several segments. One of the more massive gears slowed, hesitated, halted, and began again, moving more slowly than before.

While Jack was smashing the other cases, the lubricant buckets went wild overhead, racing back and forth, emptying their contents, returning to the wall spigots for more. There came the smell of burning insulation and a popping, sizzling sound. The floor began to shake and several pistons tore loose. Now there were flames amid the smoke, and Jack coughed at the acrid fumes.

The Machine quivered, ground to a halt, and began again, wildly. It shook as gears raced and axles snapped. It began tearing itself to pieces. The din grew painful to his ears. Wheeling, he hurled the bar into the Machine and fled in the direction of the ladder. /

When he looked back, there were huge figures, partly hidden by the smoke, racing toward the Machine. Too late, he knew.

He fled up the ladder, reached the ledge, raced into the darkness from which he had come.

Thus began the destruction of the world he had known.

The return journey proved in some ways more dangerous than the downward one had been, for the ground trembled now, stirring the dust and debris of the ages, cracking walls, causing portions of the roof to collapse. Twice, coughing, he had to clear litter from his way

before he could pass. Then, too, the inhabitants of that great tunnel ran in panic, attacking one another with a new ferocity. Jack slew many to pass there.

After emerging, he looked at the black orb, high in the heavens. The coldness still came by it, more perhaps now than when he had begun his mission of sabotage. He studied that sphere and saw that it appeared to have moved slightly from the position it had previously occupied.

Then, hurriedly, to keep a recent promise he had made to himself, he employed the Key to transport him to the Sign of the Burning Pestle, on the coach road by the ocean.

He entered that inn, built of nightwood, repaired a thousand times, and ancient almost beyond his memory. As he descended into the central dining area, the ground shuddered and the walls creaked about him. This caused a silence, followed by a babble of voices, from a group of diners near the fire.

Jack approached them.

"I'm looking for an old woman named Rosalie," he said. "Does she reside here?"

A broad-shouldered man with a blond beard and a livid scar on his forehead, looked up from his meal.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"Jack of Shadow Guard."

The man studied his clothing, his face; his eyes widened, then dropped.

"I know of no Rosalie, sir," he said in a soft tone. "Do any of you others?"

The other five diners said, "No," keeping their eyes averted from Jack, and hastily added, "sir," to this reply.

"Who is the proprietor here?"

"Haric is his name, sir."

"Where may I find him?"

"Through that far doorway to your right, sir."

Jack turned and walked toward it. As he went, he heard his name whispered in shadows.

He mounted two stairs and entered a smaller room, where a fat, red-faced man, wearing a dirty apron, sat drinking wine. A yellow candle, sputtering on the table before him, made his face seem even ruddier. His head turned slowly, and it took his eyes several moments to focus as he peered in Jack's direction.

Then, "What do you want?" he asked.

"My name is Jack, and I've traveled far to reach this place, Haric," he replied. "I seek an old woman who was coming here to spend her final days. Her name is Rosalie. Tell me what you know of her."

Haric creased his brow, lowered his head and squinted.

"Bide a moment," he said. "There was an old hag ... Yes. She died some time ago."

"Oh," said Jack. "Tell me then where she is buried, that I might visit her grave."

Haric snorted and quaffed his wine. I hen he began to laugh. He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, then raised it to wipe his eyes with his sleeve.

"Buried?" he said. "She was worthless. We only kept her here for charity's sake, and because she knew somewhat of healing."

Tiny bulges of muscle appeared at the hinges of Jack's jaws.

"Then what did you do with her?" he inquired.

"Why we threw her carcass into the ocean.- Small pickings there for fishes, though."

Jack left the Sign of the Burning Pestle burning at his back, there on the coach road by the ocean.

Beside the flat, black ocean, he now walked. The stars within it danced whenever the ground and the waters trembled. The air was quite chill, and he felt a great fatigue. His sword belt was almost too heavy to bear. He longed to wrap his cloak about him and lie down for a moment. He wanted a cigarette.

As he advanced like a sleepwalker, his boots sinking into the sand, he was shocked back to wakefulness at the sight of the one who appeared before him.

It appeared to be himself.

He shook his head, then, "Oh, it's you, soul," he said.

His soul nodded.

"There was no need for you to destroy that inn," it said, "for soon the seas will be unchained and mighty waves will wash the land. It would have been one of the first things destroyed."

"You are incorrect," said Jack, yawning. "There was reason: it did my heart good.-How is it that you know of the seas' coming behavior?"

"I am never far from you. I was with you atop Mount Panicus, when you spoke with mighty Morningstar. I descended with you into the bowels of the world. When you smashed the Great Machine, I stood at your side. I returned with you. I accompanied you to this place."

"Why?"

"You know what it is that I want."

"... And you have had my answer on numerous occasions."

"You know that this time it is different. Jack. By your actions, you are stripping yourself of most of your powers-perhaps all of them. You have possibly destroyed all your lives, save for the present one. You need me now. You know that you do."

Jack stared at the ocean and the stars darting like luminous insects.

"Possibly," he said. "But not yet."

"Look to the east. Jack. Look to the east."

Jack raised his eyes, turned his head.

"That is the inn, burning," he said.

"Then you will not see us united?"

"Not now. But neither will I drive you away. Let us return now to Shadow Guard."

"Very well."

Then the ground shook with its most terrific tremor thus far, and Jack swayed where he stood.

When the land grew still once again, he drew his blade and began to trace a pattern in the sand.

He began to pronounce the spell. As he was nearing its completion, he was dashed from his feet by a great wave which covered him over completely. He felt himself flung upon higher ground, and his lungs burned for air. He tried to follow it even farther, knowing what would happen next.

Lights darted before his eyes as he dug at the sand and pushed forward. He made some progress in this fashion before the waters began to recede.

He fought their pull, clawing at the sand, making sculling motions with his hands, kicking out with his feet, trying to crawl ...

... And then he was free.

He lay with half his face in the cold, wet grit, his fingernails broken, his boots filled with water.

"Jack! This way! Hurry!"

It was his soul calling.

He lay there, gasping, unable to move.

"You must come, Jack! Or accept me now! There will be another wave shortly!"

Jack groaned. He tried to rise, failed.

Then from the inn, whose flames cast a pale, ruddy glow along the beach, there came a crash as the roof and one wall collapsed.

There was some blockage of the light now, and shadows danced about him.

Almost weeping, he drew strength from them each time they fell upon him.

"You must hurry, Jack! It's turned! It's coming!"

He rose to his knees, then pushed himself to his feet. He staggered forward.