threw her wide smiles and a number signed themselves.

She remained for a time, sought a chair and a deeper calm. As yet, the chapet was sparsely furnished. Behind the altar hung a picture of Jesus, more gaunt and stern than was common although his hand was upraised in blessing. Painted directly on plaster, the Serpent of Life encircled Mm. It was flanked by emblems that could be of the loas or the saints, however you wished. The symbols right and left could be luck, magic, sanctity, or—just encouragement, she knew; lift up your heart, honor with bravery the life that is in you.

Here was no doctrine but the sacredness of creation be- cause of the Creator’s presence in it, no commandment but loyalty to your kindred of the spirit. The animistic, pantheistic imagery was only a language for saying that. The rites were only to evoke it and to bind the kindred together. You could believe whatever else you thought must be true. Yet not since she was a maiden, fourteen hundred years ago, had Aljyat felt such power as lingered here.

Within her, if not in the altar or the air. Hope, cleansing, purpose, something she could give instead of forever taking or squandering. Was that why Corinne had asked her to lead the consecration of this building?

Or was Corinne simply too occupied with the question of who, or what, laired behind that innocent-seeming call to the long-lived? She had certainly gone close-mouthed. Al-iyat knew merely that she soon learned the Willock named was no more than an agent under the impression he was handling matters for a scientific outfit. (Could that even be true?) Maybe Corinne had asked those contacts of hers in the government, police, FBI, whoever and wherever they were, to look into the matter. No, probably not; too dangerous; it might alert them to the fact that Maraa-lo Macan-dal was not all she seemed...

Well, not to worry, she had said; and a hard life did teach a girl how to concentrate on what was close to hand. Aliyat sighed, rose, blew out the candles, turned off the lights as she left. The chapel was on the second floor. Besides making it fit for use, workers had rebuilt the rotting staircase to the hallway outside it; but otherwise, so far they were occupied elsewhere. A naked bulb glared on peeling, discolored plaster. This was a nasty district, way down on the lower west side. However, here the Unity could cheaply acquire an abandoned tenement bouse for its members to restore to decency. She couldn’t help wondering whether there would ever be more such undertakings. Let it get bigger and it would become too noticeable, and beyond the control of that pair whose cover and stronghold it was. Nonetheless, people who belonged were bound to grow up, marry, have children.

She descended to a jumble of equipment and materials in the lobby. The night watchman rose to greet her. Another man got up too, young, big, ebony-hued. Aliyat recognized Randolph Castle. “Good evenin’, Missus-lo Rosa,” he rumbled. “Peace an’ strength.”

“Why, hello,” she replied, surprised. “Peace and strength. What are you doing here so late?”

“Thought I’d walk you back. Figured you might stay on after the rest had left.”

“That’s very kind of you.”

“Just bein’ careful,” he said grimly. “We don’t wanna lose you.”

They bade the watchman goodnight and went out. The street was poorly lit, its murk apparently empty, but you never knew what might wait in those shadows and taxis didn’t cruise the area. Her place wasn’t far, a light housekeeping room in the Village. However, she was glad to have formidable company.

“Wanted to talk with you anyway,” he said once they had started off. “If you don’t mind.”

“No, of course not. That’s a main part of what I’m for, isn’t it?”

He must force the words out. “No pers’nal troubles this time. It’s for ever’body. Only I don’t know as how we can tell Mama-lo.”

Aliyat brushed fingers across his clenched fist. “Go on,” she urged gently. “Whatever you say will be safe with me.”

“I know. Oh, I know.” She had heard his confession of wrongdoing and helped him set matters right. After a number of hollowly thudding footfalls: “Look, Mama-lo don’t relize how bad this area is. None of us did, or I guess we wouldnYve bought into it. But I been findin’ out.”

“Crime, drug dealing. We’ve handled those before. What else?”

“Nothin’. But these dealers, they’re mean. They know ‘bout us an’ they don’t intend we should get no foothold here, no ways.”

Chill struck through her. She had met absolute evil in century after century, and knew its power.

Once she had laughed this presence of it off. “Who cares, as long as we keep our own people clean?” she said. “Let others wreck themselves if they want. You smuggled in booze and ran speakeasies during Prohibition. I did pretty much the same. Whafs the difference?”

“I’m surprised you don’t know better than to ask that,”

Corinne answered. She paused. “Well, you’ve been trying hard to steer clear of everything wicked. Listen, dear. The stuff that’s coming in these days is different. We say nothing in the Unity against taking an occasional drink, we use wine in some of our ceremonies, but we teach our members not to get drunk. You cannot not lose your mind to stuff like crack. And ... the old gangsters could get vicious enough, I’m not sure now that I should ever have condoned their business, but compared to the dealers today they were the Holy Innocents.” Her fingers writhed together. “Today it’s like the slave trade come back.”

That was years ago, when things were only starting to get bad. Aliyat had learned since then. And the Unity took action at each of its settlements. A solid band of dwellers who kept watch, called the police whenever they Had information, set an example, helped the lost find the way home to humanness, and stood together in half- military wise: they could make a neighborhood unprofitable, actually dangerous, for pushers.

“I been threatened, myself,” Castle said. “Other guys have too. I think, we really think, if we don’t pull out, the mob’s gonna try an’ blow us away.”

“We can’t abandon the project,” she told him. “We’ve sunk more than we can afford to lose into it. The Unity isn’t rich, you know.”

“Yeah, I know. So what can we do?” He straightened. “Fight back, tha’s what we can do.”

“People aren’t allowed to defend themselves in New York City,” she snapped.

“Uh-huh. Only—well, sure, we can’t tell Mama-lo. We can’t let her know. She’d have to forbid, wouldn’t she? No matter what we’d lose. But if some of us was ready to fight back, an’ word o’ that got aroun’ underground, why, maybe we’ll never have to. How ‘bout that? You been aroun’ a lot. What do you think?”

“I’ll need to hear a great deal more. And, yes, think hard.” Already Aliyat suspected what her decision would be.

“Sure. We’ll talk whenever you can spare the time, Missus-lo Rosa. We’re dependin’ on you.”

On me! she thought, and pride thrilled.

They walked mute thereafter to the entrance of her home building. She gave him her hand. “Thanks for being so honest, Randy,” she said.

“Thank you, Missus-lo.” In this brighter illumination, his smile gleamed. “When can we meet again?”

Temptation blazed. Why not at once? He was strong and handsome in his rugged fashion, and it had been a long time, and ... she wondered if she had at last become able to give of herself, whole-heartedly, without hate or contempt or even suspicion.

But no. He might be shocked. Certainly many members would be, if they found out. Better not chance it.

“Soon,” she promised. “Right now I have some record-keeping chores to finish. In fact, I’d better put in a couple of hours tonight, before I go to sleep. Soon, though.”

6

From the lounge where he sat, turning over the pages of a British magazine without the text especially registering on his mind, Hanno could see into the foyer. Twice a woman entered and his heart jumped; but she went on toward the elevator. The third time proved the charm. She spoke with the clerk at the desk, turned, and moved hesitantly his way. At once he rose from the leather of the armchair. It crossed his mind that long residence in this country might not have given a Russian Western habits of punctuality; and a Russian perhaps hundreds of years old—

She came in and halted. His vision flashed across her. Becker’s description was sketchy, and the German had

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