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his body and discovered that Myles P。 Kiger's wonderfully warm coat was now something very like a Mexican serape。 I bet I look like an advertisement for Taco Bell； he thought； and grinned。
An expression of utter panic came over Richard's face when Jack started up the hill； leaving him alone at the bottom。
'Where are you going？'
Jack looked at Richard and came back。 He put his hands on Richard's shoulders and looked soberly into Richard's eyes。
'We can't stay here；' he said。 'Some of them must have seen us flip。 It may be that they can't e right after us； or it may be that they can。 I don't know。 I know as much about the laws governing all of this as a kid of five knows about magnetism…and all a kid of five knows on the subject is that sometimes magnets attract and sometimes they repel。 But for the time being； that's all I have to know。 We have to get out of here。 End of story。'
'I'm dreaming all this； I know I am。'
Jack nodded toward the ramshackle wooden building。 'You can e or you can stay here。 If you want to stay here； I'll e back for you after I check the place out。'
'None of this is happening；' Richard said。 His naked； glassesless eyes were wide and flat and somehow dusty。 He looked for a moment up at the black Territories sky with its strange and unfamiliar sprawl of stars； shuddered； and looked away。 'I have a fever。 It's the flu。 There's been a lot of flu around。 This is a delirium。 You're guest…starring in my delirium； Jack。'
'Well； I'll send somebody around to the Delirium Actors' Guild with my AFTRA card when I get a chance；' Jack said。 'In the meantime； why don't you just stay here； Richard？ If none of this is happening； then you have nothing to worry about。'
He started away again； thinking that it would take only a few more of these Alice…at…the…tea…party conversations with Richard to convince him that he was crazy； as well。
He was halfway up the hill when Richard joined him。
'I would have e back for you；' Jack said。
'I know；' Richard said。 'I just thought that I might as well e along。 As long as all of this is a dream； anyway。'
'Well； keep your mouth shut if there's anyone up there；' Jack said。 'I think there is…I think I saw someone looking out that front window at me。'
'What are you going to do？' Richard asked。
Jack smiled。 'Play it by ear； Richie…boy；' he said。 'That's what I've been doing ever since I left New Hampshire。 Playing it by ear。'
3
They reached the porch。 Richard clutched Jack's shoulder with panicky strength。 Jack turned toward him wearily； Richard's patented Kansas City Clutch was something else that was getting old in a big hurry。
'What？' Jack asked。
'This is a dream； all right；' Richard said； 'and I can prove it。'
'How？'
'We're not talking English anymore； Jack！ We're talking some language； and we're speaking it perfectly； but it's not English！'
'Yeah；' Jack said。 'Weird； isn't it？'
He started up the steps again； leaving Richard standing below him； gape…mouthed。
4
After a moment or two； Richard recovered and scrambled up the steps after Jack。 The boards were warped and loose and splintery。 Stalks of that richly bearded grain…grass grew up through some of them。 Off in the deep darkness； both boys could hear the sleepy hum of insects…it was not the reedy scratch of crickets but a sweeter sound…so much was sweeter over here； Jack thought。
The outside lamp was now behind them； their shadows ran ahead of them across the porch and then made right…angles to climb the door。 There was an old； faded sign on that door。 For a moment it seemed to Jack to be written in strange Cyrillic letters； as indecipherable as Russian。 Then they came clear； and the word was no surprise。 DEPOT。
Jack raised his hand to knock； then shook his head a little。 No。 He would not knock。 This was not a private dwelling； the sign said DEPOT； and that was a word he associated with public buildings…places to wait for Greyhound buses and Amtrak trains； loading zones for the Friendly Skies。
He pushed the door open。 Friendly lamplight and a decidedly unfriendly voice came out onto the porch together。
'Get away； ye devil！' the cracked voice screeched。 'Get away； I'm going in the morning！ I swear！ The train's in the shed！ Go away！ I swore I'd go and I will go； s'now YE go 。 。 。 go and leave me some peace！'
Jack frowned。 Richard gaped。 The room was clean but very old。 The boards were so warped that the walls seemed almost to ripple。 A picture of a stagecoach which looked almost as big as a whaling ship hung on one wall。 An ancient counter； its flat surface almost as ripply as the walls； ran across the middle of the room； splitting it in two。 Behind it； on the far wall； was a slate board with STAGE ARRIVES written above one column and STAGE LEAVES written above the other。 Looking at the ancient board； Jack guessed it had been a good long time since any information had been written there； he thought that if someone tried to write on it with even a piece of soft chalk； the slate would crack in pieces and fall to the weathered floor。
Standing on one side of the counter was the biggest hourglass Jack had ever seen…it was as big as a magnum of champagne and filled with green sand。
'Leave me alone； can't you？ I've promised ye I'd go； and I will！ Please； Morgan！ For yer mercy！ I've promised； and if ye don't believe me； look in the shed！ The train is ready； I swear the train is ready！'
There was a good deal more gabble and gobble in this same vein。 The large； elderly man spouting it was cringing in the far right…hand corner of the room。 Jack guessed the oldster's height at six…three at least…even in his present servile posture； The Depot's low ceiling was only four inches or so above his head。 He might have been seventy； he might have been a fairly well…preserved eighty。 A snowy white beard began under his eyes and cascaded down over his breast in a spray of baby fine hair。 His shoulders were broad； although now so slumped that they looked as if someone had broken them by forcing him to carry heavy weights over the course of many long years。 Deep crow's…feet radiated out from the corners of his eyes； deep fissures undulated on his forehead。 His plexion was waxy…yellow。 He was wearing a white kilt shot through with bright scarlet threads； and he was obviously scared almost to death。 He was brandishing a stout staff； but with no authority at all。
Jack glanced sharply around at Richard when the old man mentioned the name of Richard's father； but Richard was currently beyond noticing such fine points。
'I am not who you think I am；' Jack said； advancing toward the old man。
'Get away！' he shrieked。 'None of yer guff！ I guess the devil can put on a pleasing face！ Get away！ I'll do it！ She's ready to go； first thing in the morning！ I said I'd do it and I mean to； now get away； can't ye？'
The knapsack was now a haversack hanging from Jack's arm。 As Jack reached the counter； he rummaged in it； pushing aside the mirror and a number of the jointed money…sticks。 His fingers closed around what he wanted and brought it out。 It was the coin Captain Farren had given him so long ago； the coin with the Queen on one side and the gryphon on the other。 He slammed it down on the counter； and the room's mellow light caught the lovely profile of Laura DeLoessian…again he was struck with wonder by the similarity of that profile to the profile of his mother。 Did they look that much alike at the beginning？ Is it just that I see the similarities more as I think about them more？ Or am I actually bringing them together somehow； making them one？
The old man cringed back even farther as Jack came forward to the counter； it began to seem as though he might push himself right through the back of the building。 His words began to pour out in a hysterical flood。 When Jack slammed the coin down on the counter like a badman in a Western movie demanding a drink； he suddenly stopped talking。 He stared at the coin； his eyes widening； the spit…shiny corners of his mouth twitching。 His widening eyes rose to Jack's face and really saw him for the first time。
'Jason；' he whispered in a trembling voice。 Its former weak bluster was gone。 It trembled now not with fear but with awe。 'Jason！'
'No；' he said。 'My name is…' Then he stopped； realizing that the word which would e out in this strange language was not Jack but…
'Jason！' the old man cried； and fell on his knees。 'Jason； ye've e！ Ye've e and a' wi' be well； aye； a' wi' be well； a' wi' be well； and a' manner a' things wi' be well！'
'Hey；' Jack said。 'Hey； really…'
'Jason！ Jason's e and the Queen'll be well； aye； a' manner a' things wi' be well！'
Jack； less prepared to cope with this weepy adoration than he had been to deal with the old depot…keeper's terrified truculence； turned toward Richard 。 。 。 but there was no help there。 Richard had stretched out on the floor to the left of the door and had either gone to sleep or was giving a damned good facsimile thereof。
'Oh shit；' Jack groaned。
The old man was on his knees； babbling and weeping。 The situation was rapidly passing from the realms of the merely ri