G'fand slept peacefully in the chair across from him. He looked at Hynd. The creature was awake, staring intently at the front door, as if he could see through it. He gave a low cough.

  Ronin uncovered himself. The blanket slipped to the floor with barely a rustle. Hynd's ears twitched but he did not turn his head. Ronin grasped the hilt of his sword and stood quietly next to the creature. He strained his ears but could hear nothing outside.

  After a time, Hynd's ears twitched twice, then he lowered his head, closed his eyes, and appar­ently went to sleep. Ronin exhaled a long breath.

  His shirt was still wet but he donned his corselet and went back into the recesses of the room. He had it in mind to discover the source of the ticking, but as he passed the foot of the stairs, he heard a tiny sound from above. He paused. Oddly, the sound carried clearly on the heavy air. He turned and silently climbed the stairs.

  There were two rooms, roughly the same size, both accessible from a square hallway. Light danced in one room and Ronin went to the door­way, peered in.

  Bonneduce the Last knelt on a small rug of intricate and peculiar design with his back to the doorway. 'Come in, Ronin, come in,' he said without turning.

  Ronin knelt beside him. The little man held several small objects in his fist. He shook them lightly.

  'Did you hear me on the stairs?' asked Ronin.

  'I knew you would hear the sounds.' And the white shapes tumbled from his opened palm on to the bare floor. He stared intently at them for long minutes. There were seven in all. Glyphs were etched into their many sides. He scooped them up, shook them again. Ronin heard the tiny rattle.

  'I think something was at the door,' Ronin said softly. 'Hynd was up.'

  The little man nodded. 'I have no doubt. His hearing is quite keen.' He flung the pieces on to the floor once again.

  'Those are the Bones,' Ronin whispered.

  Bonneduce the Last studied them with his green eyes but said nothing until he had gathered them up into his hand.

  'The Bones, yes,' and his voice was like the tolling of a far-offbell. 'I roll the Bones.' A sadness came into his eyes, a terrible light shining far back in their recesses, like the agony of ages. 'I am aptly named, you see.' He rolled the Bones upon the floor and their tiny clatter seemed now to echo with tantalizing intimations. He scooped them up.

  'They are so ancient that even I cannot trace their lineage. They are used and passed on. It is said that they are fashioned from the ivory teeth of the giant crocodile, a godlike creature that was purported to have lived in a certain valley, along the banks of a wide rich muddy river.' He shrugged. 'It is quite possible. Indeed, they are carved of a singular ivory.'

  Very softly Ronin said, 'And what do they tell you, the Bones, when you roll them?'

  Bonneduce the Last shook them in his fist and cocked his head to one side. 'Why, I should think that would be obvious,' he answered. 'I see what is to be.'

  The Bones rattled in his hand. 'Of course they cannot tell me everything and frequently the out­comes of those occurrences which interest me most are denied me. Some events are clear, others are merely vague outlines.' He shrugged. 'But it is what I do.'

  There was a long silence after he had rolled the Bones once more. And then, for the first time, he spoke while they were upon the floor. 'They talk about you,' he said slowly.

  Ronin felt a moment of irrational chill. 'It is nonsense,' he said. 'I do not wish to hear it.'

  The little man stared at the pieces of ivory. 'You do not fear it,' he said simply. 'Why then?'

  The question had such innocence that Ronin was momentarily taken aback. Then something crawled within him again. 'I do not know.' His palm strayed to the gleaming hilt of his sword.

  'You do not fear death,' Bonneduce the Last said, with a peculiar intonation. 'That is good, for soon you shall understand its impermanence. Yet deep within you lies a fear which you - '

  'Enough!' cried Ronin, lurching to his feet and striking out at the grouping of ivory with his boot. It skittered across the floor. Bonneduce the Last did not move, nor did he speak. He knelt in the same position and did not turn as Ronin angrily strode from the room, even after the sound of his boots could be heard descending the ancient stairs.

  Eventually, Bonneduce the Last sighed deeply and got up, made his limping way across the old wooden floorboards. He bent here and there, retrieving the scattered Bones, piece by piece, until he had them all in the palm of his hand. They had never felt so heavy to him, and he gripped them until his knuckles shone as white as the ivory.

  He paused then, as if he were to be allowed a choice. He shook his head, and limped slowly back to the rug of intricate and peculiar design, kneeling as before. Very slowly and very deliberately he rolled the Bones upon the floor, and read what their configuration revealed. He wiped the warm sweat from his palms by rubbing them down his breeches.

  He scooped up the Bones and rather more quickly now rolled them six more times, so that at length he had rolled them a total of seven times. To see if it would make any difference.

  It did not. And he shivered involuntarily.

  Golden light streamed down, its slanting rays interrupted and diffused by the ornate structures on all sides. The alleyway was narrow and cramped and mysterious as it wended its meander­ing way through the bewildering labyrinth of the City.

  Dust motes danced in the pale light and the silence had a thickness that he now wore with a grateful intensity. He had gone past the sleeping G'fand and, ignoring Hynd's curious stare, had unbolted the door and strode quickly but at random along the alley until he could no longer see the house.

  He stopped at last and sat on an old and dusty wooden keg, outside the open doorway to a shop, its time-beaten sign swinging from a black metal pole above his head. The sign was virtually blank now, scrubbed of all but a few scraps of glyphs, mute but unbroken.

  He drew one leg up against his chest, letting the other hand, the heel rapping softly against the side of the keg. It sounded hollow. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the small-paned window of the shop. He tried to think of why he had stopped the little man from speaking, but nothing came to him. He thought, At least I should be curious. He was. But -

  'Where is he?'

  G'fand looked up and dropped the cold bone from last night's meal into the other remnants of the food that had not been cleared away. He wiped his greasy lips on the back of his sleeve. He shrugged. 'I just got up. I thought perhaps he was upstairs.'

  The little man descended the stairs, saw that the bolt was off the door. 'Out then,' he said, and set about gathering up the dishes.

  'Is it safe?' asked G'fand, getting up. He put his hands at the small of his back and stretched.

  'Oh, perfectly. Hynd will see to him.'

  G'fand frowned. 'What does that mean?'

  The voice drifted in from the recesses of the house. 'I imagine he is out catching breakfast while keeping an eye on our friend.'

  G'fand walked about the room restlessly until the little man returned carrying a fresh skin of wine. 'You seem quite familiar with this city.' He made a sharp gesture at the windows with the edge of his hand. He turned. 'It is the City of Ten Thousand Paths, as Ronin said.'

  Bonneduce the Last poured wine for G'fand. 'It is,' he said without pause.

  The Scholar crossed the room, looked out of a window. Dust clouded his view. He wiped a small leaded pane with his sleeve but it did little good; the glass, like the cobbles of the streets, seemed ingrained with dirt. 'So ancient.' It was almost a whisper, as quiet as a tear falling. 'Yet you know all about it.'

  Bonneduce the Last placed the wine skin on the low table before him. 'I know many things.' Perhaps too many, he thought.

  'Then tell me,' G'fand said with great bitterness, 'how we could evolve from the people who cre­ated these wonders.'

  'You are a scholar, are you not?'

  G'fand's eyes blazed briefly but his voice held a note of despair. 'Now you mock me.'

  The little man crossed to him with his peculiar stride. He seemed genuinely grieved. 'No, no, lad. You must not think that.' He touched G'fand, indicated that he should sit. They went back to the middle of the room and G'fand reached compul­sively for the wine. 'No, you see, I wanted to be sure.'

  The Scholar looked up. 'Of what?'

  'That you really did not know.'

  'I could have been lying,' G'fand said with some indignation.

  The little man's face creased as he laughed. 'I think not.'

  Eventually G'fand allowed himself to smile for a moment. 'You will tell me then?'

  Just a boy, thought Bonneduce the Last. And he said, 'Yes.' He sat down across from G'fand, the large chair towering over him comically. He crossed his ankles, rubbed his maimed leg along the thigh. 'When the time came,' he began quietly, 'to quit the surface of the world, when there was no other choice but to perish - which many did, by the way - the remnants of the states and nations sent the leading proponents of their cultures to

  work on the enormous project of carving out a hospitable home beneath the planet's crust.'

  G'fand was transfixed by the little man's voice, which held tremendous force despite its softness. He was startled when the voice ceased and Bonneduce the Last cocked his head as if listening to a far-off sound. G'fand listened also but all he could hear was the dark and sonorous ticking from the interior of the house.

  After a time, the little man continued. 'The mages and the men of science - you call them Magic Men, I believe . . . were forever at war because, I suppose, the foundations of their work are diametrically opposed. At the time of the city's formation, the mages held sway, and so with the unwilling help of the men of science they created the City of Ten Thousand Paths.' Bonneduce the Last sighed a little and his extraordinary emerald eyes turned inward momentarily. 'It could have been the beginning of dreams; there was room enough for all here. Perhaps they did not work at it, who knows?' He stood abruptly and went to a glass cabinet along the far wall. His hands moved and he returned holding two bits of dull metal. He threw them casually towards G'fand, who caught them instinctively. 'Press them together,' said the little man. And although the bits seemed identical, G'fand could only keep them together by exerting a great deal of pressure; they naturally pushed each other away.

  Bonneduce the Last sat once more and gestured with his head. 'Like the metal, the different fac­tions repelled each other. Gradually, the mages began to lose control and the men of science gained ascendancy. In the end, they would have nothing to do with the city their forefathers had helped build under duress, and so they led those that would follow them - a goodly number - upward into the virgin rock above the city because it was fabulously rich in the ores and metals they required, and because it was easier to seal off the city from above. And they constructed the Free­hold. And now, over time - ' He shrugged expressively.

  There was soft silence for a long time, heavy and lustreless, laden with thoughts of fallen history and forgotten faces.

  G'fand shivered involuntarily and got up, leav­ing the bits of metal apart on the table. Several times he appeared about to say something and each time changed his mind. Finally he said in a choked voice, as if it were difficult for him to articulate, 'We are told that no one lives on the surface of the world. The elements will not allow it.'

  The little man, who had been watching him, smiled bleakly. 'So. It depends where you are.' He went and returned the bits of metal to their case. 'The ice reaches farther every day.'

  G'fand stared at him, his heart racing. 'Then it's true. Men do walk the surface.'

  'Naturally. Did you think I live down here? I must come from time to time - '

  'Why did you come this time?'

  'To meet some people.'

  G'fand leaned forward. 'Who?'

  Bonneduce the Last was silent.

  The Scholar gave a tiny exclamation of sound, as if he had been hit in the stomach, and he relaxed back into the chair. 'I do not want to know,' he said, his lips barely moving. And he was talking to himself.

  Bonneduce the Last was as still as a statue, his eyes lost in shadow beneath his bushy brows.

  'What is it like Up there?' The question floated on the air like unused smoke and quite suddenly it was most important that he know.

  'Perhaps you will see for yourself soon,' said the little man, knowing that it was not enough.

  G'fand stood over him and said in anguish. 'I must know now.'

  'This is a desperate time,' said Bonneduce the Last. 'I have not been to the City of Ten Thousand Paths in a long while. In that time, many things have died and many things have come into being. Evil things.' He shook his head.

  G'fand knelt before him. 'Look, I want some answers. Is that really so much to ask?'

  Bonneduce the Last stared at G'fand for a time and there was a sadness in his eyes that the Scholar did not understand. He looked suddenly older. Around them, the ticking sounded like a constant admonition. At length the little man said, 'I will tell you what I am able.'

  G'fand nodded. 'What are you doing here then?'

  He spread his hands. 'I will know that only after it is done.'

  The Scholar's face twisted. 'You make a fool of me.'

  'Believe me, I do not. It is the truth.'

  'All right. Suppose I can believe that. I am beginning to see that perhaps anything is possible. Tell me then who you are.'

  'You do not want to know that.'

  G'fand's annoyance grew. 'I just asked you, did I not?'

  The sadness came to Bonneduce the Last's eyes again. 'Yes,' he said softly. 'You have asked.'

  Ronin's eyes snapped open. He sat very still and inhaled again to make sure of the direction. The sharp smell came from behind him: the interior of the shop. He lowered his leg slowly so that they both were against the side of the keg. He heard movement now, stealthy and difficult to discern.

  He drew his sword and leapt to the street, whirling. He heard scufflings, then scratchings and small pantings. He went inside.

  It was cool and dark and it took him a moment to adjust and he knew that it was a mistake because anything or anyone smart enough would have attacked him immediately.

  Nothing rushed him. There was a heavy snap as of a wooden board being split and then a brief inhuman cry. He moved warily between huge wooden casks. Wine? He pulled cobwebs off his face.

  Directly ahead of him he heard a cough. He crouched, sword ready, and saw the red eyes, the long muzzle. The mouth split suddenly, oddly akin to an absurd grin. The long teeth were dark, appeared wet.

  Hynd padded up to him and coughed again, softly. Behind the animal, in the darkness, he could just make out the twisted mass of a broken carcass. He put a hand out, tentatively touched the soft fur of the muzzle.

  They went out together into the alleyway and the light, and Ronin saw the blood still dripping from the long snout.

  'Well,' he said, walking alongside the creature, in and out of the bars and patches of shadows, 'I trust you have eaten your fill.'

  For more than a Spell they followed the little lane as it made its crooked way through the city. For a while dark, narrow alleys led off the lane to right and left - often at peculiar angles. Then abruptly, solid walls lined their path, unbroken, window-less, and doorless. Long narrow balconies with fluted scrollwork ran above their heads, so what illumination they had was thin and watery. The walls were of rough stucco, chipped here and there, discoloured near the bottom, or unglazed brick with pronounced striations, as if they had been manufactured in layers.

  The lane was fairly straight, which only increased their uneasiness. Should they encounter any hostile life - according to Bonneduce the Last, there was an abundance of that - they would have no room to manoeuvre and only one path of retreat.

  However, nothing approached them, and at last they began again to pass wandering side streets. Sometimes after this they encountered a fork in the lane.

  The triangular building directly ahead of them created the fork. Off to the right they could make out a wide street that nevertheless seemed quite cluttered with what looked to be collapsed build­ing materials. Dusty light dappled the ancient cobbles and, perhaps because of the haze, the

  shadows seemed to shift and waver. To the left, tall arabesqued buildings cast deep shadows into the street for as far as they could see.

  As they moved into the mottled shadows of the street on their left, Ronin recalled what the little man had said: 'I shall describe your route but I must warn you that it takes you through a Dark Section. It cannot be avoided if you are to make the journey and return by nightfall. You must return by nightfall, it that clear? Too many things abroad at night, too many. Stay to the path I give you and do not falter. Remember, speed is of the essence because the city keeps changing now. I trust this will get you through.'

  The cobbled street was cool and they shivered a little. Stone creatures, grotesque and fantastic of visage, leered down at them from cornices and buttresses.

  'How I wish there was more time,' lamented G'fand, his eyes moving over the architecture, drinking it in. 'There is so much to learn here.'

  'You know we cannot tarry.'

  'Yes.' He nodded sadly. 'Bonneduce the Last is right. There is so much danger now.'

  Ronin glanced at him, on the point of asking him what had changed his mind about the little man, when the faint susurration reached his ears. One moment the silence seeped sluggishly along the walls of the high buildings, muffling the creaking of their leather, the soft chink of metal on metal from their gear, the next they seemed to be surrounded by sound. It was as if they were hearing, through some trick of architectural

  acoustics, the combined voices of a multitude. The murmuring as it came upon them, like waves upon a lone and desolate shore, words blurred and indistinct, held overtones, a presence, a super-reality.

  They looked in all directions but could make out nothing in the gloom. There was no doorway close to them, no window; the narrow balconies were empty.

  'What is it?' G'fand asked.

  Ronin said, 'We are in a Dark Section.' His hand strayed to the hilt of his sword.

 

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