"Who in Hell cares?" demanded Wilding.
Her laugh boomed again. "He knows where he is," she jeered. "So I win my bet."
"What bet?"
The big woman drew back and let Wilding have a look at her companions. Behind the woman stood a man and a girl. A spidery Mercurian straddled Wilding's legs and massaged numbed flesh with rough efficiency.
"My bet with Grouth," explained the Amazon, indicating the Mercurian. "Not decorative, is he? Mercurian twilight men never are. But he's what passes for my husband here."
Wilding stared at her, and past her at the others. "Now I know for sure where I am," he said. "I read in a book once that there's no marriage or giving in marriage in Heaven. Since I'm obviously dead, that leaves only—"
The Amazon slapped her ample thigh and vented some more loud rumbles of laughter.
"Proves my point," she bellowed. "Grouth figured your first words would be 'Where am I?' or something else trite. You looked to me like a man who always knows where he is and how he got there, so I bet on it. Alcatraz or Hell—it's all one. Do I win?"
"Near enough," Grouth snorted unhappily. "I'll concede—"
"What stakes?" Wilding asked.