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THE MAGIC LABYRINTH by Philip Jose Farmer

Had they gone to the two ends of the corridor and were waiting around the corners, hoping to surprise them?

It was then that he saw water flowing toward him. It was only a film, but it would soon be swelling.

He called to the guards at the hatchway. “Tell the others to come on out! The Clemensites have left!”

He didn’t have to explain to his people what had happened. They saw the water, too.

“Save himself who can,” he said. “Get to the shore as best you may. I’ll be joining you later.”

He led them to the railing and said good-bye and good luck before they plunged in.

“Dick,” Aphra said, “Why are you staying?”

“I’m looking for Alice.”

“If the boat sinks suddenly, you’ll be trapped in it.”

“I know.”

He didn’t wait for her to jump in but began his search at once. He ran down the passageways calling out her name, stopping now and then to listen for her voice. Having covered this deck, he climbed the grand staircase to the grand salon. This occupied one-fourth of the stern area of the hurricane deck as did the grand salon of the Rex. But it was much larger. It was ablaze with ceiling and chandelier lights, even though blasts had blown many out or apart. Despite the damage from the explosions and the few mutilated corpses, it was very impressive.

He stepped inside and looked around. Alice was not here unless she was behind the immensely long bar or under or behind the smashed grand pianos or billiards tables. There seemed to be no reason for him to stay, but he was held for a few seconds by the grandeur of this room. Like its counterpart on the Rex, it had known many years of laughter, wit, humor, flirting, intrigue, gambling often playful but sometimes desperate, trysts of love and hate, music composed and played by some of Earth’s masters, drama and comedy high and low on the stages. And now… It was a shameful loss, something to be very much regretted.

He started to cross the salon but stopped. A man had entered the great doorway of the other end. He paused when he saw Burton. Then, smiling, he walked jauntily toward him. He was an inch or two taller than Burton, greyhound-thin, and had extraordinarily long arms. His skin was blackened with smoke, his nose was very large, and his chin was weak. Despite this, his smile made him look almost handsome.

His glossy black ringleted hair fell to his shoulders. He wore only a black kilt and red riverdragon-leather calf-high boots, and his right hand gripped the hilt of an epe’e.

Burton had a swiftly passing dejd vu, a feeling that this meeting had happened a long time ago and under just such circumstances. He had encountered the man before and he had been hoping he would again. The long-healed wound in his thigh seemed to burn at the memory.

The man halted when he was twenty-five feet from Burton. He spoke loudly in Esperanto. It had a trace of French and a smidgeon of American English intonation.

“Ah, sinjoro, it’s you! The very talented, perhaps endowed-with-genius swordsman with whom I crossed blades during the raid upon your vessel so many years ago! I introduced myself then as a gentleman should. You surlily refused to identify yourself. Or perhaps you failed to do so because you thought that I wouldn’t recognize your name. Now…”

Burton advanced one step, his sword hanging almost straight down from his hand. He spoke in Parisian French circa A.D. 1650.

“Eh, monsieur. I was not sure when you made your introduction that you were truly whom you said you were. I thought that perhaps you might be an impostor. I admit now that you are indeed either the great monomachist Savinien de Cyrano II de Bergerac or someone who could be Castor to his Pollux and is his match in swordsmanship.”

Burton hesitated. He might as well give his true name now. It was no longer necessary to use a pseudonym.

“Know, monsieur, that I am Captain Richard Francis Burton of the marines of the Rex Grandissimus. On Earth I was knighted by Her Majesty, Queen Victoria of the British Empire. This was not for making a fortune in commerce but as acknowledgment of my explorations in the far parts of the Earth and my many services to both my country and humanity. Nor was I unknown among the swordsmen of my time, which was the nineteenth century.”

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