12

AS THE LIGHT grew in size, the humming and the vibrations increased in intensity. Finally, there was sufficient illumination for him to discern his course. After a time, the brightness was so intense that he cursed at having forgotten to bring his ancient sunglasses with him.

The brightness resolved itself into a square of light. He lay on his belly and looked at the light for a long period of time, allowing his eyes to make an adjustment. He repeated this many painful times as he advanced.

The floor of the place had become smooth beneath him; the air was cool but pleasant, and free of the odors which had prevailed in the region he had recently departed.

He moved until it was immediately before him. There was nothing but the light. It was a gigantic opening onto something, but all that he could see was the yellow-white blaze; he heard a grinding, clanking and humming, as of many machines.

... Or the Great Machine.

Again, he lay prone. He crawled forward through the opening. He lay upon a ledge, and for a moment his mind could not assimilate all that was below.

It had so many gears that it would have been an interminable task to number them, some turning slowly, some rapidly, big unto small; and there were cams, drive shafts, and pulleys and pendulums-some of the pendulums twenty times his own height and slow, ponderous-and pistons and things that corkscrewed in and out of black metal sockets; and there were condensers, transformers and rectifiers; there were great blue-metal banks containing dials, switches, buttons and little lights of many colors, which constantly blinked on and off; there was the steady noise, a hum, of still further buried generators- or perhaps they were something else, possibly drawing power from the planet itself, its heat, its gravitational field, certain hidden stresses-which buzzed in his ears like a swarm of insects; there was the blue smell of ozone, reaching everywhere. There was the brilliant light coming from all the walls of the enormous cavern which housed the equipment; there was a battery of buckets which moved on guidelines above the entire complex, occasionally pausing in their courses to dump lubricants at various points; there were power cables, like snakes, that wound from one point to another, indicating nothing he could understand; there were tiny, glass-enclosed boxes, connected with the whole by means of thin wires, which contained components so minute that he could not discern their forms from where he lay. There were no fewer than a hundred elevator-type mechanisms, which constantly plunged into the depths or vanished overhead, and which paused at various levels of the machine to extrude mechanical appurtenances into portions of its mechanism; there were wide red bands of light on the farthest wall, and they flicked on and off; and his mind could not encompass all that he saw, felt, smelled and heard-though he knew that he must deal with it somehow-so that he searched for a clue for the best point of impact, seeking within that massive structure for that which would destroy it. He found titanic tools hung upon the walls, tools which could only have been wielded by giants, to service the thing-wrenches; pliers, pry bars, things-that-turned-other-things-and he knew that among them lay the thing that he required, a thing which, if properly employed, could break the Great Machine.

He crept farther forward and continued to stare. It was magnificent; there had never been anything like it before, and there never would be again.

He looked for a way down and saw a metal ladder, far off to his right. He went toward it.

The ledge narrowed, but he managed to reach the topmost rung, and from there he swung himself into position.

He began the long climb down.

Before he had reached the bottom, he heard footsteps. They were barely discernible over the sounds of the machinery, but he distinguished them and backed into a shadow.

Although the shadow did not possess its normal effects, it hid him. He waited there, near to the ladder, next to a generator of sorts, and thought of his next move.

A small, white-haired man limped by. Jack studied him. The man paused, found an oilcan dripped lubricant upon various of the gears.

Jack watched as the man moved about the Machine, finding various slots and openings, squirting oil into them.

"Hello," he said, as the man passed.

"What-Who are you?"

"I am one who has come to see you."

"Why?"

"I came to ask you some questions."

"Well, that is pleasant enough and I am willing to answer you. What do you wish to know?"

"I was curious about the makeup of this Machine."

"It's quite complex," he replied.

"I daresay. Could you give me details?"

"Yes," he answered, dazzling him with the explanation.

Jack nodded his head and felt his hands grow stiff.

"You understand?"

"Yes."

"What is the matter?"

"I believe that you are going to die," he said.

"What-" And Jack hit him in the left temple with the first knuckle of his right hand.

Crossing to a rack of tools near the Machine, he studied the great array of equipment. He selected a heavy bar of metal, whose function he did not understand. Lifting it, he sought a small glass case the old man had indicated. He studied the hundreds of tiny, delicate gears which turned within it, moving at varying rates of speed.

Raising the bar, he smashed the glass, and began to destroy the intricate mechanism. With each blow he struck, a sound of mechanical protest arose from some new portion of the vast Machine. There came an irregular humming, then a series of clanking sounds, as if something large had snapped or been torn loose. This was followed by a shrill whine, a grating sound and the screech of metal against metal. Then came a banging noise, and smoke began to rise from

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.

He reached higher ground and continued inland. He saw his soul waiting up ahead and moved toward it.

Behind him, there came the rising sound of the waters now.

He did not look back.

Finally, he heard the wave break and he felt the spray. Only the spray.

He grinned weakly at his soul.

"You see? I did not require your services, after all," he said.

"You will soon, though," said his soul, smiling back.

Jack felt at his belt for his dagger, but the ocean had taken it from him, along with his cloak. His sword, which had been in his hand when the wave struck, had gone the same way.

"So the sea has robbed the thief." He chuckled. "It makes things more difficult."

He dropped to his knees and, wincing because of the broken nail, retraced the pattern he had drawn on the beach, using his forefinger.

Then, without rising, he spoke the spell.

He knelt in his great hall in Shadow Guard, and torches and enormous tapers flickered all about. For a long while, he did not move, and let the shadows bathe him. Then he stood and leaned against the wall.

"What now?" his soul asked him. "Will you cleanse yourself and sleep a long while?"

Jack moved his head.

"No," he replied. "I would not risk missing the time of my greatest triumph-or failure, as the case may be. I will bide here a moment, then fetch strong drugs to keep me alert, to give me strength."

He then moved to the cabinet where he kept his drugs, unlocked it by uttering the spell of the door, and prepared himself a draft. As he did so, he noticed that his hands shook. Before drinking the orange liquid, he had to spit several times to clear his mouth of sand.

Then he closed the cabinet and proceeded to the nearest bench.

"You have not slept in a long while-and you took similar drugs on your way to the Great Machine."

"I believe I am even more aware of this than you," said Jack.

"The strain on you will be considerable."

Jack did not reply. After a time, there came a tremor. Still, he said nothing.

"It's taking longer to affect you this time, isn't it?"

"Shut up!" said Jack.

Then he rose to his feet and raised his voice.

"Stab! Damn it! Where are you? I've come home!"

After a brief while, the dark one entered almost scurrying.

"Lord! You've returned! We did not know..."

"Now you do. Bring me a bath, fresh clothing, a new blade and food-lots of it! I'm starving! Shake your ass!"

"Yes, sir!"

And Stab was gone.

"Do you feel insecure, that you need a blade about you in your own redoubt, Jack?"

He turned and smiled.

"These are special times, soul. If you've stayed as near to me as you say you have, you know that I did not ordinarily go in such fashion within these walls. Why do you seek to irritate me?"

"It is a soul's privilege-you might even say, duty-to occasionally do so."

"Then find a better time to exercise your privilege."

"But now is the perfect time. Jack-the most appropriate which has occurred so far. Do you fear that if you lose your powers your subjects may rise up against you?"

"Shut up!"

"You know, of course, that they call you Jack of Evil."

Jack smiled once again.

"No," he said. "It will not work. I will not allow you to anger me, to trick me into something foolish.-Yes, I am aware of the title they have given me, although few have ever said it to my face, and none of these a second time. Do you not realize, however, that were any one of my subjects to occupy my position, he would soon come to bear a similar title?"

"Yes, I do realize this. It is because they lack souls."

"I will not argue with you," said Jack. "Though I would like to know why it is no one ever comments on your presence?"

"I am only visible to you, and then only when I wish to be."

"Excellent!" said Jack. "Why don't you become invisible to me now, too, and leave me to my bath and my meal?"

"Sorry. I am not quite ready."

Jack shrugged and turned his back.

After a time, his tub was brought in and filled with water. Some of it was spilled by a world shudder so violent that it sent a jagged crack like black lightning across one wall. Two

candles toppled and were broken. A ceiling stone fell in a nearby chamber, harming no one.

Before he had fully undressed, a fresh blade was brought to him. He paused to test it, then nodded.

Before he had entered the tub, fresh garments were laid beside him on a bench.

Before he had finished bathing, a table was set nearby.

By the time he had dried himself, dressed and picked up his blade, the food was upon the table and his place was set.

He ate slowly, savoring each mouthful. He ate an enormous quantity.

Then he rose and retired to his study, where he located cigarettes. From there he moved to the foot of his favorite tower and mounted its stair.

Atop this tower, smoking, he studied the black sphere. Yes, it had moved considerably since last he had looked at it. Jack blew smoke in its direction. Perhaps it was an effect of the drugs, but he felt a sense of elation over what he had done. Come what comes, he was the mover, father of the new circumstances.

"Are you sorry now, Jack?" asked his soul.

"No," said Jack. "It had to be done."

"But are you sorry it had to be done?"

"No," said Jack.

"Why did you burn the inn at the Sign of the Burning Pestle, on the coach road by the ocean?"

"To avenge Rosalie, for the treatment she received at that place."

"What were your feelings as you walked along the beach afterward?"

"I don't know."

"Were you just angry and tired? Or was it more than that?"

"I was sad. I was sorry."

"Do you get that way very often?"

"No."

"Do you wish to know why you have felt more such things recently?"

"If you know, tell me."

"It is because I am about. You have a soul, a soul which has been freed. I am always near you. You have begun to feel my influence. Is it such a bad thing?"

"Ask me another time," said Jack. "I came to watch things, not to talk."

... And his words reached the ears of one who sought him, as a distant mountain shrugged off its peak, spewed fire into the air, belched and was still once again.