“I’ll tell you about a boy—a man… A man who enters a cabin open in the night and who finds a dead man there. Does this interest you, wizard? It’s fair pay, isn’t it, a story?”
Serdic said nothing. Either Dennis’ body or his consciousness swayed. He wasn’t sure he was still standing up, but his voice continued, “And the man runs, but the corpse follows him, carried by four rogues, bloody rogues. The man has to watch the corpse warming on a fire, but he doesn’t mind it well and the corpse chases him down again to ask for pay.”
The pattern on Serdic’s cheek writhed, but Dennis couldn’t tell whether it was the flesh or the fungus or his own reeling mind that caused the movement.
“And the man has nothing to pay with,” he went on, almost shouting now. “He’s naked and friendless and the night may never end. And so he offers a story, a wonderful story—and that’s fair pay, isn’t it, for it’s all he has?”
The corpse didn’t move.
“Isn’t it, Serdic?” Dennis cried, leaning forward so that his face was only inches from the dead face of the dead wizard. “And if it isn’t—then to Hell with you, where you belong. And to Hell with me as well, if it must be.”
The corpse smiled, an expression made more horrible by the fact that decay had already begun to shrivel the gums away from the yellow teeth they held. Serdic reached out with one stiff hand, stopping just short of contact with Dennis’ cheek.
“Shall we play a game, boy?” he asked in a voice like the paw of a cat dabbing at its prey.
Dennis lifted his chin in a brusque nod. He was suddenly afraid to speak.
“We will play this game, then,” said the wizard. “I will leave you now. But when next my name is spoken, boy—then I will come. Understand me, boy?”
“I understand,” Dennis whispered.
He could feel himself slipping away, but he wasn’t sure that it was his body falling. The Wizard Serdic was dissolving, but everything was dissolving into the night. At the last, nothing remained but the pattern of fungus glowing green and hideous though the cheek on which it grew had disappeared.
And then even the pattern was gone, except in Dennis’ nightmare.
CHAPTER 18
“Good sleep is the greatest of gifts to a man in the time of his feebleness, Dennis,” said Chester as sunlight through the leaf canopy made his master’s eyelids quiver.
All of Dennis’ muscles flashed taut. His body thrashed as if lightning-struck by the sudden surprise. “Ch-chester!” he gasped. Where have you—where are—”
Dennis looked around. He and the little robot lay beneath a tree whose buttress roots spread broadly out through the lesser growths of the jungle. The bark was smooth, and the contours of the roots made a comfortable cup to support the youth while he was sleeping.
Nothing in the jungle could stay dry. Dennis’ hips lay in a pool of water, and the cloak that he’d pulled over himself and Chester was as sodden as the surface of a pond. He tweaked the garment back—it clung because of its weight and the surface tension of the water—and stroked the smooth, slick carapace of his friend and companion.
“Where did you find my clothes, Chester?” he asked.
“And this?” he added, noticing that the Founder’s Sword was with them beneath the cloak also, belt wrapped around the hilt and scabbard.
Dennis stood up, lifting the sword with one hand. He ached all over, and both his clothes and skin were ripped by thorns—but there was no sign of the battering he’d taken when he ran through the jungle naked, pursued by the corpse of his father’s wizard.
“Chester?” he repeated in concern, because the robot still hadn’t responded.
“Dennis, your clothes and your sword have been with you through this night and dawn,” Chester said. Concern honed the precision of his words.
“But the cabin,” Dennis said. The chain closure of his cloak cut into his neck with the weight of water in the garment. He reached up to release it with his free hand, but wonder stayed the motion. “Chester, you remember the cabin, don’t you?”