When we left Kempinski days before, Pepsi had climbed on to Mr. Tracy's head and they moved off ahead of us. I assumed it was because they had important things to talk about, but that assumption didn't make things any easier. Pepsi was still a very little boy and even in mystical Rondua, where rabbits pulled magicians out of their top hats, I felt it was just too soon for this not-even-three-foot-tall fellow to begin assuming the responsibilities of a man, much less those of a monarch.

But then again he wouldn't be a monarch unless he possessed all five Bones. So far he had got only two, and one of those old unnecessary Mom had found for him.

More and more, I asked myself what function did I serve here? Somehow, from _somewhere_, I had come to Rondua with Pepsi. Was I therefore a messenger, meant only to deliver my dream-child to the right people here and then be gone? No, because of everything that had happened so far: I had had to introduce him to the animals, I had had to explain certain things about Rondua to him, I had helped calm his initial fears about being there in the first place. Then / had found the first Bone of the Moon and shown my son how to carve it. So, was I just a messenger? Maybe I was fooling myself, but I was sure it was much more than that. But what? Since Pepsi had been treated so respectfully by Sizzling Thumb and the mayor of Kempinski, I had felt increasingly left out of things and more like an unnecessary part than ever.

Once it even struck me that if I had to stay in Rondua longer, it would be better for me to go back to the Plain of Forgotten Machines and hang around with them. I'd fit right in with those things – I could splutter and hiss importantly and serve no purpose at all. Just like those other pretty heaps we'd passed on that day so many weeks before.

Why do brats like me like to lick our wounds so much?

Night Ear was an old hermit who chose to live on the outskirts of Ophir Zik. He made his small living by showing visitors around the City of the Dead.

«The ones who live inside are comfortable with each other. But they resent the living, so it's best not to talk with them. However, if you must, look away. Don't look them in the face, and address your questions to no one directly. They'll know who you are talking to.»

We followed him through a ruined arched gate. The cobblestone path that led into the city gradually steepened upward. Soon my legs were tired and I found myself taking smaller steps and watching my feet to make sure they were going where I wanted them to.

Children ran helter-skelter through the wobbly, uneven streets, but their happy laughing faces made no noise. Nothing. There was no noise anywhere. Not the shouts of children, dogs barking, the bang of buckets and metal on stone, the squawks of birds or people saying hello across a narrow alleyway.

Women in colorful babushkas with their sleeves rolled up and faces red as children's candy leaned out of their windows and watched interestedly as we passed. But they watched in silence too: old hens as nosy in mute death as they had been in loud life. To my surprise, one of them threw an apple down to me. It was shiny and delicious looking, but it made no sound when it landed in my hand. I looked at Night Ear to see if it was all right to eat. He waited until we had rounded a sharp corner and were out of view of the woman.

«It's not a good idea to eat that; it'll only make you tired.» He stopped and looked at me craftily. «But you _can_ eat it, if you want. If you do, it will tell you many things about death you never knew.»

A young good-looking man rode slowly by on a bicycle with his girlfriend balanced on the bar in front of him, her hands tightly over his on the handlebars. They were both smiling and looked as if they couldn't have been happier. But they made no sound. The bicycle shuddered and bumped over the old gray-brown stones, but it made no sound and they were soon gone.

It was more odd than frightening. I had almost grown used to the quiet when we came upon a sunny wide-open plaza and I saw Evelyn Hernuss, Danny's first wife, sitting at a cafй and watching us. Forgetting what the guide had said, I hurried over and – looking directly at her – said her name.

«Hello, Cullen. We're not allowed to shake hands with you. How many years has it been, though? You've done so much since I knew you.»

We spoke for a few minutes about . . . what? My marrying Danny. She knew all about that. She said it was «okay,» that she was happy for both of us, but the look on her face – so full of stopped dreams and sadness – said it wasn't okay at all. What could I do or say? For a brief moment, I felt as if I had killed her and sent her here.

«Mom?»

I looked down at Pepsi without really seeing him. He was crying. I looked from him to Evelyn, and then back again at him. His face was wet, but he kept nodding at me as if he were agreeing with something I had said.

«Why are we here, Pepsi?» I looked again from him to Evelyn, then back again.

«Don't you know?»

«Not at all, my love.»

«You have to! This is where I was before you came back, Mom. I lived here. You killed me once. Don't you remember that?»

A pain the size of the world swept through me and to this day, I have no idea whether it was physical or spiritual or what. What I do know is that death itself could not be any worse than that pain. Nothing could.

Pepsi was the child I had had scraped out of me four years before on a sunny summer day. My abortion. My son. Getting rid of my evidence. My son – my dead, wonderful son.

Leaning my whole sagged weight against a wall, I wept again in the midst of that dreadful silence for what I had done. I wept until I felt crushed by the weight of both the world and the dead.

I had been wondering why I was in Rondua. But not once had I ever really wondered about the identity of this beautiful, sassy child who had gone everywhere with me and called me Mom. My son. My son here, my son from the other world.

I was in Rondua for only one reason: to help Pepsi however I could to find the five Bones of the Moon and thus keep him from this city for the rest of time.

Why we were both being given this second chance I had no idea, but it was there and I would ask no questions. Without the Bones, Pepsi would be here forever. With them, he would be free, he would be able to streak across mountains on Martio the Camel's back or swim by himself in gold lagoons. I was here this time not to find the Bones myself, but to help Pepsi home. . . . Through and out of Ophir Zik, the City of the Dead, to life somewhere on the far other side of this universe.

Does it ever really happen that we are given a _real_ second chance? Another turn to bat, a few magical feet more to skid before we hit the wall and ruin everything?

No, in real life that didn't happen. In Rondua, I would save my child.