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crazy； Jacky； ole kid ole sock； okay？） had been a little scary； yes； but he discovered now that he didn't want to lose that world after all。
He looked in Speedy's eyes and thought： He knows it； too。 Everything I just thought； he knows。 Who are you； Speedy？
'When you ain't been there for a while； you kinda forget how to get there on your own hook；' Speedy said。 He nodded at the bottle。 'That's why I got me some magic juice。 This stuff is special。' Speedy spoke this last in tones that were almost reverential。
'Is it from there？ The Territories？'
'Nope。 They got some magic right here； Travellin Jack。 Not much； but a little。 This here magic juice e from California。'
Jack looked at him doubtfully。
'Go on。 Have you a little sip and see if you don't go travellin。' Speedy grinned。 'Drink enough of that； you can go just about anyplace you want。 You're lookin at one who knows。'
'Jeez； Speedy； but…' He began to feel afraid。 His mouth had gone dry； the sun seemed much too bright； and he could feel his pulsebeat speeding up in his temples。 There was a coppery taste under his tongue and Jack thought： That's how his 'magic juice' will taste…horrible。
'If you get scared and want to e back； have another sip；' Speedy said。
'It'll e with me？ The bottle？ You promise？' The thought of getting stuck there； in that mystical other place； while his mother was sick and Sloat…beset back here； was awful。
'I promise。'
'Okay。' Jack brought the bottle to his lips 。 。 。 and then let it fall away a little。 The smell was awful…sharp and rancid。 'I don't want to； Speedy；' he whispered。
Lester Parker looked at him； and his lips were smiling； but there was no smile in his eyes…they were stern。 Unpromising。 Frightening。 Jack thought of black eyes： eye of gull； eye of vortex。 Terror swept through him。
He held the bottle out to Speedy。 'Can't you take it back？' he asked； and his voice came out in a strengthless whisper。 'Please？'
Speedy made no reply。 He did not remind Jack that his mother was dying； or that Morgan Sloat was ing。 He didn't call Jack a coward； although he had never in his life felt so much like a coward； not even the time he had backed away from the high board at Camp Acac and some of the other kids had booed him。 Speedy merely turned around and whistled at a cloud。
Now loneliness joined the terror； sweeping helplessly through him。 Speedy had turned away from him； Speedy had shown him his back。
'Okay；' Jack said suddenly。 'Okay； if it's what you need me to do。'
He raised the bottle again； and before he could have any second or third thoughts； he drank。
The taste was worse than anything he had anticipated。 He had had wine before； had even developed some taste for it （he especially liked the dry white wines his mother served with sole or snapper or swordfish）； and this was something like wine 。 。 。 but at the same time it was a dreadful mockery of all the wines he had drunk before。 The taste was high and sweet and rotten； not the taste of lively grapes but of dead grapes that had not lived well。
As his mouth flooded with that horrible sweet…purple taste； he could actually see those grapes…dull； dusty； obese and nasty； crawling up a dirty stucco wall in a thick； syrupy sunlight that was silent except for the stupid buzz of many flies。
He swallowed and thin fire printed a snail…trail down his throat。
He closed his eyes； grimacing； his gorge threatening to rise。 He did not vomit； although he believed that if he had eaten any breakfast he would have done。
'Speedy…'
He opened his eyes； and further words died in his throat。 He forgot about the need to sick up that horrible parody of wine。 He forgot about his mother； and Uncle Morgan； and his father； and almost everything else。
Speedy was gone。 The graceful arcs of the roller coaster against the sky were gone。 Boardwalk Avenue was gone。
He was someplace else now。 He was…
'In the Territories；' Jack whispered； his entire body crawling with a mad mixture of terror and exhilaration。 He could feel the hair stirring on the nape of his neck； could feel a goofed…up grin pulling at the corners of his mouth。 'Speedy； I'm here； my God； I'm here in the Territories！ I…'
But wonder overcame him。 He clapped a hand over his mouth and slowly turned in a plete circle； looking at this place to which Speedy's 'magic juice' had brought him。
4
The ocean was still there； but now it was a darker； richer blue…the truest indigo Jack had ever seen。 For a moment he stood transfixed； the sea…breeze blowing in his hair； looking at the horizon…line where that indigo ocean met a sky the color of faded denim。
That horizon…line showed a faint but unmistakable curve。
He shook his head； frowning； and turned the other way。 Sea…grass； high and wild and tangled； ran down from the headland where the round carousel building had been only a minute ago。 The arcade pier was also gone； where it had been； a wild tumble of granite blocks ran down to the ocean。 The waves struck the lowest of these and ran into ancient cracks and channels with great hollow boomings。 Foam as thick as whipped cream jumped into the clear air and was blown away by the wind。
Abruptly Jack seized his left cheek with his left thumb and forefinger。 He pinched hard。 His eyes watered； but nothing changed。
'It's real；' he whispered； and another wave boomed onto the headland； raising white curds of foam。
Jack suddenly realized that Boardwalk Avenue was still here 。 。 。 after a fashion。 A rutted cart…track ran from the top of the headland…where Boardwalk Avenue had ended at the entrance to the arcade in what his mind persisted in thinking of as 'the real world'…down to where he was standing and then on to the north； just as Boardwalk Avenue ran north； being Arcadia Avenue after it passed under the arch at the border of Funworld。 Sea…grass grew up along the center of this track； but it had a bent and matted look that made Jack think that the track was still used； at least once in a while。
He started north； still holding the green bottle in his right hand。 It occurred to him that somewhere； in another world； Speedy was holding the cap that went on this bottle。
Did I disappear right in front of him？ I suppose I must have。 Jeez！
About forty paces along the track； he came upon a tangle of blackberry bushes。 Clustered amid the thorns were the fattest； darkest； most lush…looking blackberries he had ever seen。 Jack's stomach； apparently over the indignity of the 'magic juice；' made a loud goinging sound。
Blackberries？ In September？
Never mind。 After all that had happened today （and it was not yet ten o'clock）； sticking at blackberries in September seemed a little bit like refusing to take an aspirin after one has swallowed a doorknob。
Jack reached in； picked a handful of berries； and tossed them into his mouth。 They were amazingly sweet； amazingly good。 Smiling （his lips had taken on a definite bluish cast）； thinking it quite possible that he had lost his mind； he picked another handful of berries 。 。 。 and then a third。 He had never tasted anything so fine…although； he thought later； it was not just the berries themselves； part of it was the incredible clarity of the air。
He got a couple of scratches while picking a fourth helping…it was as if the bushes were telling him to lay off； enough was enough； already。 He sucked at the deepest of the scratches； on the fleshy pad below the thumb； and then headed north along the twin ruts again； moving slowly； trying to look everywhere at once。
He paused a little way from the blackberry tangles to look up at the sun； which seemed somehow smaller and yet more fiery。 Did it have a faint orange cast； like in those old medieval pictures？ Jack thought perhaps it did。 And…
A cry； as rusty and unpleasant as an old nail being pulled slowly out of a board； suddenly arose on his right； scattering his thoughts。 Jack turned toward it； his shoulders going up； his eyes widening。
It was a gull…and its size was mind…boggling； almost unbelievable （but there it was； as solid as stone； as real as houses）。 It was； in fact； the size of an eagle。 Its smooth white bullet…head cocked to one side。 Its fishhook of a beak opened and closed。 It fluttered great wings； rippling the sea…grass around it。
And then； seemingly without fear； it began to hop toward Jack。
Faintly； Jack heard the clear； brazen note of many horns blown together in a simple flourish； and for no reason at all he thought of his mother。
He glanced to the north momentarily； in the direction he had been travelling； drawn by that sound…it filled him with a sense of unfocussed urgency。 It was； he thought （when there was time to think）； like being hungry for a specific something that you haven't had in a long time…ice cream； potato chips； maybe a taco。 You don't know until you see it…and until you do； there is only a need without a name； making you restless； making you nervous。
He saw pennons and the peak of what might have been a great tent…a pavillion…against the sky。
That's where the Alhambra is； he thought； and then the gull shrieked at him。 He turned toward it and was ala