'Hello! I say, I'd like to order-'
'I'm sorry, sir, but I can barely hear you!'
Rance cleared his throat and tried again, this time shouting, 'This is Rance of Corcindor. I want a line to some major magic power. My account should be good. Can you do it?'
'We can deliver anywhere in the Twelve Kingdoms and outlying areas, Mr. Rance. Where are you?'
'In Zin.'
'Zin? Let me check that, sir…. Sir? I don't have a Zin on my route map.'
'It's just a little to the east of-'
'Oh, wait, I found it,' the woman said. 'Whoa. You're way out in the boonies!'
'Yes. Can you deliver power here?'
'Oh, I don't know offhand, sir. That's way off our usual delivery routes.'
'My credit is good.'
'Checking your account, I can see that that's true, sir. But there may be extra charges.'
'I'll pay them! Please send the power right away.'
'I'll see what I can do. Sir, looking at your account, I can see that you might benefit from our Frequent Long-Distance Budget Plan. Just say the word, sir, and I'll start you on the Plan right away!'
'Yes! Yes! Anything, just send the power!'
'Right away, sir! Have the results of this call been satisfactory to you?'
'Eh?'
'I said, have the results-?'
'Yes, yes, yes, fine! Please, I'm in rather a bit of trouble, if you don't mind.'
So he reinvoked his power grid and concentrated on an alternative configuration for it. He felt…. perceived, somehow, that this new configuration had possibilities, and that these possibilities must be realized in order for power to flow. But…?
This is interesting.
The proscription went back into effect.
No, this is very interesting. It seems magical techniques have advanced considerably since my day.
He felt something warm, furry, and foul-smelling crawl over his crossed legs. The thing sniffed at his crotch, then scurried off.
Amazing. You should be ravenous by now. You should have eaten that rodent in one gulp, fur, teeth and all. But still you sit and ponder. What strength of will!
'The sauce is everything,' he replied. The voice was silent.
A tremor went through the structure. The rumbling ceased, then all was quiet. In a far corner of the tomb, a mote of dust fell, sounding like thunder.
That was you, was it not? There was no reply.
Answer me! You have solved the problem, haven't you? Again, silence, darkness.
Do not think you will escape! Even if you succeed in leaving the chamber, you will not leave my tomb with your soul cleaving to your rotten carcass!
All was soundless.
Where are you?
In one corner of the chamber, a beetle defecated.
ANSWER ME!
He did not know exactly where he was. Somewhere in the pyramid, surely. He rose, finding himself in a low- ceilinged passage. He crept slowly forward. He heard the voice calling far off, then nearer. How does a spirit search? He did not stop to think on the matter. Soon, anyway, the point was moot.
There you are! Back into that chamber at once. You disgust me. I always hated a sneak thief. Did I ever describe the torments that thieves were afforded in my reign?
'Be silent, demon. It is time I took my leave of you. Many thanks for your hospitality.'
Not so fast!
Something snorted in the blackness behind him. His sensitive eyes caught a hint of an outline, a shape, huge, menacing, with eyes radiating demonic light, red like superheated metal. He ran, stumbled, and fell down an endless hole.
He came to his senses and struggled to his feet. A bolt of pain shot through him, but he straightened and steadied himself, only to hear the shuffling of enormous feet behind. He gimped off.
He banged his head on the ceiling. Wincing, he stooped and duck-walked, somersaulting over rubble and blocks of stone. The ceiling lowered again, and he was reduced to crawling. Still the thing behind him followed.
The passage constricted, and he had to force himself through. Dust choked him, scratched at his eyes. The noise behind him did not stop. What had the thing done-made itself smaller? Ahead there was light, and he wriggled toward it.
He squeezed forward and got hung up. He was stuck. Something nibbled at his toes.
He screamed, pushed himself through, and fell out into fierce daylight, sliding down a ramp and onto a ledge. Unhurt, he scrambled to his feet.
He was on a terrace halfway up the side of the pyramid, and he was free. The thing in the hole howled. Remember the curse!
'Oh, drop dead.'
The voice was faint now, like a whispering. I am dead! Remember the curse…
He sat and shielded his eyes. When the burning in them ceased, he rose and faced the day.
CHAPTER NINE
Hochstader paid the driver and watched momentarily as the cab pulled away. It was a cold, wet night. Max pulled the collar of his denim jacket up to cover his neck. They stood in front of a large two-story house with a Tudor faqade. It was a stately, imposing residence, nestled in tall trees, surrounded by a painfully manicured lawn.
'Impressive, ain't it?' Hochstader said, gesturing around. 'You've done pretty well for yourself.' He crooked a finger at Max. 'We have to go around back. Come on.'
Hochstader led the way. The front of the house was illuminated by a streetlight, but shadows toward the rear made navigation difficult. Max barked a shin on a piece of aluminum lawn furniture and sent it clattering.
Hochstader shushed him from the darkness. 'This way?' he hissed.
Max turned toward the voice, saw a lighted window, and made his way gingerly over to it.
Hochstader was up on tiptoes, peering inside. 'I think we hit it right on the nose. We're expected.'
'Expected? Who's expecting us?'
'Him. Come here and look.'
Max peeked in. The room was a book-lined study, lit softly by lamplight. Behind a stately desk near the far wall sat a man in a dressing gown, smoking a pipe. The man looked a lot like Max.
In fact, he looked very much like Max.
Max rubbed his eyes and looked again. The guy could have been Max's twin brother.
He wasn't. He was, of course, Max 2.
Light suddenly edged above Max 1's horizon of understanding. Finally, the import of Hochstader's ravings sank in. This was another version of himself, another Max, the Maximilian Dumbrowski of this world, this slightly different variation of the theme of Earth.
Hochstader was tapping on the window pane. He did it twice before the man inside turned toward the window, saw he had visitors, then got up and left the room.
'This way,' Hochstader said. 'Back door.'
'You're late,' Max 2 complained to Hochstader as he let the two men into a dark kitchen. His red plaid woolen robe looked expensive. His appearance was identical to that of the first Max, except for a more recent and fashionable haircut. He was an upscale, cleaned-up Max.
