Harry pulled his .38 from his pocket, aimed, and fired.He had always been a bad shot when given more thana moment to take aim, but in extremis, when instinctgoverned rational thought, he was not half bad. Thiswas such an occasion. The bullet found the Castrate'sneck, and opened another wound. More in surprise thanpain perhaps, it let Valentin go. There was a leakage oflight from the hole in its neck, and it put its hand to theplace.

Valentin was quickly on his feet.

'Again,' he called to Harry. 'Fire again!'

Harry obeyed the instruction. His second bulletpierced the creature's chest, his third its belly. Thislast wound seemed particularly traumatic; the distendedflesh, ripe for bursting, broke - and the trickle of lightthat spilled from the wound rapidly became a flood asthe abdomen split.

Again the Castrate howled, this time in panic, andlost all control of its flight. It reeled like a prickedballoon towards the ceiling, its fat hands desperatelyattempting to stem the mutiny in its substance. But ithad reached critical mass; there was no making good thedamage done. Lumps of its flesh began to break fromit. Valentin, either too stunned or too fascinated, stoodstaring up at the disintegration while rains of cookedmeat fell around him. Harry took hold of him and hauledhim back towards the door.

The Castrate was finally earning its name, unloosinga desolate ear-piercing note. Harry didn't wait to watchits demise, but slammed the bedroom door as thevoice reached an awesome pitch, and the windowssmashed.

Valentin was grinning.

'Do you know what we did?' he said.

'Never mind. Let's just get the fuck out of here.'

The sight of Swann's corpse at the top of the stairsseemed to chasten Valentin. Harry instructed him toassist, and he did so as efficiently as his dazed conditionallowed. Together they began to escort the illusionistdown the stairs. As they reached the front door therewas a final shriek from above, as the Castrate came apartat the seams. Then silence.

The commotion had not gone unnoticed. Revellershad appeared from the house opposite, a crowd oflate-night pedestrians had assembled on the sidewalk.'Some party,' one of them said as the trio emerged.

Harry had half expected the cab to have desertedthem, but he had reckoned without the driver'scuriosity. The man was out of his vehicle and staringup at the first floor window.

'Does he need a hospital?' he asked as they bundledSwann into the back of the cab.

'No,' Harry returned. 'He's about as good as he'sgoing to get.'

'Will you drive?' said Valentin.

'Sure. Just tell me where to.'

'Anywhere,' came the weary reply. 'Just get out ofhere.''

'Hold it a minute,' the driver said, 'I don't want anytrouble.'

'Then you'd better move,' said Valentin. The drivermet his passenger's gaze. Whatever he saw there, hisnext words were:

'I'm driving,' and they took off along East 61st like theproverbial bat out of hell.

'We did it, Harry,' Valentin said when they'dbeen travelling for a few minutes. 'We got himback.'

'And that thing? Tell me about it.'

'The Castrato? What's to tell? Butterfield must haveleft it as a watchdog, until he could bring in atechnician to decode Swann's defence mechanisms.We were lucky. It was in need of milking. That makesthem unstable.'

'How do you know so much about all of this?'

'It's a long story,' said Valentin. 'And not for a cabride.'

'So what now? We can't drive round in circles allnight.'

Valentin looked across at the body that sat betweenthem, prey to every whim of the cab's suspension androad-menders' craft. Gently, he put Swann's hands onhis lap.

'You're right of course,' he said. 'We have tomake arrangements for the cremation, as swiftly aspossible.'

The cab bounced across a pot-hole. Valentin's facetightened.

'Are you in pain?' Harry asked him.

'I've been in worse.'

'We could go back to my apartment, and restthere.'

Valentin shook his head. 'Not very clever,' he said,'it's the first place they'll look.'

'My offices, then -'

'The second place.'

'Well, Jesus, this cab's going to run out of gaseventually.'

At this point the driver intervened.

'Say, did you people mention cremation?'

'Maybe,' Valentin replied.

'Only my brother-in-law's got a funeral business outin Queens.'

'Is that so?' said Harry.

'Very reasonable rates. I can recommend him. Noshit.'

'Could you contact him now? Valentin said.

'It's two in the morning.'

'We're in a hurry.'

The driver reached up and adjusted his mirror; he waslooking at Swann.

'You don't mind me asking, do you?' he said. 'But isthat a body you got back there?'

'It is,' said Harry. 'And he's getting impatient.'

The driver made a whooping sound. 'Shit!' he said.'I've had a woman drop twins in that seat; I've hadwhores do business; I even had an alligator back thereone time. But this beats them all!' He pondered for amoment, then said: 'You kill him, did you?'

'No,' said Harry.

'Guess we'd be heading for the East River if you had,eh?'

'That's right. We just want a decent cremation. Andquickly.'

That's understandable.'

'What's your name?' Harry asked him.

'Winston Jowitt. But everybody calls me Byron. I'ma poet, see? Leastways, I am at weekends.'

'Byron.'

'See, any other driver would be freaked out, right?Finding two guys with a body in the back seat. But theway I see it, it's all material.'

'For the poems.'

'Right,' said Byron. 'The Muse is a fickle mistress.You have to take it where you find it, you know?Speaking of which, you gentlemen got any idea whereyou want to go?'

'Make it your offices,' Valentin told Harry. 'And hecan call his brother-in-law.'

'Good,' said Harry. Then, to Byron:

'Head west along 45th Street to 8th.'

'You got it,' said Byron, and the cab's speed doubledin the space of twenty yards. 'Say,' he said, 'you fellowsfancy a poem?'

'Now?' said Harry.

'I like to improvise,' Byron replied. 'Pick a subject.Any subject.'

Valentin hugged his wounded arm close. Quietly, hesaid: 'How about the end of the world?'

'Good subject,' the poet replied, 'just give me a minuteor two.'

'So soon?' said Valentin.

They took a circuitous route to the offices, while ByronJowitt tried a selection of rhymes for Apocalypse. Thesleep-walkers were out on 45th Street, in search of onehigh or another; some sat in the doorways, one laysprawled across the sidewalk. None of them gave thecab or its occupants more than the briefest perusal.Harry unlocked the front door and he and Byron carriedSwann up to the third floor.

The office was home from home: cramped andchaotic. They put Swann in the swivel chair behind thefurred coffee cups and the alimony demands heaped onthe desk. He looked easily the healthiest of the quartet.Byron was sweating like a bull after the climb; Harryfelt - and surely looked - as though he hadn't slept insixty days; Valentin sat slumped in the clients' chair,so drained of vitality he might have been at death'sdoor.

'You look terrible,' Harry told him.

'No matter,' he said. 'It'll all be done soon.'

Harry turned to Byron. 'How about calling thisbrother-in-law of yours?'

While Byron set to doing so, Harry returned hisattention to Valentin.

'I've got a first-aid box somewhere about,' he said.'Shall I bandage up that arm?'

'Thank you, but no. Like you, I hate the sight ofblood. Especially my own.'

Byron was on the phone, chastising his brother-in-law for his ingratitude. 'What's your beef? I got you aclient! I know the time, for Christ's sake, but businessis business ...'