The burn-scarred face of Kasan Maibang wavered in their vi­sion. "I know why you call," whispered the guide, "but I cannot help you. Only one greater than myself can save you."

"Who?"

"Pigibidi, the greatest chief of my people."

"Summon him."

"It will cost you mana. What have you of power?"

Chester was frantic, tearing at frizzled hair with long fingers. Then he barked laughter and dumped his pack out. Almost at the bottom was what looked like a set of black leather pajamas-the shed skin of a Fore spy. He placed it on the magical fire.

"It is good..." Kasan said, and his face shifted outline and became the pitted and wrinkled visage of old Pigibidi.

"Pigibidi, Great Chief," Chester began. He licked his lips nerv­ously. "We are desperate. We must move this tremendous air­plane, and we have no fuel."

The old man's lips moved, and his words echoed in the hold. "The woman offered you the spell of the Fore. Be glad you did not use it. One must have permission to use such magic, and to steal a spell from its owner carries a terrible price."

Chester glared at Lady Janet, who hid a smile. "Pigibidi . what shall we do?"

"I will give you the spell you need. If our peoples ever contend again, beware of trying to use it against us."

"No! I swear-"

"A European's promise is worth little. If you have the magical power to lift so vast a machine, I will work the spell for you, that the Fore might be beaten."

"Power. We're out. Pigibidi, there's nothing left! You've got to-"

"I am sorry. Then it is all for nothing."

Chester stomped and swore. "That Lopez! Fli kill him! I swear to God-" He hoisted himself on a crate to look out one of a pair of tiny portholes. The boats of the Fore had reached the Goose. Soon it would be over.

The fire burned without consuming, and Pigibidi's translucent visage watched them with the dispassionate calm of the dead.

Alex leaned against the wall of the hold, eyes hooded specula­tively. Pigibidi hadn't vanished. There must be more. A crate of Coca-Cola? The corpse of a Fore priest? Or- "Chester?"

"What?" the Lore Master snarled. His entire body was shaking. "Didn't Margie say that Hughes himself flew this thing?" "That's right," Margie agreed. "He was pilot on that one short flight off Long Beach."

"Well, if that was when they stole it, then it stands to reason that-"

Tony was sprinting up the ladder to the cabin.

"-that Hughes is one of the skeletons," Griffin finished. "My God." Chester's body calmed down, the excitement flaring in his smile as he realised what Alex was saying. "It's Cargo Cult mythology. And we've got access to the tindalo of one of the twentieth century's greatest aeronautical industrialists!"

Acacia retrieved the skull Alex had discarded earlier. "Is this the right one?"

Hughes or the pilot? The bony face grinned sardonically, secure in its anonymity. Griffin said, "Hughes was a millionaire. His clothes would be in better shape-"

Tony half-fell down the ladder, his arms full of bones. "What the hell, we'll use them both! A test pilot makes a perfectly good tindalo." He took the other skull from Acacia and set the two at opposite corners of the table, under Pigibidi's hovering face. The flames sparked up.

A Fore zombie had crawled up to the window. It leered at them, pounding with the flat of an ashy hand.

Pigibidi's translucent face nodded at them. It began to speak. "God-Dodo, Jesus-Manup, hear my-"

And his words were drowned in the sound of leviathan engines turning over. All eight propellers ripped at the air. Margie gasped and ran for the cockpit, with the other Garners in hot pursuit. The Spruce Goose shuddered and jerked and surged forward.

Margie scrambled into a seat. A last zombie lay flat in front of the windshield, yelling, hugging the painted wood.

The seaplane rose on its step and picked up speed, nudging aside smaller craft and heading for open water. Margie grinned fiercely as the Goose raced along the surface and finally skipped free. They bounced back down, once, with a massive, stomach-churning splash, and the zombie vanished. Then the plane truly found its power and rose from the water with a throaty roar.

Shore and dock fell away beneath them. Jungles and mountains, monsters and dooms, and the gesticulating figures of the Fore were pinpoints to their eyes. As the Spruce Goose kissed the clouds the Garners turned to each other, and there was a swollen moment of silence. Then Alex whooped, and Acacia hugged him, and Tony hugged Margie, and Chester kissed Lady Janet, and the cockpit was filled with laughter and screams of joy.

The Game was over.

PART THREE

Chapter Thirty

THE FINAL TALLY

Hoarse cheering could be heard from within the cabin section of the Spruce Goose, even before the Dream Park attendants opened the door to let the Garners out. Lady Janet was the first to place a foot on the ground. Her legs were wobbly. She shook her head and said, "Wow."

Six more Garners followed. Holly Frost, last out, bowed grandly to the cast and crew. Chester lifted his arms and cried, "And let's have a big round of applause for the best performance in an expiring role... Holly Frost!" Ragged cheers. "And for all the surviving members of the team!" This time the energy ran higher, and the attendants joined in.

Griffin walked at Tony's side. McWhirter's smile was as honest as the others'; it faded slightly when he sighted Bobbick approach­ing with two security men. He stopped before they reached him and shifted his pack off his shoulder. He brushed a straggling hair

off his forehead with a steady hand, then extended it to Alex. "Thanks. You've really been decent about this. I promise you won't have any trouble out of me."

Griffin took it, and was surprised at the ferocity of Tony's grip. "We'll see how it goes, McWhirter."

"All right, Chief. We can handle the prisoner now."

"Thank goodness." Alex shrugged off his backpack and let it thud into the ground. "Marty, escort him to Detainment. Are the County cops here?"

"You know it. We've got a lot to get done here." Marty was steering him along toward a side door, while the other Garners headed for the main exit. Ahead of them, the two security men guided Tony.

Griffin turned to watch the Garners leave. Most of them looked back over their shoulders to watch Tony taken away, but no one said anything, until Chester raised his voice.

He sounded tired. "Griffin. You coming to the Tally Party?"

"I'm sorry, Chester. I'm going to be pretty busy." He turned to go, but Henderson raised a beckoning hand.

"You're invited. You earned it. Tonight in my suite at the Sheraton."

Alex waved at him and turned back to Marty. "You're going to have to help me through this. I'm really tired." Bobbick made sympathetic sounds.

Griffin caught one last glimpse of Acacia. She had paused by the gate, almost as if she were about to turn around and speak. Then her shoulders sagged with fatigue and she walked on. Tony caught that pause and turned his head away, the remnants of his smile dying altogether.

Griffin watched her go and felt something sharp and hot prick­ing at his gut.

He handed his backpack to Marty, who took it without com­ment, switching a wad of gum from one side of his mouth to the other. "Come on, Grill. We've got a car for you."

Alex nodded wordlessly, responding more to nudges than to words. The textured plastic seat of the hovercar seemed alien to him, and he dropped into it hard, as if testing its reality. He leaned back and let his eyes close, his body jolting forward a half-inch as the car started to move.