As she struck the ground, her fall cushioned by the sheer profusion of her shirts and coats, the ground shuddered yet again. But this time, the tremor did not die away. It continued to escalate, turning over the unattended sedan, and sending the guard who had been leading the procession scurrying back up the hill.

"Damn you, woman!" Musnakaff hollered to Maeve as he went to help pick her up. "Now look what you've done."

"What's happening?" Phoebe yelled.

"It's him!" Musnakaff said. "He heard her! I knew he would."

"King Texas?"

Before Musnakaff could reply the street shook from end to end, and this time the ground cracked open. These were not fissures, like those Phoebe had skipped on Hartnon's Heights. There was nothing irregular about them; nothing arbitrary. they were elegantly shaped, carving arabesques in the paving, and everywhere joining up, so that within moments the entire street looked like an immense jigsaw puzzle.

"Everybody stay where they are," Musnakaff said, his voice trembling.

"Don't anybody move." Phoebe did as she was instructed. "Tell him you're sorry," Musnakaff yelled to...aeve. "Quickly!"

With the help of her two conscious bearers the woman had got to her knees. "I've got nothing to apologize for," Maeve said.

"God, you are a stubborn woman!" Musnakaff roared, and raised his arm as if to strike her.

"Don't," Phoebe yelled at him. She'd lost most of her patience with Maeve in the last half-hour, but the sight of her about to be struck brought back painful memories.

She'd no sooner spoken than the divided ground shook afresh, and pieces of the jigsaw fell away, leaving holes three, four, even five feet across in a dozen places. The chill out of them made the icy air seem balmy.

"I told you," Musnakaff said, his voice dropped to a hoarse whisper. Phoebe's eyes darted from one hole to the next, wondering which one the lovelorn King Texas was going to emerge from. "We should never... never

... have come," Maeve was murmuring. "You talked me into it, woman!"

She jabbed her finger in Phoebe's direction. "You're in cahoots with him, aren't you?" She started to struggle to her feet, with the air of her bearers. "Admit it," she said, the words flying from her mouth along with a spray of spittle. "Go on, admit it."

"You're crazy," Phoebe said, "You're all crazy!"

"Now there's a woman knows what she's talk-in' about, " said a voice from the earth, and from every one of the holes rose a column of writhing dirt, which within seconds had climbed up to twice human height.

The sight was more remarkable than intimidating. Gasping with astonishment, Phoebe turned around to see that on every side the tips of the columns were already sprouting branches like spokes, which spread and knotted together overhead.

"Musnakaff?" Phoebe said. "What's happening?"

It was Maeve who replied. "He's making shade for himself," he said, plainly unimpressed by the display. "He doesn't like the light, poor thing. He's afraid it's going to make him wither away."

"Look who's talkin'!" said the voice out of the ground. "You wrote the book on witherin', love of my wretched life."

"Am I supposed to be flattered?" Maeve said.

"No the voice from the ground replied. "You're Supposed to remember that I always tell you the truth, even when it stings a little. And, sweetness, you look old. No, strike that. You look forlorn. Forsaken. Empty."

"That's rich, coming from a hole in the ground!" Maeve snapped.

There was laughter now, out of the earth; soft, ripe laughter.

"Are you going to show yourself," Maeve said, "or are you too ugly these days?"

"I'm whatever you want me to be, my little pussy-rose."

"Don't be crude, for once."

"I'll be a monk for you. I'll never touch myself. I'll-"

"Oh God, how you talk!" Maeve said. "Are you going to show yourself or not?"

There was a short silence. Then the voice simply said "Here," and up out of one of the holes between Maeve and Phoebe came a stream of muddy matter that began to congeal@ven before it had finished rising-into a vaguely human form. It had its back to Phoebe, so she had no sense of its physiognomy, but to judge by the dorsal view it was an unfinished thing: a man of dust and raw rock.

"Satisfied?" it drawled.

"I think it's too late for that," Maeve replied.

"Oh no, baby, that's not true. It's not true at all." He raised his arm (his hand was the size of a snow shovel) as if to touch the old lady. But he refrained from contact, his lumpen fingers hovering an inch from her cheek. "Give up your flesh," he said. "And come and be rock with me. We'll melt together, baby. We'll let people live on our backs and we'll just be down there, warm and cosy." Phoebe studied Maeve's face through this strange seduction and knew she'd heard (or read) these words countless times. "You'll never have another wrinkle," King Texas went on. "You'll never have your bowels seize up. You'll never ache. You'll never wither. You'll never die." He ran out of sweet talking there, and seeing that his words were having no effect, turned to Phoebe. "Now I ask you," he said (as she'd suspected, his face was barely sketched in clay), "does that Sound so damn bad?" His breath was cold and smelled of the underworld. Caves and pure water; things growing in darkness. It was not unpleasant. "Well does it?" he said.

Phoebe shook her head. "No," she replied. "It sounds ne to me."

"There!" said Texas, glaring back over his shoulder at Maeve but almost instantly returning his gaze to Phoebe. "She understands me. "

"Then take her. Write your damn letters to her. I want no part of you."

Phoebe saw a wounded look cross King Texas's unfinished face. "You won't get another chance," he said to Maeve, still studying Phoebe as he spoke. "Not after this. The lad's going' to destroy your city and you'll go with it."

"Don't be so sure," Maeve replied.

'Oh, wait now... " King Texas said, "can you be thinking of going back into business?" He swung his huge head round to peer at Maeve.

"Why not?" she said.

"Because the lad have no feelings. Nor do they have much between the legs."

"So you've seen them, have you?"

"Dreamed 'em," King Texas said. "Dreamed 'em over and over."

"Well go back to your dreams," Maeve said. "And leave me to get on with what's left of my life. You've got nothing I need."

"Oh that hurts," King Texas said. "If I had veins I'd bleed."

"It's not just veins you're missing!" Maeve replied.

The King's gigantic form shuddered, and he growled out a warning: "Be careful," he said.

But the words went unheeded. "You're old and womanly-2'Maeve said.

"Womanly?" Now the street rocked again. Phoebe heard Musnakaff muttering to himself, and realized it was a prayer she knew: "Mary, mother of God...

"I'm a lot of things," King Texas said. "And some of 'em I'm none too proud of. But wontanly-2' His head had started to sprout snaky shapes as thick as fingers. Hundreds of them, 1 running from his scalp in writhing streams. "Does this look womanly to you?" he demanded to know. His entire body was transforming, Phoebe saw, his anatomy bulging and rippling. As it did so he stepped out of the hole from which he'd risen onto solid ground, detaching himself from the flow of rock. He stood before Maeve like a shaggy titan, with a growl in his

11 throat. "I could take you all down with me," he said, reaching to seize the cobbled street. the way somebody might catch hold of a rug. "Let you see what it's like in my beautiful darkness." He tugged on the street, just a little. Musnakaff was thrown off his feet, and instantly slid towards one of the holes.

"Please God no!" he shrieked. "Mistress! Help me!"