An out the other accepted. "Yes," he said, lowering his wrist. "Yes, I guess they do."

"You help them all the time."

"That's right."

"And you can help me. I'm looking for a girl named Melome. She was sold to the circus last night."

"A freak?"

"A sensitive." Dumarest added, "Some would call it the same thing."

"They could be right." Gora shook his head. "I haven't seen her. Try the infirmary." He gestured at the door close to his cubicle. "You'll have to go out that way." As Dumarest reached for the knob he said, "Would it hurt?"

"Just the sting of the bite. After that you'd just drift into sleep."

Into sleep and death and final oblivion. An easy way out-but one Dumarest would never take.

Reiza snapped, "Up, Chang! Up!"

He was slow to respond, snuffing the air, lambent eyes shifting in the sleek perfection of his skull. Small signs others might have overlooked or ignored but to her they were beacons of danger. Attention diffused when it should have been concentrated solely on her. The crack of her whip demanded attention.

"Stay!" The animal had moved a little. "Stay, Chang! Stay!"

A beast troubled by unaccustomed stimuli; during the last performance some fool had chosen to use a klaxon. A trick which had raised a laugh but which had almost shattered the delicate balance of command she held over her charges. An unthinking gesture, perhaps, or maybe one with a sinister intent; placid though Baatza was yet there were always those yearning for violence and the sight of blood.

"Up!" The crack of her whip again. "Up, Chang! Up!"

Again the obedience was slow though others wouldn't have noticed the delay. The mating season? Had the stir of hormones made the beast restless? A possibility and one she would check using drugs to gain tranquility if they were needed. A procedure she would rather avoid; drugged animals lacked the sharp edge which enhanced the performance.

"Reiza?" Zucco spoke from the shadows, the seats behind him rising in a tiered array to circle the ring. "Will you be much longer?"

A question which irritated her; rehearsals and training took as long as was necessary.

"You're tired," he said, stepping forward. "It's been a long day and-"

"Stay clear!" The crack of her whip emphasized the command. "Damn it, Jac, you know better than to interfere at a time like this. Chang's edgy enough as it is. That fool with the klaxon-"

"I threw him out."

"But the damage was done. Now leave me." She saw the movement of the beast's eyes, the tensing of muscle beneath the ebon fur. "Leave me!"

He obeyed and yet still something was wrong. Not just her fatigue or the drifting attention of the animal but something else.

A conflict of wills on a primordial level, one Hayter had warned her about before he had died, his face ripped from the bone beneath, intestines spilling from opened bowels.

"Never take them for granted, Reiza. Cats look calm and placid but always they are a danger. A whim and you could be dead. The blow might be struck in anger or for sport-but you are still dead."

Just as he was dead, as were others she had known, but she would not be one of them.

"Chang!" An animal to be dominated and she felt the surge of anger rising within her. A radiated determination which eliminated the possibility of disobedience. "Down! Down!"

The crack of the whip, showmanship when giving a performance but in reality signals the creature obeyed. The punctuation of her verbal commands, repeated as, dutifully, the animal dropped from the stool, mounted another, stepped through a hoop, squatted like some ancient deity.

And, again, snuffed at the air.

"You!" Reiza turned, saw a glimpse of white, the hint of movement. "You there!"

"Me?" Dumarest halted, shifting the bundle beneath his arm; a mass of paper and rag he'd wrapped close to form a package. One which a casual glance would assume he was delivering. "You want me?"

"Come closer!"

She stood waiting as he approached, straddle-legged, the whip dangling from her right wrist. Tall, strong, a mane of black hair cut to reach her shoulders. A color matched by the halter she wore, the shorts, the boots which rose to mid-thigh, accentuating the creamy whiteness of her skin. Above the naked midriff her breasts bulged against the thin plastic of their prison.

She said, "You're new here, right?"

"Yes, but-"

"You smell wrong. Chang noticed it. Weren't you warned about coming into the main ring?" Her eyes searched his face, his clothing, her own nostrils flaring. "You stink."

The saliva sprayed by the ape-thing guarding the freaks. A scent caught now by the woman as it had disturbed the beast. As Dumarest watched it moved, sickle-claws gleaming from velvet pads, fangs showing between lifted lips.

A black leopard; rearing, it would be as tall as a man. A killing machine holding the beauty of functional design.

He said, "I shouldn't leave that animal alone too long."

"You're teaching me my business?"

"Giving you some advice. You-"

"Keep it." She was scornful. "Who the hell are you, anyway? A swamper? What are you doing here?"

Questions he'd so far managed to avoid. A man with a package, moving with purposeful determination-those he'd met had assumed he belonged. But the infirmary had been empty and Melome had still to be found.

"It's my sister," he said. "I'm bringing her a few things."

"Your sister?"

"That's right. She joined the circus last night and forgot to take a few essentials." He gestured with the package. "Maybe you know her? A sensitive. If I could just have a word with her?"

"You're lying!" Reiza was curt. "If you don't belong you've no right to be wandering around. What's in that package? Stuff you've stolen? Is that what you are; a lousy thief? And that smell-what the hell have you been up to?"

"Nothing." Dumarest backed away. "Nothing at all. I'll just get away, now. Leave you to it."

He turned and took three steps toward the shadows when he heard the woman's sharp command.

"Chang! Hold!"

One which sent the leopard hurtling from where it squatted.

Dumarest turned, jumping to one side, the package lifting, lancing toward the snarling mask. A distraction the leopard ignored, landing, springing again as Dumarest reached for his knife, feeling his foot slip on something in the sand, toppling, feeling the slamming impact of the animal as he went down. Pinned, helpless, he stared into the snarling mask.

And froze.

Reiza said, "At least you've the sense not to move. A hunter?" As Dumarest made no reply she added, "You're playing dead. Hoping Chang will get bored and move away. In the wild that might work if you aren't bleeding and the beast isn't starving." She leaned over him, nostrils flared, sniffing. "You stink but not of fear. That's good. All right, Chang, back now." Her tone hardened. "Back, Chang! Back!"

Dumarest sat upright as the beast left, seeing it lope toward the shadows, its caged den. He climbed to his feet as the woman turned to face him.

"A thief," she said. "Certainly a liar." The lash of her whip tore at the package. "A few things for your sister? It holds nothing but rubbish." The lash cracked an inch from his cheek. "Talk, damn you!"

"I came looking for someone. A girl. Melome. That's all."

"Your sweetheart?" The whip cracked again and he felt a sting on his cheek. Touching it, he saw blood on his fingers. "You like her?"

As she liked what she was doing, the whip, the questions, the usage of power. Dominating him. Playing with him as a cat would torment a mouse. And there was more than a little of the feline about her. In the slant of her eyes, the set of her mouth. The whip was a claw she sent to sting.

"Thief! Liar! Why are you here?"

"I told you. I'm-" Dumarest looked at the welt she put on the back of his hand. It burned like fire. "Be careful with that whip."