"Other side?"

Ahira shrugged. "Somehow or other... never mind, for now. But if I'm Ahira, who are you?"

Doria glared at the dwarf, then clasped Jason's good hand in her two. She was wearing a long, high-necked robe, belted tightly around her waist. "Easy, now. Don't let him rush you."

Jason s.n.a.t.c.hed his hand away and slapped at Doria's sleeve. It didn't even dent; it was like slapping a brick wall. "It works." In the game, Doria of the Healing Hand had a robe like that, a magical one.

She smiled rea.s.suringly and waved her arm, the tightly woven cloth flapping. "It's just like in the game. Feels like a cotton robe from the inside, but from the outside it's like armor. Just like in the game." Her face sobered. "And all of us, we're our characters. Sort of."

"Which means that I'm Lightfingers." A small leather pouch dangled by a thong from her sash. He let his head loll forward as though he were fainting again, slipped his hand across her body while his head movement distracted her, and fingered open the pouch without disturbing the strap that attached it to her belt. He dipped two gnarled fingers in, lifted and palmed a coin, closed the pouch with a gentle tug, and tucked the coin into a pocket inside his sleeve with a practiced flip.

Elapsed time less than three seconds. It felt natural, as though he'd done it thousands of times before. But I've never stolen anything. It'sa"

"A nice try, Jason." Ahira shook his head. "But I was watching for it. Give it back."

"Watching for what?" Doria's brow furrowed in exasperation. Now that was strange; she always deferred to the little cripple.

Oh. He isn't little anymore. Or crippled. Just short. The snotty b.a.s.t.a.r.d must be having the time of his life.

"He just picked your purse." The dwarf chuckled. "Give it back. Now."

"I don't know what you're talking abouta"and who are you to be giving orders, anyway?" He braced himself on his stump and slid his feet under him. It was the practiced routine of a thief when caught: First deny, then challenge, then run.

Ahira grabbed his sleeve and shook the coin out. Picking it up, he handed it to Doria. "Don't worry; I'm not going to give him a hard time. This once." He turned back to Jason. "But we're in enough trouble as it is; I don't want you adding to it. Understood. Lightfingers?"

"My name is Jason." But the name felt strange in his mouth. "And I want to go home."

The dwarf helped him to his feet. Standing, Ahira's head barely came up to his chest. Ahira picked up his battleaxe from the damp gra.s.s and tapped a well-chewed thumbnail against the blade, "Two things. In answer to your question, this says that I'm in charge here. Back home, the group chose me as team leader. That's the way it is; that's the way it's going to be.

"And second, we are going home." Ahira opened his mouth; shut it. He shook his head. "Just take it easy for a while, get your bearings. Doria, let's go see to the wizard."

Karl Cullinane had often thought of holding Andy-Andy in his arms, but nowhere in his imaginings had she been crying. "Everything will be fine." He patted her clumsily on the back.

But these weren't his arms, this wasn't his body. Not quite. Karl was of average height, and skinny. Was. Now, he towered over her as he held her, careful not to squeeze her tightly; somehow, he knew that his grip could break a strong man's back.

After a while, her weeping died down. He let her go, then took a loose sleeve of her gray robe and wiped at her eyes. "Feeling better?"

"N-no. I'm scared. What happened?" She rubbed at her temples. "I... feel so strangea"how do I know that I could turn invisible, or make you fall asleep, or charma"it's like there's something in my head, trying to get out."

Her mouth started to move; he clapped a hand over it. "Don't. Just listen to me, but don't say anything." Her eyes grew wide; she brought up her hands, vaguely pulling at his arm. "No. Nod if you understand me. and I'll lake my hand away."

Her head moved; he let his hand drop. "Don't do that again," she said, planting a palm against his chest, shoving.

He could have laughed, almost. But he took a step back. "Okay, but be careful what you say. You've got three spells in your head, and they're trying to get out."

"How do you know?"

He shrugged. I don't know. But I do. "It's... like I've got two minds. One is Barak; the other is me." That a wizard had to constantly rein in spells was something Barak would know. It had to be: Karl hadn't known it; it wasn't part of the game. He stooped slowly, and lifted his scabbarded sword from the gra.s.s. "Barak knows how to use this, not me." The sword was long, almost three-fifths his height. Without drawing it from its scabbard, he knew that it was single-edged like a j.a.panese katana, but straight, not curved; primarily a slashing weapon, it still could be used to thrust. "And why not to strap it to anything; it'd take too long to draw it." He gripped the cord-wound handle with his left hand almost at the pommel. To draw the sword, he would slip the scabbard away, add his right hand in its place on the grip, and strike. That was one of the rules: Get your sword into play, and worry about picking up the scabbard later.

It was important to keep the blade clean and dry; an image of his handsa"his handsa"cleaning the blade with a dead enemy's hair welled up, unbidden.

"But what happened?" She gestured at her robes, at him, at the boxes on the hillside. "We're in the place that Dr. Deighton described. Look."

He looked to the east. The early-morning sun sat over the far walls of the city below. Karl raised his hand to his forehead to shield his eyes. The walls were solid and wide; a few bowmen stood on the pathways girdling them. People, and horses drawing two-wheeled carts, swarmed in and out of the gate.

To the north, a vast expanse of dark water spread across the horizon, waves rippling in toward a rocky sh.o.r.e. Off in the distance a broad-beamed schooner glided slowly in toward the docks.

But there was more than Deighton had described; he hadn't mentioned the fishing village to the north, and Karl hadn't visualized it.

How did he know that it was a fishing village?

It was too complicated, too strange. He shook his head. "You're right. I don't know how, but somehow we're here." He stretched his arms, letting his shoulders strain against the seams of his leather jerkin, and drew in a deep breath. It was clean air, fresh and sweet with a tang of ozone; this world had never known the stink of the internal combustion engine. "But doesn't it feel fine?"

"For you." She was nearing tears again. "But how do I get home?"

"I don't know. And I didn't mean it that waya"not that I wanted to stay here forever." It was one thing to play at being a warrior, but a fuzzy memory of his sword opening someone's belly like an overripe fruit... that didn't feel right, not to Karl Cullinane. But I'm not just Karl, not anymore. There's a lot of Barak in me, now. Then again, maybe that's not all bad. He and Andy-Andy used to be close to the same height, although when she wore heels she'd look down at him. Now he towered over her by a foot, or more. When he stood close to her, she had to crane her neck to look up at him. She wasn't changed, though, at least on the outside, except for the loose robes that had replaced her jeans and shirt.

And the fear in her eyes. That was new. "Karl, how are we going toa""

"I don't know," He shook his head. "But someha""

"This a private conversation, or can anyone join?" Walter Slovotsky's voice boomed from behind him.

Karl spun around. He hadn't heard the big mana"no, not big anymore; I'm half a head taller than he is. ''Don't do that."

"Don't do what?" Slovotsky smiled innocently. Except for Andy-Andy, he was the least changed of the group, at least physically. His skin had darkened a shade or two, his black hair was slightly straighter and a bit longer, and there were hints of epicanthic folds around his eyes, but that was all. Even his all-is-right-with-the-world smile was intact.

"Don't sneak up on me. I don't like it."

Slovotsky shrugged, muscles playing under the bare skin of his chest. He was dressed as Hakim would be: shirtless, a blousy pair of pants belted lightly to his waist, the cuffs tucked into the lacing of his sandals. From the left side of his waist, a wickedly curved scimitar hung in a leather scabbard; from the right, a tangle of knives and straps. Slovotsky rubbed at his temples. "I guess I should apologize, or something. It's just that moving silently seems to come naturally to me. It's sort of like a new toy, Karl. Or should I call you Barak7"

"Karl." He forced a smile. "Barak would give you a clout on the head as a reminder."

"Good point. You had better call me Walter. Hakim would slip a knife between your ribs, fora"" He stopped, puzzled, raising a palm. "Sorry. That wasn't me."

"I understand." Karl unclenched his hand from the hilt of his sword. "But the question isa""

"What the h.e.l.l are we going to do?" There was a new strength in Andy-Andy's voice. Just a little.

Karl gave her a smile. "Right." She was adjusting. A few minutes before, she would have put the emphasis on do instead of h.e.l.l.

"In theory, it's simple," Slovotsky said.

"Nonsense." She waved a hand at their surroundings. "Simple?"

"Everything's simple, actually." He held up a well-manicured finger. "First, you figure out what you want."

Karl didn't like the way Slovotsky's eyes roamed up and down her as he said that, but he let it pa.s.s.

"Second, you figure out what you have to do to get it." Another finger. "And three"a"he added a third, tapping all three fingers against his other handa""you do it. That's the way life works.'' He jerked a thumb toward the city below. "Somehow or other, we're in the world that Doc described, no?"

"Yes, buta""

"But nothing, Karl. That has to be our operating a.s.sumption, until and unless we find out differently. Which is unlikely. I mean, I've got skills I never had. Doria's got cleric spells trying to bust their way out of her head, you're a full foot taller than you should be, James isa""

"I get the point. But what does that do for us?"

"Simple, again. The name of the campaign Doc designed is, if you'll remember, the Quest for the Gate Between Worlds. How we got here, I don't know. But if we want to get back, then obviously we've got to find this Gate thing." He pointed at the six wooden boxes, just over fifty yards away. One of the boxes stood open and empty; the other five, smooth, dark, and seamless, closed. "I'm willing to bet that there's something inside that'll give us a clue. Or more than a clue."

Hushed voices whispered behind the cl.u.s.ter of boxes.

"They haven't woken Riccetti yet?"

"They're trying. Jimmya"make that Ahira; he likes it bettera" Ahira thinks that we should have a fully conscious wizard on hand before we try to open any of the rest. And no offense, Lotanaa"''

"Andrea."

"Andrea, thena"no offense, but the way you fell apart, I wouldn't want to count on you to sniff out any spells on them. You think you could spot a Glyph of Shrouding?"

"I don't know what you're talking abouta"wait." Her hands flew to her temples, her fingers digging into her scalp. "It's strange. I know things that I don't know, if you understand what I mean."

Karl laid A gentle hand on her arm. "We all do."

She grabbed his hand, squeezing it with white-knuckled fingers. "A glyph is like a magical charm, usually placed on a doorway or entrance. It can hurt anybody trying to get past it, unless it's tuned to leave them alone, or unless they break its spell," she said, her voice calm and businesslike. "Like the ones on the city." She jerked her hand toward the walled city, below. "Right?"

"What ones?" Karl and Walter said in unison.

She chuckled. "C'mon, don't play games with mea"I don't need that."

Karl sighed and looked back toward the city. Just a walled city, no writing on it. "You see anything, Walter?"

"No " Slovotsky raised an eyebrow. "And that was a part of the game I always had trouble swallowing."

Karl nodded. "Me, too." He shrugged. "Well, anothera""

"If you don't mind, I'd like to know what you're talking about. Please?"

"We can't see magical writing," he said. "To Walter and me, that's just a wall."

"Don't be silly, it's plain as..." She turned back. "Really?"

"Really. As Deighton said, unless you've got the genes for wizardry, all magical writing is totally transparent to you. What does it say?"

"I can see it, not read it. Besides, it isn't something that can be p.r.o.nounced, but it would fry Aristobulus or me to a crisp if we got inside the city." She wrinkled her forehead. "Wait a minute. How did Ia""

"Comes with the territory," Slovotsky said. "Looks like wizards aren't too popular there; probably cost the locals quite a bit to hire one to do the work." He smiled. "But it looks like there's a pony in the bottom of this s.h.i.tbucket; want to check out the boxes for Glyphs?"

Karl frowned. "I thought you said Ahira wanted to wait."

"I'll check it out with him, first. But"a"he clapped a hand to Andy-Andy's shouldera""it looks like you've got what it takes."

Karl suppressed an urge to knock Slovotsky's hand away from her. "Why don't you go clear it with him, then?"

"Which was something else I wanted to talk to you about. You got any objection to him being in charge? Somebody's got to do it." Slovotsky's face was studiously blank.

Karl thought about it for a moment. In the game, he 'd a enjoyed his occasional chances to be the team leader. But this is for real. I may be good at the game, but this is for real. "No. No objection. As long as there're no PMDs, or anything like that."

"PMD?" Andrea asked. "What's that?"

Slovotsky grinned broadly "Stands for Polish Mine Detector." He covered his ears with both hands, and mimed stomping fearfully on the ground. '"Boom. Seriously, it's a technique for checking for traps. You send the lowest-cla.s.s character on ahead. If there's no trap, there's no harm. And if there is, then you bring the player back into the game with a new character. It's kind of hard on the old character, buta""

She looked up at him. "You mean that it kills him. Or her."

"Right, buta""

"But we won't have any of that," Karl said. "Not as long as I'm around."

"I can speak for myself, Karl." She scowled at both of them. "And I'm not going to let myself be a guinea pig."

"Understood, Andrea." Slovotsky nodded and walked away.

"Karl, he seems so... sure of himself."

"That's Walter. Possibly Hakim, too." Which was one of the things he'd always envied about Slovotsky. Always so sure of himself, no matter what. And so comfortable around women.

Karl shook his head. Even around Andy-Andy he felt awkward, gawky. And she was a friend.

"What are you thinking?"

He returned her smile with interest. "Nothing much." This was ridiculous. Here he was, G.o.d knew where, more scared than he cared to admit, even to himself. And thinking about how good it had felt to hold her. "And you wouldn't believe it, anyway."

"Bets?"

"Well, what's the diagnosis?" Ahira asked.

"I think he's in shock." Kneeling over the limp form of Aristobulus, Doria looked up at him. "Shallow breathing, thready pulse." Her fingers dipped into the wizard's short gray hair. "And I think he might have hit his head on one of the boxes; there's a bit of a lump here." She bent over, examining his head more closely. "Although the skin isn't broken. Do you think there might be a blanket or two in one of these boxes? We should keep him warm."

"No."

"What do you mean, no? He could die."

Ahira repressed a smile; she wouldn't have understood. But that felt good; Doria would never have contradicted James Michael Finnegan, would never, ever have argued with a little cripple.

But I'm not a cripple anymore. He bounced on the b.a.l.l.s of his feet, reveling in how good, how natural it felt. I'm Ahira Bandylegs, and I'm strong. Better than normal. "No, he won't die. Try your Healing spell, the one for minor wounds. I think this should count as a minor wound."

"But, Jamesa""

"But nothing. You're a cleric, a healer. You've been complaining about spells buzzing around your head. Here's your chance to get rid of one. You'll have to pray for it, to get it backa"but we'll have plenty of time for that later."