Jack laughed. The other only smiled.

"How do you intend to achieve the desired result?" he finally asked.

"I shall confine him to an inescapable prison where he will have absolutely nothing to do but exist. Occasionally, I will introduce certain items and remove them again-items which will come to occupy his thoughts more and more as time passes, inducing periods of depression and times of fury. I will break that smug self-assurance of his by rooting out the pride from which it grows."

"I see indeed," said Jack. "It sounds as if you have been planning this for a long while."

"Never doubt it."

Jack pushed away the empty platter, leaned back in the chair and considered the multitude of images that surrounded them.

"I daresay that the next thing you will tell me is that your pendant could accidentally be lost during an ocean voyage, buried, burnt or fed to hogs."

"I shan't, as it has already occurred to you."

The Lord of Bats rose to his feet, gestured casually toward a point high above their heads.

"I see that your bath has been drawn," he said, "and that fresh garments were laid out for you while we dined. I shall depart now and allow you to avail yourself of them."

Jack nodded, stood.

A thud occurred beneath the table then, followed by a gibbering sound and a brief, shrill wail. Jack felt his ankle seized. Then he was thrown to the floor.

"Down!" cried the Lord of Bats, circling the table quickly. "Back, I say!"

Scores of bats escaped his cloak and darted toward the thing beneath the table. It shrieked with fright and so tightened its grip upon Jack's ankle that he thought the bones would be pulverized.

He raised himself and began to lean for ward. Then even the pain was insufficient to prevent a moment's paralysis from his revulsion at the sight he beheld.

The hairless member was white, shiny and blotched with blue marks. The Lord of Bats kicked it and the grip was broken; but before it drew away and moved to cross the other arm, shielding the face. Jack caught a glimpse of that lopsided countenance.

It looked like something that had started out to be a man but had never quite made it. It had been stepped on, twisted, had holes poked into the sickly dough of its head-bulge. Bones showed through the transparent flesh of its torso and its short legs were thick as trees, terminating in disk-shaped pads from which dozens of long toes hung like roots or worms. Its arms were longer than its entire body. It was a crushed slug, a thing that had been frozen and thawed before it was fully baked. It was-

"It is the Borshin," said the Lord of Bats, now extending his arms toward the squealing creature, which could not seem to decide whether it feared the bats or their Lord more, and which kept banging its head against the table's legs as it sought to avoid both.

The Lord of Bats tore the pendant from his neck and buried it against the creature, uttering an oath as he did so. With this it vanished, leaving a small pool of urine were it had crouched. The bats vanished within the dark one's cloak, and he smiled down at Jack.

"What," said Jack, "is a Borshin?"

The Lord of Bats studied his fingernails for a moment. Then, "For some time now the dayside scientists have," he said, "attempted to create artificial life. Thus far, they have not succeeded."

"I determined to succeed with magic where they had failed with their science," he went on. "I experimented for a long while, then made the attempt. I failed-or, rather, was only half-successful. You have just seen the results. I disposed of my dead homunculus in the Dung Pits of Glyve and one day that thing returned to me. I cannot take credit for its animation. The forces that restore us at that place stimulated it somehow. I do not believe the Borshin to be truly alive, in the ordinary sense of the word."

"Is it one of the items you mentioned, which will serve to torment your enemy?"

"Yes, for I have taught it two things: to fear me and to hate my enemy. I did not bring it here just now, however. It has its own ways of coming and going, though I did not think they extended to this place. I will have to investigate the matter further."

"In the meantime, it will be free to enter here whenever it chooses?"

"I am afraid so."

"Then might I borrow a weapon to keep with me?"

"I am sorry, but I have none to lend you."

"I see."

"I had best be going now. Enjoy your bath."

"One thing," said Jack.

"What is that?" asked the other, whose fingers were caressing the pendant.

"I, too, have an enemy for whom I con template an involved piece of vengeance. I will not bore you with details now, save that I believe mine will be superior to yours."

"Really? I would be interested to learn what you have in mind."

"I will see that you do."

Both smiled.

"Until later, then."

"Until later." The Lord of Bats vanished.

Jack bathed, soaking himself for a long while in the lukewarm water. All the fatigue he had accumulated during his journey seemed to seize him then, and it took a mighty effort of will to rise, dry his body and walk to the bed, where he collapsed. He felt too tired to hate properly, or to begin planning his escape.

He slept, and while sleeping he dreamed.

He dreamed he held the Grand Key of Kolwynia, which was Chaos and Formation, and with it unlocked the sky and the earth, the sea and the wind, bidding them to fall upon High Dudgeon and its master from all corners of the world. He dreamt that there the flame was born and the dark Lord was held in its heart forever like an ant in amber, but alive, sleepless and feeling. Exulting in this, he heard the sudden chatter of the World Machine. He moaned and cried out at this omen; and within the walls, infinities of Jacks twisted on sweatdrenched beds.

JACK SAT IN the chair nearest the bed, his legs stretched out before him and crossed at the ankles, fingers interlaced beneath his chin. He wore the red, white and black diamond-patched clothing of a jester; his wine-colored slippers curled at the toes and ended in loose threads, where he had torn off the bells. He had discarded the quinopolus, and the belled cap had gone into the chamber pot.

Any moment now, he decided. I hope the Borshin does not follow him.

The remains of his thirty-first meal in that place, a breakfast, occupied the table. The air about him was cooler than he found comfortable. The Borshin had visited him on three occasions since his arrival, plumping into sudden existence, drooling and snatching at him. Each time, he had fended it off with a chair, while screaming as loudly as he could manage; and the Lord of Bats always followed after a few moments and drove the creature away, apologizing profusely for the inconvenience. Jack had been unable to sleep well since the first such visit, knowing that it could happen again at any time.

The meals appeared regularly, quite undistinguished repasts, and he ate them automatically while thinking of other matters. Afterward, he was never able to recall what they had featured, nor did he wish to.

Soon now he reflected.

He had exercised to keep from growing soft. He had gained back some of the weight he had lost. He had fought boredom by planning and rejecting many plots for escape and vengeance. Then Rosalie's words had returned to him, and he determined his course of action.

The air seemed to shimmer. There came a lone, not unlike the snapping of a fingernail against a goblet, somewhere near at hand.

Then the Lord of Bats was beside him, and this time he was not smiling.