THE MAGIC LABYRINTH

Presently—or was it presently, how much time had elapsed?— there was a boat alongside him. Many torches burned on it. Strong arms were hoisting him up, and he was laid shivering on the deck. Warm thick cloths were laid over him. Hot coffee was being poured down him. He sat up and shivered as the cloths fell off and the air struck him.

"Joe!" he said. "Joe! Get Joe!"

"What's he saying?" someone said in Esperanto.

"He's speaking English," a woman said. "He says to get Joe."

A woman's face was next to his. She said, "Who's Joe?"

"My best friend," Sam said weakly. "And he's not even human. Maybe that accounts for it." He laughed tiredly. "Ho, ho, ho! Maybe that's it."

"Where is this Joe?" the woman said. She was a good-looker. The flaming torches showed a heart-shaped face, big eyes, a broad high forehead, a retrousse' nose, wide full lips, a strong chin and jaw. Long yellow wavy hair.

What was he doing admiring a woman at this time? He should be thinking of... Gwenafra.

Vaguely, he felt ashamed that not once since the action had started had he worried about Gwenafra. Where was she? And why hadn't he thought about her? He really loved her.

"This Joe?" the woman said again.

"He's a titanthrop, an ape-man. A hairy giant with a gigantic schnozzola. He's out there, somewhere close. Save him!"

The woman stood up and said something in Esperanto. A man beyond her held a torch out and looked into the darkness. There were many other torches out there, but they didn't seem to help. The sky was clouding up swiftly, the starlight was being shut out.

He looked around his immediate area. He was sitting on the raised deck of a longboat. Below him, on each side, were about a dozen paddlers.

"There's something floating out there," the man with the torch said. "It looks bulky. Maybe it's this titanthrop."

The man had his back turned to Sam. He wore an Eskimo suit of white cloths over head, body, and feet. He wasn't tall, but his shoulders were very broad. And his voice sounded vaguely familiar. Somewhere, a long time before, Sam had heard that voice.

The man called out to nearby boats and told them what to look for. Presently, there was a shout. Sam looked at the source. Some men on another longboat were attempting to haul something huge out of the water.

"Joe!" he croaked.

The man in the white suit turned then. He was holding the flaming pine so that his face was fully illumined.

Sam saw his features clearly, the broad handsome face, the thick straw-colored eyebrows, the square massive jaw, the even white teeth. His grin was evil.

"Bloodaxe!"

"Ja," the man said. "Eirikr B/0S4>x." Then, in Esperanto, "I have waited a long long time for you, Sam Clemens."

Screaming, Sam rose and leaped from the boat.

The cold dark waters closed upon him. He went down, down, then straightened out and began swimming. How far could he go before he had to surface for air? Could he get away from his nemesis long enough to get aboard another boat? Surely the Virolanders would not permit Erik to kill him? That would be against their principles. But Erik would wait until he had a chance, and then he would strike.

Joe! Joe would protect him! Joe would do more than that. He would kill the Norseman.

Gasping, sputtering, Sam's head broke through into the air. Ahead was a boat filled with people. The torches showed their faces clearly. All were looking at him.

Behind came the splashing of a swimmer.

Sam turned around. Erik was only a few feet from him.

Sam yelled again, and once more he dived. If he could come up on the other side of that boat, if he could get aboard it before...

A hand closed around his ankle.

Sam turned and fought, but the Norseman was bigger and far stronger. Sam was helpless, he would be drowned out of sight of the others, and Erik could claim that he had just been trying to save the poor mad devil.

An arm came from behind him and hooked around his neck. Sam struggled like a fish caught in a net, but he knew that he was done for. After all this time, after all these narrow escapes, to die like this...

He awoke in the deck of the longboat, coughing and choking. Water gushed from his mouth and nose. Two strong warm arms held him.

He looked up. Erik Bloodaxe was still holding him.

"Don't kill me!" Sam said.

Erik was naked and wet. The water on his body glistened in the torchlight. It also fell upon a white object co

It was the spiral bone of a hornfish, the symbol worn by members of the Church of the Second Chance.

37

TWO MEN HAD COME TO THE SAME CONCLUSION.

They'd had enough of this senseless bloodshed. Now they'd do something they would have done if each hadn't been so sure that the other was on the other boat. But, during the long struggle, neither had seen the other. The other had never been on the boat or had wisely left it before the battle or had been blown to bits or into the water.

Each believed that if he died, the great project was doomed to failure, though each visualized the failure differently.

They saw an opportunity to escape now. In the heat and confusion of the combat, no one would notice their desertion. Or, if anyone did, he'd not be able to do anything about it. They would leap into The River and swim to shore and continue their long long journey. Neither had his grail, one being locked up in the sunken Rex and the other inside a locked storage room of the Not For Hire. They would steal free grails from the Virolanders and go on up The River in a sailboat.

One man had doffed his armor and dropped his weapon on the deck and had grasped the railing to vault over it when the other spoke behind him. The first man whirled, stooping, and picked up his cutlass. Though he hadn't heard the voice of the other for forty years, he instantly recognized it.

When he slowly turned around, though, he did not recognize the face and body he identified/with the voice.

The man who'd come from the hatchway behind him spoke in a language which, now, only two on this boat could understand. His tone was harsh.

"Yes, it's I, though much changed."

The man by the railing said, "Why did you do it? Why?"

"You would never understand why," the man in the doorway said. "You're evil. So were the others, even..."

‘"Were!" the man by the railing said.

"Yes. Were."

"They're all dead then. I'd suspected as much."

He glanced at the helmet and cutlass on the deck. It was too bad that he hadn't been halted before he discarded them. His enemy had an advantage now. The man by the railing also knew that if he tried to leap over the railing or flip backward over it, the other was swift and skilled enough to skewer him with his weapon by throwing it.

"So," he said, "you plan on killing me, too. You've reached bottom; you're lost forever."

"I had to kill the Operator," the first man said emotionlessly.

"I couldn't even think of doing such evil," the man by the railing said.

"I am not evil!" the other cried. "It is you who..."

He struggled with himself, then got the words out.

"There is no use arguing."

The man by the railing said, "Is it too late even now for you to change your mind? You would be forgiven, you would be sent to the Gardenplanet for therapy. You could join me and the agents and work with us to get to the tower..."

"No," the first man said. "Don't be stupid."

He lifted his cutlass and advanced on the other, who assumed the onguard position. The duel was short and savage and ended when the unarmored man, bleeding from a dozen slashes, fell with the other's point in his throat.

The killer dragged the body to the railing, lifted it up in his arms, kissed the mouth of the corpse, and dropped it into the water. Tears streamed down his cheeks; he shook with sobs.