"That is one of its uses, yes. However, logic is difficult to achieve in a highly emotional state."
"Yes—and the world does seem to be picking on me at the moment. I'm clear-headed enough, just now, to realize that's only my perception—but when the emotions take over, I forget."
"Of course, Rod. If you did not believe your perceptions to be true, you would not be paranoid."
"How's that again?" Rod frowned down at the back of the horsehead, then shook his head. "No, don't tell me. I'm happier in my ignorance. Or do you mean that if I weren't paranoid, I would doubt my perceptions—at least, when it seems as though everything's out to get me?"
"That is the converse of the proposition," Fess agreed.
"Glad I got it right," Rod responded. "But the main question is still there, Fess—how come I'm having spells of paranoia, all of a sudden?''
"They are not totally new to you, Rod," the robot said slowly.
"Thank you for your tact, Mr. Hammer. But I don't usually have such intense feelings of persecution, with such total certainty that I'm right."
"That is new, fortunately—and, since it was accompanied by the beginning of hallucinations, I can only conjecture that…"
"It's a chemical problem, yeah. But, Fess—is the chemical imbalance generated in me, or brought in from the outside world?"
"Whatever its source, Rod, it is in you now."
"Much more of this, and you'll have me believing it," Rod grumbled.
"That would definitely be a more desirable condition," the robot mused.
"All right, so we'll go with the working hypothesis that what I see isn't real," Rod grumbled. "But how am I supposed to know what's real and what isn't?"
"Of more immediate concern, perhaps," Fess said slowly, "is: when does it truly matter?"
Rod sighed as horse and man headed deeper into the forest.
Chapter Three
Sometime later, Rod had dismounted and was walking slowly behind Fess, when his foot hit an icy patch. He slipped, skidded, and just barely managed to regain his balance. He looked down at the side of the trail and saw a river's sheen below him. It was frozen solid. In the distance, he could see a sled moving away, laden with bundles, pushed by an ice-skating merchant. Half-timbered buildings fronted on the water, their stucco dyed in pastels. Rod stared—it was an incongruously gay and light-hearted scene in the midst of the winter's grimness.
Then he heard the crunch of a footstep behind him.
He whirled, blood pounding in his ears, panic stringing him as taut as a trap. The lurker stepped out from behind a huge old oak, and Rod found himself staring at…
Himself.
It was him to the life—hatchet face, eagle-beak nose, wide mouth, and glower. He was even wearing the same clothing—doublet and hose, boots, gloves, cloak, and sword, though in different colors.
Rod decided to keep an eye on the sword. "Who are you?"
"Who are you?" his double demanded.
"Rod Gallowglass," Rod snapped, "Lord High Warlock." The reminder of magic lent insight, and anger. "And who the hell do you think you are, to go around wearing my face?"
"It's my face! Who do you think you are, to be wearing it?"
At least the double didn't have Rod's voice, too. "The man who was born with it, damn it!" Well, that wasn't quite true—Rod had grown into the face. "What the devil do you mean, impersonating me?"
"Me impersonating you! The audacity, the effrontery of it!"
"I notice you don't deny it!"
"All left, I deny it!" the doppelganger bawled. "You're copying me! Just what the hell do you think you're trying to get away with?"
Rod frowned, looking the man up and down. It was possible, it was just possible… "What does E = MC2 mean?"
"Energy equals mass times the square of the speed of light." The stranger frowned, too. "Which is to say, energy and mass are just different aspects of the same thing. What the hell kind of question is that?"
"A very clear one. If you know the answer, it means you're from off-planet."
"Yeah, sure, and you're from off-planet if you can ask it! So what does that prove?"
"That you're an imposter."
"Imposter! What are you talking about, you fool? I'm Rod Gallowglass!"
Rod stared, shocked—and the whole scene swam in front of his eyes. He staggered, putting out a hand to brace himself against a tree trunk, afraid he would faint. Then his vision cleared, and he saw the doppelganger clearly again, glaring at him with hostility, and the clarity of inner insight hit him: he remembered. He was crazy!
Well, of course. If he was crazy, he might see anything, mightn't he? I mean, if he was having delusions, why couldn't his own self be one of those delusions?
Apparently, it was.
Rod leaned back on one hip, folding his arms. "Let me get this straight. You claim that you're Rod Gallowglass?"
"The very same." The doppelganger was looking wary now. "And who do you think you are?"
"Rod Gallowglass."
But the doppelganger didn't squawk in outrage. He stood quietly, brooding—which sent a chill shivering up Rod's spine; it was exactly what he would have done, at this juncture.
What he had done, in fact.
Rod shook himself back into gear. Denial hadn't worked, so it was time for thinking.
Why not?
"There's two of us," the doppelganger pointed out.
"Sh! Don't tell!" Rod glanced around furtively. "They'd banish us, you know."
"Banish us?" The doppelganger stared. "Who?"
"The sane people."
"You know some?"
"Well, yes, I think so," Rod admitted. "And just in case I don't, there's always my touchstone, Fess."
"My touchstone." But the doppelganger's heart wasn't in it any more; he was too busy studying the great black robot-horse. "Do you see two of us, old boy?"
"There is only one of you, Rod."
Rod shuddered—Fess had heard the doppelganger!
"But you do seem to be talking to yourself," the robot amplified. "A fascinating conversation, no doubt."
No doubt? But Rod didn't stop to ask. "We could try to figure out which one of us is real…"
"Yeah, and after that, we can try to figure out what 'real' means." The doppelganger's lip curled. "Can't you think of something a little more productive?"
"Well," Rod said, "the sensible thing is for us to join forces. I mean, if we can't tell ourselves apart, we should certainly make one hell of a unit."
"Makes sense," the doppelganger said judiciously. "But how are we going to coordinate?"
"Very easily, I should think. You take the left side, and I'll take the right."
The doppelganger seemed dubious. "How come you're willing to take the right?"
"I just see you as sinister, I guess. Try it the other way—I'll be glad to have you as my squire."
"Me be your squire? You can be my squire!"
"What, and try to live with your idea of tactics? I'd die first! No, amend that—I'd die trying."
"Not much faith in yourself, have you?" the doppelganger snorted.
That brought Rod up short. He thought about it for a minute, but didn't succeed. "Afraid not. You're obviously left."
"And will be in everything, clunkhead! You'd better take me up on my offer, and be my squire!"