "?erehW"

He pointed. "There."

She squinted, ".gnihtyna ees t'nod I"

The demon was quite plain. Sning squeezed three times.
"You mean she can't see it?" Norton asked, startled.

Squeeze.

He turned to her. "There's a spirit demon there—but
you can't see it."

",ti ees t'nac I" she agreed.

"But there is one there. Sning can tell you."

She looked doubtful, so Sning uncurled and crossed
to Agleh's waiting hand. Like Orlene, she was not afraid
of small serpents.

"!etuc woh ,h0" she exclaimed.

Sning curled around one of her fingers. "Ask him a
yes-no question," Norton said.

"?ereht nomed a ereht sl" she asked. Then she jumped.
"!em dezeeuqs eH"

"How many times?"

",ecn0" she said, holding up one finger.

"That means yes. Sey."

".ees I ,h0" She was pleased. "!mih peek dluoc I hsiw

I"

Keep Sning? "Well, you might borrow him—so you
can spot the demons. I can see them without Sning's
help." That seemed to be another power conferred on him
by the mantle of Chronos.

",seY" she agreed.

Now it jelled. Agleh and Sning would scout the Sen-
ator's estate, locating all the demons and possessed peo-
ple. The minions of Satan would not suspect them, because
Agleh was obviously a normal person, not an Incarnation.
She would report to Norton, who would then move in to
the capsule at the critical time, avoiding the pre-spotted
demons. Sning would warn Agleh of any threat to her.
With luck, there would be no trouble, and the deed would
be done before Satan knew it.

Then at last Norton would be able to relax. He could
return to his own time—and never see Agleh again. That
he regretted; these few hours had brightened when she
appeared.

He knew he shouldn't, but he asked her anyway, on
the paper: DO YOU LIKE WILDERNESS?

She replied: I LOVE IT.

Why did he torment himself?

"tog s'teL" she said briskly, heading for the door.

Norton started to go with her, then stopped. He couldn't
show his face near the Senator's estate until they had the
demons posted. "I'll wait here," he said somewhat lamely.

",eyB" she agreed and backed out.

Norton watched at the window as she went out on the
lighted street. The demon was still patrolling, but paid
Agleh no attention. He relaxed slightly; it was working!

He watched Agleh out of sight, then paced restlessly.
The woman had passed the demon, and that was good—
but now he wondered just how many of Satan's minions
in whatever form mingled with the living human beings
regularly. Did the Prince of Evil normally keep an eye on
the affairs of the mundane world? How could any person
ever be sure that evil was not just around the corner? It
was a disquieting notion.

The clock on the wall wavered, and he refocused his
concentration; he was tiring, or the Hourglass was, and
now that he had nothing to rev him up, it was becoming
more difficult to keep the reverse flow going. He seemed
to have periods when it went automatically and periods
when it required all his effort. But he felt his resources
giving out; it was as if he had been driving all night or
running all day. He had only an hour to go, but now it
seemed like more than the time that had passed.

He continued to pace, fighting to maintain control, but
the clock wavered more frequently. He no longer had
Agleh's direct support of will; maybe that was making a
difference. He was in danger of giving the victory to Satan
by default.

Now he wondered: was it really worth the effort? Would
it be all that bad if Satan won? It would be so easy just
to let it slide, to let the normal flow of time resume. He
realized his attitude was similar to that of a freezing man
who just wanted to sleep—a sleep that would never end—
but somehow he didn't care. He was so tired; his will was
exhausted.

He relaxed, heedless of the changing of the clock. He
sank into a chair, his eyes glazing. This apartment reminded
him of Orlene's—she who had loved her baby too well
and died of it, because of the evil in the family genes of
Gawain the Ghost. That evil, traveling down the lineage,
taking its dreadful toll of each generation. Where had it
originated? Where would it end?

Evil? It had, of course, originated with the Prince of
Evil. It would end there, too. From Evil came evil, and
to Evil it returned. Without the Demon of Evil, the D-
Evil, the Devil, it would not exist, for he was the Incar-
nation of it. From him and to him—

Something coalesced. The evil that had been respon-
sible for Orlene's death—it had had to come from Satan!

Suddenly Norton was up and alert. Satan had cost him
Orlene—and he owed Satan for that. Now he had a chance
to repay the Prince of Evil by foiling this present mischief.

The flow of time reversed again. The clock resumed
its backward march. Norton knew he would make it
through now. Hate would accomplish what duty could
not.

At 5:25 A.M. Agleh returned. "!lla meht dettops evah
eW" she exclaimed. And she grabbed pen and paper and
sketched a map, showing both spirits and possessed by
marking their locations with little S's and P's.

Just in time! "I've got to get into that building soon."
Norton said, aware that she could not follow all his back-
ward words, but would pick up the sense of them. "I need
to know every demon!"

"Jufrednow saw gninS" she said, perfecting the map.

Norton studied the pattern of S's and P's. "But if they're
moving, they won't be in the same places," he said, con-
cerned.

She figured this out. ",staeb klaw yehT" she explained,
sketching in light lines to mark territories, ".htrof dna
kcaB"

"Oh." Walking beats—yes, of course. So there would
be fair continuity. All he had to do was time his passage.
It was like a maze or a video game; if he maneuvered
deftly enough, he should score.

He concentrated on the map, aligning the details with
what he knew of the region, memorizing the pattern. It
wasn't difficult; there were only six possessed and six
spirits, and his fatigue of will was not fatigue of mind. Six
and six—of course. 666 was Satan's personal number.
But where was the third six?

Well, he judged that he could make the run in about
six minutes. Maybe he'd better plan on that. It might have
the effect of completing Satan's number, so that there
would be no infernal alarm. The period of backward time
was also scheduled for six hours. One way or another, it
matched.

Six minutes—that would leave him no margin for error.
Any significant delay would cost him the mission. But as
he pondered it, he became more certain this was the key.
Play it by Satan's rules—and Satan's defeat would be
complete.

He explained this to Agleh, writing out essential words
to be sure she had it straight. ",uoy htiw og ll'I" she said.

"I don't think that's wise. You've been there, scouting
it. If the demons see you again, so close to the zero hour,
they'll be alerted."

",rebmemer t'now yehT" she pointed out.

"They won't remember," he repeated thoughtfully. But
he wasn't sure of that. Most people seemed hardly aware
of their backward progress, but the ones in his immediate
vicinity were, and those ones had backward memory, as
Agleh herself did. Also, these were not people, but Satan's
demons and spirits, assigned to watch for him. If Agleh
was seen with him now, the demons might manage to
remember backward just enough to make trouble.

He pointed this out to her. Reluctantly, she agreed.
Then she brightened. "!noisrevid a sa tea ll'I" she said.

A diversion. That could indeed make it easier for him—
but it would be risky for her.

"Itsisni I" she said.

He looked at his watch. Time was shortening; his final
six minutes were almost upon him. He didn't have time
to argue.

",pleh Uiw gninS" she said, holding up her hand with
Siting.

He had forgotten to take the little serpent back! But it
was true; Sning could be a big help to her, since the little
snake could detect invisible spirits. Norton could recover
his ring once the mission was done. "Okay," he said with
some misgiving.

"!yak0" she echoed. She gave him another kiss some-
what less backward; she was getting used to these inter-
actions.

It was time. They moved out smartly. Agleh set out
ahead to intercept the first possessed. Sning would signal
her if she needed to distract the man; if not, she would
simply proceed to the second, in effect running interfer-
ence. Norton followed more slowly, trying to look like a
casual passer-by.

The problem was that they both had to walk backward,
so he couldn't see what happened to Agleh. He just had
to assume that his way would be open, thanks to her and
Sning.

He entered the first possessed's beat and backed
through it without challenge. This was on the main street,
and normal people were occasionally passing—early ris-
ers catching the local matter-mitter before the throng. He
hoped he seemed like one of them. It was working—so
far.

Now he was entering the beat of a spirit. According
to his estimate, the spirit should be at the far side of it,
facing away, so wouldn't see him. Sure enough—he spied
the spirit's tail as the creature backed toward him. He
schooled himself to make no overt reaction; that would
be a giveaway, since ordinary people could not see such
creatures. Of course the spirit would recognize him any-
way, if it turned and saw him—but it was unlikely to turn,
because of the regularity of its beat. Evil spirits, as he
understood it, did not have much imagination or initiative.
Only strange behavior on his part would cause them to
break their routine—such as reacting to the sight of one.

He reached the estate. Though there were twelve of
Satan's minions on patrol, they were not all in one place;
they were spread fairly thin through and about the estate,
to cover all of it. They knew he would exploit any gap in
their coverage. He had only three to worry about along
this route, and now he had navigated two. The third was
another spirit in the hall beyond the side entrance. He
probably could not avoid that one—but with only two
minutes remaining till zero-time, maybe that one could not
spread the alarm in time to do Satan much good. This
was the chancy part!

He opened the door behind him and backed in. This
was a servants' entrance, and there weren't many ser-
vants about at this early hour. Norton turned and pro-
ceeded forward; it was more comfortable, and he knew
he would not fool the spirit anyway. He moved through
the labyrinth of the servants' region, guessing where the
spirit would be and avoiding that region.

He guessed wrong. The spirit appeared, did a double
take, and fled through the wall. Norton was not reassured.
Ninety seconds remained—was it too much time? Could
the spirit summon overwhelming counterforce before zero
moment? Had he given Satan too much leeway?

He entered the pantry where the bottle of capsules was
stored. No spirit guarded it now; he had spooked that one
away. He looked at the bottle—

There were six homed, barbtailed feline creatures there.
Hellcats—that was the final complement of the 666!

The Hellcats spied him and snarled. They formed a
semicircle near the shelf of the capsule, tails switching.
Each had saber-toothed tusks and great blood red claws.
They looked deadly.

But this was Earth, not Hell, Norton reminded himself.
No true Hellcats existed here. These had to be spirit cats,
powerless against any living person physically, and impo-
tent against Chronos in any way. They represented another
lie from the Father of Lies, a bluff to confuse Chronos.
All they could do was attempt to distract him—and that
would fail.

One minute. He was early after all, but he would pre-
vail.

Then he heard approaching noises. Was the original
capsule demon arriving? Norton brought out his vial of
holy water and stood ready. The demon would have to
be given the chance to unhex the capsule; then Norton
had to douse it.

Figures appeared. Norton stared, stunned. A pos-
sessed—and Agleh. They had taken her hostage!

The possessed held the woman's right arm wrenched
cruelly behind her, while his left hand clasped a gleaming
knife menacing her face. "!seid ehS" he grunted eagerly.

Norton held the holy water. He could throw it at the
pair of them; it would not hurt Agleh, but it would banish
the evil spirit from the possessed man. One flick of his
wrist—

"!ti od t'noD" Agleh cried, divining his intent.

Angrily the possessed brought the knife to her neck.
She caught at his hand with her left hand, but she had
neither his strength nor his leverage. "!seid ehS" he
repeated.

Norton stared at those two hands—his big hairy one,
clasping the wicked knife; her delicate fair one with Sning
on the middle finger. Now he understood the ploy; if he
used the holy water to save Agleh, he would not have it
to foil the capsule demon, and Satan would win. But if
he did not save Agleh—

He heard something to his side. The six impotent Hell-
cats had vanished, and in their place was a coalescing
cloud of smoke. In seconds it cleared, revealing a tiny
solid demon with a single large horn. This was the capsule
demon.

The possessed made an incoherent grunt and nudged
the blade in to touch Agleh's throat. Norton couldn't let
her die!

Then he had an inspiration. "Sning!" he cried.

Immediately the little snake uncoiled and struck at the
adjacent hand of the possessed. The tiny fangs sank into
the hairy skin. The man grunted, feeling the sting.

Norton turned to watch the capsule demon. The thing
was standing below the capsule bottle. Suddenly it rose
up to land on the shelf. It touched the bottle, and there
was a small flash of light. Then the demon began to climb
down the shelving. The hex had been undone.

Norton hurled the holy water at the little demon. The
water struck—and the demon puffed into smoke, exactly
as before—but a critical minute earlier in normal time.

He turned back to Agleh and the possessed. The man
was leaning against the wall, bafflement on his face. Agleh
stood alone, massaging her sore right arm, otherwise all
right.

Norton relaxed. "It's over," he said. "The demon no
longer possesses the man, and my mission is complete."

"I thought it was a good deal," the unpossessed mut-
tered. "But when that evil spirit actually took control—
God! I mean that literally—I'm turning to God, while
there's still time!"

"It's over," Agleh agreed. Time was now normal; they
were all talking comprehensibly.

Then she vanished. Norton stood alone in the deserted
and dusty house. What had happened?

In a moment he knew. He was back in his present. The
power of the Hourglass had been exhausted, causing him
to revert when his will no longer supported the fading
magic of the instrument. Or it might be that when he tried
to live in normal time flow, allowing himself to be carried
along by the world current, he had run afoul of the three-
person barrier and been bounced out. Either way, it was
over, and he had foiled Satan.

He looked at his bare hand. With a shock he realized
that he had lost Sning. Agleh had been wearing him when
it happened. Sning had saved her by poisoning the pos-
sessed and forcing the evil spirit to leave. Apparently the
spirit had thought the man was going to die, so had instantly
deserted the sinking ship—and there had been no chance
for her to give the ring back to Norton. She had intended
to, but his sudden return had prevented it.

Norton sighed. That was a telling loss! But he missed
Agleh, too. She had loyally helped him, and must have
been chagrined when he deserted her so abruptly.

Well, perhaps it was only fair for her to retain a token
of the experience. Chronos was gone, but Sning would
comfort her.

Norton left the deserted estate, feeling lonely. On
impulse he walked to Agleh's apartment—but found the
neighborhood changed. In the intervening eight years the
oasis of primitive life had been abolished, having no
regressive Senator to preserve it. The building had been
replaced by a warehouse. He could not find her or any-
thing of hers there.

He used the Hourglass to return to his mansion in
Purgatory. The instrument performed sluggishly; it was
tired. So was he; the success of his mission provided him

little elation.

He checked his mailbox. There was a single package
in it, a small one. He opened it immediately, curious what
anyone would send to Chronos—and discovered Sning!

A brief note was enclosed, in feminine script. Chronos—
I couldn't keep Sning; he's yours. He told me this would
reach you. Best wishes, Helga.

Norton stared at the message until it blurred. What a
fine woman! Was there no way he could thank her?

Sning uncoiled, slid across his hand, and curled around
his finger. Squeeze.

The separation had been brief, in Norton's terms, but
eight years in another sense and an eternity emotionally.
"Oh, Sning, I'm so glad to have you back! You say I can
thank Agleh?"

Right there, in the Twenty Questions fashion, Sning
told him. All he had to do was make a quick trip to a
moment just before his interaction with her time and mail
her a letter—Sning had the address, which he could expli-
cate by squeezing as Norton pointed to letters and num-
bers on a sheet of paper—that would reach her after their
separation. Theoretically, the mails were magically
enhanced to give one-day service, but in practice it was
seldom so; there would be no paradox of premature deliv-
ery. He could even make it a package, containing some
suitable gift that would please her.

"Yes," Norton agreed. Suddenly he felt much more
positive. He would shop for an appropriate gift; Sning
would help.

He glanced once more at the note before putting it
away. Best wishes, Helga.

Helga—her name forward, of course.

Now he remembered; he had known Helga in his
younger days, while still employed within the system. She
had come to him, inquiring, "Haven't we met before?"
And he had been so flattered by the come-on from such
a pretty and sensible woman that he had not demurred.
They had kept company for a couple of years before the
exigencies of his wanderlust and her professional nursing
career had required an amicable separation. She had been
his dearest female friend, prior to Orlene, and he felt a
lingering fondness as he thought of her, even these six
years later.

Odd that he hadn't thought about her before, or rec-
ognized her when he encountered her in his guise of
Chronos. Obviously she had remembered him, thereafter,
though she hadn't said so.

Odd? No, not odd at all! He had not known her in his
first existence; she had been added to his experience as
Chronos. His past had been changed—without paradox.

Ironic that he should have that wonderful experience
of her company only in memory, not in reality. Yet for
her, surely, it had been fully real, and perhaps that had
been her reward for helping him balk Satan. She had kept
his secret, too; never had she mentioned Chronos, or
spoken any backward word.

He still owed her. He would send her a really nice gift.

Whistling, he walked on into his mansion.

QUEST

"You have a caller, sir," the butler informed him.

"I'm not at home to callers at the moment," Norton
said. "I've just had a very wearing session; the Hourglass
and I must rest."

"Sir, he will not be denied. He is angry."

Norton paused. "Satan? I'm not surprised. All right,
I'll tell him to go to Hell myself."

The Prince of Evil was literally fuming. A haze of sulfur
smoke surrounded him, and his homs were showing. "You
interfered with My demons!" He rasped, a small tongue
of fire showing at his lips as he spoke.

"They interfered with my business," Norton said curtly.
"Now you get out of my mansion; I have no use for you."

"You are messing up My whole program!"

"Good for me! I don't like being deceived or used for
evil purpose."

"I will have satisfaction!" Satan said, his eyes flaming
as he drew off one of his red gloves. He did not look at
all benign now!

But Norton was fed up. "Go to Hell!"

Fire puffed out of Satan's ears. He raised his fist to
Norton, clenching his glove.

Norton extended his white cloak. "Hit me," he invited.

"No," Satan snarled past lengthening tusks. He was
enraged, but not foolish; he knew the defense of Time.
Instead he hurled his glove directly at Norton's face. "You
will go—without return!"

Norton ducked the glove, though he knew it couldn't
hurt him. But it puffed into smoke, and the smoke sur-
rounded him. He could see nothing. He stepped to the
side, out of it.

He found himself on a green planet, looking at a Glob
spaceship. He was back in the antimatter cluster!

"Damn it, how does he do that?" Norton demanded.
"I didn't ask to come here again!"

Squeeze, squeeze, squeeze.

Norton chuckled grimly. "Well, at least I have you with
me, Sning! Do you know how I can return promptly
home?"

Squeeze,squeeze,squeeze.

"You're not sure? But I understood Satan couldn't do
anything to me without my consent."

Squeeze.

"But I didn't consent to this!"

Squeeze, squeeze.

That made him pause. Was Sning agreeing or disagree-
ing? "You say I did consent, tacitly?"

Squeeze.

"This time you're wrong, Sning! What could possibly
interest me here?"

Then he spied a shape in the air. He squinted, and
discovered a winged unicorn bearing a lovely young
woman. Excelsia on the Alicom, both looking splendid,
coming here.

Squeeze.

Norton sighed. "Point made," he agreed ruefully.
Excelsia was a lovely young woman with whom he could
interact on a continuing basis, since her time flow matched
his. That did indeed appeal to him! "This must be the
Magic-Lantern Cloud, instead of the globular cluster—
as good a place to relax as any."

Squeeze,squeeze.

"You say no? You mean Satan is up to something new?"

Squeeze.

"And he figures to keep me here so he can perform his
mischief without my opposition?"

Squeeze.

"Then I'd better return immediately!"
"   Squeeze,squeeze, squeeze.

The Alicorn landed. Excelsia bounced off and ran
toward him. Her gown this time was filmy white and low-
cut, and she was better endowed than he had realized;

Norton found that run fascinating. "0 Sir Norton!" she
panted, her bosom heaving prettily. "I never thanked you
properly for your valiant assistance—and when I returned,
you were gone! I have searched all over the planet for
you!"

"Well, I—"

She reached him and flung her arms about him. "Now
at last I have found you!" She planted a delightful kiss
on his mouth. He felt as if his feet were leaving the ground.
"Thank you so much!" she breathed.

"You're welcome," he said. What an armful she was!
"But I regret I must depart, because—"

Her pretty face misted over. "Depart?"

"There is pressing business back on Earth, and—"

Two big, shining tears formed in her lovely eyes. "But,
Sir Norton, I have so much to show you!"

He gulped. How much he wanted to see what she had
to show! But he had learned the hard way not to ignore
Satan's mischief. "Uh, can I take a rain check?"

"A rain check!" she flared. There was a crack of thun-
der nearby, and rain began to threaten from a ballooning
gray cloud.

Excelsia wrenched herself from his arms and fled toward
her steed. "You can have a deluge for all I care, sirrah!"

Norton ran after her, sadly out of sorts. "Wait, Excel-
sia! I didn't mean it like that! It's just that—"

She reached the Alicom, who brought his hom about
to bear directly on Norton. Norton drew up short, not
comfortable with that, though probably this creature could
not hurt him. He didn't want to hurt the Alicorn, either.

"I'm sure you don't need to explain yourself to me,"
Excelsia said primly. "Go on home right now, sirrah, and
I wish the other woman good fortune hunting!"

"There is no other woman!" Norton protested. But it
occurred to him that, had Agleh been in his time frame,
she would have been an excellent prospect; indeed, in the
past she had been—well, never mind that. And of course
he still felt love for Orlene, and there was always Clotho,
the one who really understood, so he wasn't being quite
candid.

"Then you will stay?" Excelsia said, brightening.

How much harm could there be in a short stay? He
had wanted to rest for a while, anyway.

Squeeze,squeeze.

"Shut up!" Norton snapped guiltily.

"Well!" Excelsia said, affronted.

"No, I didn't mean you!" Norton protested, taking a
step toward her. But the Alicorn snorted and leveled his
horn again, stopping that. "I was talking to Sning!"

The Damsel frowned attractively. "I remember Sning,
the good adviser and strange steed. Does he tell you I be
not good enough for you, sirrah?"

"No, of course not! He tells me there will be great
trouble back on Earth if I don't return at once."

She mollified. "Then perchance you must go. Sir Nor-
ton. I regret my dainty outburst of temper. I will wait
somewhat patiently for your return."

Would Satan ever let him come back here, after he had
once again balked whatever mischief Satan was hatching
now? Norton brushed that thought aside. "Thank you,"
he said gratefully. "I really wish I could be with you right
now, but it must be duty before pleasure." He concen-
trated, willing himself home.

Nothing happened. Excelsia watched him with curi-
osity. "Belike you have mislaid your way?"

Norton realized that he had never made this trip on
his own volition; Satan had conducted him each way. He
didn't know how to return! "I seem to have done that,"
he admitted, abashed.

The space-blob had been sitting quiescently all this
time. Now it irised open a wart. A man emerged. It was
Bat Dursten. "Say, get a glimmer o' that there Femme!"
he exclaimed.

The little Bern followed the spaceman out. It had grown
some, but remained cute as a bug eye. It changed into a
wheeled robot in the shape of a motorcycle. Dursten
mounted, and the robot-Bem-cycle churned across to join
the party.

The Alicom reared with alarm, spreading his wings.
"What manner of thing be this?" Excelsia demanded,
drawing her knife.

The Bemcycle angled its faceted headlamp to cover
them as it proceeded. "Uh, it's okay," Norton said quickly.
"It's just Bat Dursten, spaceman galore. And his Bern."

Her fair brow wrinkled with perplexity. "Bum?"

"Bern. An acronym for Bug-Eyed-Monster."

Dursten arrived and jumped off his vehicle. "Bemme,"
he clarified. "She's a Femme-Bem. 'Course, she's still
young, not for messing with—but ain't she pretty?"

The little Bemme shifted back to normal form, a blob
with tentacles and huge insectoid eyes.

Excelsia screamed, and the Alicom snorted fire.

Norton hastily interposed himself. "They're from the
space opera frame," he said—and paused. "How can that
be? This is the heroic fantasy frame!"

"Fantasy, smantasy!" Dursten exclaimed. "We got
caught in a space warp and woof and had to make landfall
on the closest green planet, to give the ship a chance to
repair itself." He nodded toward the blob. "These Bern-
balls look like rotten eggs, but they're not bad when you
get to know 'em. They can pretty well take care o' them-
selves, given half a chance. But what in space are you
doing here, pardner? Last time I saw you, you'd vanished.
I figured the Genius 'ported you away."

"Close enough," Norton said. "Now I've been, uh,
teleported here. But this is a fantasy world you've landed
on, where magic works, just as it does on my home world
of Earth. Excelsia and I had quite an adventure—"

Bat eyed the woman. "Yeah, I'll bet. Man, I'd shore
like to take that there Femme myself and—"

"Go eat a slimeblob, you utter cretin!" Excelsia
snapped.

"Listen, you bare-boobed broad!" Bat retorted. "I don't
take no shipment from—"

"All a misunderstanding," Norton cut in before things
could proceed to mayhem. Already the Bemme and the
Alicom were squaring off, loyal to their associates. The
Alicom had lowered his horn, while the Bemme had
assumed the form of a giant pencil sharpener. "You're
from two different worlds—"

The Bemme sprouted an eyeball on a stem and squinted
at him. "Three different worlds," Norton corrected him-
self. "Naturally, conventions differ. We have to be tol-
erant."

Excelsia shrugged gracefully. "Very well, since you ask
it. Sir Norton. I can tolerate the presence of a cretin when
absolutely necessary."

The spaceman grinned. "And I sort of go for bare
bo—"

"Agreed!" Norton interrupted. "If you will just explain
to the creatures."

"Certainly," Excelsia said. "Bemme, if you can get
along with that spacelout, I'm sure we females can—"

"Shore," Dursten agreed. "Alicom, if a homy horse-
head like you can put up with that dizzy Femme, you and
me can shore—"

But already the Alicom and the Bemme were making
up. She was batting huge faceted eyes at him and he was
snorting an appreciative puff of smoke.

"Maybe you can help me. Bat," Norton said, relaxing.
"I need to return home in a hurry, but I don't know how.
Do you think you could contact a Genius and inquire?"

"Why, shore," the spaceman agreed laconically, glanc-
ing again at Excelsia's decolletage. "You can ship right
home, and I'll take that there doll and..."

Excelsia huffed up to make an angry response, almost
bursting out of her gown, but again Norton intercepted
it. "And I'll return when my job on Earth is done."

"That, too," Dursten agreed without complete enthu-
siasm.

They proceeded to the blob spaceship. The Bemme
assumed the form of a petite female Alicom and trotted
along beside the real one, exchanging nickers.

Excelsia was fascinated and somewhat awed by the
ship. "What magic mirror be this?" she inquired as the
vidscreen lighted.

"Magic mirror!" Dursten echoed. "That's great!"

The Bemme was showing the Alicorn.the food syn-
thesizer, producing delicious alfalfa hay for the animals
to munch on.

The head of a Genius appeared on the screen. "Yes?"
the wizened entity inquired.

"Ooo, a goblin!" Excelsia murmured with distaste.

"My friend Norton here did dang good service for you,
and you never paid him," Dursten said. "Now he needs
a little—"

"We do not exchange favors," the Genius said coldly.
"We are strictly business."

"Maybe we can do business, then," Norton said. "All
I need is some advice."

The veined eyeballs swiveled to orient on him. Norton
felt his hair getting hot. Quickly he extended his cloak
ambience and was cool. The Genius' orbs widened a trifle.
"You counter my power?"

"I'm not from your cluster," Norton explained. "You
should have that information in your records, from my
last visit with spaceman Dursten."

"Records are suspect. You may be a Bern agent. You
do occupy an alien ship."

"Captured," Dursten said quickly. "No Bems here."

The cruel eyes flicked to cover the Bemme. "What is
that?"

"That ain't no Bern," Dursten insisted. Fortunately,
the Bemme had retained her little Alicorn marc form in
order to chew on the hay.

The Genius' eyes narrowed. Behind his back, Dursten
made a signal. The Bemme jumped in the air, did a som-
ersault, and landed on her back, shuddering and lying
still.

"Oh, the poor thing!" Excelsia exclaimed, hurrying to
the Bemme. She shot an angry glance at the Genius. "You
mean goblin, you killed her with a spell!"

"Ixnay," Dursten muttered under his breath.

Unmoved, the Genius returned his gaze to Norton.
"Business?"

Norton was appalled by the creature's callousness, but
he knew he could not afford to pass up any chance to
return to Earth before Satan completed his mischief. "I
need to go back to my own world promptly. Can you
transport me there, or tell me how to return on my own?"

"I am unable to read your mind," the Genius said, as
if this were a defect in the subject. It seemed the cloak
of time protected Norton from this form of psi power,
too. "Where is your world?"

"It's in the terrene section of the galaxy. Time moves
forward there—the reverse of yours. It's called Earth."

The Genius frowned. "Let me check our listing... yes,
Earth is as you describe. A backward planet on the periph-
ery of the main disk. It is fifty-seven thousand light-years
distant. That would represent a considerable expenditure
of psychic energy."

"That must be why I can't get there myself," Norton
agreed.

"You will have to perform an equivalent service for
me."

"Well, I can try," Norton said cautiously.

"You are currently on the fantasy world of ('. The Evil
Sorceress resides there."

"Not any more," Norton said. "We destroyed her."

"Destruction is seldom permanent in the magic realms."
But the Genius checked his records again. "True, you did
discomfit her for two hours. She recovered, but during
that period of incapacity she suffered certain losses."

"The Alicorn," Norton said.

"And the nefarious null-psi amulet that prevents us
from following her activities. Her more powerful sister,
the Eviler Sorceress, now possesses it. Fetch me that
amulet."

A Sorceress worse than the one he had encountered?
Norton didn't like that. "That sounds risky to me! She
would hardly give up such a prize voluntarily."

"True. That is my price for your return to Earth."

"But it could take me a long time to get such a thing,
if I didn't get slimed on the way!"

"I suggest you move expeditiously."

Norton sighed. What an uncompromising tyrant! "I'll
try."

The owlish head faded out. Dursten turned off the
screen. "Okay, Bemme," he said.

The Bemme recovered instantly, flipping back onto her
hooves, startling Excelsia. "You were pretending!" the
Damsel exclaimed.

"Shore, I taught her tricks, like how to play dead,"
Dursten said cheerily. "Figured it'd come in handy some-
day. Shore faked out the Genius, didn't it!"

Excelsia's brow furrowed. "But why?"

"Why else, twit? So the Genius don't catch on she's
immune to psi, that's why."

Norton remembered. "Geniuses can't touch Bems!
That's why they hire mercenaries to do it!"

"Shore," the spaceman agreed. "If he'd zapped her,
and it bounced, he'da known. So she played possum, and
he figured she was a normal critter."

"But you told him no Bems were here—"

"Right. Bems are male. Didn't say nothin' 'bout
Bemmes."

Norton realized that Dursten was more canny than he
looked. He had indeed saved the Bemme from discovery
and thus enabled Norton to deal. "I thought you didn't
like Bems," he said, aware that an exception had been

made.

"Well, I know this one," the spaceman said, embar-
rassed. "She's an orphan, you know, and a good kid. Real
smart, too."

There, of course, was the secret to peace; people did
not hurt creatures they knew well. Strangers were fair
game, but not associates. "It seems I've got a chore to
do," Norton said. "Anyone happen to know where the
castle of the Eviler Sorceress is?"

"Oh, you wouldn't want to go there!" Excelsia pro-
tested.

"I've just got to get that amulet—the sooner the better.
So if you'll tell me where the castle is, I'll be on my way."

"Only a heroic fool would brave the Eviler Sorceress
in her lair!" the Damsel warned, wringing her hands.

"Surely so."

"I can't let you go alone. Sir Norton," she said, trou-
bled. "I will go with you."

"Aw, shux, I'll come too," Dursten said then, skuffling
his feet. "You helped me afore, after all."

"But it may be dangerous," Norton reminded them. "I
don't want you to take such a risk on my behalf."

"You helped us, we'll help you," Excelsia said, her
marvelous bosom heaving with emotion. "It's only right."

"Yeah," Dursten agreed, his eyes goggling with each
heave.

"Thank you both," Norton said, moved.

Excelsia described the locale, and Dursten piloted the
Bemship there, circling the planet and setting down out-
side the castle. The Damsel was suitably impressed with
the strange flying vehicle, but the Alicom snorted with
something like jealousy.

The abode of the Eviler Sorceress was a gloomy thing,
with dark turrets, a dismal moat, and a wolf baying at the
wall. A plaque over the front gate proclaimed: ABAN-
DON HOPE.

Norton gulped. "Well, thanks, folks," he said. "I'll take
it from here."

Excelsia looked at the castle. Her fair features seemed
greenish at the moment. "I'll—I will go with you, Sir
Norton," she said with tremulous bravery.

"Shux, me too," Dursten said, though he looked none
too confident himself. Perhaps he had hoped the Damsel
would let Norton go alone. "I don't hold with none o'
this fantasy shimmer nohow."

"I really appreciate this," Norton said, feeling even
more grateful than before. Satan had once assured him
that he faced no genuine personal danger here, but now
Satan was angry. "The Alicorn and the Bemme can wait
in the spaceship—"

The Alicom snorted. "He's coming too," Excelsia said.

The Bemme became a small humanoid robot. "Me too,"
the screen face said, the screen showing a small feminine
mouth.

"But you two aren't even human!" Norton protested.
"You have no call to risk your lives for us!"

The Alicom made a series of snorts. "He says the Latins
called him Cornu, hom, before they ever saw the rest of
him," Excelsia translated. "The Italians added the article,
calling him Licorne, the horn. The Arabs added their arti-
cle, calling him Alicorno, THE the horn. Now he is the Ali-
corn, and he says he has associated with human beings as
long as human beings have existed—maybe longer. That
is, with those who know the magic word to tame him tem-
porarily. You have no authority to tell him not to associate
now. He can use his hom to detoxify much of the poison of
the Eviler Sorceress."

"Well," the Bemme robot spoke up, "my kind has fought
the bone-fleshed kind ever since our two species went to
space and discovered the delights of interstellar war. We
even named your kind: MAN."

"You did?" Norton asked, surprised.

"Of course. MAN—an acronym." The mouth on the
screen quirked with obscure humor.

"Oh? What do the letters stand for?"

"Multi-Appendaged-Numbskull, of course. Every
creature who is worthy of the title of sapience knows
that."

"What?" Dursten exclaimed indignantly. "It can't be
that!"

The Bemme fidgeted, and the screen mouth frowned.
"I did clean it up a little for mixed company." Two eyes
formed on the screen, glancing at the Alicom.

"What's the danged original?" the spaceman demanded.

"Mucky-Arsed—"

"We'd better get moving," Norton said quickly.

Dursten hesitated, then decided to let the acronym
pass. After all, he had asked for it.

They advanced on the drear castle. This one, like the
other, was wide open for entry, as if daring strangers to
try it. These Evil Sorceresses were entirely too confident!
The other one had nearly finished Norton; only Sning's
intercession had saved him.

That reminded him. "Am I doing the right thing, Sning?"

Squeeze, squeeze, squeeze.

He didn't like that answer. It meant he could go either
way, and he wanted to go the correct way. "Is it right to
seek the null-psi amulet?"

Squeeze, squeeze, squeeze.

How he wished Sning could talk to him directly! "Well,
warn me when I start to go wrong."

Squeeze.

They crossed the drawbridge and entered the dark
aperture of the front gate. There was no sound; it was
like a crypt. The air was cool and smelled faintly of earth.

"Ho!" Dursten called. "Anything in there?"

He was answered by a gust of wind that reeked like
the flatulence of a corpse, and a low moan, as of breath
sighing through deserted chambers.

Excelsia shivered. She wasn't wearing much, but her
torso was excellently padded; her chill was more of the
spirit than of the flesh. "I wish we had a candle," she
said.

"You could conjure one," Norton suggested. "Aren't
you entitled to one conjuration a day?"

She brightened. "Candle!" she exclaimed, and one
appeared in her hand. It was a big taper, already burning,
and it spread a fine light.

"Say, that there's a real good parlor trick," Dursten
said. "Too bad you couldn'ta produced a laser fluoro-
scope, so we could spy the null-psi dingus through the
walls."

The Damsel shrugged, not understanding his language.
But Norton realized that the candle probably had been
foolish, for she could indeed have conjured something far
more effective for either illumination or protection. Well,
he should have thought of that before he spoke; now her
conjuration was done, and that was that. They would have
to make do with what they had. The light of the candle
was comforting, anyway. There was something about a
flickering flame; it seemed alive, in contrast to the cold
brilliance of an electric lamp.

They entered the dark hole. The Alicom led, since he
could see and smell in the dark, was largely immune to
poisonous magic, and had his weapon always ready.
Excelsia followed with her candle, illuminating the pas-
sage for the rest of them. Her gauzy gown tended to
become translucent when the light was on the far side.
Norton admired the effect, but wished it wasn't occurring
right at this time; he needed to be alert to the hazards of
the castle.

Next came Norton, followed by Dursten, with the
Bemme in her natural form bringing up the rear. She, too,
could see pretty well in the dark because of her huge eyes.
As Norton glanced back, he could see a thousand mini-
ature candles reflected in thejewellike facets other orbs.
He doubted the Bemme would overlook anything!

The passage proceeded directly in toward the center
of the castle. It was about eight feet square in cross sec-
tion, lined on all sides by clammy, mortared stones. In
fact, those walls sweated tiny driblets of water that gleamed
in the candlelight. The whole thing was dank and oppres-
sive. Norton began to feel claustrophobic, for no good
reason.

The Alicorn came to a blank wall cutting off the pas-
sage. The light of the Damsel's candle showed smaller
tunnels exiting at right angles to the left and right.

"Which way should we go?" Norton asked Sning.

Squeeze,squeeze, squeeze.

This was getting annoying! "Don't you have opinions
any more?"

Squeeze.

"You mean I'm not asking the right questions?"

Squeeze.

Norton sighed. Maybe on a better day he would have
been able to come up with the right questions and cut
through this nuisance instantly; right now he was too dis-
tracted by the exigencies of the moment. It had been a
long time since he had had a chance to relax and recu-
perate.

"Maybe we could split our party, and—" Dursten began.

"No!" Norton and Excelsia said together. They remem-
bered getting separated in the castle of the other Sorcer-
ess.

Dursten shrugged. "Suit yourself. Pick a tube."

Norton chose randomly. He pointed right. "That one."

There was no warning squeeze from Sning, so they
proceeded. This passage was narrower, only four feet
across. It made another right-angle turn left and debouched
into a chamber whose cross section was about twenty-
five feet and whose ceiling arched high above. The candle
hardly lighted it all. Its far end, fifty feet distant, seemed
to have another tunnel exit.

They spread out and started across.

Squeeze,squeeze.

"Hold it!" Norton said. "Sning just gave warning!"

The Alicom dipped his head to point with his hom.
There was a line crossing the chamber about ten feet from
the entrance.

"Trap door?" Dursten asked, peering at the line.

Squeeze, squeeze.

"No," Norton said. "I think we're not supposed to
cross that line."

"Hell with that noise!" Dursten said impatiently.
"Nobody corrals me like that nohow!" And he stepped
across the line.

From the far side of the chamber a dozen blobs of
drainpipe garbage appeared. Each one floated a foot above
the floor, trailing drools of hair and slime. They fired clogs
of jelly like stuff across the chamber as they advanced.

"Ooo, ugh!" Excelsia exclaimed, dodging a missile.
Evidently she had been braced for routine things like knives
or empty boots, but not for this.

"I'll get them gunks!" Dursten said gallantly. He drew
his blaster and popped away with excellent aim. All space-
men, of course, were crack shots. As he scored on each
gunk, it exploded, spraying coffee grounds and potato
peels at the ceiling. In a moment the chamber was clear—
and messy.

Dursten blew off his smoking muzzle and bolstered his
blaster. "Told you I'd upgrade my shooter," he said. "I
never liked gunks nohow."

They continued on through the chamber, through the
passage beyond, and into another blank wall with chan-
nels to the right and left. "Right again," Norton said. They
turned right, and around another right-angle turn, and
came into a chamber similar to the first, with another line
across it. Dursten drew his blaster and stepped over the
line.

More gunks appeared. One gunk splatted just behind
Norton as he dodged. He turned to look at its impact on
the wall—and discovered that the stene was smoking.
"That's acid!"

"Sure, them gunks don't mean us no good," Dursten
said philosophically, blasting away at them. His aim
remained uncanny; in a moment all gunks were refuse.

They passed on through into another passage, met
another T-intersection, and turned right again. A left elbow
brought them to a third chamber.

"Are we getting anywhere?" Excelsia inquired, waving
her candle impatiently.

"Shore, we're blasting lots o' gunks," Dursten an-
swered, stepping across the line and proceeding to blast
away.

"Is that all there is to human life—blasting gunks?"
the Bemme asked, forming a mouth for the speech.

"Ain't that enough?" Dursten asked.

The Bemme shrugged gelatinously and followed. But
the question nagged Norton. He didn't want to continue
blasting gunks indefinitely; he wanted to locate the Eviler
Sorceress and get the amulet from her. He would be happy
to bypass the gunks entirely.

They blasted through two more chambers. "Are these
all different?" Norton asked.

Squeeze, squeeze.

"You mean we're repeating chambers?"

Squeeze.

"Let me check this." Norton walked back to the be-
ginning of the last chamber they had cleared of flying
gunks and turned about. He stepped back across the line.

Twelve new gunks appeared. The other folk, caught
by surprise, scurried to avoid them. Dursten got busy and
blasted them all.

"Crossing the line does it," Norton said. "Watch." And,
when they were out of the way, he crossed the line a third
time—and twelve more gunks appeared.

Dursten mopped them up. The charge in his upgraded
blaster seemed indefatigable.

"Just what are we accomplishing?" Norton asked, frus-
trated. "We're repeating chambers and blasting things that
are triggered into existence by a line!"

Dursten considered. "Never thought o' that," he ad-
mitted. "This here thing's just a maze."

A maze—of course! Their object was not to blast innu-
merable gunks, but to find their way through the maze to
the Eviler Sorceress. "So we aren't getting anywhere,"
Norton concluded. "Is that why you had no answer before,
Sning?"

Squeeze.

"Can you direct us through this maze?"

Sning hesitated, then slowly squeezed once.

Still those odd reactions! They had not yet fathomed
the whole truth about this sinister place! "Very well. Should
we turn left at the next T?"

Squeeze.

They moved through the maze, following Sning's direc-
tions. Each new chamber brought a dozen new gunks for
the spaceman to blast. Then, abruptly, they came to a
chamber that was different. It was small, only eight feet
on a side, and had no exit. At Sning's behest, they crowded
inside.

The entrance door slid closed. Then the chamber
descended. Excelsia screamed, thinking they were falling
to their doom, and clutched Dursten desperately.

"Say, now," the spaceman said, pleased. "I guess I
reckon there are better things'n blasting gunks!"

"It's only an elevator," Norton said. "Suing wouldn't
send us into a trap."

"Not doom?" Excelsia asked, wide-eyed.

"Not even discomfort," Norton assured her.

"That's okay, cutie," Dursten said. "How 'bout a li'l
kiss while we're at it?"

The Damsel realized where she was. "Oaf!" she
shrieked, slapping him smartly and stepping indignantly
away.

The spaceman shook his head. "Femmes—who needs

'em?"

The elevator's motion stopped. The door slid open.
Beyond was a green passage.

"A new maze," Norton said, stepping out. "Can you
guide us through this one, too, Sning?"

Again the response was a slow squeeze.

"I wish I knew what's bothering you!" Norton
exclaimed. "Is there danger we can't handle?"

Squeeze, squeeze.

"Then let's move on through!"

They threaded the second maze. This one was curvy
rather than angular, and the walls were green plaster. The
chambers were ovals with bloated purple glitches attack-
ing on cue. These were resistive to Dursten's blaster, but
popped like bubbles when pricked by Excelsia's knife
point or the Alicorn's horn. "Just as well," Dursten said
gruffly. "My blaster's charge ain't forever."

Sning guided them through the labyrinth to a second
elevator. They entered and descended to a third level—
which turned out to be a yellow maze. The creatures in
it were icks, like soft bowling balls with eyes where the
holes should be. They rolled up, threatening to crush
everything in their paths, but Dursten's blaster caused
them to go all to pieces.

Then the charge gave out. The last ick was only winged.
It spun out of control and banged into a wall. "Oh, the
poor thing!" Excelsia exclaimed. "It's hurt!" She dashed
to it and put her arms about it.

"Crazy dame! What about my blaster?" Dursten
demanded.

"Oh, shove your—" But she was too ladylike to be
able to complete a thought like that.

"Maybe I can stomp the ick," he said.

"Leave it alone!" she flared, cuddling the bowling ball.
"Can't you see it's suffering?"

The spaceman shot a baffled glance at Norton.
"Femmes! Can you figger 'em?"

"Not me," Norton said, though in truth he had some
sympathy with the ick. It was perhaps a variety of wil-
derness creature, forced to serve as cannon fodder for
•the Sorceress. He bore no special ill wilt for the soldiers
of the front, who tended to be victims of circumstances
no matter which side they fought on.

But this delay gave him an opportunity to ponder the
situation again. These multilayered mazes—were they
any different from the endless mazes on any one level, if
a person proceeded randomly? Was there any more point
in threading endless mazes than there was in blasting end-
less gunks, glitches, and icks? Especially considering that
Dursten's blaster had pooped out? Well, he would find
out. "Is there?" he asked Sning.

Squeeze, squeeze.

"Is that why you've been hesitant? You can guide us
through the mazes, but there's not much point?"

Squeeze.

"Do you know an alternative?"

Squeeze, squeeze, squeeze.

He had been afraid of that. "So we've still got to mud-
dle through ourselves?"

A reluctant squeeze. Sning was doing his best, and he
was very helpful, but his limit of information had been
reached; this castle maze was too complex.

The Eviler Sorceress, Norton realized, didn't have to
kill them directly. She could simply let them wear them-
selves out in interminable mazes until they were too tired
to bother her, or until they made some mistakes and got
creamed by whatever monsters defended the level they
were on. They were fools to play the Sorceress' game—
yet Sning lacked the power to penetrate that larger riddle.

"Hick says there's a secret room," Excelsia announced.

"Hick?" Norton asked.

"The icks are named by letters. This is H ick. He says
if he'd known how nice we are, he wouldn't have tried
to roll us."

Norton had an idea. "That room—does it have any-
thing we can use—like maybe the amulet?"

"Hick doesn't know," the Damsel said.

"Sning, can you tell?"

Squeeze.

They were back in business! "It has the amulet?"

Squeeze, squeeze.

Sigh. Somehow things never turned out easy! "But it
does have something that will help us shorten this rat
race?"

Squeeze.

"Let's find it, then!" He turned to Excelsia. "Will Hick
show us that room?"

The Damsel talked to the ick by tapping on its surface
with her delicate knuckle. The ick answered by making
little off-center rolls. "He says he'll try," she repeated.
"But the way is difficult."

"It always is," Norton said with resignation. "We'll get
through somehow. Lead the way."

The ick rolled to the side of the chamber, somewhat
awkwardly because of its—his?—injury, and stopped. "He
says through there," Excelsia said.

Norton contemplated the wall. It looked very solid.
Well, Hick had warned that the way was difficult! "We
have to break a hole?"

Squeeze.

Norton tapped the yellow wall with his knuckle. It was
of the same substance as the ick, slightly resilient but
quite solid, like padded plastic. He struck it with his fist,
and made no impression. Just as he had suspected—soft
but strong.

"A danged padded cell!" Dursten said, disgusted.
"Bemme, shape up and try it."

The Bemme formed into a robot with a sledgehammer
fist. She pounded this at the wall. The fist bounced off
harmlessly. She changed form to that of a small crane
with a dangling wrecking ball. This, too, bounced off
harmlessly.

Norton saw the problem. "A brittle surface would crack,
but this padding absorbs most of the shock."

"Hick says he could do it," Excelsia reported. "If he
weren't injured."

"It figgers," Dursten said wryly.

The Alicorn poked at the wall with his hom. He suc-
ceeded in making a hole, but the hom got stuck and he
had to wrench it out. He couldn't break through either.

Norton pondered. "If the icks can do it—too bad we
can't get their cooperation. Or can we, Sning?"

Squeeze, squeeze, squeeze.

Well, he could understand the little snake's problem.
The creatures of the Sorceress answered to the Sorceress,
so it was difficult for Sning to predict their reactions.

"Shux," Dursten opined. "We don't need them things
to agree. We can trick 'em into helping."

Squeeze.

"Sning says that's it," Norton reported.

"Shore it is," the spaceman agreed complacently.

"But how—?"

"Aw, Bemme can do it. Bemme, trick 'em."

The Bemme pondered a moment, then slid to the wall,
formed a dripping-ink appendage, and painted a tunnel
opening on it. The picture was very realistic; the Bemme
was a fair artist. Then she slid to the center of the chamber
and formed into a wooden barricade with an arrow point-
ing to the wall and a printed sign saying: DETOUR.

"Say, that's neat!" Dursten said. "You're doing okay,
Bemme." The wooden barricade purred.

The spaceman walked to the line, crossed it, and then
stepped back toward the center of the chamber.

A dozen new icks rolled out of the opposite passage.
They advanced on the barricade, hesitated, then made a
right-angle turn and took off toward the wall. One by one,
they plunged into the painted passage.

The first one struck the wall roundly and smithereened.
Hot on its tail, the second struck the same spot, denting
the wall and in the process fracturing itself. Rapidly the
others followed, and with each impact the dent grew
deeper, until the last ick crashed on through. There was
a faint whistling sound, followed seconds later by a distant
thunk.

The Alicom trotted up to the hole in the wall and poked
his head through. He neighed with surprise and withdrew.

Norton looked next. Only a little light came through
from Excelsia's candle; that showed beyond the wall a
void—a crevasse whose height and depth were lost in
darkness. There seemed to be no way around it; it par-
alleled the wall.

Excelsia brought her candle and joined him. The
candlelight showed another wall about ten feet beyond—
evidently the confinement for the next chamber.

"Where do we go from here?" Excelsia asked. "We
don't need to break into another ick chamber, do we? We
could get into that by going through the tunnels."

True. This was apparently the interstice between the
chambers of the maze, and since the secret chamber they
sought was outside the maze, this was where they wanted
to be. But it seemed impossible to pass!

"Well, we must have to follow this, uh, space to the
key chamber," Norton said. "If the Alicom can fly it—"

"He can fly it," Excelsia said confidently. "He will
carry anyone I ask him to. But he can bear only one
person."

"If he could ferry us across one at a time—"

"But he doesn't know where to go," she said.

"The ick knows," Dursten said. "Take the ick first."

The Damsel nodded. "And return for the rest of us
once he knows the way. Spaceman, you aren't quite as
stupid as you seem."

"Thank you, gal," Dursten said, skuffling his feet.

"Nor as ugly as you look," the Bemme added. The
spaceman patted her on a bug eye affectionately.

They rigged a harness from Dursten's shirt to fasten
Hick to the Alicom's back. Then the Alicorn scrambled
through the hole, fell into the void, spread his wings,
righted himself, and flew upward. His wing tips brushed
the walls on either side, despite a considerably shortened
stroke; he was cramped but remained airborne. He dis-
appeared to the right.

The others waited anxiously. Would the ick lead them
the right way? If the creature had only been pretending
to join them, it could guide them right into disaster—or
simply deprive them of the Alicom by leading the animal
into a trap. How could they be sure?

Squeeze.

That was a relief. Sning might not be able to fathom
the labyrinth of the castle interstices, but he had confi-
dence in Hick.

The Alicom returned, wearing the empty harness. They
put the Bemme in it, and the winged unicom departed
again. It seemed that the Bemme could assume the form
of an Alicom, but could not actually fly like one; that was
a matter of muscle and magic, not mere appearance.

"Say, pardner," Dursten drawled, getting bored with
the wait; he had a short attention span. "Do you have all
this shipment in your world?"

"I suppose we do," Norton answered. "We have both
science and magic, so there could be castles like this,
though I never encountered any myself." Something about
his own statement bothered him, but he couldn't quite
nail it down.

'"Cept you live backward," the spaceman said.

"Backward?" Excelsia asked, her fair brow furrowing
in the pretty way it had.

"Mine is a terrene-matter world," Norton explained.
"Yours is contraterrene, otherwise known as antimatter,
so your time is reversed."

"But we are together!" she protested.

"That's because I am Chronos. I live backward. In my
own world, everyone else is going the other way."

"That must be very awkward for you," she said.

"It is, on occasion. It does interfere with continuing
social relations."

"There be no such problem here," she pointed out.

He looked at her. She was lovely. How nice it would
be to have a continuing relationship with her, forever
searching out new enchantments. But his world was in
trouble, and he had to go back as soon as he could manage.

The Alicom returned, and Excelsia boarded. Now
Norton and Dursten waited, watching her candlelight
recede. They were in darkness.

"I ain't so dumb I can't see how she likes you, Nort,"
Dursten said. "If I was in your britches, I'd shore stick
around!"

Norton sighed. "I'm sure that's what Satan has in mind.
If I am tempted to remain here, he can have his will with
Earth."

"Who's Satan?"

"The Incarnation of Evil. You have no Devil here?"

"Hell, no! I'm a science man myself. I don't believe
none o' that ship."

"Perhaps he doesn't exist here."

"Must be," Dursten agreed. "We ain't superstitious."
He glanced at the hole; Norton could tell by the sound
of his body moving. "I shore hope that there animal don't
get lost in the dark, knock on wood." He tapped the plastic
floor.

Then they heard the beat of great wings and relaxed.
The spaceman's nonsuperstitious knocking must have
helped.

Dursten was next. "We'd never a needed this, Nort,
if my danged spaceship had fitted in here," he remarked
as he mounted invisibly. "But I gotta admit, this shore's
a good horse." Then they were through the hole and gone,
and Norton was alone.

Now the darkness seemed to press in on him. He was
an adult, but he didn't like this. He liked to see where he
was and he liked company. He really felt the isolation of
his office! This antimatter Cloud was indeed tempting,
because of the companionship it allowed. To be able to
interact with a woman like Excelsia, who seemed much
more interested in him than she had been on the prior
adventure, and to have her remember in the same sequence
he did; to touch her, love her—

Touch her? Again he felt a wrongness. What was it?
Not merely that Satan was tempting him; he knew that.
Not that Excelsia would be unwilling; she was virginal
but ready to be wooed. Not that there was any insur-
mountable difference between their cultures; they were
remarkably similar. He loved the wilderness; she was a
creature of it, not even knowing the city life. They had
the same language—

Same language? How could that be? There had never
been any contact between the people of the Glob or those
of the Magic-Lantern Cloud and the people of the normal
galaxy! There couldn't be, because matter and antimatter
could not touch. When the two came together, they anni-
hilated each other, dissolving into total energy with an
explosion that dwarfed any nuclear detonation.

Explosion? Total conversion? Then how was he able
to exist here? He was normal matter; he knew that. He
had lived most of his life normally, until taking the Hour-
glass. After that he lived backward—but he remained
terrene, for he had touched normal people, such as Agleh,
and normal Incarnations, such as Clotho, and could phase
in with them any time.

Well, his magic white cloak protected him from attack,
and might also protect him from the ravage of contact
with antimatter. But he kept that cloak shield withdrawn
when interacting with friends—which meant it wasn't
operating.

The more he pondered, the more certain he became
that Satan had lied to him. This was no contraterrene
frame! It couldn't be! He had kissed Excelsia, and neither
of them had exploded. There had to have been social
contact between Earth and these other worlds before. The
Alicom had referred to the Latins, Italians, and Arabs,
and it was simply not to be believed that there could have
been similar names in a frame having no contact with
Earth. Without the antimatter aspect, such contact became
feasible.

But how was it, then, that the time scale was back-
ward?

He heard the wingbeats of the Alicom's return, and
his thought was interrupted. But he remained shaken.
There was definitely something about this too-similar-to-
Earth setting that didn't mesh, but he did not yet com-
prehend the full nature of Satan's lie. And why should
he? Satan was the Father of Lies, the ultimate profes-
sional in deception, while Norton was only a man, not
long experienced in his present office. Still, now he was
sure there was a lie to decipher! That was a significant
revelation, and he would go on from there.

The Alicom came to him in the dark, and Norton fum-
bled to a mounting. He braced his legs against the firm
front anchorage of the great wings and grabbed two hand-
fills of mane. "Let's go, gallant beast!" he said.

They squeezed through the hole and dropped into the
void. The wings beat, and the Alicom forged, as Excelsia
would put it, onward and upward. They were flying—
and it was a wonderful feeling! Little jets of flame showed
at the creature's nostrils as the Alicom exerted himself,
and the flame lighted the region dimly. No wonder the
beast could handle himself in the dark; his own breath
gave him just enough light to aid his excellent vision. This
was certainly the finest of steeds!

They flew swiftly through the dark reaches, then cruised
around a comer where two voids intersected. Norton saw
dimly how massive arches of substance crossed from wall
to wall, requiring the Alicom to travel above or below;

these would be the casings for the passages between
chambers of the regular mazes. This castle was twice as
complicated as he had thought! Then they flew down to
a cold nether pass, up to a warm high pass, and into the
view of Excelsia's flickering candle. The Alicom landed
neatly on a high, strong ledge where the rest of the party
waited.

"You're safe. Sir Norton!" Excelsia exclaimed, almost
singeing his ear with the candle flame as she flung her
arms about him. She planted a moist kiss on him.

Contraterrene? Not likely!

The ledge was the edge of a sloping surface that pro-
ceeded toward a dim glow inland. Hick rolled confidently
down, and the others followed.

The glow expanded as they approached. It turned out
to be a hot section of the pavement before a passage into
a mound. The ick rolled to a stop at the edge of the glow.

"In there?" Norton asked, unpleased.

"Hick says yes," Excelsia said. It was unclear how she
communicated with either ick or Alicom, as she did not
always tap the former or touch the latter, but obviously
she understood them. "He can't go there; the heat would
melt him. And it would singe Ali's wings, too; he can't
escape it in that low tunnel."

"How far in is the chamber?" Norton asked.

"Hick says not far. About fifty feet."

This frame had the same measurements as Earth, too.
Feet, inches. Everything was the same! "Then Hick and
the Alicom can wait here while the rest of us go in."

The Damsel tested the air near the passage by extend-
ing her hand. "Ooo, that would bum my tender flesh!"

She was correct. The ambience was too hot for any of
them. "I'll go alone," Norton decided. "If I can find a
way."

Squeeze.

"There is a way?" Yet again he was frustrated by Sning's
inability to speak. "Some way I can be protected from
the heat?"

Squeeze.

Norton looked around, but saw nothing. "Sning says
I can be protected—though I don't know how."

The Bemme slid up. She settled into a furry puddle
about eight feet in diameter. "Her?" Norton asked, and
received Sning's squeeze in response.

"Oh, I get it," Dursten said. "She's a heat shield. Put
her on."

"Put her on?" Norton repeated dubiously.

The spaceman bent to pick up the thin material. It
flopped and folded in his hands like a quilt. He held it out
to Norton. "Yep. She's good at this—she superinsulates,
when she wants to. The perfect blanket." The blanket
purred.

Norton tentatively took hold of the Bemme-cloth. It
felt like furry silk. He draped it over his head and shoul-
ders. It was really quite comfortable. "This will really
shield me from the heat?"

Squeeze.

"Okay, I'll try it. I'll return this way once I have what
I need from the chamber."

The others nodded. It struck him what an odd group
they were—a swashbuckling spaceman, a voluptuous,
innocent Damsel, a winged unicorn, and an animate bowl-
ing ball. But he liked them all; they were dedicating them-
selves to his welfare.

He turned and stepped onto the hot pavement. His
solid shoes protected him from the immediate heat of it,
and his Bemme-cloak shielded him from the ambient heat.
It was working!

Nevertheless, he hurried. He ran through the tunnel
toward a greener glow ahead—with luck, the chamber.

It was; in moments he burst into it, and the heat abated.
But he kept the cloak draped over his shoulder, just in
case.

He looked around. Four people stood in lighted alcoves:

an old gray-robed, gray-bearded man; a stoutish, middle-
aged woman in a business suit; a strikingly beautiful young
woman in a bursting bikini; and a boy of about six with
a moderately arrogant curl to his lip. They were all quite
still, as if in suspended animation; perhaps they were in
storage, awaiting whatever use the Eviler Sorceress might
choose to make of them at her convenience.

What now? He had not known what to expect, and
now did not know what to do with what he had found.
"One of them can help me?" he asked Sning.

Squeeze.

"Can give me the amulet?"
Squeeze, squeeze.

Perhaps that had been too much to hope for. "Can you
indicate which one?"

Squeeze, squeeze.

Still too complex for the little snake. Human beings
were far more devious than mazes! Well, he couldn't expect
Sning to handle everything.

Norton went to stand before the old man. He saw now
that the man's robe was mail, linked and woven metal to
protect him from attack. He wore a small iron crown, and
his face was set in a half-sneer of authority. Surely he was
some great king or warlord. "Uh, hello," Norton essayed.

"Speak up, youngster!" the man said, coming to life in
the alcove. His voice had a fine timbre. "Do you accept
my gift?"

"I'm not sure. Who are you? What is your gift?"
"I am Ozymandius, King of Kings," the king said

grandly. "Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair. My

gift is Power."

"Power?" Norton looked around, but saw no works he
could safely attribute to the king.

"Power, lad. I can make you the master of all you
survey, with authority to extirpate lives by your merest
whim."

Norton pondered. "Do you know anything about this,
Sning?"

Squeeze, squeeze.

Again, he would have to decide for himself. He remained
uncertain, but had no alternative. "Can you give me power
over the null-psi amulet?"

"Certainly," the king said.

But Norton decided to try one more question. "Can
you give me power over the whole contraterrene frame?"

"Indubitably," the king assured him.

Just so. Norton moved on to the next person. Now he
saw that the middle-aged woman's suit was of woven gold,
and she wore a necklace and bracelets formed of brilliant
precious stones. "Hello, ma'am."

"A greeting, young man," the woman said, coming to
life as the old king had. Evidently this was another rote
address, as Norton was not really young. "Do you accept
my gift?" Diamonds sparkled at her ears as she moved
her head.

"Who are you, and what is your gift?"

"I am Mrs. Croesus, widow of the fabulous King of
Lydia, who was the father of coinage. My gift is Wealth."
She extended her arm so that her sleeve pulled back to
reveal additional bracelets of gold, platinum, and emer-
alds. She opened her jacket to show inner pockets stuffed
with bright gold coins.

"Enough wealth to buy the null-psi amulet?"

"Certainly." She moved her leg, and an anklet of spar-
kling opals showed.

"Enough to buy the contraterrene frame?"

"Assuredly."

Norton went on to the next. "Hello."

The lovely young woman animated. "Oh, aren't you
the handsome one!" she cooed. "I am Circe. Let me delight
you with my gift."

"What is your gift?" Norton had heard of the lovely
sorceress Circe and didn't trust her.

"Romance," she breathed ecstatically. "I can bring you
to fantastic heights of passion and fulfillment such as you
can hardly imagine, let alone endure!"

"A height sufficient to make me forget about the null-
psi amulet?"

"Of course!" she agreed, leaning forward.

Norton blinked. It took him a moment to remember
his next question. "More passion than elsewhere in the
contraterrene—?"

"Oh, yes!" She sighed. Her bikini halter was beginning
to fray from the tension on it.

Norton took one last look, gulped, and moved regret-
fully on to the boy. "Hello."

"What's it to ya?" the lad snapped impertinently. "Ya

want my furshlugginer gift or don't ya, creep?"
"What is your gift?"

"I can tell ya where anything is. Now get lost, jerk."
"Anything in the contraterrene cluster?"
The boy stared at him. "What CT cluster, dodo?"
"How about the Magic-Lantern Cloud? It's CT, too."
The boy shook his head. "Mister, you're dreaming!

Ain't no CT here!"

Finally one who spoke the truth, however insolently!
"I will accept your gift."

"What, when ya coulda had power, pelf, or sex? Ya
nuts, moron?"

"Tell me where the amulet of null-psi is."

"Ah, ya don't want that thing! It don't do nothin'."

"I do want it."

The boy eyed him with new appreciation. "Ya got a

death wish, dumbbell?"

"I need it to make a deal with a Genius."
"You're crazy, numbskull! Them bulbheads will screw

ya every time!"

"You mean they don't honor agreements?"
"Oh, they stick to the letter, sorta, but they use the

loopholes to weasel out anyway. Ya ain't going to get

nothing you want from no skullbrain."

"I don't seem to have much choice. Where is the amu-
let?"

"Aw, Eve's got it."
"Eve?"

"The Eviler Sorceress, dolt! Ya can't get near that
bitch, and if ya could, she'd zap ya before she'd let ya
get that thing."

"Zap me?"

"Ya know. Turn ya to mush, like her sista useta. She
ain't going to give ya no amulet, that's for sure, stupe."

"I will have to take that chance. Tell me where the
Sorceress is."

"Aw, she moves about all the time. Ya gotta reach her
through channels."

"Then show me the channel."

"It's another chamber, first off, where they can get a
bead on the route. But it's real hard to get there. Ya gotta
pass the animals."

"I'll find a way." And Norton listened while the imper-
tinent boy described the route in his particular vernacular.
Then the boy returned to immobility in his alcove, and
Norton redraped his Bemme heat shield and ran back to
rejoin the others.

"We have to find another chamber," he reported, doff-
ing the Bemme, who re-formed her natural shape as he
set her on the pavement. "You were great, Bemme! I
hardly sweated." She blushed pink with pleasure all over.

"Well, let's mosey on, then," Dursten said, rolling him-
self a cigarette and touching it to one of the hot coals in
the ground to light it.

They moseyed on, following the route the boy had
described. "But we have to watch out for pieharps," Nor-
ton said.

"What's a pieharp?" Excelsia asked. "Something to
eat, or something to play?"

"I'm not sure," Norton admitted. "But I fear it's some-
thing that will try to eat or play us."

The ledge they were following circled the mound and
cooled. It broadened, becoming a darkling plain on which
thick, dark stalks grew, bearing long, thin leaves. Excelsia
held her candle close to one, peering at it. "This looks
familiar."

"Watch it, gal," Dursten warned. "It might eat you."

"No, it's harmless," she decided. The Alicom sniffed
a plant, then began eating it avidly. Excelsia clapped her
hands. "Oh, I know! 'Tis flying carpet reed!"

"Why, so it is," Norton agreed, startled. "I've seen the
same thing back on Earth. They strip the long fibers and
weave them into magic carpets."

"Yes, that is done here, too," she said.

Squeeze.

Norton glanced at Sning. "A warning?"

Squeeze.

"Danger coming?" When Sning agreed, Norton relayed
the warning to the others.

"By land or by space?" Dursten asked.
It turned out to be both. "Then we better get us a ship,"

the spaceman decided. "You say these here weeds can

fly?"

"They must first be stripped and cured," Excelsia said.
"In their natural state they are too wild."

"We don't have time for that," Dursten said. "I can
tame a wild ship; I'm the best dumed pilot in this neck
o' space. Hold your light here, gal; I'll make us a ship."
He began tearing plants out of the ground.

Dursten seemed to know what he was doing. Norton
and the Bemme helped him harvest the plants and weave
them into a crude and shaggy mat. True to the Damsel's
warning, the thing was extremely unruly. It bucked and
tossed ferociously, threatening to fall apart. Finally the
Bemme formed herself into an endless rope and wrapped
herself about the mat, holding it together. Dursten clam-
bered on it, braced his feet in rough-hewn stirrups the
Bemme formed, and hauled on vine reins. "Yahoo!"

There was a sound ahead of them—raucous screech-
ing, as of a flock of unruly birds. Sning gave Norton
another warning squeeze. "That's it," he told the others.
"The danger!"

"Well, we can stand and fight," Dursten said. "But with
my blaster dead—"

Squeeze, squeeze.

"Sning says fighting's no good," Norton reported. "We'd
better try to avoid this threat." He asked Sning, "Can we
outrun it, then?"

Squeeze, squeeze.

He glanced at the bucking carpet, not thrilled with that
prospect. "Outfly it?"

Squeeze, squeeze,squeeze.

What did that mean? Neither yes nor no! But the birds
were coming too fast; there was no time for twenty ques-
tions. "We'd better try to outfly it!"

"Then get aboard, Nort!" Dursten cried.

Norton grabbed onto the back half of the bucking
bundle of plants. Some carpet! He hauled himself up
behind the spaceman and hung on gracelessly. Excelsia
mounted the Alicom. In a moment all of them were
airborne except the ick. There simply was no way to
carry that creature this time. "Hide, Hick!" Norton called
to it, and Hick rolled away.

The menace arrived. Norton saw them in the unreliable
light of Excelsia's candle—fantastic crossbreeds with the
lower bodies of human beings and the upper torsos and
heads of gross birds. "Pieharps?" Excelsia cried, horri-
fied.

Norton figured it out. Human tops and bird bottoms
were harpies; bird tops and human bottoms were pie-
harps. They looked and sounded vicious.

The pieharps were running along the ground, using
their powerful legs. But when they saw their prey escap-
ing, they spread their dark wings and launched into the
air. They were big, hairy, and fast—faster in the air than
either carpet or Alicom. Sning's warning had been well
advised. But Sning had also hinted that they might some-
how outfly the menace—or at least, Sning had not denied
the possibility.

1 "I'm ready to hotshot it!" Dursten cried. "Hang on,
Nort, while I buzz them there birds!"

Norton hung on. There was nothing else he could do.
He had never been aboard an uncured carpet before and
hoped never to repeat the experience. Under the space-
man's guidance, the carpet bucked, then slued around to
charge the pieharps.

The bird-men squawked and scattered, caught by sur-
prise. "Get along, li'I dogies!" Dursten called, pursuing
them. The weed-steed swooped and reared, kicking up
its leaves, bashing into the posteriors of the fleeing pie-
harps.

Norton was amazed. The pieharps obviously had the
more formidable force, but the antics of the carpet kept
them disorganized. Thus, without either outflying or out-
fighting the bird-men, the spaceman was nullifying them.

Norton looked up and saw Excelsia on the Alicorn,
hovering above. There was blood on the animal's horn
and hooves; evidently he had fought off some pieharps.
But now the pieharps had forgotten about him, because
of the distraction of the men on the carpet. Sning's ambig-
uous response was making sense.

"Hang on, pardner!" Dursten cried. What did he think
Norton had been doing? Now the rug made a vertical
loop. The surroundings whirled around dizzily, a universe
in chaos, a dream-world.

A dream-world...

This whole adventure lacked credibility as an objective
situation. Maybe convergent evolution was possible, as
Satan had described it—but if the Glob and the Cloud
really were flowing backward in time, what were the
chances of their people matching Earth's so closely, even
in slang, right at this moment? This planet of / should be
either more primitive or more advanced than Earth, not
just the same. Who, in his right mind, would believe in
this coincidence? This frame couldn't be opposite in time
flow to Earth!

But a dream world, now—made up for Norton's ben-
efit within his own mind—that could be believed. That
would require no galactic travel, no contraterrene frame,
no reverse time flow or phenomenal coincidences. A dream
world was so obvious—how could he have overlooked
it? Satan, the Father of Lies—naturally he would use an
easy lie in preference to a difficult truth to gain his nefar-
ious designs.

But if this was a dream—why couldn't Norton simply
break out of it? He had tried to will himself home at the
outset and had failed. Was he drugged, so that he was
locked in until the drug wore off? No, Satan could not
have done that to another Incarnation. There had to be
a trick of some sort, something Norton did not yet under-
stand. This was another type of puzzle, and to solve it he
had to find the key to its solution.

Sning, do you know?

Squeeze, squeeze.

In the end, the mischief of Satan had to be a greater
thing than a little magic snake could compass. Sning was
like a pocket calculator, very useful for spot answers, but
not for the formulation of questions about the nature of
ultimate reality.

Squeeze.

"Which way from here, pardner?" Dursten cried.

Norton's question, precisely! But until he found his
private personal key to escape, he would have to play the
game he was locked into. He gave instructions, and the
galloping rug charged and disrupted another wave of pie-
harps. Then it lifted and swung onto course. The pieharps
were now so disorganized they didn't even follow right
away; possibly they thought the rug was about to loop
back on them.

Too disorganized to follow—again, an analogy of his
own condition. Satan was keeping him so occupied with
challenges of the moment that he couldn't figure out the
grand design. Obviously, Satan's finger was in this adven-
ture, as it had been throughout; since fiction was the
highest form of lie, naturally the Father of Lies was skilled
at it. Challenge, adventure, humor—Norton had to admit
it was a good presentation.

They zoomed on toward the next station. The wind
caught up Excelsia's skirt, so that her legs flashed, still
draped sidesaddle. Sex appeal, Norton added mentally to
his list of fictive qualities. Everything was here—and,
frustrating as it was, Norton had to admit to himself that
he liked it. This sort of thing surely was a reward for
Satan's minions. But Norton knew he could not afford to
allow himself to remain locked in it.

The pieharps re-formed. They pounded after carpet
and Alicom, their hairy bare legs dangling. They were
gaining; soon the fight would resume.

"Them birdbrains won't leave off," Dursten muttered,
glancing back. "I shore wish I had a recharge on my
blaster! Didn't you say there are caves in between? With
stag-tites and stuff?"

"Stalactites," Norton agreed. "You can distinguish them
from stalagmites mnemonically by thinking of the C in
stalactite as standing for ceiling, and the G in Stalagmite
as standing for ground. So the stalactite hangs from
the—"

"Just tell me where they are!" the spaceman snapped.
^'Afore them barefoots catch us!"

He had a point. "But it's not safe to go near them in
the air in this dark. Those things are solid onyx, like giant
icicles—"

"It's them or the featherfaces!" Dursten cried.

Indeed, the bird-men were closing in rapidly, screaming
belligerently. They were flapping in at the carpet, pecking
at it. Norton tried to kick them away, but it was futile;

he was too busy just hanging on.

Then the party approached the cave region. All of this
was inside the castle, of course, between the walls con-
fining the regular functions. There seemed to be an
extraordinary amount of waste space here.

The Alicorn flew beside the cave entrance, hovering
while Excelsia's candlelight played across it. The stalac-
tites were there. Icicles? No, they were more like jagged
teeth! The polished onyx gleamed reflectively, wet like
saliva in the mouth of that orifice. Inside the cave, behind
the first row, Norton could see the points of endless backup
rows of them. If the C stood for ceiling, surely the T stood
for teeth! Norton didn't want to fly through that!

"Yore squeeze dingus," the spaceman said as he absent-
mindedly clubbed a pieharp on the beak with the butt of
his blaster. "Can it call out stag-mites?"

"I suppose so," Norton said, giving up on the lesson
in pronunciation. "But what—?"

"Call 'em out, 'cause we're going through!" And the
carpet charged the cave.

"But it takes time to get that sort of information! Sning
can only—"

"Just tell me when one's dead ahead and close!"
Squeeze. "Now!" Norton cried, knowing in his heart
that they would crash into a tooth and fall helplessly to
the rising stalagmites below.

The carpet swerved. In the faintly flickering and distant
illumination of Excelsia's candle, he saw the stalactite
pass just to their left. Two pieharps, too hot in pursuit,
crashed into it. They screamed and dropped out of sight,
for that had been a high-speed collision. In seconds their
descending screams cut off abruptly. They had struck the
spires below. But many more still pursued.

Squeeze. "Another!" Norton cried. He was terrified
by this suicidal flight.

The carpet swerved left—and three more pieharps were
caught by the column on the right. They weren't looking
where they were going; of course, the darkness made it
easy to err.

"Ain't this fun?" Dursten demanded exuberantly. "I
ain't flown like this since I threaded the head of a comet
on a dare!" He sobered momentarily. "'Course, I did lose
my ship on that one..."

That was indeed the problem on this sort of thing! But
Dursten certainly was an able pilot. He swished the carpet
past half a dozen columns, taking out most of the pie-
harps. In the dark, the bird-men were unable to maneuver
as effectively as the Sning-guided carpet.

Abruptly they were at the next stage of the trip—the
deep caves. These were much smaller than the prior ones,
with no stalactites or stalagmites, and had many rounded
tunnels that wound through the rock. It was necessary to
traverse these to reach the second chamber.

The Alicorn came to land on the ledge. He had taken
an easier route through the caves—the space between the
points of the stalactites and stalagmites. But had Dursten
done that, the pieharps would have pursued them
unscathed. Norton had to admit that the spaceman had
known what he was doing; he was indeed a hotshot pilot.

There was a new problem, however. The caves were
large enough for all of them to walk, including the Alicorn,
but not to fly. There were no impassable crevices or heated
stones. But these caves were occupied. As soon as the
group entered them, Excelsia's candle showed the anten-
nae of giant insects.

They were monstrous termites, predators of the castle
interstices. The ones in front were warriors, with gro-
tesque armor and huge pincers. They scuffled along the
tunnels, familiar with the labyrinth, for it was the termites
that had carved out these warrens. In time they would
hollow out so much of the castle that it would collapse.
But that was in the future, while the problem of passage
was now. How was it possible to get by?

Squeeze.

"Sning says there is a way," Norton reported.
"Does that there thing know my blaster's dead?"
Squeeze. "Sning knows. Can we fight through?"
Squeeze, squeeze.

"Sneak through?" Dursten put in.
Squeeze, squeeze.

"Bluff through?" Excelsia asked.
Squeeze,squeeze.

"You shore that thing's got all its batteries?"
"If Sning says there's a way, there's a way."
"Well, he better tell us real soon, 'cause them termites
are mighty hungry!"

Indeed, the termite warriors were nudging forward in
the process of deciding that the intruders were edible.
The Bemme was holding them back temporarily by form-
ing pincers even larger than theirs, but Norton knew this
would not fool them very long. Once the termites reached
a firm conclusion, this would be no safe place!

"Is there something we can do to make it safe?" Norton
asked, trying to cudgel his mind for the right questions.

Squeeze.

Aha! "As a group?"

Squeeze, squeeze, squeeze.

Damn! "One of us?"

Squeeze.

"To make it safe for all of us?"

Squeeze.

A warrior termite marched up more aggressively. The
Bemme was balking the ones on the left, but this one was
on the right. The Alicorn moved to intercept it, but it was
obvious that, when the overt hostilities commenced, the
termites would overwhelm them by sheer numbers. "Get
a wiggle on, Nort!" Dursten murmured.

"Which one of us?" Norton asked Sning. "Me?"

Squeeze, squeeze.

"Dursten?"

Squeeze, squeeze.

"Excelsia?"

Squeeze.

The Damsel's head turned quickly. "Oh, I can not fight
such monsters, sirrah!" she protested, her candle wav-
ering. "I am but a helpless feminine creature!"

Exactly. What was Sning thinking of? "Some magic
she can do? Maybe a conjuration?"

Squeeze, squeeze.

This was baffling. "The way she looks?"

Squeeze, squeeze.

A third termite warrior was advancing between the
ones blocked by the Bemme and the Alicom, coming
disconcertingly close. Dursten stood before it, pointing
his blaster. This did make the insect pause—but for how

long?

"Something about her?" Norton asked.

Squeeze.

"Something specific?"

Squeeze.

"Uh, can you show me? Hot-cold?"

Squeeze.

Norton walked quickly to Excelsia, who stood with
her delicate knuckles in her mouth, nervously watching
the closest termite. He pointed his finger at her pert nose.
Sning did not comment. He pointed to her heaving bosom.
No reaction. Then he tried her purse—and that was it.

In a moment they were sorting through the items in
her purse. She had the usual assortment of inconsequen-
tials. The object turned out to be a little bottle of perfume.

"Perfume?" Norton asked blankly.

Squeeze, Sning replied patiently.

"You mean it destroys monsters, like holy water?"

Squeeze, squeeze.

"Repels termites?"

Squeeze,squeeze.

"Well, then, what good is it?"

Squeeze, squeeze, squeeze.

Excelsia's lips quirked. "It be good for wearing, belike."
She opened the bottle and dabbed some behind her ears.

The nearest termite paused. It seemed confused.

Dursten snorted. "That there thing's sniffing the bot-
tle!"

"The smell!" Norton cried. "It pacifies termites?"
Squeeze, squeeze, squeeze.

"Well, it does something to them! Should we all put it
on?"

Squeeze.

So they all dabbed perfume on themselves and on the
Alicom, and the termites did not attack. They walked on
through the warrens, and the termites ignored them.

"I get it!" Dursten said. "The smell o' the hive! We've
got the dang smell o' the hive!"

It seemed that Excelsia's perfume was precisely that
flavor, or had it as a component. The termites were odor-
oriented, and now regarded the intruders as other ter-
mites.

They arrived at the second chamber. This one was easy
to enter; it had glass facing and resembled an executive
office, the kind that allowed the boss to keep an eye on
every employee without stirring from his desk.

Of course, the employees could also see in. Excelsia's
candle showed the interior clearly. There were four
alcoves—but all were empty.

"An empty room?" Norton asked, dismayed.

"The jokers musta skedaddled when they heard us
coming," Dursten said disgustedly.

"But the only way out is through the termite warren,"
Norton said. "We should have seen them."

"Unless this is another magic levitator," Excelsia sug-
gested.

Levitator? Oh—elevator'. "If so, maybe we can use it
to follow them."

They all entered and looked around. There seemed to
be no control buttons, and the floor of the glassed-in
chamber was that of termite-hewn rock. It did not seem
to be an elevator.

Dursten poked around the first alcove. "Shore coulda
been somebody standing here once," he said. "See, his
footprints are right here." He stepped into the alcove,
planting his space boots where indicated.

Abruptly, he stiffened. His breathing stopped, and his
face was frozen in an expression of mild surprise. He had
become a statue.

"It's a trap!" Norton exclaimed, horrified.

Squeeze, squeeze.

"Not a trap? But look at him! He's petrified!"

Squeeze, squeeze, squeeze.

"Sning says there's something about this," Norton said
to Excelsia, who was, of course, biting her knuckles in
mute helplessness.

He went to stand before the petrified spaceman. "Can
you hear me, Dursten?"

Dursten came alive again. "I ain't exactly him any
more," he said. "You want my advice, sport?"

Norton hesitated. Had the spaceman become the
exhibit? If so, care was essential. "I'm not sure. How
competent is your advice?"

"Well, I reckon that's for you to find out, Nort."

What Norton really wanted to ascertain was whether
he was, in fact, in a dream world that he could simply
awaken from. If he was not, his "awakening" might be
disastrous. A person who decided, when about to step
off the brink of a cliff, that it was all a dream and didn't
matter would be in trouble if wrong. But if right, he could
step off the cliff and force the dream to end. Norton had
to be sure. What conceivable question could he ask of a
dream-figure that would settle that?

That internal question brought its answer: he needed
to find someone who knew more than he did on some
subject. Only that way could he be sure the answers were
not coming from his own mind. For that purpose, it didn't
matter whether Bat Dursten was himself or an alcove-
figure; if he could not show knowledge beyond Norton's
own, he was not enough. Presumably if all four alcove-
figures manifested, and none could prove individuality,
then Norton could reasonably assume he was locked in
a dream of his own. How he would manage to awaken
from it he didn't know; somehow, committing suicide here
didn't appeal. But first he had to be sure what he was
dealing with.
Squeeze.

So Sning agreed! But, of course, if this were a dream,
Sning himself was probably part of it, a dream-snake whose
advice was suspect. Likewise the Hourglass; now he
remembered how the original, adult Bern had snatched it
from him. In real life that was not possible; the Hourglass
had passed right through Agleh's hand. But that did not
guarantee this was a dream-world; Satan could simply
have arranged the illusion that the Hourglass had been
snatched. Norton knew he could trust nothing until it
proved to be independent of his imagination.

Merely talking with the alcove-spaceman would not do
the job. Asking Dursten's name and sentiments would
produce only answers that were obvious or not subject
to verification. So he would have to get technical, posing
the riddles that had always baffled him; the point was to
get beyond his own knowledge in such a way that he
remained assured the information was valid. Only through
scientific logic could he do that.

Norton pondered, then addressed the spaceman. "Let
me ask you a sample question before I decide."
"Why, shore, pardner. Ask away!"

"There is a story about Galileo, back on my home
planet. He was supposed to have climbed to the top of
the famous Leaning Tower of Pisa and dropped several
objects to the ground. I forget what they were, but that
doesn't matter. Let's assume they were a penny, a ping-
pong ball, and a cannonball. He discovered that they all
fell at the same rate, contrary to popular opinion, the small
and the large. Popular wisdom had had it that larger and
heavier objects would fall faster than small ones. From
this experiment he deduced the theory of gravity—that
all objects in the universe attracted one another with a
force directly proportional to their mass and inversely
proportional to their separation from one another. Can
you accept that story?"

"Well, I ain't never been to the Tower of Pizza—"

"Any tower will do," Norton said patiently. "The point
is, what about the objects falling?"

"Why, shore," the spaceman said. "That's gravity, shore
'nuff. You find it around planets and things."

Norton controlled his irritation. "What about air resis-
tance?"

"Oh, yeah, there's that. I don't mess with atmosphere
so much; planets are a bother. That there ping-pong ball
would fall slower in air. And so would the penny, 'cause
it's flat, catches the air."

"Very well. Let's repeat the experiment on an airless
planet. Absolutely no atmosphere. Now do they fall at
the same rate?"

"Shore," the spaceman agreed amicably. "Weight 'n
density don't matter none in a perfect vacuum. A dang
feather would fall as fast as a lead shot."

"But the theory says that objects attract one another
in direct proportion to their masses. Since the cannonball
is more massive than the ping-pong ball, shouldn't it fall
faster?"

Dursten scratched his head. "You know, I never thought
o' that! I'll go try it sometime."

"Does this suggest to you that Galileo could not have
performed the experiment attributed to him—or that if
he did, and got the results claimed, he would not have
derived that particular theory from it?"

"Yeah, shore does, now you put it that there way."

Norton sighed inwardly. The spaceman had not been
able to take it any further than Norton himself had. He
had questioned the Leaning Tower story at the outset, as
a child, and been sure that Galileo's experiment must have
been misrepresented in some way. For example, magic
could have distorted the results. None of the other chil-
dren had thought so, however, and they had ridiculed him
for questioning it. Norton himself had never been quite
certain whether he had a valid argument or was merely
finding fault with what he did not properly understand.
Had Dursten been able to offer a better explanation, he
could have been accepted as an independent entity. But
the spaceman knew, if anything, less than Norton himself
did—and that was no proof he was not a figment of a
dream.

"Thank you. Bat. I'm afraid I must decline to accept
your advice. This does not imply any criticism of—"

"That's okay, Nort. Can I step down now?"

"By all means."

The spaceman stepped out of the alcove. "Say, that
shore was funny!" he said. "For a while there I felt like
I was somebody else!"

"Let me try that," Excelsia said. She stepped into the
second alcove, placing her dainty feet where indicated.

She froze. "Say, she's pretty as a pitcher!" Dursten
remarked appreciatively.

She was indeed, Norton reflected. Pretty as a fine por-
celain pitcher with a classic picture painted on it. He went
to stand directly before her. "Hello, Excelsia."

"Oh, hello. Sir Norton," she replied, reanimating
sweetly. "But I'm not exactly the Damsel at the moment."

"She shore looks like a Damsel to me!" Dursten
remarked.

"I understand," Norton said.

"Will you accept my advice, 0 noble querent?"

"First may I try a sample?"

Her fair brow furrowed. "A sample of what, sirrah?"

"Of your advice, of course."

"Oh." Her brow cleared. "Certainly, Sir Norton."

"If the universe and everything in it doubled in size in
an instant, would anybody notice anything different?" This
was another question that had frustrated him, because his
answer had differed from that of everyone else. Such
differings had set him apart from his peer group, perhaps
putting him on a path to self-isolation in the wilderness,
where philosophy and reality were one. He believed this
was another good question for the occasion.

Excelsia pondered prettily. "I don't think so," she said.
"I mean, sirrah, if everything were twice as big, including
the yardsticks and people, there really wouldn't be any
change, would there?"

That was the standard answer. "But what about the
square-cube ratio?"

"The what?" she asked, perplexed.

"The surface area of objects increases by the square,
while volume increases by the cube," he explained. "If
you doubled the diameter of the planet and the height of
the man standing on it, his mass would multiply by a factor
of eight and the mass of the planet by a similar factor, so
his actual weight would be something like sixty-four times
as much as before, while the cross section of his legs
would be only four times as much. The burden on each
square inch of his feet would be about sixteen times the
prior burden—without strengthening his flesh. He would
collapse and die in short order; it would be like standing
on Jupiter—"

"Oh," she said blankly. "I've never been to Jupiter.
Are you sure?"

"It's why ants aren't the size of elephants. The square-
cube ratio prevents them from achieving such great size
without changing form radically."

"But the big termites—"

Excellent point! Scientifically, those monsters were
impossible! But he had the answer. "Magic changes things,
of course. Without magic, those huge termites could not
exist."

"Then—with magic, the universe could double!"

Another nice point; she was certainly smarter than
Dursten. But her point was flawed. "Magic is limited to
planetary range. Sections of the universe are not magic;

these would perish. The laws of science, in contrast, are
universal, so science is what applies here. Thus, where
magic overrides science, as here, huge termites are pos-
sible, but the doubling of the universe remains impossi-
ble."

"That's for shore!" Dursten agreed. "I never had no
truck with none o' that there magic."

Norton had eliminated Excelsia as an independent
thinker; she, like Dursten, knew less than he did. The
dream-world hypothesis, so far, was two for two. "You
may step down. Damsel."

She stepped out of the alcove, seeming perfectly nor-
mal now that her interview was over. She brought out a
little mirror and checked her makeup.

"Must be your turn," Norton said to the Alicom. "Want
to try an alcove?"

"An Alicove!" Dursten said, chuckling.
The Alicom shrugged and stepped into the third. This
one turned out to be larger than it looked; there was room.
He put his forehooves on the footprints and froze.
"Hello, Alicorn," Norton said. "Can you speak?"
The Alicom animated. Telepathically, he projected. But
I am not exactly the animal at the moment.
"I understand."

"I shore don't," Dursten said. "What in space is going
on?"

"The Alicom is telepathic," Excelsia said. "Everyone
knows that."

The spaceman was silent, embarrassed. Obviously he
hadn't known—and neither had Norton. It seemed the
Alicom generally didn't bother to communicate that way
to people with whom he was not tame.

Will you accept my advice?

"First I must question you."

Proceed.

"This is a scientific question. You are a magical crea-
ture. Can you handle it?"

In this guise I can.

"It is said, scientifically, that the mass of an object
increases as that object is accelerated toward the velocity
of light. Thus nothing can actually reach the speed of light,
because its mass would become infinite."

True.

"But what, then, of light itself? Doesn't its mass become
infinite—thus preventing it from achieving its set veloc-
ity?"

Light is massless, so is not affected.

"But it bends around stars. It is affected by gravity,
and gravity is the force that acts on mass. Light must
have mass."

The Alicom sent no thought; he was unable to answer.

Norton dismissed him and moved to the final alcove.
The Bemme entered it, settling her base on the foot-
prints. She froze.

He went through the ritual, animating her in the new
office. He asked her his most difficult question: "Are you
conversant with the scientific theory of relativity?"

"Naturally. We Bems grasped it long before Man did."

"Then you know that when a spaceman takes off from
Earth and accelerates to a significant fraction of the veloc-
ity of light, he experiences the phenomenon of time dila-
tion. For him and his ship, time seems to slow, so that at
the end of a trip of perhaps a month, he returns from the
far reaches of the galaxy to discover that the folk back
on Earth have aged maybe centuries and all his friends

are gone."

"Shore, any fool knows that!" Dursten put in. "Hap-
pens all the time. That's why a true spaceman's got to
love 'em and leave 'em; they're old hags when he makes
port again."

"Continue," the Bemme said.

"But a prime tenet of special relativity is that every-
thing is relevant; there is no absolute standard of rest.
So, while from Earth the spaceman seems to be traveling
at nearly light-speed and suffering time dilation, the effect
is opposite from the spaceman's view. To him. Earth is
traveling at nearly light-speed and suffering the time dila-
tion. So when he rejoins Earth, he should discover that
the folk on Earth have aged only a fraction as much as
he has. How do you resolve this paradox?"

"There is no paradox," the Bemme said. "Though for
a while each party perceives the other as functioning more
slowly than itself, this is largely a matter of perspective."
"Perspective? They can't both be right!"
"Perspective," she repeated firmly. "If you are on one
spaceship, and I am on another, and our ships drift apart
in space, to each of us the other's ship will appear smaller
than his own, together with the people in it. The instru-
ments of each will measure that diminution of size in the
other. Each viewer is correct—but this is perspective,
not paradox."

"Say, I never thought of it that way!" Norton exclaimed.
"Me neither," Dursten said.

"The human species does tend to cogitate shallowly,"
the Bemme agreed politely.

"Hey, watch it with them dirty words!" the spaceman
said.

"But does this mean," Norton asked, wrestling with
the paradox of perspective, "that when the spaceman
returns to Earth, there will be no difference in their time
frames? Once the distortion of perspective is eliminated?"

"No, there will indeed be a difference, though not as
great as perspective made it seem. The spaceman will
have aged less than the folk on Earth."

"But then the principle of relativity—the apparent
slowing of the Earth, from the spaceman's viewpoint—"

"Perspective does not change reality," the Bemme said
patiently. "Despite your planet's apparent slowing, from
the spaceman's perspective, there is a distinction. He ages
less."

"Now I can't accept that just on your say-so! What
dis—"

"The distinction of acceleration. The spaceman expe-
riences it; Earth does not. To each party, the other is
retreating at increasing velocity, but only the spaceman
feels the extra gees. This distinguishes his condition from
that of Earth or the rest of the universe; his time is slowed."

"Acceleration? Why should that—?"

"Besides," Dursten put in, "he decelerates when he
comes home, so it cancels out." He seemed to have for-
gotten which side of the issue he was on.

"There is no such thing as deceleration," the Benune
said. "There is only negative acceleration, which is to say,
acceleration in the opposite direction. The spaceman
accelerates twice—when he is departing from Earth and
when he returns to it."

"Very well," Norton said. "So he accelerates twice.
What has that to do with time?"

"Everything. It is easier to understand in the frame of
general relativity, which relates to gravity. Gravity slows
time, literally—and the effects of gravity are indistin-
guishable from those of acceleration. So when the space-
man accelerates, or as Dursten so quaintly puts it,
decelerates, his time slows—regardless of the temporary
effects of perspective."

"Gravity slows time?" Norton asked dully.

"Certainly. The effect reaches its extreme at the so-
called event horizon of a so-called black hole, which is a
stellar object of such density and mass that gravity
increases to the point at which light itself can not escape,
and time slows to eternity. Thus the spaceman bold enough
to travel there would become truly timeless."

"But nothing escapes from a black hole!" Norton pro-
tested. "How can we ever know what goes on there?"

"Three ways. First, we have worked it out theoreti-
cally, in the form of the general theory of relativity. Sec-
ond, we have tested it by experimenting with lesser levels
of acceleration and gravity; it has been verified that the
intensity of gravity does affect a clock. Third, we have
explored black holes magically and recorded the effects
there. In this manner, magic, far from opposing science,
facilitates it."

"So there is no clock paradox?" Norton asked weakly.

"Correct," the Bemme agreed. "And, I might add, your
other questions were somewhat deficient in aptness. You
confused the theoretical work ofGalileo with that of New-
ton and misstated their conclusions; and as for the infinite
mass of anything traveling at light-speed, you failed to
take cognizance of the fact that an infinite series can have
a finite total. Mass and energy are merely different aspects
of the same reality; mass is merely solidified energy. So
when an object accelerates toward C, or light-speed, the
energy required to—"

"Enough!" Norton cried, his mind spinning. The Bemme
obviously knew more than he did, and was teaching him
things he had never grasped before and could not now
dismiss as nonsense. This was the mind he had been seek-
ing. "I will accept your advice."

"An excellent decision," the Bemme said, stepping out
of the alcove. "What is your problem?"

"I'm stuck in this frame and I need to get back to Earth.
How do I return?"

"You never left Earth," she told him. "That should
have been obvious to you the moment you remembered
that magic is limited to planetary scale; you can not tour
the universe by magic."

"You mean I am in a dream? Then how do I wake?"
"You are not in a dream. You are in an illusion fostered
by the Father of Illusion. You must find a way to perceive
reality with certainty; that will vanquish the illusion."

"An illusion?" Norton asked, still reeling. "Are you
an—?"

"No. I am what I seem—a creature alien to your planet.
I needed a job, and your Figure of Evil hired me for this
role."

Norton looked at the others. "And they—?"

"They, too, are role players—but they don't know it.
For them, the roles have become reality. This is perhaps
just as well, for it prevents them from realizing they are
damned."

"And you are not?"

"I am not of your socio-political-religious frame. I have
no attachment to your Incamative figures of Good or Evil.
I deal with them on a purely practical basis. Your dam-
nation does not relate to me. When I tire of this job, I
will seek some other."

"How do I perceive reality, then?"

"That I can not tell you. I can describe reality to you
in superlatively accurate detail, but only you can perceive
it. As with any natural function, you must do it yourself."

Surely true! "But if I am on Earth, why do I perceive
the make-believe world of the Magic-Lantern Cloud? I
mean, now that I know—"

"I have some difficulty grasping the irrationalities of
your species," the Bemme confessed. "I presume you find
some private satisfaction in the perceptions you maintain,
and the Lord of Buzzbugs caters to this innate propen-
sity."

"Buzzbugs?"

"I think you call them flies. Small creatures with pretty
eyes. On my planet we call them buzzbugs, because their
tentacles buzz as they levitate."

The Bemme was a real font of information! Perhaps
almost too much information. "Um, Sning—do you know
how I can break out?"

Squeeze.

"But I have to figure out how, so you can confirm it?"

Squeeze.

Norton sighed. He had made significant progress, but
it seemed he had a long way to go yet.

He pondered a moment. "Would getting the null-psi
amulet the Genius wants help me?"

"No," the Bemme said, while Sning squeezed once.

Oops—opposite signals! Which one should he trust?
Well, he would ask. "Sning says the amulet would help
me, but you say it wouldn't. How can I tell which of you
is right?"

"We're both right," the Bemme said, and Sning
squeezed once.

"But you can't be! Your answers are opposite!"

"I shall explain, since you seem to have some difficulty
grasping selective aspects of truth. If you get the amulet
and take it to the Genius, he will use psi to transport you
back to the real world. In that sense the amulet will help
you. But that process will take so long, because of the
hurdles you must pass to reach and win the amulet, that
by the time you return to reality, Satan will have com-
pleted his designs and your effort to balk him will be
wasted. In addition, he will still be able to send you back
into this illusion at will, forcing you to obtain the amulet
again to get out, playing by his rules. Therefore the amulet
will not help you in the way you need; it will merely give
you the illusion of help. Sning is less sophisticated than
I am and lacks the superior objectivity of being alien, so
could only provide you with the limited immediate truth.
When you ask an inadequate question, he is at a disad-
vantage."

SQUEEZE!

Norton winced; that had been a sharp constriction! He
realized that he had been giving Sning trouble all along,
asking wrong questions, so that the little snake had had
to give hesitant yeses or noes, or throw up his nonexistent
hands with triple squeezes.

"Then how can I return to reality fast enough to balk
Satan?" he asked after a pause.

"Here I have the disadvantage of being alien," the
Bemme said, though she did not seem perturbed about it.
"/ have no problem perceiving reality, but, of course, I
have better eyes than you do. I can not reach into your
mind and change your perception. Because I am immune
to psi, I have none myself. All I can do is give you my
intelligent advice when you ask for it."

"Do you know how I can return, Sning?"

Squeeze.

There it was again; the one who could speak could not
give him the answer, while the one who had the answer
could not speak. Satan, if he happened to be watching
this, probably found the irony delicious. If the occasion
ever came for Chronos to torment Satan the way Satan
had tormented him...

"Well, maybe the others can help," Norton said with-
out much hope. He turned to the group, who had been
ignoring this dialogue. "Have any of you any notion how
I can return to, uh. Earth quickly?"

"Why, shore, pardner," Dursten said. "Just put that
there squeeze dingus on the Bemme and let 'em talk in
overdrive. They're both a heap smarter'n we are."

Norton gaped. So obvious a solution! "Okay, Sning?"

Squeeze.

Norton held out his hand, and the Bemme held out a
tentacle. Sning uncurled, crawled across, and curled
around her appendage.

There followed a wait, while the Bemme and Sning
communicated. Then she held out her tentacle, and the
little snake returned to Norton.

"We must proceed to the third chamber," the Bemme
said, and Sning squeezed.

"But that's the route for finding the amulet!" Norton
cried. "You just told me the amulet wouldn't—"

"It looks as if we're searching for the amulet," the
Bemme explained. "That will keep the Eviler Sorceress
off our tentacles until we accomplish our purpose."

Good notion! "Very well—let's go to the third cham-
ber."

"A precaution will be necessary," the Bemme said.
"You must be deprived of your senses."

"What?" Norton demanded, partly outraged, partly
nervous.

"In your culture there is the narrative of your historical
figure Odysseus," she said. "He wished to see and listen
to the sirens, but to do so was death, for he would then
throw himself into the savage sea and drown or wreck his
ship with all aboard, trying to reach them. So his crewmen
tied him to the mast, while they blocked their own hear-
ing. In that fashion he heard the sirens and survived.
Human beings are very foolish."

"You mean I will see and hear things that will madden
me?"

"And smell, taste, and feel them," the Bemme added.
"The Eviler Sorceress has saved her worst for last."

"But we're outside her formal maze! Between the walls!
There shouldn't be any—"

"We are merely in another aspect of it. We never left
this maze."

"Oh. But this business about—"

"Temporary. I will cover your head, shielding you from
the blandishments, allowing only oxygen to pass in. You
will don Bat Dursten's space gauntlets. That will protect
you from the worst of it. You will ride the Alicom, and
Dursten and Excelsia will guard your flanks. That should
get you through, if you heed Sning's warnings."

"But if it's that dangerous, what about the rest of you?"

"We are all role players, here to facilitate your diver-
sion. You are the target; the effects will not affect us."

"This is the way it has to be, Sning?"

Squeeze.

Sning and the Bemme had certainly worked it out in
that brief interval of private dialogue!

The Bemme assumed the form of a hood, which Norton
put over his head. He was afraid it would feel suffocating,

but she was true to her word: there was pure, sweet oxy-
gen inside.

He donned the gauntlets, which were designed to pro-
tect hands from interstellar vacuum, and mounted the
Alicom with a boost from someone. He felt like a con-
demned criminal being hauled to the gallows.

The Alicom moved. For a few paces everything was
routine. Norton was aware only of motion, for no sound,
light, or smell penetrated the living hood. Then the atmo-
sphere changed.

First, something seemed to touch his gauntleted hands.
It was the merest hint, filtered through the impermeable
material, yet it suggested the sleek body of a beautiful
and vibrant woman or the controls of a finely machined,
high-performance racing car. He wanted to get a better
feel, so he started to draw off one gauntlet.

Squeeze, squeeze!

Oh. The temptation of Odysseus was upon him! For
the first time in his life Norton experienced some sym-
pathy for the ancient Greek warrior. But he left the gloves
alone.

Then something brushed about his head. It was a hint
of perfumed music, ineffably sweet, as of a lovely garden
glade with flowers blooming and a damsel with a dulci-
mer—the kind of place he longed to enter and remain in.
But he could not perceive it clearly through the hood. So
he reached up to pull it off—

SQUEEZE! SQUEEZE!

Damn! He had to desist, but he was furious at what
he was giving up. That garden of delights—

The beast moved on—and somehow Norton felt the
presence of a book or wise man or computer terminal
containing the answers to all the most perplexing and
fascinating riddles of the universe. All the myriad little
mysteries that had nagged at him, from the punch line to
a joke others had found uproarious and he had not quite
heard, to the nature of Ultimate Reality. He had to see
that book! He—

SQUEEZE! SQUEEZE!

"The hell with you!" he snapped, wrenching at the
hood.

Something fettered his arms, so he could not pull, and
the hood clenched itself stiflingly close about his head.
He heaved off the encumbrances and grabbed the hood
with both hands. It stretched like taffy, but did not come
off. He clawed at it in a frenzy, but his gauntlets made
him clumsy. Feverishly he tore them off.

The Alicorn leaped, almost dislodging him. He had to
grab for the mane for support. That delayed his attack on
the hood, and in a moment the desire waned.

Now the hood relaxed. It slid away from his face,
coursed down to the ground, and re-formed into the
Bemme.

"We made it!" Dursten said. "But you shore fought
that there hood, Nort, like you was suffocating!"

Norton's head cleared. "If that was the filtered siren
song, I never would have made it through the unfutered
one! Even now, I'd like to go back and—"

Squeeze, squeeze.

"Shux, Nort, it's just quicksand and maggots there,"
Dursten said. "You'd just sink in over your head."

"I can't believe that! That beautiful music—"

"Here, I'll show you. Bemme, make like a danged
floodlight."

The Bemme convoluted into a floodlight mounted on
a stand. The spaceman flicked the switch to ON and the
beam of light speared out, striking a distant wall. Dursten
swiveled the beam down to the ground where the tracks
of the Alicorn showed.

A hundred feet back, those traces disappeared into a
monstrous roiling bog. Tiny highlights of white showed,
wriggling in and out of the muck—the maggots.

"We had to walk right through that. Ugh!" Excelsia
said, wrinkling her nose. "Fortunately, the Alicorn was
able to pick the shallowest point to cross. He couldn't
fly, because we had to stay close enough to stop you from
taking off the hood. One misstep, and we all would have
been drowned in it."

Now Norton saw the caked, maggoty mud on their legs
and shoes. They had done it, all right. Excelsia and the
Alicorn especially had made a sacrifice, for otherwise
they could have flown over the muck. "Thank you,
friends!" he said humbly.

"We're not really your friends," the Bemme murmured.
"We are simply playing our assigned roles."

"Maybe you are," Norton replied. "But they don't real-
ize they are playing roles, you said. So they're as good
friends as any other kind, aren't they?"

"I stand corrected," the alien agreed. "It is a human
nuance of interpretation."

Norton turned to face the other way. There was the
third chamber; a door in a wall was marked: 3-D CHAMBER.
"Well, let's go in."

"This you must do alone," the Bemme said, returning
to her natural bug-eyed state. She had spoken before from
a speaker grille in the floodlight. "Our perceptions are not
precisely yours. Even Sning's are not yours, though he
understands what you perceive. You must align your per-
ception of reality yourself by your own effort; only then
will you be in control. We wish you well."

"Shore do," Dursten said.

"If you succeed," Excelsia said, "promise you will

return at least to say good-bye." There was a delicate tear
in her eye.

"I will," Norton agreed.
He put his hand on the knob and turned it. The round
door opened in the old-fashioned way, swiveling out on
hinges. Beyond the circular port that was revealed was
only blackness.

He stepped through—and found himself suspended in
deep space as the door swung closed behind him. Its
closure cut off Excelsia's candlelight; with the darkness,
the stars shone all around with preternatural clarity, and
the ribbon of the Milky Way wound its snaky course in
a great circle. To the rear, where the door had been, the
sun blazed—but somehow it did not wipe out the other
stars. He could see everything in a way never before
possible.

"What do I do now?" he asked, noting that his cloak
had spread out to protect him from the vacuum and radia-
tion of deep space. It didn't seem to matter whether he
was in reality or illusion; he was comfortable.

Squeeze, squeeze, squeeze.

Oh, yes—he had to figure it out for himself. "But I
am safe here, whatever I do?"

Squeeze.

What he had to do was align his perception to reality.
Evidently this chamber provided the mechanism, if only
he could figure out how to use it.

Well, this was the naked universe. He was Chronos.
He could take a better look at it, traveling in time. Since
he knew he would have to travel far to see any significant
change, he willed the Hourglass to virtually maximum
effect, turning the sand to its most intense red. "Forward
in time—to the end of the universe!" he proclaimed
grandly. "Sning, give me a squeeze when each billion
years passes, just so I know."

He started off. The location-spell remained on, so he
remained where he was in the galaxy—but it changed
about him. Individual stars waxed and waned, some
becoming brighter, some dimmer, and their constellations
distorted into unrecognizability. New constellations
formed, flexed, and dissolved. He knew it was all in his
perspective, as stars shifted positions relative to his loca-
tion, but it did make for an effect of almost-living ani-
mation.

Every so often there were supernovas, flashing with
phenomenal brilliance and vanishing. He realized that his
accelerated time travel made them as brief to him as the
flashes of flashbulbs, but still they were bright in passing!
He began to perceive a pattern to the changing positions
of the more stable stars, patches of stars, and clouds of
gas and dust. The galaxy was rotating, turning more rap-
idly in the center than at the edge, as if stirred by a cosmic
spoon. Once he realized that, his perception became truly
three-dimensional, and he saw himself as part of the giant,
viscous mix of material. The galaxy had seemed station-
ary when he had been fixed in time; now he saw it as a
porridge of stars and dust. In fact, the dust was stretched
out in great spirals, moving outward from the center, and
at the fringes of those bands of dust the stars were thickest
and brightest, for the dust was their raw material. Stars
did not form from mere contractions of gas amidst vac-
uum; they were squeezed into life by the tidal fluxes of
the galaxy itself, like eddy whorls against the shifting dust.
Squeeze.

Oh, yes—a billion years had passed! Entranced, he
continued to watch. Having analyzed the pattern of the
great rotating galactic disk, he was now able to perceive
the broader universe beyond, the neighboring galaxies,
moving and spinning in their own courses and gradually
drawing together. Stars kept moving in on their dust banks
and disappearing into them, while the bands themselves
snaked out toward the extremes. The galactic centers grew
brighter.

Squeeze.

Another billion years already! He was still accelerating
in time, but also becoming more absorbed by the wonder
of the universe about him, so that time seemed to pass
faster, anyway. Objective, subjective—what was the truer
definition of time? Fascinated by the moving panorama
of space, Norton began to trace the patterns of whole
galactic clusters. His perspective kept expanding as he
came to understand the more fundamental motions of the
universe.

Squeeze.

Now it was easier to see how the galaxies were all
converging on a single region of space, like shining pin-
wheels rolling in to a rendezvous. And the galaxies them-
selves were changing as they went, their centers becoming
brighter despite the flow of dust and stars out from them.

Squeeze.

After that he pretty much ignored the squeeze markers,
for they were coming faster as his sphere of awareness
expanded. It almost seemed as if the universe were shrink-
ing.

Suddenly a band of dust and gas passed across his
region, momentarily blotting out his vision. When it passed,
the sun was gone. Startled, he cast about for it; he had
tuned it out in his effort to perceive the patterns of motion
of the farther galactic clusters. It was definitely gone.

Well, how many billions of years had passed now? Six,
eight? Mankind would not feel the loss! He let the sun go
with momentary regret and refocused on the universe at
large, which was really more interesting.

It was definitely shrinking. He verified this by fixing
his attention on one particular spot and gauging the con-
traction of galactic groups around it. His perception seemed
to have accommodated the enormous distances separating
galaxies, so that he could know where they were even
though, theoretically, it took billions of years for the light
of the farthest ones to reach him. Perhaps this was because
he himself was traveling rapidly in time; he didn't have
to wait on the normal speed of light. Or maybe it was
simply another facet of the magic of the Hourglass.

Shrinking? How could that be? The universe was sup-
posed to be expanding!

Yet as the billions of years squeezed by, ten, eleven,
twelve, he became certain; the universe was indeed con-
tracting. It became small enough for him to see com-
pletely, then smaller yet. Dismayed and enthralled, he
watched it form into a giant globe perhaps four billion
light-years across. The galaxies were becoming quasars,
with hugely radiating centers and tenuous umbras of dust
and gas, and these dissolved into formless waves, much
as the individual stars had dissolved into the dust clouds
before. The universe became a great ball of gases and
energy that then compressed into a mass of plasma less
than a billion light-years in diameter, a super-duper nova.

It shrank into the size of a single quasar, then, so rap-
idly it was an eyeblink, into the size of a single planet,
and disappeared.

Norton stared at the distant point of nothingness. If
this was to be the way the universe ended, winking out
in fifteen billion years or so, how did that differ from the
manner in which it had begun? Perplexed, Norton reversed
directions, turning the sand its most intense blue, and
willed himself back in time.

The universe reversed. The ball of plasma reappeared
from nothing, expanding ferociously. He was unable to
distinguish energy radiation from matter; they were inex-
tricably mixed. Now Norton noticed some things he had
missed before. In this version, a great deal of energy
seemed to be forming from nothing, even as the expansion
occurred, so that, though the ball was exploding at light-
speed, the universe itself was multiplying much faster
than that. It was as if a shock wave were traveling out
ahead of the light, triggering the condensation of energy
from whatever unknowable recess it had hidden in. But,
of course, he was traveling backward in time now, which
meant that that energy had actually converted into nothing
before the remainder squeezed into the singularity of the
black hole and winked out entirely.

How could that be? He had understood that matter and
energy were fairly permanent, and here they were dis-
existing freely. In the ripples of energy as he now per-
ceived them, matter coalesced, as if light were being bent
around so tightly that it rolled up against itself and formed
tiny balls of energy that developed a certain stability of
their own. But when two balls touched each other, one
of them spinning in one direction, the other in another,
they burst like soap bubbles and vanished in total energy.
Thus the forming matter was promptly destroying itself,
renewing the explosion, generating more turbulence and
eddies that spun out more bits of matter. Except that in
actuality, he reminded himself again, it was the other way
around; energy was forming matter implosively, and the
implosive condensation then unwrapped to form new
beams of energy that arrowed in toward the final extinc-
tion of singularity, of nonexistence. This was nonsense!

He continued to watch as billions of years squeezed
back. The turbulence of the explosion imparted a slight
rotation, and this spin caused the majority of the lightballs
to curl up in one direction, so that soon all of the opposite-
spinning balls were eliminated by cancellation and matter
stopped destroying itself. The remaining matter coalesced
into dusty masses, still rushing outward from the common
center. The masses had their own rotations and formed
into crude disks that solidified in the centers, compressing
until the pressure was so great that ignition occurred, and
suddenly they were quasars. Still the centers intensified,
until they became black holes that expanded, swallowing
much of the brilliance and sucking additional matter in
long spiral trails. Now they were galaxies, structured as
spiraling fodder for their central appetites. There was no
hunger in the universe like that of a black hole!

Except, again, that this was backward. How could a
black hole spew out matter continuously like that, until
it disappeared? That simply was not the nature of such
things! A black hole, with certain very limited exceptions,
was strictly a one-way affair. What went in did not come
out. Except, the Bemme had said, in the case of magic.
And the force of magic did not reach out on galactic scale;

it was confined to the radius of a typical planet, like Earth.
Everyone knew that. That was why they used matter
transmitters for interplanetary travel. Even ghosts had to
use such modern conveniences, as Gawain had. Had the
Bemme told him wrong?

This bothered him. If the alien had lied or been in error,
he, Norton, had placed his trust in the wrong entity. He
was reluctant to believe that, partly because he liked the
Bemme and partly because that would leave him back on
circle one. How, then, could he rationalize her statement
about magic and black holes?

Aha! Black holes come in all sizes, from supergalactic
to pinhead. A pinhead black hole could be used for exper-
imental purpose, even moved about, provided one did not
do anything foolish like poking a finger at it. The better
laboratories had pinholes. Certainly it was possible to test
magic on a hole. So the Bemme had not been refuted.
That was a relief, and he could proceed with his current
tour.

How could a black hole be reversed? Answer: not this
way! Theoretically, a black hole could become overheated
so that it exploded, but it could not pay out material a bit
at a time. So either what he was seeing was wrong, or—

Or he was, in fact, seeing it backward.

He looked at the Hourglass. The sand was intense blue.
He was supposed to be traveling backward, from normal
future to normal past—but was he?

Then he had another revelation. Satan was the Father
of Lies and the Master of Illusion; why couldn't he craft
an illusion that changed the colors of the sand of the
Hourglass? Obvious answer: he could—and he would!
That would be far, far easier than creating a whole world
that ran backward. That explained how Norton was able
to relate one-to-one with the role players here—they were
living forward, while he was living backward—for him.

He remembered how the sand of the Hourglass had
shown green upon his return from a prior visit—the color
of universal time. He had not set it there—not con-
sciously: Obviously he had set it there—thinking the color
was white, his normal backward course. Satan had tricked
him into supposing green was white and red was blue.
Black and yellow seemed to have been left alone; that
change would have been too obvious. If he had gone to
black to freeze time, and found himself careering through
space instead, he would have known something was wrong.
So only the directions of time had been changed—the
normal and accelerated modes. Very neatly done; it had
certainly fooled him. Each visit to the "contraterrene"
frame must, in fact, have been a reversal of time he had
just spent on Earth. Satan had had to free him before he
overlapped a prior reversal and ran afoul of the three-
person limit.

How long did he have this time? He wasn't sure,

because he had been operating in the drawkcab mode,
undoing Satan's damage of eight years in the past. He
had been about six hours between the departure of Satan's
minion horn-demon and the onset of his effort to neu-
tralize that minion; did these periods cancel out or add
on, in the present? Evidently the latter, since he lived
subjectively through both of them. But didn't some of
that time already overlap his adventure with Excelsia and
the Alicom and the Sword Elf? He wasn't sure how to
figure it, but suspected that Satan had made sure to allow
enough time for this present diversion so that Norton
would arrive back on Earth too late to foil his mischief.
Probably if he got the null-psi amulet and took it to the
Genius, the Genius would agree to transport him back to
Earth just as his allotted time was up, anyway. What a
conniving rogue was Satan!

Now he was zooming along the temporal length of the
universe and knew that his perception of the sand of the
Hourglass was wrong. Yet nothing had changed. How
could he cancel the illusion?

Probably he had to be absolutely certain he was right,
for uncertainty was the grist for exploitation by Satan. At
the moment, he was not at all certain. He had figured out
a theory to account for the discrepancies he had noted,
but a theory was not a fact. He needed solid corroborative
data.

Well, what in the universe was more solid than the
universe itself? Suppose he explored it to the very end
of time and satisfied himself that he knew its directions
in time—shouldn't that be enough for certainty? If it
wasn't, what was?

If he could not believe in the universe, he could not
believe in anything. This chamber might be part of an
illusion, but he suspected it was also a window to reality.
He would travel to the end of the universe he saw here,
seeking certainty.

He willed the sand to turn an even more intense blue,
knowing that was reverse in color but correct in thrust.
The universe accelerated, and Sning's squeezes came more
and more rapidly, until the billions of years were passing
in seconds and Sning became more of a shudder than a
series of squeezes. The universe flew apart at an awesome
rate, the galaxies separating so rapidly they appeared
blurred. Soon the local section of space was clear. In a
sphere ten billion light-years across, there was no longer
any matter at all, and very little energy. The hole in the
torus.

Norton turned his attention to the retreating outer fringe.
Again he was able to adapt, to spread his awareness to
perceive objects on a vaster scale than any human being
had perceived them before. The torus of galactic motes
was now a hundred billion light-years out, and still
expanding. This was an open universe, seemingly without
end.

But those galaxies were still evolving themselves, get-
ting consumed by their black-hole centers. The process
was slow while the available free matter diminished, but
it continued. In due course the ring of galaxies became a
ring of black holes, each spaced a hundred billion light-
years or more from its nearest neighbor. The holes were
detectable only by their declining halos of radiation, and
even that was doomed. Finally nothing was visible; Nor-
ton knew their paths only by inference. A trillion light-
years out, and still the torus expanded, for there was
nothing to stop it. Would it ever end?

Then something happened. In the far, far, far distance
he perceived a detonation. It was another Big Bang, the
explosion of a monstrous black hole. A new universe was
forming!

He realized that this Bang had occurred directly in the
path of one of the local universe's far-flung holes. They
had collided and overheated and burst apart. New energy
and matter were generating in the region of this flux, as
they had done so before.

He also realized that, just as some holes were pinhead
size, so were some universe size. They were scattered
through space (though space did not really exist in the
absence of matter or energy—a quibble), rendered ever
larger by the accumulation of stray radiation and dust and
the debris from other worn-out universes, perhaps billions
of such toruses. On occasion, a swiftly traveling galactic
hole would collide with such a universe hole, like a neu-
tron plowing into the nucleus of a uranium atom, and the
impact would shatter both holes and cause the most mas-
sive possible explosion, augmented by the stress of space
itself. In this manner were new universes born, his own
included.

He continued to work it out as he watched the distant
universe expand. Obviously not all galaxies became neu-
trons, and not all neutrons would strike larger holes head-
on with sufficient force to shatter them. Most would be
captured in orbit about the larger holes and eventually
swallowed peacefully. Thus the masses of larger holes
would steadily increase as their number diminished. Per-
haps there was a critical mass, beyond which a hole became
unstable, ready to be detonated. Thus the detonation of
new universes would be a regular thing, occurring every
trillion years or less, each expiring in a grand flash of a
few tens of billions of years before its black-hole ashes
were absorbed by still-accumulating universes. Perhaps
new universes were flowering continuously, scattered over
such a wide region that no entity could perceive more
than one at a time, not even Chronos. Surely his own
universe had developed in that fashion, not remarkable
at all, just a single brief spark in eternity.

All it took was a little matter and antimatter—that was
why the secondary explosions occurred around a new
universe, because of the dexter and sinister curls of matter
formation—and time. Time.

And he was Chronos, the Incarnation of Time. The
one entity permitted to grasp the true nature of reality.

Norton shook his head. "Satan, compared to this truth,
your lies are of no consequence!"

It was time to return to his own tiny portion of his
particular spark. He brought out the Hourglass and focused
on its flowing sand. He was still traveling forward, and
the sand was still blue—but as he looked at that lie, the
color changed to red and he saw truly at last. He had
penetrated Satan's illusion and knew that he would never
again be vulnerable to it.

He willed the sand blue again, this time to true blue,
and the progress of time reversed. The distant universe
began to contract. He wondered idly whether it had sapi-
ent creatures within it, living, loving, warring, and dream-
ing, performing minor exploits of science and magic, and
whether any part of his long-gone physical body was
incorporated into it, on the off chance that his own Milky
Way Galaxy happened to be the neutron hole that had
triggered this new effort. Perhaps a quark or two of him
was there! "Good luck, you who follow us!" he cried.

Then that universe contracted back to its origin, and
the hole from his own universe was ejected from it. It—
and he—was on its way home.

-13

MARS

Sning advised him when he arrived at his own time. He
set the sand on green and reached for the sun. His hand
caught a sunspot, and the sun clicked and swung outward,
showing the walls beyond. He stepped out and closed the
door behind him.

Dursten, Excelsia, the Alicom, and the Bemme were
there, watching him. They looked the same, but their
surroundings did not. The walls were props, painted and
buttressed, and outside the immediate stage area the par-
aphernalia of the set were visible.

He beckoned the Bemme, and she slid forward for a
private dialogue. "I have penetrated the illusion," he told
her. "Do the others know?"

"No."

"Would it be kind to tell them my version of reality?"

"No."

"May I visit any of you again, after this?"

"Since you live opposite to us in time, such opportunity
is limited. We have to be briefed for each new act, because
you return before we experience the last one. Soon we
shall be beyond the time of your accession to office, and
you will be able to visit us only discamately."

Norton found himself mildly shaken. Of course they
could not have experienced his three visits in the same
order he had! So they would proceed next to his Alicom
adventure, and finally to the space adventure, never tell-
ing him. Truly, he did not belong here! "Then I will bid
appropriate farewell now," he decided. "I thank you,
Bemme, for your invaluable advice."

"I only play my role according to the rules," she said.
"You played and won when you had the wit to select me
for advice and to fathom truth in the third chamber."

"All the same, I would like to call you friend."

"Friend," she agreed. "I do not have many of those
among your kind. I understand you will do me a favor."

"Favor?"

"In the third act. Saving me from destruction by the
spaceman. My briefing suggests something of the sort."

"Oh. Yes," Norton agreed awkwardly, remembering
how he had talked Dursten into adopting the orphan. But
he also remembered the cause of the Bemme's orphaning
and winced. It was all a play, yet... "I wish I could take
you away from this."

"You do have that power, Chronos. But that would be
pointless, for my service to you is finished from your
perspective, and, if I departed this frame, who would take
care of Dursten? When the occasion is appropriate, I will
depart of my own accord,"

She made uncompromising sense. "Good-bye, then,
friend," he said sadly, shaking her tentacle.

He turned to Dursten. "Bat, I have found the way back
to my planet of Earth. I thank you for risking your gallant
life to help me, and wish you every success here."

"Shux, '(weren't nothing," the spaceman said, abashed
in his handsome, rough-hewn, manly way. His eyes flicked
toward the woman. "You ain't coming back?"

In a sense he was, since his space scene was in Dur-
sten's future. But that wasn't the essence. "I'm not com-
ing back," Norton agreed. "I'm trusting you to keep an
eye on Excelsia."

"Shore will!" Dursten said enthusiastically.

Norton turned to the Alicom. "Thank you for carrying
me those two times," he said. "Without that help, I couldn't
have made it through."

The Alicorn snorted, swished his tail, and fluttered his
wings, embarrassed. Then he nuzzled Norton's ear with
his velvety-soft nose. Trot well, good man!

Now it was Excelsia's turn. Norton took her in his
arms and kissed her. She was a bit like Heaven itself,
though her destiny lay closer to Hell; but, as with Orlene
and Agleh, he knew he could not continue with her.

The Damsel smiled through her tears as they separated.
That was all; she understood.

Then he turned and walked along the wall until he came
to the edge of the prop. He circled it and found himself
in a motion-picture studio, with cameras, workmen, a
director, and a general atmosphere of rushed chaos.

An attractive, mature woman approached him. "You
were a fine star, Chronos," she said. "I am only sorry the
play did not reach its climactic scene."

"The confrontation with—?"

"The Eviler Sorceress," she said. "Yours Truly. I was
to seduce you and strip you of your magic ring so you
could not escape my clutches. I'm not sure the latter
would have been successful, but the former would have
been intriguing."

Indeed it might have been, for she had a figure very
like his Hourglass and was obviously an experienced star.
"Better luck with the next leading man," he said.

"It's hardly luck," she breathed. "It's magic."

He moved on past the personnel and props, finding the
exit. When he left the building, he turned back to read
the sign above it: SATANIC STUDIOS. Yes, that was
what he had thought.

This was Hollywood, of course, where Satan could
field excellent actors and facilities and be able to operate
freely without interference. Probably there were some
pretty good motion pictures released under the Satanic
imprint, for he was certainly adept at invention. It had
been quite an experience, and the Father of Lies' exper-
tise was impressive, but now Norton had broken free of
the deception and would be able to balk whatever plot
the Prince of Evil had brewing.

He turned the sand of the Hourglass yellow and trav-
eled spatially to his mansion in Purgatory. What a relief
to be home!

But he couldn't rest yet; he had to find out what the
Father of Lies was up to, which made the absence of
Chronos so important. "Summon Lachesis," he told the
butler. "I'd like to talk to her at her earliest convenience."
He noted that the mansion clock showed him to be back
at the time he had started the third antimatter adventure;

the three-person limitation had prevented him from living
those hours a third time and slid him smoothly past them.

"Immediately, sir," the butler said.

Indeed, a spider was swinging down along a thread
when he entered the sitting room. She expanded and
formed into Lachesis as Norton sat in his easy chair.
"Something special on your mind, Chronos?" she asked.

"I've been away a few hours," he told her. "I under-
stand Satan is planning something, and I hurried back to
balk his mischief. Do you know what it is?"

She glanced at him with evident perplexity. "Why should
Satan do anything to disturb the status quo?"

"Are you teasing me? He wants to win political power
on Earth!"

"But he already has the inside track on that. All he
needs to do is wait."

"He has it? When did he get it?"

"Sometimes it is difficult for me to untangle my skein
enough to isolate significant threads. But the key is polit-
ical. In about two years there will be a crucial vote in
Congress—and though it will be close, it seems Satan has
the votes to prevail. From then on, things will go his way,
and there is nothing we can do that won't simply make
the situation worse. Satan knows that, which is why he
isn't worried."

"But what about Luna? She won't support him,

and—"

"Who?"

"Luna. Senator Kaftan. Thanatos' woman."

"Oh, her. I had forgotten her name. Yes, that woman
does keep company with Thanatos, but she's no Senator.
She runs a magic shop in Kilvarough."

Norton stared at her. "Not a Senator?"

"Never was. Never held any political office at all. Are
you sure you have the right name?"

Norton realized that something was seriously amiss.
"I must have misremembered. I'm sorry I bothered you
for nothing."

She smiled and became Clotho, in a revealing gown.
"You don't need to use a pretext, Chronos. I understand
your situation."

Oops. "This time it was an honest confusion. Let's
postpone it for a few hours. I have an errand of business
I must attend to first."

"Business before pleasure," she agreed. "I have a
backlog of my own, and no excuse now not to get to it."
She shifted back to arachnid form, ascended her thread,
and vanished.

Luna not a Senator! Satan must have struck—but how
could he have done this without the aid of Chronos?

He traveled to Kilvarough and knocked on Luna's door.
The two griffins ignored him; it seemed he would be here
often enough in his future, so they knew him.

Luna was home, and looked pretty much as he remem-
bered her. "Why, welcome, Chronos!" she exclaimed.
"Thanatos isn't here at the moment—"

"I don't want to intrude, but I must verify some-
thing—"

"By all means. Come in."

Inside, he asked her point-blank: "When did you leave
political office?"

Her brow furrowed. "I never held political office,
Chronos. You know that."

"You forget I live backward, when not deliberately
phasing in to your frame, as now." He indicated the green
sand. "I do not know your past."

She considered. "Well, I did run for office eighteen
years ago. But a tremendous campaign of vilification was
waged against me, so that I lost, and I have never cared
to repeat the experience. That was my closest approach
to office."

Eighteen years ago! "Luna, I know this will sound
strange to you, but not long ago I knew you as a Senator
destined to balk Satan's major ploy for political power on
Earth. Can you believe that?"

"Naturally," she said. "See, the Truthstones support
you." She gestured at small gems on the mantel, which
were glowing pleasantly. "But I assure you, this is not my
reality."

"Reality seems to have changed," he said. "Satan must
have done it. If only I could figure out how!"

"Satan was surely behind the campaign against me,"
she agreed. "But that was so long ago, and he has ignored
me since."

"He must have sent another minion back in time to set
things up. But how, without my cooperation?"

"You mean that if he had not done so, I might have
won that election and commenced a political career?"

"I mean exactly that! You would today be a prominent
Senator. And somehow I must restore that career to you,
for the sake of humanity! But first I must figure out how
he did it. Then I can act to cancel his ploy."

Luna went to a cupboard and fetched another stone.
"Perhaps I can help. This is an evil-detector, very sen-
sitive to the presence of the artifacts of Satan." She brought
it near him, and it flickered. "There has been evil near
you recently, or it will be near you soon, but it is not
present now."

"I was in Satan's environment in your near future—"

"No, this is a specific thing you carried with you, close
to your body." She moved the stone. It flickered more
brightly near his folded Hourglass.

He opened out the Hourglass again so she could inspect
it—and the stone flickered more brightly yet. "There was
a demon associated with this," she said. "Or will be. It
seems to have hidden in the base for a while."

The illusion of color change—a demon had been there,
doing it! Naturally Satan had not been able to follow him
on his tour of eternity; Norton had to have carried a
minion there. And he had never noticed! "It—must have
had a spell of invisibility," he said, appalled. "So that I
took it whenever I went—and I went the full length of
time itself!"

"That would seem to cover the situation," she agreed.
"Satan's demons can be very small, like pinheads. There
could have been a dozen or a hundred here—and some
dropped off at a selected spot in prior time, while others
remained to preserve the spell."

"That must have been it," he acknowledged ruefully.
"I finally abolished the spell in the farthest future—but
I did travel backward in time first. Satan tricked me again!"

"He is the master of guile," she pointed out.

"So he managed to drop at least one demon off to give
the demons of that time the word—they do cooperate
with one another—and they destroyed your chance to get
elected. I'll have to go back and intercept—"

"There could have been a dozen demons dropped off
there," she reminded him gently. "If you have intercepted
one of Satan's minions before and neutralized it, I'm sure
he would be more careful on his next attempt. You could
never intercept them all—not with the three-person limit.
Some would get through."

"You're probably right," he said glumly. "But I can't
just let him win!"

"Perhaps Thanatos can advise you better than I can,"
she suggested. "Or one of the other Incarnations. Lach-
esis is wise in the ways of—"

"I've already talked to her. The other Incarnations have
been affected by the new reality; only I am aware of the
change."

"And Satan," she said. "He surely knows the nature
of his mischief."

"Yes. He surely does, damn him!"

"Have you talked to Mars?"

"Mars, the Incarnation of War? No, I haven't met him."

"It occurs to me we are at war—and war is what Mars
best understands."

Norton smiled grimly. "Good point, Luna. I will seek
him out. Only—" He hesitated. "I don't know how."

She smiled. "Here is a stone attuned to him. It will
glow as you approach, and fade as you move away from
him. Take it and use it, Chronos."

He accepted the stone. "You are a very helpful woman,
Luna."

Again she smiled, and the moonstone she wore at her
neck glowed. "So Thanatos informs me." She was about
Norton's own age or a little older, beyond the joy of youth,
but her features were finely structured and she was a
handsome person with excellent poise. She credited her
magic stones with providing her an understanding of his
situation, an understanding no other person in this reality
would have had, but it was more than that. She was a
woman of special qualities, experience, and tact. The sort
of woman that he, Norton, would have liked to build a
relationship with—that perhaps Orlene would have
become at this age. The sort that he, Norton, could never
have a continuing relationship with.

Once again he felt the burden of his office. How little
he had understood the subtle sacrifice of Incarnation! But
he could not afford self-pity at the moment; he had a job
to do. "Thank you, Luna; I hope Mars can help."

He walked in a circle, watching the stone. When he
had determined the direction of brightest glow, he turned
the sand yellow. "Farewell!"

She waved, and he was off. He zoomed across the face
of the Earth, through buildings and mountains as if they
were illusions, becoming more skilled in spatial motion,
zeroing in on the Incarnation of War.

He found Mars on a battlefield in mountainous terrain
somewhere on the Eurasian continent. Norton hadn't kept
track of the landmarks, and the location really didn't mat-
ter; he just wanted to talk to the Incarnation.

Tanks were charging a mountain retreat that seemed
to be guarded by Oriental dragons. Science against magic—
and the two were surprisingly similar. The dragons spurted
fire—but so did the flamethrowers of the tanks. There
were airplanes, too—but flying dragons were meeting
them. The sides seemed even.

Mars was perched on a ledge, watching with detached
interest. He was a small man, dressed in faded fatigues.
Norton was surprised; he had somehow anticipated a
robust giant in Roman-style armor.

Norton phased in beside Mars. "If you have a mo-
ment—"

The man looked around. "Oh, hello, Chronos. I always
have a moment for you, you know that. What's up?"

"Urn, from my view, this is our first meeting."

"Oh, sure, you live backward. I didn't realize this was
your beginning." He put out his right hand, and Norton
took it. "I'm Mars, Incarnation of War. You're Chronos,
Incarnation of Time. We have a long and benevolent asso-
ciation, with mutual respect, ever since you helped this
stutterer get started."

Stutterer? Mars wasn't stuttering now! "I—"

"I don't suppose you want to hear my rationale for
war as a necessary cauterization of society and stimulus
to progress, so I'll spare you that this time. If you're ill
at ease, don't be; we're old friends."

"That's nice to know," Norton said awkwardly.. "I really
haven't gotten the whole hang of living backward yet,
though at least the other Incarnations seem to under-
stand."

"Yeah, I guess it's hell on romance; when you're com-
ing, she's going."

Aptly if unkindly put! "I think I need your advice, if
you have the time."

Mars squinted at the tanks and dragons. "You have the
time, no pun; you can freeze the world and leave just the
two of us to talk. But this is a minor and inconclusive
operation. Pointless, really—but where there's battle, I
have to supervise. You know how it is. Spill the beans."

"Uh, yes." And Norton, somewhat haltingly, explained
the situation. "So Luna thought you might have a better
insight, since this is a war with Satan," he concluded.

Mars nodded. "I have fought Satan myself, and I fear
his deviousness prevailed. I am well aware how formi-
dable an opponent he is. I can't tell you how to reverse
what he has done, for this is not my MOS, but—"

"MOS?"

"Military-Occupation-Specialty. But I can suggest broad
principles of battle strategy that may apply."

Norton had hoped for something more specific, but
took this in stride. "Maybe that will help."

"First you have to analyze the patterns of strength—
yours and the enemy's. That way you can arrange to
attack his weak flank with your strongest force. Force is
vitally important and must be understood in detail."

"Force," Norton agreed without much enthusiasm.

"Force," Mars repeated emphatically. He gestured
toward the indecisive battle. "See how those fools are
opposing force with similar force? They're slaughtering
each other and destroying equipment and animals point-
lessly. If either side had approached the issue with proper
professionalism—" He shook his head sadly. "I hate to
see things bungled by amateurs. War is too important for
bungling! Now you—you are up against a real profes-
sional, the ultimate Master of Deceit, who has already
won the battle. It is your task to reverse the outcome after
the fact—and that is a considerable challenge."

"Amen!" Norton agreed.

"But you are by no means powerless. You must use
what you have—and you have the single most potent tool
that exists."

"But—"

"You doubt? Watch." Suddenly a monstrous sword was
in Mars' hand. He swung it at Norton. Norton, without
thinking, blocked it with the Hourglass.

The blade rebounded. Undismayed, Mars put it away.
"To others, your instrument is without substance, but my
Sword represents the essence of war and can not be blunted
or avoided. Therefore the two instruments meet and balk
each other; neither can hurt the other. Force against force,
pointlessly. But, properly applied, my Sword is match-
less—as is your Hourglass. Not even Satan can stand
against these tools, or against the Scythe of Thanatos or
the Threads of Fate or the Will of Gaea—if they attack
his weaknesses. Only by guile did he nullify my effort to
balk his plot to assume political power on Earth, and only
by guile did he foil you."

"True. But—"

"You talk too much, Chronos," Mars said with a smile.
He produced a clipboard and pen and began marking the
sheet of paper. "Now, we know there are only five intrin-
sic forces in our reality. Let's list them in nominal order
of strength." He printed: NUCLEAR STRONG, ELECTRO-
MAGNETIC, NUCLEAR WEAK, GRAVITY, MAGIC. "If yOU Set

the first at unity for convenience, or 10°, the others are
10-3, 10-5, 10-38, and 10--."

"Now, wait!" Norton protested. "The whole universe
is dominated by gravity; it is the single most compelling
factor in the evolution of matter! How can it be rated so
weak in comparison with the others? And magic—"

Mars smiled, as if a feint had been effective. "That
does seem odd, doesn't it! But sometimes the last shall
be first, and the meek do inherit the Earth. Range is the
key. The strong nuclear force has a range of about the
diameter of a neutron. If another neutron were just one
millimeter distant, it would never feel that force, any more
than your Hourglass would feel the impact of my Sword
if it were just out of range of my swing. That force binds
our most basic substance together, and is indeed essential
to the integrity of matter, but on our macroscopic scale
we don't even feel it. The weak nuclear force is even
more limited, having a range only one-hundredth as far.
Yet the disruption of these forces leads to nuclear explo-
sions or lethal radiation. They are potent in their proper
applications. Electromagnetic force falls in between the
strong and the weak nuclear forces in power—but its
range is infinite, so we can experience it on our scale.
Indeed, we use it for our vision, radio, electricity, mag-
netism—our civilization would collapse without it."

He gestured toward the ongoing battle. "The motors
of those tanks utilize magnetism for their power, for exam-
ple. But it has one critical limitation: it acts as a force
only on charged particles. The most potent magnetic field
has no direct effect on wood or human flesh. So mag-
netism is limited though infinite. Gravity, in contrast, not
only has infinite range, it is accumulative and acts on all
matter. So, despite its low rating—and 10-38 is almost
unimaginably small—on the scale of the universe it
becomes the overwhelming force, as you pointed out. The
last has become first, because of its nature. Of course the
ratings are distorted; if the significance of range was fac-
tored in, gravity would be the strongest, if most diffuse,
force."

"Yes, I have seen it in action," Norton replied, thinking
of the black holes and the way they governed the uni-
verses. What was a black hole but a gravity sink? "So its
effective force—"

"Effective force," Mars repeated. "There is another
key concept. Think of a tiger and a million ants. The tiger
has much more force than any ant, or any hundred or
thousand ants. But the tiny force of the ants is accumu-
lative and cooperative; together they swarm over the tiger
and destroy him, as gravity swarms over the universe.
Effective force—you must retain that concept, for it cer-
tainly counts most in battle."

"Urn, yes, I suppose." Norton was not entirely satis-
fied with this argument, since it seemed that his Hourglass
was the tiger and the minions of Satan were the million
ants. "But then magic—"

"A thousand times as feeble as gravity! So weak that
for a time scientists doubted its existence!" Mars chuck-
led, as if it were a great joke. "Can you imagine that? Not
believing in magic, simply because you can't detect it in
a single molecule? It's pretty hard to detect gravity in a
single molecule, too, but they never doubted gravity! The
magic in the molecule is overwhelmed by the gravity there;

that doesn't mean the magic doesn't exist. But magic has
a range of about 107 meters, or about the diameter of
Earth. So we can experience it quite conveniently on our
scale, without noting any effect on the larger universe.
It's like the strong nuclear force, acting only on the neu-
tron touching it; but since all of us are touching Earth,
we're in its range. It is true it is weak in absolute terms,
but not only is it accumulative, it is focusable, so that the
magic inherent in a cubic kilometer of the planet can be
brought to bear in concentrated form at a microscopically
small point. Think of it as sunlight being focused by a
magnifying glass, able to burn holes in solid wood. Thus
its malleability causes magic to become, when properly
applied, a force more potent than even the strongest of
the other forces. The right magic, concentrated 1042 times,
can separate the nucleus of an atom nonexplosively, which
accounts for the transmutation of lead into gold; or it can
interfere with the internal workings of a small black hole."
Mars paused to waggle his finger in mock warning. "Now
don't you try it with a large black hole! Anywhere the
magicons can reach—"

"Don't you mean 'magicians'?" Norton asked.
"I do not. The strong nuclear force is carried by gluons,
the weak by intermediate vector bosons of several vari-
eties, the electromagnetic by photons, gravity by gravi-
tons, and magic by magicons. Of course, all these basic
forces are united by the Reunified Field Theorem—"

"You're getting too technical for me," Norton pro-
tested. "I never did understand nuclear physics very well."
"Certainly. My business is force, so I understand forces;

your business is time, so you understand aspects of time
that would baffle me. It is enough for you to accept that,
for you, time is force. Your Hourglass focuses magic more
potently than does any other instrument. The Hourglass
has the power to balk Satan—if you use it properly."
"That's good to know! But how should I use it?"
Mars spread his hands. "That I can not tell you, for
time is not my specialty. I can only assure you that the
potential is there. My force analysis makes this quite clear."
He showed Norton the paper, now filled out with a neat
chart of the five intrinsic forces with their strengths, ranges,
and carrier particles. "Take this with you; maybe it will
help your strategy of battle."

"Uh, thank you," Norton said, uncertain about that.

"Remember, Chronos: fight, never give in, and you
shall win. You have the instrument Satan can not over-
come. He is Goliath; you are David."

"I'll try," Norton agreed weakly and moved out. If he
had to bet on a return match, he would bet on Goliath.

He went back to his mansion in Purgatory, deeply trou-
bled. Mars had expressed confidence in him—but was it
justified? It hardly mattered how powerful the Hourglass
was or how vulnerable Satan might be—if he did not
know how to apply his force to Satan's weakness, what
good was it?

When he entered, the butler informed him that he had
a caller. No rest for the weary! It was Satan, the last
entity he wanted to see at the moment. "Get out, Beel-
zebub!" he snapped.

"Now, don't be that way. My dear associate," Satan
said graciously. "I have glimpsed an alternate reality in
which we had a very stimulating encounter. Now it is
over, and there need be no hard feelings. I am really not
a bad fellow, when you give Me a chance. For example,
there is lagniappe for you." He gestured to the television
set, and it came on, showing a woman with a healthy
baby.

Norton stared. The woman was Orlene! Alive and well!

"In this reality, she survives," Satan said. "Gaea was
more alert and refused to do the favor for the foolish
ghost. Her baby is not flawed, favors you, and will live
to inherit the estate. You may readily verify this for your-
self. Go to her, Chronos; she loves you."

With that, Satan opened his suit jacket, revealing emp-
tiness inside. The emptiness expanded as he drew the
lapels back around him, until only his two hands holding
the lapel remained; then they, too, disappeared, and he
was gone.

Orlene! After Norton had given her up for lost—to
have her back! To have joy return to his life!

Then he wondered whether it was right. It was true
that he loved her, she loved him, and their baby had a
fine future awaiting him. But Satan was actually proffering
a bribe—settle for this reality and have this reward. At
what cost? If he went along with it, he would be acquiesc-
ing in Satan's victory on Earth. In fact, because he,
Chronos, had unwittingly enabled Satan to bring about
this reality, he had become one of the agents of the Prince
of Evil.

He watched Orlene's image on the screen as she cooed
to her baby. How he wanted her and wanted her to be
alive and happy! But could he accept these things—as
payment for facilitating evil?

He stood, and slowly his vision blurred; an intangible
yet terrible weight settled upon him. "Forgive me, Orlene,"
he whispered. "I can not."

The television snapped off. She was gone, in every
sense. Norton stared at the blank screen, feeling a wash
of grief for what might have been. He had thought he was
over Orlene; now he knew he would never be over her.
Yet he had denied her. He would have to live out his life
with the knowledge that he could have saved her—and
had not. He had condemned her back to agony and death.
What price, conscience?

That was assuming he found a way to reverse what
Satan had done. Did he really want to do that now? Know-
ing what was right was not the same as completely desir-
ing it. But even if he found no way, and this present reality
stood, he would always know that he had in the end
rejected the woman he loved. She had not, in the final
analysis, been the most important thing in his life. He had
chosen principle instead.

Principle tasted like ashes.

Satan had found a fiendish way to torture him, by
showing him Orlene! Satan certainly knew how to exploit
a person's weakness.

Then he had another thought—why had Satan both-
ered? Surely the Prince of Evil had worse things to do
than torment a defeated foe. Satan had a world to organ-
ize, preparing for his final victory on Earth just a few
years hence. It did not make sense for him to trouble
himself with trifles.

Unless he was not teasing Norton. Suppose the bribe
was real—that it had definite justification, by Satan's logic?
That it was necessary to change the outcome of a battle
that was not yet quite over? This suggested that Chronos
could indeed reverse what Satan had done, and Satan
knew it. So Satan was trying to sap Norton's will to fight.

Mars had told him to keep fighting and never give up.
Mars had believed Chronos could win, because of the
supreme potency of the magical force he controlled. Was
Mars a fool? Surely not about battle!

Norton brought out the chart Mars had made. There
was magic, the weakest of the intrinsic forces, yet the
strongest when properly utilized. Here was the Hour-
glass, capable of utilizing magic most properly. Satan was
Goliath, seemingly all-powerful; Norton was David, with
only one weapon. But it was the one weapon that could
do the job.

It seemed that Goliath knew of his own vulnerability,
so he had tried to bribe David not to use his weapon.
"Here, David, you're a plucky lad—let me give you this
beautiful woman Delilah for that little sling of yours." No,
Delilah was from another legend, and Orlene was no temp-
tress. Still, it fitted. Satan wanted him to quit. Therefore
he should fight on. His enemy had confirmed his power.

Now another thing occurred to him. He could not have
Orlene anyway, for the same reasons as before; he lived
backward and, if he reversed himself to join her, he would
soon come up against the date of his acquisition of the
office of Chronos and have to leave her. So Satan's offer
was largely illusion, anyway.

Norton was glad he had made his decision of con-
science before realizing that. It made him feel a little better
about himself.

Of course, it would be better to have Orlene and the
baby alive than tragically dead. Or would it? What kind
of life would they have in a world dominated by Satan?
The Prince of Evil had been proceeding carefully, not
interfering unduly in the affairs of the world until he could
consolidate his power. Evil had infinite patience! But once
the critical nexus passed and he was victorious, what
then? Surely he would change everything to suit himself,
and it would be literally Hell on Earth. Oriene would
suffer that, and her baby, and everyone else. Evil would
triumph everywhere, making all decent people miserable.
No, Satan had offered no bargain at all!

If only it could be possible for every person in the
world to see the future Satan offered—to remember his
future as he remembered his past, and to appreciate how
that future declined as Evil gained. That would shake
things up and make Satan's victory impossible. But that
could not be done.

Or could it?

Norton brought out the Hourglass and contemplated
its flowing white sand. He lived backward; the future was
familiar to him, as far as it went. But the Hourglass could
also affect others when he willed it to. It could transport
others in time, or even cause the whole world to live
backward for a few hours. Truly, it was the most potent
of all magic instruments, as Mars had said. But could it
make ordinary people see a future they had not yet expe-
rienced?

Squeeze.

"Sning!" he exclaimed. "I forgot you! How I need your
advice now!" He realized that, though he had called others
friends and loved a woman, Sning had been his truest
companion throughout, the one who was best able to share
his experience.

Squeeze.

"You say the Hourglass can make others see the
future?"

Squeeze, squeeze, squeeze.

Um. He had to narrow down the circumstances. "It
can, but it's limited? Such as to—to the time I assumed
the office, since I have no worldly power beyond then?"

Squeeze.

But that was only a few days. Not much good. He
needed a decade or so. In fact, he needed eighteen years—
the time since Satan had foiled Luna's entry into political
office.

Squeeze.

"We can do it—for eighteen years?" he asked excit-
edly.

Squeeze.

"I can go back to that time—Just before she loses the
election—and show the world what it is heading for?"

Squeeze.

But now he saw a serious flaw. The world had not
become a horror in those eighteen years. The horror would
not occur until Satan could assume power openly—and
that was after (before) Norton's assumption of office. He
could not show the world that, and certainly Satan would
not make his mischief known before then. The Father of
Lies wanted complete order and peace until he was ready,
just as a hunter wanted no disruption until the wild animal
he stalked came within his sights. All Norton could show
people was a fairly normal progression.

Squeeze.

"But that won't work! Because there's no horror."

Squeeze,squeeze.

"It will work?"

Squeeze.

"You're sure?"

Squeeze.

"Okay, Sning. Your information has always been good
before. How do I do it? Do I turn the sand a new color?"

Squeeze.

"Which color? Purple? Gold? Plaid? Orange? Gray?
Violet? Brown?"

Sning had not squeezed at any of the colors, but after
brown he squeezed three times. Norton scratched his head.
"None of those, but brown does have its points?"

Squeeze.

"But I've really guessed all the basic colors and several
shades. You act as if no color or combination—"

Squeeze.

"No color? But you said—"

Squeeze.

"Ah—no color! Transparent. Clear."

Squeeze.

"Representing the future, not for living but for seeing.
Or remembering, the way I do. The veil of opacity made
permeable."

Squeeze.

"Well, let's try it!" he said, excited.

He turned the sand to yellow and traveled in space to
the spot on Earth where Sning indicated Luna would be
found after the election. This was in the city of Kilva-
rough, at her estate.

"Her estate?" he asked, surprised.

Squeeze.

"Um, let me do one thing, then, before I get on it."
He turned the sand green and knocked on her door.

She answered immediately. Naturally she wasn't away
from home much, since she had no office to attend to. In
the other reality she had been Senator, but had arranged
to be home to meet him; Lachesis had surely facilitated
that. Behind her, this time, stood Thanatos—and Mars,
Atropos, and Gaea. "My stones informed me you were
going to try," she said. "We wish you success."

He had thought he was about to inform her; obviously
there had been no need. "You understand—if I succeed—
you will no longer exist as you do now. You won't even
remember this life. None of you will."

"We understand, Chronos," Luna said. "Your power
in this respect is greater than any other." She took his
hand, drew him forward, and kissed him on the cheek.
She was not young, but she was a lovely woman.

Norton brought out the Hourglass. "Well, farewell, all,"
he said awkwardly.

They merely waited expectantly. He was touched by
their acceptance of this significant change that could abol-
ish their past eighteen years of experience. Surely it was
not easy!

He turned the sand blue and willed himself into the
past.

Sning gave a warning squeeze as he neared the date
and another as he came to the hour. Finally he settled on
the minute and stopped, turning the sand green.

Luna stood there, Thanatos beside her. She was wiping
her face, evidently repairing the damage wrought by tears.
She was eighteen years younger than he had seen her a
moment ago, about half her prior age, or at any rate in
her early twenties, and stunningly beautiful despite her
misery. Her dull brown hair was now bright chestnut,
shoulder-length and luxurious, and her eyes were like
windows on Heaven. She was breathtakingly slender and
well formed, in a green gown reminiscent of her name-
sake, the luna moth, and her bright moonstone shone at
her bosom. A jewel she wore—and ajewel she was, surely!
She looked up, startled, as Norton manifested.

"Chronos! Certainly you don't wish to share this unfor-
tunate moment!"

"Not exactly," Norton said.

"She is about to go out to make her concession speech,"
Thanatos said.

"I—I would like to address the world first," Norton
said, conscious of how preposterous this sounded.

"You?" Surprise did not register well on the Death-
head. "This is not your concern, Chronos!"

"I'm afraid it is my concern," Norton said. "I was
inadvertently responsible for Luna's loss. Now I must try
to undo the damage."

Thanatos shook his head. "Her reputation has been
sullied beyond repair. The minions of Satan have used
innuendo, outright lies—even ballot-box stuffing. Satan's
work—but the people were fooled, and now it's over."

"I beg your indulgence," Norton said. "Let me try to
undo what I can. If I fail, she can still concede."

Luna put her hand on Thanatos' shoulder. "See the
Truthstones," she murmured.

Indeed, the stones on the mantel were shining like little
stars. "I yield," Thanatos said.

They went outside to the front gate, beyond the range
of the griffins. Television cameras and a magic mirror were
set up there. The world was watching—or at least that
minor portion of it that cared to tune in on this particular
concession speech. Most people were probably more
interested in Luna's beauty than in her politics, anyway.

Luna stepped up to the focus of the media. In this year,
mechanical microphones were still in use for sound pickup.
"Before I speak, my friend Chronos will address you,"
she said.

"Hey, what's this?" a man protested, pushing forward.
His eyes blazed with the inner fire of the possessed—an
agent of Satan. "We came to hear the harlot drop out!"

Thanatos started forward in cold fury, but Norton
moved first. He shoved the Hourglass in the possessed's
face. The man fell back, stunned.

"The minions of Satan have wronged this fine woman,"
Norton said. "Now I will show you your future if this
wrong stands."

He turned the sand transparent and willed it into action,
to embrace the whole world. He felt the immense power
channeling through the Hourglass, the weakest force
becoming the strongest. Nothing changed, physically; this
was magic of the mind only.

There was a hush as the effect took hold. Then a cam-
eraman lurched away, dropping his camera. "I'm gonna
die!" he screamed. "Next year, covering a hostage crisis,
bomb goes off—I remember! I'm getting out of here!"

A female reporter turned and slapped a news director.
"You're going to throw me over for that hussy!" she cried
indignantly. "Well, you can just forget about tonight, you
sneak!"

The director could not deny it, for he remembered,
too. Indeed, he seemed preoccupied, seeing farther into
his own future. "AIDS?" he said, bewildered and horri-
fied. "Me? But I'm not part of that culture!"

"Evidently the hussy is," the driver next to him said.
"That stuff's spreading fast, now that it's out of the special
groups. My uncle's gonna get it, too, and die—" He broke
off, horrified as he realized what he was saying.

"Leukemia?" a bystander asked, chagrined. "How can
I remember having that, when it's five years in the future?
I'm going to do some research and change that before it
happens!"

In moments the street was empty, as every person
attending the concession speech sought to avoid the hor-
rors of his own future. Each person in the world was going
to suffer tragedy and death sooner or later—and no per-
son enjoyed the prospect. Everyone was trying to change
his life to avoid the mischief he foresaw—and, of course,
that changed his future and that of those he interacted
with and gave him new visions of the inevitable. Humanity
was in chaos.

Satan himself arrived. Most of his minions could not
take solid form on Earth, but he himself was an Incar-
nation, as real as the others. "Give over, Chronos!" he
cried, fire showing inside his mouth in lieu of a tongue.
"I sought no quarrel with you!"

"Not this year," Norton said. The sand remained clear.
"But in a future year—"

"You are generating utter chaos!" the Prince of Evil
protested, smoke rising from him.

Norton glanced up and down the street. "Am I?"
"It's impossible for anyone to function in this!"
"Even you, Satan?" Norton inquired pleasantly. He
was coming to understand the impact of his action. Satan's
ultimate evil did not need to be manifest within eighteen
years; the ordinary lives, loves, and deaths of people suf-
ficed. The sudden knowledge of the specific circumstance
and time of his own misfortune or death drove the average
person into a frenzy like that of a drowning man. The veil
that shrouded the future was in fact a blessing, and now
it had been rent.

"I am a Creature of order!" Satan said. "I have
plans—"

Norton merely looked at him inquiringly.

"I can't accomplish anything if they remember—"

Norton waited.

"What do you want, Chronos?" the Prince of Evil
demanded.

"Need you ask, sirrah?"

Satan stomped about, his horns turning red with frus-
tration and emitting sparks. "All right, Chronos! The bitch
shall have her office!"

"The who?"

The sparks became larger, and a small zap of lightning
flashed between Satan's horns. "The good woman!"

Norton allowed the sand to return to its underlying
green. Sometime he would have to explore the mechanism
that enabled him to remain in the green while the sand
turned clear, but there was no hurry; obviously there were
sophistications of the Hourglass that would require care-
ful study for full comprehension, but which protected him
in his ignorance. "I trust you to honor your word, my
dear associate," he said.

"Your trust is misplaced, fool!" Satan said, gesturing.

Abruptly the two of them were in Hell. Opaque smoke
surrounded them, obscuring the details, but there was no
question about the location. "Now try your little trick,"
Satan said grimly. "I'm sure My demons will enjoy seeing
their futures."

Norton lifted the Hourglass—but now the sand was
fogged out by smoke, and he could not see the color. It
wasn't illusion; it was genuine smoke; he couldn't abolish
it by concentrating.

Satan couldn't hold him, of course. The Prince of Evil
was merely setting up another diversion, trying to salvage
his campaign to win power on Earth. The three-person
limit would prevent Norton from returning here; he had
to accomplish his mission now.

Norton had had enough of this. He owed Satan. Suing,
he thought. Can you help me fix him once and for all?

Squeeze.

What color? Transparent?

Squeeze,squeeze.

"Did you really think you could oppose me, Chronos?"
Satan asked, sneering. Sulfurous smoke was curling up
from his nose.

Black?

Squeeze, squeeze.

Desperately he tried the color they hadn't used before.
Brown?

"Enough of this," Satan said. His arm shot forward,
his hand landing on Norton's. There was a jolt of cur-
rent—and Sning was in Satan's grasp. "This rogue demon
is Mine!"

Norton felt as if he had been skewered. He had lost
his most vital adviser! Satan could not touch the Hour-
glass, but Sning had no such protection.

Norton willed the sand brown, the color of Luna's hair,
knowing the Hourglass would respond, though the smoke
obscured it.

Satan paused, surprised. The smoke was curling down
to his nose.

Norton was similarly surprised. What had he done?
Satan turned about abruptly. Flame shot into his mouth,

and sparks zapped from the air to his horns. He lashed

his tail. "?lleh eht tahW" he demanded.

He was living backward! But no one else was; the

demons of Hell showed through the smoke now, glancing

at their Master with curiosity. The brown sand reversed

time for Satan alone.

The Father of Lies would break out of this predicament
soon enough. That was not the point. Norton had shown
Satan that Chronos could make him just as uncomfortable
as he could make Chronos.

Norton reached for Satan's hand to take Sning back.
Satan tried to snatch the ring away, but his reversed reflex
caused him to shove it directly at Norton instead. Norton
took the snake and returned the ring to his finger.
Sque-he-he-heze! Sning seemed to be laughing.
Norton walked away—and Satan's illusion dissolved
around him. He was still on the street, and Thanatos and
Luna were waiting. "We saw the smoke, but decided to
let you deal with Satan in your own way," Thanatos
explained. "Every Incarnation must come to his own terms
with Satan."

"True," Norton agreed. He turned to face Satan, who
was now on the street but still locked in reverse. "I trust
you will behave now. Lord of Flies. I wouldn't want to
have to invoke my power again. Or is my trust mis-
placed?"

356          Beamy An Hourglass

Satan became so hot he suffered a phenomenal implo-
sion of flame and winked out like a reversed nova.

Norton experienced a great relief and satisfaction. He
had at last faced Satan directly and held him off! Mars'
advice to him had been right; all he had needed to do was
keep fighting.

He turned to Luna. "Notice of the recount should be
broadcast soon, and your reputation will be restored. You
have begun your political career."

"Thank you, Chronos," she said faintly.

Thanatos stepped forward, extending his skeletal hand.
"I knew you had power, Chronos; I never suspected its
extent."

"Neither did I," Norton said, accepting the hand. He
knew this was not the occasion to discuss his first encoun-
ter with Thanatos, eighteen years hence. "Farewell, both."

He turned the sand red and returned to his present.
He landed on the street outside Luna's estate.

Satan reappeared, horns red-hot. "How dare you—"

Norton lifted the Hourglass and turned the sand brown.
Satan vanished.

He steadied the sand on green and turned to the front
gate. All the Incarnations were there, and Luna herself.
"My stones told me to appear for this meeting, though I
have pressing political business," she said. "Now I
remember: I owe not only my life but my office to you.
You helped me win my first election as a representative,
and later my election as Senator. I am deeply in your
debt."

"And I in yours," Norton said. "Just do what you have
to do when your crisis looms. We all must strive con-
stantly to keep Satan at bay."

"Yes, of course," Thanatos agreed. "But I wish we
could reward you for your special effort—"

"There is no need," Norton said, thinking of the bleak-
ness he now had to return to, living his life opposite to
them and the world, not even speaking of this matter as
he moved into their past, lest that somehow change the
course.

PiersAwlShony

"/ will attend to his reward," Atropos declared, shifting
to Clotho. "Keep the sand green, Chronos, until we reach
your mansion, so I won't forget."

Norton looked at her. She had evidently prepared for
this occasion, for she was ravishing. And she understood!
He realized that there were, after all, compensations to
his lonely office.


