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evil that now impended on the tightwire drawn between California and the Territories had already happened。 In one of them the sea which roared and snarled at the shore was a dead； sickly green； the sky had a similar gangrenous look。 In another he saw a flying creature as big as a Conestoga wagon fold its wings and plummet earthward like a hawk。 It grabbed a creature like a sheep and swooped up again； holding the bloody hindquarters in its beak。
Flip 。 。 。 flip 。 。 。 flip。 Worlds passed by his eyes like cards shuffled by a riverboat gambler。
Here was the hotel again； and there were half a dozen different versions of the black knight above him； but the intent in each was the same； and the differences were as unimportant as the stylings of rival automobiles。 Here was a black tent filled with the thick dry smell of rotting canvas…it was torn in many places so that the sun shone through in dusty； conflicting rays。 In this world Jack/Jason was on some sort of rope rigging； and the black knight stood inside a wooden basket like a crow's nest； and as he climbed he flipped again 。 。 。 and again 。 。 。 and again。
Here the entire ocean was on fire； here the hotel was much as it was in Point Venuti； except it had been half…sunk into the ocean。 For a moment he seemed to be in an elevator car； the knight standing on top of it and peering down at him through the trapdoor。 Then he was on a rampway； the top of which was guarded by a huge snake； its long； muscular body armored with gleaming black scales。
And when do I get to the end of everything？ When do I stop crashing through floors and just smash my way into the blackness？
JACK！ JASON！ the Talisman called； and it called in all the worlds。 TO ME！
And Jack came to it； and it was like ing home。
6
He was right； he saw； he had e up only a single stair。 But reality had solidified again。 The black knight…his black knight； Jack Sawyer's black knight…stood blocking the stair…landing。 It raised its mace。
Jack was afraid； but he kept climbing； Speedy's pick held out in front of him。
'I'm not going to mess with you；' Jack said。 'You better get out of my…'
The black figure swung the mace。 It came down with incredible force。 Jack dodged aside。 The mace crashed into the stair where he had been standing and splintered the entire riser down into hollow blackness。
The figure wrenched the mace free。 Jack lunged up two more stairs； Speedy's pick still held between his thumb and forefinger 。 。 。 and suddenly it simply disintegrated； falling in a little eggshell rain of yellowed ivory fragments。 Most of these sprinkled the tops of Jack's sneakers。 He stared stupidly at them。
The sound of dead laughter。
The mace； tiny splinters of wood and chews of old dank stair…runner still clinging to it； was upraised in the knight's two armored gloves。 The specter's hot glare fell through the slit in its helmet。 It seemed to slice blood from Jack's upturned face in a horizontal line across the bridge of his nose。
That chuffing sound of laughter again…not heard with his ears； because he knew this suit of armor was as empty as the rest； nothing but a steel jacket for an undead spirit； but heard inside his head。 You've lost； boy…did you really think that puny little thing could get you past me？
The mace whistled down again； this time slicing on a diagonal； and Jack tore his eyes away from that red gaze just in time to duck low…he felt the head of the mace pass through the upper layer of his long hair a second before it ripped away a four…foot section of bannister and sent it sailing out into space。
A scraping clack of metal as the knight leaned toward him； its cocked helmet somehow a hideous and sarcastic parody of solicitude…then the mace drew back and up again for another of those portentous swings。
Jack； you didn't need no magic juice to git ovah； and you don't need no magic pick to pull the chain on this here coffee can； neither！
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 a