There were other figures in the background of the scene, subordinate to the Christ figure. One was a slight, lean figure dressed in gaudy clothes that resembled Dr. Tachyon. But like the Roman god Janus this Tachyon had two faces. One was serene and angelic in profile. It smiled sweetly and had an expression of benevolent kindness. The other was the leering face of a demon, bestial and angry, dripping saliva from an open mouth ringed with sharp teeth. The Tachyon figure held an unburning sun in his right hand, the side of the angel face. In the left he held jagged lightning.

There were other figures whose antecedents were somewhat less clear to Jennifer. A smiling Madonna with feathered wings nursed one head of a baby Christ figure at each breast, a goat-legged man wearing a white laboratory coat carried what looked like a microscope while cavorting in a dance, a man with golden skin and a look of perpetual shame and sorrow on his handsome features juggled an arcing shower of silver coins.

Inscribed above the tableau were the words: Our Lady of Perpetual Misery. Below that, in slightly smaller letters, was Church of Jesus Christ, Joker.

Jennifer pursed her lips. She had heard a little about this offshoot of orthodox Catholicism that had been embraced by many jokers who had a religious bent. The Catholic hierarchy, of course, wanted nothing to do with the Church of Jesus Christ, Joker, and considered it heresy. It wasn't exactly an underground religion, but nobody who wasn't a joker knew much about it, especially the secret rites that were rumored to be carried on in subterranean crypts that weren't as accessible to the public as the churches themselves were.

This was not the time, Jennifer decided, for theological exploration. She was about to turn and leave the church when a sudden sound, a sort of grasping, sucking, squishy noise, came from the other side of the doors leading into the nave. She froze and the image of Jesus Christ, joker, split down the middle as the doors swung open. A figure stood there, vaguely illuminated by the banks of candles that were burning within the nave. It was large and bulky, the height of a normal man and twice as broad, and covered completely by a voluminous cassock that hung to the floor. The figure's hands were hidden in flowing sleeves and Jennifer could barely make out a glabrous, dead-gray face in the shadow of the gown's hood. The face was round and oily looking with two large, bright eyes covered by nictitating membranes that were constantly blinking. The face had no nose, but a cluster of tendrils hung where the nose should be, twitching and rustling, covering the jokers mouth like some kind of weird, unkempt mustache.

Jennifer stared, swallowed hard.

The figure took another step into the vestibule and she heard again the faint squishy sound, like suckers on stone. The joker had a strange musty smell to him, as of the sea, or of things that lived in it.

He regarded Jennifer with his bright, solemn eyes, and when he spoke his voice was somewhat muffled by the tentacular tendrils that covered his mouth, but Jennifer could understand his words clearly.

"Welcome to Our Lady of Perpetual Misery. My name is Father Squid."

The nictitating membranes on Father Squid's eyes slipped back and forth rapidly over his protruding orbs, although the eyes themselves, remained open and staring. He smiled, maybe, behind the fall of tentacles that masked his mouth. At least his cheeks rose and his voice took on an even more gentle, kindly tone.

"Don't be afraid of me, or any you would find within these walls, my child. I perceive that you may be in need of help. I would endeavor to assist you, if I only knew what you needed."

The priest's words spoken in plodding sentences calmed Jennifer immediately. Somehow she couldn't be afraid of someone who said things like "I would endeavor to assist you."

"Well, um, Father, I guess I do need help. I'm not sure that you could help me, though."

"Perhaps," Father Squid said, "perhaps not. However, I'm sure that your coming to Our Lady Of Perpetual Misery was no accident. Perhaps our Lord guided you to our door. Perhaps you should simply tell me your story."

Why not? Jennifer suddenly thought. Perhaps he really could see a way out of this mess.

"All right," she began, then fell silent again. Father Squid nodded, as if he could read the hesitation on her face.

"Do not worry, my child. Everything you tell me will be held in the strictest confidence." He opened the door and pointed into the nave. His hand, taken outside the voluminous sleeves of his cassock for the first time, was large and gray with long, attenuated fingers. Jennifer could see faint circular depressions, like vestigial suckers, impressed all over its palm. "The confessional is within. The priest-penitent bond is well known and universally respected. Everything said there shall be privy between us."

Jennifer nodded. The priest-penitent bond was as strong as that between lawyer and client and, in fact, was less easily broken. If the priest was trustworthy, that is. She looked at the large, solemn-faced joker and decided she trusted him.

Father Squid held open the door and stood aside as she entered Our Lady of Perpetual Misery, Church of Jesus Christ, Joker.

Bagabond shivered as the trio walked through the heavy deco doors at the entrance to the Tombs. "I can see why they call it the Tombs," she said.

Paul shook his head. "Goes back more than a century to the first prison they built on this site. This is the third. Originally the building really did look like an Egyptian tomb."

"I still don't like it."

He touched her on the shoulder. "I know. I may be a criminal lawyer, but I hate jails too. They make me feel like a trapped animal." He spoke quietly. Rosemary, moving briskly ahead of them toward the desk sergeant, apparently didn't hear.

"Most animals are free, unless enslaved by a human." Bagabond looked at him directly. Paul flinched at her stare. "True."

Bagabond looked past him. "I think Rosemary wants you." The assistant DA had turned away from the desk and was waving at Paul.

Flicking her consciousness through a wino rocking on a lobby bench, a man who was no longer humanly aware, Bagabond watched the expression on Paul's face change from con fusion to thoughtfulness, and then to interest. She followed Paul up to Rosemary as the assistant DA argued with the desk sergeant.

Rosemary was unhappy. "You can't have lost him. This guy was teleported into a cell. How many people teleport into here every day?" Rosemary glared at the bald officer sitting above her. The cop glowered back.

"If he teleported in, he wouldn't come through this desk," said the sergeant. "He don't come through this desk, he ain't got no paperwork. No paperwork, no way to trace him. He's here, we got no record." The officer leaned back in his overburdened and creaking chair, and smiled down at Rosemary. "Ya gotta follow procedure." He tucked his many chins against his barrel chest and looked pleased with himself.

Rosemary grabbed the edge of his desk with both hands and took a deep breath.

Before she could speak, Paul said, "I believe his name is Bludgeon, the Bludgeon." He interjected the information into the conversation in an obvious attempt to keep his boss from either apoplexy or killing the desk sergeant. Rosemary swung around to stare at him with wide, angry eyes. "Large, muscular build," Paul continued. "Somewhat like your own."

"Nothin' comes to mind." The sergeant grinned widely as Paul turned to Rosemary, shrugging in resignation. She turned back toward the sergeant.

Voice tightly controlled, she said, "Perhaps you could find an officer for me."

"Lots of 'em around." The sergeant gestured at the room around them where a number of people, both police and those under arrest, had stopped their own conversations to listen to the exchange.