“Talking to yourself. Not a good sign,” he remarked. ''

The man was a study in black, white, and gray In fact, from the cast of the darkness upon his right-hand side and the lay of the light on his left, he might have been the first wielder of the sacrificial dagger. I'd no real way of telling. Whoever or whatever he or it was, I'd no desire to become acquainted.

So I shrugged.

“The only sign I care about here has 'exit' written on it,” I told him as I brushed past him.

His hand fell upon my shoulder and turned me back easily in his direction.

Again the chuckle.

“You must be careful what you wish for in this place,” he told me in low and measured tones, “for wishes are sometimes granted here, and if the granter be depraved and read 'quietus' for your 'exit'-why, then, poof! You may cease to be. Up in smoke. Downward to the earth. Sideways to hell and gone.”

“I've already been there,” I answered, “and lots of points along the way.”

“What ho! Look! Your wish has been granted,” he remarked, his left eye catching a flash of light and reflecting it, tapetumlike, in my direction. No matter how I turned or squinted, however, could I find sight of his right eye. “Over there,” he finished, pointing.

I turned my head in the direction he indicated, and there upon the top stone of a dolmen shone an exit sign exactly like the one above the emergency door at a theater I used to frequent near campus.

“You're right,” I said.

“Will you go through it?”

“Will you?”

“No need,” he replied. “I already know what's there.”

“What?” I inquired.

“The other side.”

“How droll,” I answered.

“If one gets one's wish and spurns it, one might piss off the Powers,” he said then.

“You have firsthand knowledge of this?”

I heard a grinding, clicking noise then, and it was several moments before I realized he was gnashing his teeth. I walked away then toward the exit sign, wanting to inspect whatever it represented at nearer range.

There were two standing stones with a flat slab across the top. The gateway thus formed was large enough to walk through. It was shadowy, though...

You going through it, boss?

“Why not°? This is one of the few times in my life that I feel indispensable to whoever is running the show.”

I wouldn't get too cocky... Frakir began, but I was already moving.

Three quick paces were all that it took, and I was looking outward across a circle of stones and sparkling grass past a black-and-white man toward another dolmen bearing an exit sign, a shadowy form within it. Halting, I took a step backward and turned. There was a black-and-white man regarding me, a dolmen to his rear, dark Form within it. I raised my right hand above my head. So did the shadowy figure. I turned back in the direction I had initially been headed. The shadowy figure across from me also had his hand upraised. I stepped on through.

“Small world,” I observed, “but I'd hate to paint it.”

The man laughed.

“Now you are reminded that your every exit is also an entrance,” he said.

“Seeing you here, I am reminded even more of a play by Sartre,” I responded.

“Unkind,” he answered, “but philosophically cogent. I have always found that hell is other people. Only I have done nothing to rouse your distrust, have I?”

“Were you or were you not the person I saw sacrifice a woman in this vicinity?” I asked.

“Even if I were, what is that to you? You were not involved.”

“I guess I have peculiar feelings about little things-like the value of life.”

“Indignation is cheap. Even Albert Schweitzer's reverence for life didn't include the tapeworm, the tsetse fly, the cancer cell.”

“You know what I mean. Did you or did you not sacrifice a woman on a stone altar a little while ago?”

“Show me the altar.”

“I can't. It's gone.”

“Show me the woman.”

“She is, too.”

“Then you haven't much of a case.”

“This isn't a court, damn it! If you want to converse, answer my question. If you don't, let's stop making noises at each other.”

“I have answered you.”

I shrugged.

“All right,” I said. “I don't know you, and I'm very happy that way. Good day.”

I took a step away from him, back in the direction of the trail. As I did, he said, “Deirdre. Her name was Deirdre, and I did indeed kill her,” and he stepped into the dolmen from which I had just emerged, and there he disappeared. Immediately I looked across the way, but he did not exit beneath the exit sign. I did an about-face and stepped into the dolmen myself. I did emerge from the other side, across the way, catching sight of myself entering the opposite one as I did so. I did not see the stranger anywhere along the way.

“What do you make of that?” I asked Frakir as I moved back toward the trail.

A spirit of place, perhaps? A nasty spirit for a nasty place? she ventured. I don't know, but I think be was one of those damned consructs, too-and they're stronger here.

I headed down to the trail, set foot upon it, and commenced following it once again.

“Your speech patterns have altered enormously since your eahancement,” I remarked.

Your nervous system's a good teacher.

“Thanks. If that guy puts in an appearance again and you sense him before I see him, give me the high sign.”

Right. Actually, this entire place has the feeling of one of those constructs. Every stone here has a bit of Pattern scribble to it.

“When did you learn this?”

Back when we first tried the exit. I scanned it for danger then.

As we came to the periphery of the outer circle, I slapped a stone. It felt solid enough.

He's here! Frakir warned suddenly.

“Hey!” came a voice from overhead, and I looked up. The black-and-white stranger was seated atop the stone, smoking a thin cigar. He held a chalice in his left hand. “You interest me, kid,” he went on. “What's your name?”

“Merlin,” I answered. “What's yours?”

Instead of replying, he pushed himself outward, fell in slow motion, landed on his feet beside me. His left eye squinted as he studied me. The shadows flowed like dark water down his right side. He blew silvery smoke into the air.

“You're a live one,” he announced then, “with the mark of the Pattern and the mark of Chaos upon you. You bear the blood of Amber. What is your lineage, Merlin?”

The shadows parted for a moment, and I saw that his right eye was hidden by a patch.

“I am the son of Corwin,” I told him, “and you aresomehow-the traitor Brand.”

“You have named me,” he said, “but I never betrayed what I believed in.”

“That being your own ambition,” I said. “Your home and your family and the forces of Order never mattered to you, did they?”

He snorted.

“I will not argue with a presumptuous puppy “

“I've no desire to argue with you either. For whatever it's worth, your son Rinaldo is probably my best friend.”

I turned away and began walking. His hand fell upon my shoulder.

“Wait!” he said. “What is this talk? Rinaldo is but a lad.”

“Wrong,” I answered. “He's around my age.”

His hand fell away, and I turned. He had dropped his cigar, which lay smoking upon the trail, and he'd transferred the chalice to his shadow-clad hand. He massaged his brow.

“That much time has passed in the mainlines...” he remarked.

On a whim, I withdrew my Trumps, shuffled out Luke's, held it up for him to see.

“That's Rinaldo,” I said.

He reached for it, and for some obscure reason I let him take it. He stared at it for a long while.

“Trump contact doesn't seem to work from here,” I said.

He looked up, shook his head, and handed the card back to me.

“No, it wouldn't,” he stated. “How... is he?”

“You know that he killed Caine to avenge you?”

“No, I didn't know. But I'd expect no less of him.”