'Anything to oblige,' the driver grinned.

Harry joined Valentin on the sidewalk and theywalked the twenty-five yards to the house. The streetwas still noisy, despite the hour: the party that Harryhad seen in preparation half a night ago was at itsheight. There was no sign of life at the Swann residencehowever.

Perhaps they don't expect us, Harry thought. Certainlythis head-on assault was about the most foolhardy tacticimaginable, and as such might catch the enemy offguard. But were such forces ever off-guard? Was thereever a minute in their maggoty lives when their eyelidsdrooped and sleep tamed them for a space? No. InHarry's experience it was only the good who neededsleep; iniquity and its practitioners were awake everyeager moment, planning fresh felonies.

'How do we get in?' he asked as they stood outside thehouse.

'I have the key,' Valentin replied, and went to thedoor.

There was no retreat now. The key was turned, thedoor was open, and they were stepping out of thecomparative safety of the street. The house was asdark within as it had appeared from without. Therewas no sound of human presence on any of the floors.Was it possible that the defences Swann had laidaround his corpse had indeed rebuffed Butterfield,and that he and his cohorts had retreated? Valentinquashed such misplaced optimism almost immediately,taking hold of Harry's arm and leaning close towhisper:

'They're here.'

This was not the time to ask Valentin how he knew,but Harry made a mental note to enquire when, or ratherif, they got out of the house with their tongues still intheir heads.

Valentin was already on the stairs. Harry, his eyes stillaccustoming themselves to the vestigial light that creptin from the street, crossed the hallway after him. Theother man moved confidently in the gloom, and Harrywas glad of it. Without Valentin plucking at his sleeve,and guiding him around the half-landing he might wellhave crippled himself.

Despite what Valentin had said, there was no moresound or sight of occupancy up here than there had beenbelow, but as they advanced towards the master bedroomwhere Swann lay, a rotten tooth in Harry's lower jaw thathad lately been quiescent began to throb afresh, andhis bowels ached to break wind. The anticipation wascrucifying. He felt a barely suppressible urge to yell out,and to oblige the enemy to show its hand, if indeed ithad hands to show.

Valentin had reached the door. He turned his head inHarry's direction, and even in the murk it was apparentthat fear was taking its toll on him too. His skin glistened;he stank of fresh sweat.

He pointed towards the door. Harry nodded. He wasas ready as he was ever going to be. Valentin reachedfor the door handle. The sound of the lock-mechanismseemed deafeningly loud, but it brought no responsefrom anywhere in the house. The door swung open,and the heady scent of flowers met them. They hadbegun to decay in the forced heat of the house; therewas a rankness beneath the perfume. More welcome thanthe scent was the light. The curtains in the room hadnot been entirely drawn, and the street-lamps describedthe interior: the flowers massed like clouds around thecasket; the chair where Harry had sat, the Calvadosbottle beside it; the mirror above the fireplace showingthe room its secret self.

Valentin was already moving across to the casket,and Harry heard him sigh as he set eyes on hisold master. He wasted little time, but immediatelyset to lifting the lower half of the casket lid. Itdefeated his single arm however and Harry went tohis assistance, eager to get the job done and be away.Touching the solid wood of the casket brought hisnightmare back with breath-snatching force: the Pitopening beneath him, the illusionist rising from hisbed like a sleeper unwillingly woken. There was nosuch spectacle now, however. Indeed a little life inthe corpse might have made the job easier. Swannwas a big man, and his limp body was uncooperativeto a fault. The simple act of lifting him from hiscasket took all their breath and attention. He cameat last, though reluctantly, his long limbs floppingabout.

'Now ...' said Valentin '... downstairs.'

As they moved to the door something in the streetignited, or so it seemed, for the interior suddenlybrightened. The light was not kind to their burden. Itrevealed the crudity of the cosmetics applied to Swann'sface, and the burgeoning putrescence beneath. Harryhad an instant only to appreciate these felicities, andthen the light brightened again, and he realised that itwasn't outside, but in.

He looked up at Valentin, and almost despaired. Theluminescence was even less charitable to servant thanto master; it seemed to strip the flesh from Valentin'sface. Harry caught only a glimpse of what it revealedbeneath - events stole his attention an instant later - buthe saw enough to know that had Valentin not been hisaccomplice in this venture he might well have run fromhim.

'Get him out of here!' Valentin yelled.

He let go of Swann's legs, leaving Harry to steer Swannsingle-handed. The corpse proved recalcitrant however.Harry had only made two cursing steps towards the exitwhen things took a turn for the cataclysmic.

He heard Valentin unloose an oath, and looked upto see that the mirror had given up all pretence toreflection, and that something was moving up from itsliquid depths, bringing the light with it.

'What is it?' Harry breathed.

'The Castrate,' came the reply. 'Will you go?'

There was no time to obey Valentin's panickedinstruction however, before the hidden thing broke theplane of the mirror and invaded the room. Harry hadbeen wrong. It did not carry the light with it as it came:it was the light. Or rather, some holocaust blazed inits bowels, the glare of which escaped through thecreature's body by whatever route it could. It hadonce been human; a mountain of a man with the bellyand the breasts of a neolithic Venus. But the fire in itsbody had twisted it out of true, breaking out throughits palms and its navel, burning its mouth and nostrilsinto one ragged hole. It had, as its name implied, beenunsexed; from that hole too, light spilled. By it, thedecay of the flowers speeded into seconds. The blossomswithered and died. The room was filled in moments withthe stench of rotting vegetable matter.

Harry heard Valentin call his name, once, and again.Only then did he remember the body in his arms. Hedragged his eyes from the hovering Castrato, and carriedSwann another yard. The door was at his back, andopen. He dragged his burden out into the landing asthe Castrato kicked over the casket. He heard the din,and then shouts from Valentin. There followed anotherterrible commotion, and the high-pitched voice of theCastrate, talking through that hole in its face.

'Die and be happy,' it said, and a hail of furniture wasflung against the wall with such force chairs embeddedthemselves in the plaster. Valentin had escaped theassault however, or so it seemed, for an instant laterHarry heard the Castrato shriek. It was an appallingsound: pitiful and revolting. He would have stopped hisears, but he had his hands full.

He had almost reached the top of the stairs. DraggingSwann a few steps further he laid the body down. TheCastrate's light was not dimmed, despite its complaints;it still flickered on the bedroom wall like a midsummerthunderstorm. For the third time tonight - once on 83rdStreet, and again on the stairs of the Bernstein place- Harry hesitated. If he went back to help Valentinperhaps there would be worse sights to see than everWyckoff Street had offered. But there could be noretreat this time. Without Valentin he was lost. Heraced back down the landing and flung open the door.The air was thick; the lamps rocking. In the middle oithe room hung the Castrato, still defying gravity. It hadhold of Valentin by his hair. Its other hand was poised,first and middle fingers spread like twin horns, about tostab out its captive's eyes.