To pursue those questions would invite the very attention he needed to avoid. There was nothing he could do but to wait and remain inconspicuous.

He bought a skewer of meat from a stall and moved on while he ate, pausing at the blaze of light thrown by lanterns over a gambling layout, watching as the dealer taught those placing bets how to manipulate the cards. A lesson they never even suspected-the man was good at his trade.

A crone offered vials of potion guaranteed to win adoration. A tall, gaunt man offered a drug which would increase the ability to memorize data. A woman with silver hair dotted with scarlet made crude jests as she persuaded a bunch of students to buy her system of mnemonics. A monk lifted a chipped bowl of worn plastic.

"Of your charity, brother."

Dumarest paused, tearing the last of the meat from the skewer and throwing aside the wood. The monk followed it with his eyes, saying nothing, but his meaning was plain. Dumarest had eaten-others would starve. If he could realize that, realize too that, but for the grace of God, he could be one of them, then the millennium would be that much closer. When all accepted the basic credo then it would have arrived.

Brother Lond would never see it. Mankind bred too fast, spread too quickly, but to cease from struggle because the aim was distant was alien to the Church of Universal Brotherhood of which he was a part.

Now he lifted his bowl, tall and gaunt in his robe of brown homespun, the bare feet in their sandals gnarled and stained with the dirt of the field, an old man who had dedicated his life to the easement of suffering. His head lowered as Dumarest dropped coins into the bowl.

"You are generous, brother."

Dumarest said dryly, "Aren't you going to wish me good fortune in my studies?"

"If it will please you." The sunken eyes of the monk were direct. "But do you go to study, brother? Or do you go to hide?"

A guess? Monks were far from being fools and the old man would have noticed his bearing, recognized the dun-colored robe for what it was, the charity as being alien to a student nursing his resources. A mistake, but not a serious one; Dumarest had no cause to fear the Church.

He moved on, halting to listen to a man selling electronic equipment.

"Small, neat and compact," he was saying. "Each unit is capable of multiple settings and can take a variety of programs. Use the earpiece while awake, the bone conductor when asleep-the actual emissions from the brain when the correct state is reached will trigger the instrument. Each cartridge holds an hour of continuous information, and a wide choice is available. Medicine, electronics, physics, astrogation-all in the form of lectures or assembled bits of essential data. Learn while you sleep. Gain the advantage of continuous study and ensure the gaining of your degree."

An honest man selling an honest product but a student wanted more than that. The vendor pursed his lips at the question.

"A crib? Something to take into the examination room and feed information as desired? My friend, if I had such an item I would be a criminal to sell it to you. The rooms are electronically guarded against such devices and, if you should be discovered owning one, you would be immediately expelled. I have no desire to contribute to another's ruin. I-" He broke off as a siren cut the air with its wail, a series of short and long blasts which ended in an echoing silence. "The Cossos." He looked at his audience. "That was her signal."

Dumarest's ship-it was time for him to board.

There was still a crowd clustered around the cage in its circle of brilliance, and as Dumarest passed he heard the raw, primitive snarl of the beast as it faced its tormentors. The guards, bribed, no longer made any effort to prevent the hail of missiles which the dilettantes threw at the cage, some hitting the bars, others the matted coat of the creature. They would tire of the sport or the beast would cease roaring its anger or its owner would come to complete the transshipment and the incident would be over and forgotten. But, perhaps, the taste would linger to remind humans that they were, at times, more viciously savage than any animal.

"Hurry!" A man called to his companion. "Let's get aboard before it's too late!"

There was no need to hurry; the warning signal had been a preliminary. It would be repeated later, again to warn of immediate departure. Even as Dumarest turned from the cage a siren blasted in the standard pattern and he halted, looking at the stubby shape which lifted from the dirt, the stained hull and patches vague beneath the blue shimmer of the Erhaft field which carried it up and out toward the stars.

The sight caught at the imagination, driving the beast insane.

Dumarest heard the sudden, maniacal scream of naked fury, the accompanying shrieks as the bars yielded and a guard died beneath the rake of sickle claws. Another joined him as the crowd raced from the spot, streaming like ants from the point of danger, jostling, thrusting, yammering their fear, their terror of the monster.

The beast stood roaring its hate and defiance, fists drumming on the barrel of its torso, saliva dripping from bared fangs, blood smeared on the claws, the matted hair.

"Lavinia! My God, Lavinia!"

The scream cut across the roaring, the drumming, the noise of the crowd. A sound torn from the throat of a woman in the extremity of anguish, shocking, desperate.

The thing heard it and dropped its hands, head turning to scan the area, seeing as Dumarest saw the small figure sprawled on the dirt, the mane of ebon hair, the glitter of the doll still clutched firmly in one hand.

"Lavinia!"

She didn't move, probably knocked unconscious from a blow delivered in unthinking panic, knocked down and half-stunned, dazed at least. Then the hand twitched, light catching the doll, flashing from the sequins, the tinsel, a sudden blaze of radiance which caught and held the attention of the beast, sent it padding toward the intriguing point of brightness, the nostrils flaring as it scented prey.

Things Dumarest noted as he moved, driving booted feet against the ground, the rush of wind filling his ears, catching at his hair. Wind which caught his robe and sent it to balloon behind him, a drag he fought to conquer.

Speed, to reach the small figure first, to distract the beast, to get her to safety. His eyes checked as he ran, assessing time and distance, seeing the tormented face of the girl's mother, Roy standing helplessly at her side, the small group of uniformed men behind them, faces pale blobs against the darkness of the running crowd.

Then he was stooping, scooping up the slight shape, lifting the girl to throw her high and far toward the reaching arms. He fell, shoulder and side numbed, to roll desperately from the foot which kicked at his face to miss and rip deeply into the dirt.

Lying, the taste of blood warm in his mouth, Dumarest looked at the death towering above him.

The beast was man-like but was not wholly a man. A true human would have killed without hesitation but the creature chose to roar, to snarl its hate and challenge-seconds which gave Dumarest his only chance.

He rolled again, climbing to his feet, backing to gain distance, the time to prepare. The blow which had knocked him down had ripped the robe into rags and he doffed the remnants to stand unhampered in neutral gray. A move and the knife lifted from his boot to fill his hand with edged and pointed steel. This was his only weapon, as the metal-mesh buried in the plastic of his clothing was his only defense. They and his body and brain were all he had. Together they had to be enough.

The beast snarled and darted forward, claws slashing the air as Dumarest jerked aside, feeling the grate of broken ribs, tasting again the saltiness of his own blood. A warning; to be too active was to rip a lung to shreds. Yet how to avoid the danger?