Finally, Archie halted and stood facing him. Timyin Tin stopped also, facing Archie, who made a single movement with his right hand. Timyin Tin mirrored it as he did it. They remained absolutely still for half a minute. Then Archie moved his right hand again. Timyin Tin moved his left. They watched one another for half a minute more, then Archie turned his head. Timyin Tin touched his nose. A puzzled look crossed Archie's face. Then he bent slowly and placed the palm of his left hand upon the floor. Timyin Tin turned his left hand palm upward and moved it three inches forward. Archie flexed his ears, then asked, "What is the sound of one hand clapping?"

"A butterfly."

Archie straightened and took a step forward. Timyin Tin shaded his eyes. They remained in this position for a full minute.

Timyin Tin took two rapid steps to the left and kicked into the air. Twisting his body and throwing himself backward, Archie restrained himself within a fraction of a second from moving into a position which

would have placed his jaw in line with the kick. Both arms extended, claws at full flex, he spun twice as he recovered his footing and balance. By then, Timyin Tin had taken two additional steps to his left.

There was perspiration on Archie's brow as he bent forward and began moving in a wide circle about the smaller man, fingers hooked and clawing lightly at the

air Timyin Tin turned slowly to follow him, his right

hand seeming to hang limply at shoulder level. He bowed very low just as Archie was about to spring. Archie restrained himself and halted.

"It has indeed been a pleasure," he remarked.

"For this one also," Timyin Tin replied.

"It looks as if white flowers fall upon my shroud. Your hands are so pale."

"To leave the world in spring, with flower guards to honor: it must be peace."

Timyin Tin straightened slowly. Archie began moving his left hand in a slow figure-eight, extending it gradually. His right hand twitched.

Timyin Tin took two sudden steps to his left. Archie moved as if to circle in a clockwise direction, then followed quickly as the other began to turn. A cool breeze touched them both as Archie began a kick with his left foot, thought better of it, shifted his weight, feinted with his right. Timyin Tin extended both hands, palms down, then slowly began lowering the right. Archie moved his head in a slow circle. Then his shoulders began a counter-movement. His hands traced patterns about one another, advancing, retreating, feinting...

Timyin Tin leaned to his right, then to his left, his right hand still descending with extreme slowness. He leaned to the left again

"What," Archie asked him, "is the color of thunder?"....hen to the right, hand still dropping.

Archie feinted with another kick, then lunged forward, claws extended, hands describing wide semicircles about one another.

Timyin Tin's head turned back over his shoulder as his left leg moved behind him. His body turned sideways as his left hand became a V, catching Archie beneath the left armpit. His right hand moved upward toward the other's crotch. He felt but an instant's touch of weight as he twisted to the left. Then Archie was gone, into the night, out over the railing.

"Behold," Timyin Tin replied.

He stood for several heartbeats, regarding the night. Then he bowed again.

He withdrew a pencil-thin tube from a narrow pocket at the outer seam of his right pantleg. He weighed it in his hand for a moment, then pointed it toward the sky. He thumbed a stud on its side and a fine red beam emerged from its tip.

With a movement of his wrist, he directed the beam toward the railing. It sliced a thin line through eight inches of stone. He flicked it off and moved to the spot where it had cut. Running his thumb along the groove, he looked down over the railing for the first time. He nodded and turned away, replacing the tube in his pocket.

Soundlessly, he crossed to the stairs. He looked upward and for a moment his vision wavered as the dim interior of the stairwell reminded him of a cold stone corridor in an ancient building he had once known.

He mounted the stairs slowly, keeping close to the left-hand wall. He passed a door, moved toward the next.

When he reached the proper door, he paused. A pale light still shone beneath it. He took the tube into his hand but still he stood, listening. There was a soft stirring within, a creak of furniture, stillness.

He raised the weapon and pointed it at a place near the jamb, where the bar should lie. Then he paused

again and lowered it. He moved forward. Gently, very gently, slowly, he tried the door. It was unfastened. He stepped to the side, raised his weapon again

and pushed it open. He dropped to his knees. The tube fell from his

fingers.

"I did not know," he said. He lowered his forehead to the floor.

One

As he was paying his bill and settling up for the damage to his room. Red was approached by the wagers broker, a small, turbaned man of exotic aroma.

"Congratulations, Mr. Dorakeen," he said. "My, you are looking good this morning."

"I occasionally do," Red replied, turning. "It seldom warrants special notice, however."

"I meant, congratulations on your winnings."

"Oh? I placed a bet on something?"

"Yes. You bet on yourself in the next pass of the black decade, Chadwick versus Dorakeen. Don't you remember?"

"Ouch!" He massaged the bridge of his nose. "Yes, it begins to come back. Excuse me, but I'm a little hazy about yesterday. What a damned stupid thing to do....ait a minute. If I won, that means there was an unsuccessful attempt on my life last night."

"So it would seem. Notice has been received that you were successful. Do you want cash, or would you have me credit your account?"

"Credit my account. Were there no particulars, then?"

"None." The man produced a document. "If you will

sign this, I will give you a receipt and your winnings will be deposited."

Red scrawled his signature on it.

"Was there no disturbance in the neighborhood that might have had to do with this?"

"Only if you count the damage that I understand occurred in your room."

He shook his head.

"I doubt that There were no—remains."

"Would you care to place a wager on the fith pass?"

"Fifth? There have only been three attempts, counting this one you just paid on."

"You are listed as having survived four."

"I am afraid I do not understand, and I am not going to confuse the matter by betting again."

The broker shrugged.

"As you would."

Red hefted his bag and turned away. Mondamay glided up, holding Flowers.

"Yes, that was a stupid thing to do," Flowers stated as they headed toward the door. "Placing a bet!"

"I've already admitted it, but then the person I was yesterday was having a problem."

"Then you've inherited a big piece of it. Chadwick has literally had all the time in the world to zero in on you here. Do you think we'll make it across the parking lot?"

Mondamay matched circuits with Flowers.

He does look somehow different today, he said, but what does he mean when he speaks of not being the same person he was yesterday?

I have not been with him long enough to have made observations sufficient to permit me to understand the phenomenon, came the reply. But he has had three of these spells since I have known him, and on each occasion he has recovered looking several years younger but acting as if he were a different person.

I noted that he appeared younger when I saw him back in C Eleven, but I did not know at what point in his life-line he had arrived. He had always been older when he had visited me in the past.

How old?

Somewhere in his fifties, I'd say. I suppose it is possible that he is taking some rejuvenation medication from farther up the Road.