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The mace came blasting through the air again…wheeee…ossshhhh！ Jack lurched backward； sucking in his stomach； the web of muscles in his shoulders screamed as they pulled around the punctures the spiked gloves had left。
The mace missed the skin of his chest by less than an inch before passing beyond him and swiping through a line of thick mahogany balusters as if they had been toothpicks。 Jack tottered on emptiness； feeling Buster Keatonish and absurd。 He snatched at the ragged ruins of the bannister on his left and got splinters under two of his fingernails instead。 The pain was so wire…thin excruciating that he thought for a moment that his eyeballs would explode with it。 Then he got a good hold with his right hand and was able to stabilize himself and move away from the drop。
All the magic's in YOU； Jack！ Don't you know that by now？
For a moment he only stood there； panting； and then he started up the stairs again； staring at the blank iron face above him。
'Better get thee gone； Sir Gawain。'
The knight cocked its great helmet again in that strangely delicate gesture…Pardon； my boy 。 。 。 can you actually be speaking to me？ Then it swung the mace again。
Perhaps blinded by his fear； Jack hadn't noticed until now how slow its setup for those swings was； how clearly it telegraphed the trajectory of each portentous blow。 Maybe its joints were rusted； he thought。 At any rate； it was easy enough for him to dive inside the circle of its swing now that his head was clear again。
He stood on his toes； reached up； and seized the black helmet in both hands。 The metal was sickeningly warm…like hard skin that carried a fever。
'Get you off the skin of this world；' he said in a voice that was low and calm； almost conversational。 'In her name I mand you。'
The red light in the helmet puffed out like the candle inside a carved pumpkin； and suddenly the weight of the helmet…fifteen pounds at least…was all in Jack's hands； because there was nothing else supporting it； beneath the helmet； the suit of armor had collapsed。
'You shoulda killed both of the Ellis brothers；' Jack said； and threw the empty helmet over the landing。 It hit the floor far below with a hard bang and rolled away like a toy。 The hotel seemed to cringe。
Jack turned toward the broad second…floor corridor； and here； at last； was light： clean； clear light； like that on the day he had seen the flying men in the sky。 The hallway ended in another set of double doors and the doors were closed； but enough light came from above and below them； as well as through the vertical crack where they were latched together； to tell him that the light inside must be very bright indeed。
He wanted very badly to see that light； and the source of that light； he had e far to see it； and through much bitter darkness。
The doors were heavy and inlaid with delicate scrollwork。 Written above them in gold leaf which had flaked a bit but which was still perfectly readable for a' that an' a' that； were the words TERRITORIES BALLROOM。
'Hey； Mom；' Jack Sawyer said in a soft； wondering voice as he walked into that glow。 Happiness lit his heart…that feeling was rainbow； rainbow； rainbow。 'Hey； Mom； I think I'm here； I really think I'm here。'
Gently then； and with awe； Jack grasped a handle with each hand； and pressed them down。 He opened the doors； and as he did； a widening bar of clean white light fell on his upturned； wondering face。
7
Sunlight Gardener happened to be looking back up the beach at the exact moment Jack dispatched the last of the five Guardian Knights。 He heard a dull boom； as if a low charge of dynamite had gone off somewhere inside the hotel。 At the same moment； bright light flashed from all of the Agincourt's second…floor windows； and all of the carved brass symbols…moons and stars and planetoids and weird crooked arrows…came to a simultaneous stop。
Gardener was decked out like some sort of goony Los Angeles SWAT squad cop。 He had donned a puffy black flak…vest over his white shirt and carried a radio pack…set on a canvas strap over one shoulder。 Its thick； stubby antenna wavered back and forth as he moved。 Over his other shoulder was slung a Weatherbee 。360。 This was a hunting rifle almost as big as an anti…aircraft gun； it would have made Robert Ruark himself drool with envy。 Gardener had bought it six years ago； after circumstances had dictated that he must get rid of his old hunting rifle。 The Weatherbee's genuine zebra…skin case was in the trunk of a black Cadillac； along with his son's body。
'Morgan！'
Morgan did not turn around。 He was standing behind and slightly to the left of a leaning grove of rocks that jutted out of the sand like black fangs。 Twenty feet beyond this rock and only five feet above the high…tide line lay Speedy Parker； aka Parkus。 As Parkus； he had once ordered Morgan of Orris marked…there were livid scars down the insides of that Mor…gan's large white thighs； the marks by which a traitor is known in the Territories。 It had only been through the intercession of Queen Laura herself that those scars had not been made to run down his cheeks instead of his inner thighs； where they were almost always hidden by his clothes。 Morgan…this one as well as that one…had not loved the Queen any better for her intercession 。 。 。 but his hatred for Parkus； who had sniffed out that earlier plot； had grown exponentially。
Now Parkus/Parker lay face…down on the beach； his skull covered with festering sores。 Blood dribbled listlessly from his ears。
Morgan wanted to believe that Parker was still alive； still suffering； but the last discernible rise and fall of his back had been just after he and Gardener arrived down here at these rocks； some five minutes ago。
When Gardener called； Morgan didn't turn because he was rapt in his study of his old enemy； now fallen。 Whoever had claimed revenge wasn't sweet had been so wrong。
'Morgan！' Gardener hissed again。
Morgan turned this time； frowning。 'Well？ What？'
'Look！ The roof of the hotel！'
Morgan saw that all of the weathercocks and roof ornaments…beaten brass shapes which spun at exactly the same speed whether the wind was perfectly calm or howling up a hurricane…had stopped moving。 At the same instant the earth rippled briefly under their feet and then was still again。 It was as if a subterranean beast of enormous size had shrugged in its hibernal sleep。 Morgan would almost have believed he had imagined it if it had not been for the widening of Gardener's bloodshot eyes。 I'll bet you wish you never left Indiana； Gard； Morgan thought。 No earthquakes in Indiana； right？
Silent light flashed in all of the Agincourt's windows again。
'What does it mean； Morgan？' Gardener asked hoarsely。 His insane fury over the loss of his son had for the first time moderated into fear for himself； Morgan saw。 That was a bore； but he could be whipped back into his previous frenzy again； if necessary。 It was just that Morgan hated to have to waste energy on anything at this point that didn't bear directly on the problem of ridding the world…all the worlds…of Jack Sawyer； who had begun as a pest and who had developed in