SIGN OF CHAOS by Roger Zelazny Page B

way over to Harbor Road-which was even dirtier in strong light-and, having learned that Coral was hungry, too, I took us on around to the rear of the cove, pausing for a few minutes to watch a many-roasted vessel with golden sails round the sea wall and head in.   Then we followed the curving way to the western shore, and I was able to locate Seabreeze Lane without any trouble.   It was still early enough.   that we passed a few sober sailors.   At one point a heavy, black-bearded man with an interesting scar on his right cheek began to approach us, but a smaller man caught up with him first and whispered something in his ear.   They both fumed away.
    “Hey,” I said.   “What did he want?”
    “Nothin’,” the smaller man said.   “He don’t want nothin’.” He studied me for a moment and nodded.   Then, “I saw you here the other night,” he added.
    “Oh,” I said, as they continued to the next corner, turned it, and were gone.
    “What was that all about?” Coral said.
    “I didn’t get to that part of the story yet.”
    But I remembered it vividly when we passed the place where it had occurred.   No signs of that conflict remained.
    I almost passed what had been Bloody Bill’s, though, because a new sign hung above the door.   It read “Bloody Andy’s,” in fresh green letters.   The place was just the same inside, however, except for the man behind the counter, who was taller and thinner than the shaggy, crag-faced individual who had served me last time.   His name, I learned, was Jak, and he was Andy’s brother.   He sold us a bottle of Bayle’s Piss and put in our order for two fish dinners through the hole in the wall.   My former table was vacant and we took it.   I laid my sword belt on the chair to my right, with the blade partly drawn, as I had been taught etiquette required here.
    “I like this place,” she said.   “It’s ...   different.”
    “Uh ...   yes,” I agreed, glancing at two passed-out drunks-one to the front of the establishment, one to the rear-and three shifty-eyed individuals conversing in low voices off in one corner.   A few broken bottles and suspicious stains were upon the floor, and some not-too-subtle artwork of an amorous nature hung on the far wall.   “The food’s quite good,” I added.
    “I’ve never been in a restaurant like this,” she continued, watching a black cat, who rolled in from a rear room, wrestling with an enormous rat.
    “It has its devotees, but it’s a well-kept secret among discriminating diners.”
    I continued my tale through a meal even better than the one I remembered.   When the door opened much later to admit a small man with a bad limp and a dirty bandage about his head I noticed that daylight was beginning to wane.   I had just finished my story and it seemed a good time to be leaving.
    I said as much, but she put her hand on mine.
    “You know I’m not your entity,” she said, “but if you need any kind of help I can give you, I’ll do it.”
    “You’re a good listener,” I said.   “Thanks.   We’d better be going now.”
    We passed out of Death Alley without, incident and made our way along Harbor Road over to Vine.   The sun was getting ready to set as we headed upward, and the cobbles passed ‘through a variety of bright earth tones and fire colors.   Street and pedestrian traffic was light.   Cooking smells drifted on the air; leaves rattled along the road; .a small yellow dragon rode the air currents high overhead; curtains of rainbow light rippled high in the north beyond the palace.   I kept waiting, expecting more questions from Coral than the few she had asked.   They never came.   If I’d just heard my story, I think I’d have a lot of questions, unless I were totally overpowered by it or somehow understood it thoroughly.
    “When we get back to the palace ...   ?” she said then.
    “Yes?”
    “...   You will take me to see the Pattern, won’t you?”
    I laughed.
    ...