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rd it…and he heard it in his dreams that night： one whistling carbine…crack after another； each followed by a scream from the doomed carter。 And Osmond was making a sound。 The man was panting； out of breath； and so it was hard to tell exactly what that sound was； without turning around to look at his face…something Jack did not want to do。
He was pretty sure he knew； though。
He thought Osmond was laughing。
5
They were in the public area of the pavillion grounds now。 The strollers glanced at Captain Farren from the corners of their eyes 。 。 。 and gave him a wide berth。 The Captain strode swiftly； his face tight and dark with thought。 Jack had to trot in order to catch up。
'We were lucky；' the Captain said suddenly。 'Damned lucky。 I think he meant to kill you。' Jack gaped at him； his mouth dry and hot。
'He's mad； you know。 Mad as the man who chased the cake。' Jack had no idea what that might mean； but he agreed that Osmond was mad。
'What…'
'Wait；' the Captain said。 They had e back around to the small tent where the Captain had taken Jack after seeing the shark's tooth。 'Stand right here and wait for me。 Speak to no one。'
The Captain entered the tent。 Jack stood watching and waiting。 A juggler passed him； glancing at Jack but never losing his rhythm as he tossed half a dozen balls in a plex and airy pattern。 A straggle of dirty children followed him as the children followed the Piper out of Hamelin。 A young woman with a dirty baby at one huge breast told him she could teach him something to do with his little man besides let piss out of it； if he had a coin or two。 Jack looked unfortably away； his face hot。
The girl cawed laughter。 'Oooooo； this pretty young man's SHY！ e over here； pretty！ e…'
'Get out； slut； or you'll finish the day in the under…kitchens。'
It was the Captain。 He had e out of the tent with another man。 This second fellow was old and fat； but he shared one characteristic with Farren…he looked like a real soldier rather than one from Gilbert and Sullivan。 He was trying to fasten the front of his uniform over his bulging gut while holding a curly； French horn…like instrument at the same time。
The girl with the dirty baby scurried away with never another look at Jack。 The Captain took the fat man's horn so he could finish buttoning； and passed another word with him。 The fat man nodded； finished with his shirt； took his horn back； and then strode off； blowing it。 It was not like the sound Jack had heard on his first flip into the Territories； that had been many horns； and their sound had been somehow showy： the sound of heralds。 This was like a factory whistle； announcing work to be done。
The Captain returned to Jack。
'e with me；' he said。
'Where？'
'Outpost Road；' Captain Farren said； and then he cast a wondering； half…fearful eye down on Jack Sawyer。 'What my father's father called Western Road。 It goes west through smaller and smaller villages until it reaches the Outposts。 Beyond the Outposts it goes into nowhere 。 。 。 or hell。 If you're going west； you'll need God with you； boy。 But I've heard it said He Himself never ventures beyond the Outposts。 e on。'
Questions crowded Jack's mind…a million of them…but the Captain set a killer pace and he didn't have the spare breath to ask them。 They breasted the rise south of the great pavillion and passed the spot where he had first flipped back out of the Territories。 The rustic fun…fair was now close…Jack could hear a barker cajoling patrons to try their luck on Wonder the Devil…Donkey； to stay on two minutes was to win a prize； the barker cried。 His voice came on the sea…breeze with perfect clarity； as did the mouthwatering smell of hot food…roast corn as well as meat this time。 Jack's stomach rumbled。 Now safely away from Osmond the Great and Terrible； he was ravenous。
Before they quite reached the fair； they turned right on a road much wider than the one which led toward the great pavillion。 Outpost Road； Jack thought； and then； with a little chill of fear and anticipation in his belly； he corrected himself： No 。 。 。 Western Road。 The way to the Talisman。
Then he was hurrying after Captain Farren again。
6
Osmond had been right； they could have followed their noses； if necessary。 They were still a mile outside the village with that odd name when the first sour tang of spilled ale came to them on the breeze。
Eastward…bearing traffic on the road was heavy。 Most of it was wagons drawn by lathered teams of horses （none with two heads； however）。 The wagons were； Jack supposed； the Diamond Reos and Peterbilts of this world。 Some were piled high with bags and bales and sacks； some with raw meat； some with clacking cages of chickens。 On the outskirts of All…Hands' Village； an open wagon filled with women swept by them at an alarming pace。 The women were laughing and shrieking。 One got to her feet； raised her skirt all the way to her hairy crotch； and did a tipsy bump and grind。 She would have tumbled over the side of the wagon and into the ditch…probably breaking her neck…if one of her colleagues hadn't grabbed her by the back of the skirt and pulled her rudely back down。
Jack blushed again： he saw the girl's white breast； its nipple in the dirty baby's working mouth。 Oooooo； this pretty young man's SHY！
'God！' Farren muttered； walking faster than ever。 'They were all drunk！ Drunk on spilled Kingsland！ Whores and driver both！ He's apt to wreck them on the road or drive them right off the sea…cliffs…no great loss。 Diseased sluts！'
'At least；' Jack panted； 'the road must be fairly clear； if all this traffic can get through。 Mustn't it？'
They were in All…Hands' Village now。 The wide Western Road had been oiled here to lay the dust。 Wagons came and went； groups of people crossed the street； and everyone seemed to be talking too loudly。 Jack saw two men arguing outside what might have been a restaurant。 Abruptly； one of them threw a punch。 A moment later； both men were rolling on the ground。 Those whores aren't the only ones drunk on Kings…land； Jack thought。 I think everyone in this town's had a share。
'All of the big wagons that passed us came from here；' Captain Farren said。 'Some of the smaller ones may be getting through； but Morgan's diligence isn't small； boy。'
'Morgan…'
'Never mind Morgan now。'
The smell of the ale grew steadily sharper as they passed through the center of the village and out the other side。 Jack's legs ached as he struggled to keep up with the Captain。 He guessed they had now e perhaps three miles。 How far is that in my world？ he thought； and that thought made him think of Speedy's magic juice。 He groped frantically in his jerkin； convinced it was no longer there…but it was； held securely within whatever Territories undergarment had replaced his Jockey shorts。
Once they were on the western side of the village； the wagon…traffic decreased； but the pedestrian traffic headed east increased dramatically。 Most of the pedestrians were weaving； staggering； laughing。 They all reeked of ale。 In some cases； their clothes were dripping； as if they had lain full…length in it and drunk of it like dogs。 Jack supposed they had。 He saw a laughing man leading a laughing boy of perhaps eight by the hand。 The man bore a nightmarish resemblance to the hateful desk clerk at the Alhambra； and Jack understood with perfect clarity that this man was that man's Twinner。 Both he and the boy he led by the hand were drunk； and as Jack turned to look after them； the little boy began to vomit。 His father…or so Jack supposed him to be…jerked him hard by the arm as the boy attempted to flounder his way into the brushy ditch； where he could be sick in relative privacy。 The kid reeled back to his father like a cur…dog on a short leash； spraying puke on an elderly man who had collapsed by the side of the road and was snoring there。
Captain Farren's face grew blacker and blacker。 'God pound them all；' he said。
Even those furthest into their cups gave the scarred Captain a wide and prudent berth。 While in the guard…post outside the pavillion； he had belted a short； businesslike leather scabbard around his waist。 Jack assumed （not unreasonably） that it contained a short； businesslike sword。 When any of the sots came too close； the Captain touched the sword and the sot detoured quickly away。
Ten minutes later…as Jack was being sure he could no longer keep up…they arrived at the site of the accident。 The driver had been ing out of the turn on the inside when the wagon had tilted and gone over。 As a result； the kegs had sprayed all the way across the road。 Many of them were smashed； and the road was a quagmire for twenty feet。 One horse lay dead beneath the wagon； only its hindquarters visible。 Another lay in the ditch； a shattered chunk of barrel…stave protruding from its ear。 Jack didn't think that could have happened by accident。 He supposed the horse had been badly hurt and someone had put it out of its misery by the closest means at hand。 The other horses were nowhere to be seen。
Between the horse under the wagon and the one in the ditch lay the carter's son； spreadeagled on the road。 Half of his face sta