Chapter Seven

Martin faced the beam alone. The west-side landing elevator had deposited the remainder of the corps in the lower halls of the tower, but when he reached the crossing beam, Blake was only a tiny figure in the distance. He contemplated the thread of steel and swallowed nervously.

'You can't stand here forever,' he thought. 'You've made it across before, you can do it again.' Martin stepped out onto the beam.

'But I was never alone before.....'

The depths spread out beneath him, lights twinkling away into the distance to become nothing more than a hazy glow. Somehow, the black seemed less threatening, not quite as absolute. He concentrated on the steel just in front of his feet, adapting quickly to a gliding shuffle. In a surprisingly short time Martin found himself standing in the arch of level ninety.

Only a few beam-walkers moved through the hallway, and they nodded to him as passing acquaintances might. He returned the polite gesture, passing Blake's unguarded door without thought of stopping to speak to the Secretary. Martin looked in on his own suite, but found no sign of Rachael. Leaving the door open, he hurried down the corridor toward the great hall. Only a handful of the body politic were about, and their conversations were muffled by the immense walls of the chamber. The light coming through the gallery windows seemed a lighter hue, as though reflecting the dawning of a gray, rainy day.

Feeling cold, he walked back to his apartment with an emptiness in the pit of his stomach. Rachael was nowhere to be found. The rooms were empty, showing no sign of her having waited there for him. The heavy drape still covered the picture window as it had been when they went to bed. He pulled the weighty material aside and stared out at the familiar scene. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Martin became certain that the long night was edging toward a sullen daybreak.

"Weekend." he thought out loud?

Martin washed and changed jumpsuits before leaving the apartment. He thought of writing a note for Rachael on the mirror, just in case she returned before he found her. He decided against it and opened the door. Two guards barred his way, weapons held across their chests.

"Council member, Martin?"

"Yes, may I help you?"

"You have been summoned by Fairmont. Come with us."

There was no, please, about it. They turned and started down the hallway toward the crossing beam. Martin had no choice but to follow them across the girder at a slowed pace. The soldiers adapted to his measured stride without comment and entered the council halls of the great tower with Martin between them. Even here, signs of life were scarce. The few beam-walkers he saw scampered aside without looking up, and there were no more gestures of friendship.

An empty, main elevator took them up to the arena level, and then a lift, barely large enough for the three of them, rose sharply to unknown heights. The door slid open onto a lavish foyer.

"Come in," Margo smiled, "this is no time to be shy."

Martin left the guards in the elevator and stepped across lush carpeting into a dizzying panorama. Three hundred and sixty degrees of the city lay sprawled below him through a ceiling-high, circular window. Spires tipped with fire rose up, beams spider-webbed, elevator lights twinkled everywhere, but none could match the height of the great tower's penthouse.

"Have you seen, Rachael?" Margo smiled, nodding toward a large double door.

"She's inside with Blake and Fairmont."

Margo waved him inside, following close behind as the doors slid aside. The Governor rose from behind a splendid rosewood desk, his stern expression silencing any thought Martin had of speaking. Margo hurried to Fairmont's side, eyes gleaming brightly as his arms slid around her waist. Martin bowed his head in greeting as he spotted Rachael.

"Thank God, I didn't know where you'd gotten to."

"Please," Fairmont interrupted, "save your salutations for later. We have important business at hand. Blake!"

Rachael's lined brow told him that the business was not pleasant. Taking her hand, he faced the Governor as Blake entered the room through a narrow side door. His face appeared colorless, and the usual air of superiority and assurance had been replaced by one of submissiveness. His body stooped with a weariness he could not overcome. Two guards escorted the Secretary between them.

"Blake, we have read the charges brought against you in the warrant. Now the witnesses must hear your reply to each. You are charged with negligence in losing three hundred of the corps." Fairmont sat heavily. "Were unresisting delvers too much for you to handle?"

"It was the slummers. They attacked while my men were in the sewer. The few delvers we found were put to death." Fairmont turned away from the sagging figure.

"The few? This was to be a mass execution. Thousands, you said, the core of their uprising. And the tunnel, your newly discovered secret passage from Shaper's temple?"

"It is there," Blake protested. "The damned butchers were so intent on satisfying their blood lust, they didn't bother to execute a proper search. Gurst had no intention of following your orders."

Fairmont looked up at the Secretary and shook his head in disgust. Lifting a slender blade from his desk, he toyed with its sharpened edge, glaring at the gleaming steel.

"Gurst, it is always Gurst. It never occurred to Blake that it might be Blake's error. It never occurred to Blake that there might not be a tunnel. You were tricked by your delver friends," he screeched!

The knife pointed at Martin and Rachael, unwavering in its accusation. Martin started forward to protest the indictment, but one of the guards jabbed his rifle against Martin's chest, forcing him back next to Rachael. The room was suddenly filled with uniforms.

"Did I not order that all delvers were to be put to death?" Blake slouched noticeably. "Bring in the sewer rat!"

Martin's mouth fell open as the tailor was dragged through the narrow door, a smile of respect still lining his face. He stared at the floor, humble, his eyes averting those in the room.

"I thought....."

"You thought," Fairmont growled. "You sound like a delver. Where did you obtain the gift of creative reasoning? What strange malady is involved in your shaping? You allow this filth to live against my orders, and these two," the Governor rose from his chair.

"These two are permitted to walk the beams of level-ninety, ride the lifts, and desecrate the halls of the council. Delvers elected to the Inner Circle of the body politic, what would have been next?"

Wailing in rage, Fairmont drove the knife into his desk, the handle quivering with the force of his blow.

"We listened to you, trusted you, and for what? Treason! You brought what was left of the corps into the tower with you, the common military. What did you intend to do with them, take over my office?"

Blake remained silent. Sweat broke from Martin's forehead as Fairmont regained his composure and settled on the edge of his chair. Prying the blade loose, he twirled the point against his fingertip.

"Insurrection, criminal negligence, and harboring the enemy." Fairmont waved the blade carelessly. "Take this artisan to the lower chambers and begin his interrogation at once."

Margo had been forgotten during the Governor's tirade. Martin noticed her again, leaning over the back of the chair with her hands on Fairmont's shoulders. Reaching back to stroke her fingers, he looked at Blake with obvious hatred.

"Guilty, guilty, guilty. Secretary, councilman, member of the Inner Circle, Claudius Blake, you are sentenced to death." Martin's head jerked back in surprise as the name was pronounced.

'Only one has ever been put to death as a traitor,' he thought. 'Gateman said, Claudius B, was thrown from the crossing beam. He was the only member of the body politic who had been shaped with the ability to reason creatively, a free will.'

The dark gray sky seemed to mark some great occasion as Fairmont glared out of the window, hands clenched behind his back.

"Every beam-walker knows of your treason, they are gathering now to watch the sentence executed. Take him down, I will attend in a moment."

Fairmont's attention focused on Martin and Rachael as Blake was led from the office surrounded by guards. The Governor walked around the desk until he stood before them, and leaned back against the wood. He smiled tentatively.

"I must admit that your courage far exceeds that of our former Secretary. I have never witnessed such spirit on the part of a delver. To bad you weren't of a different shaping."

"We're not delvers," Martin insisted. "We are different, but that is because we are from another place." Fairmont's eyebrow rose quickly.

"That is what Rachael told us before you arrived. A wonderful tale, but I am not as naive as Blake. You are delvers, Margo can witness to that."

The blonde stepped forward, conservatively dressed but no less shapely. Smiling, she touched Martin's cheek and then shook her head.

"Blake's dreams were so dull, no excitement, no blood lust, and the constant repetition. But you, Martin, your dreams are strange. They tell of things that do not exist, places that cannot be. They lured me, malignant as they might have been. You have the gift of a creative mind, and no one but a delver is shaped with that gift." Margo stopped, almost shy as she turned her head.

"Go on my dear," Fairmont insisted, "the rest."

"You have.....parts, organs we do not possess." Her eyes rested between Martin's thighs.

"You delvers overwhelm us," Fairmont scowled. "Breeding, scheming, orating about right and wrong. We are the true shaping, only scoundrel bastards shape their own kind. And you are not one, not in mind or body. You do not share each other's dreams. You shut everyone out and then attempt to belittle us by ordering the shape of our world as though it were your own."

"Of a different creation," Martin breathed.

"You see," Margo yelled? "He shapes another word, a new word for, shaping. He thinks he is Shaper."

Fairmont waved her to silence, patting a well fleshed buttock as he led Margo aside.

"The final proof." Fairmont smiled, closing his eyes. "The ability to shape things with your minds, look!"

His arm waved toward the ceiling above them and Martin's eyes followed. The etching carved above them duplicated the mammoth work in the council hall and the great chamber. Thousands of faces, each distinct, crowded around the tree. The one, lone, faceless carving that leaned against it now had an identity. It was Martin.

"Every delver makes his mark upon the fresco, and by this we know them. Your kind cannot bear to leave a great work untouched, you must soil everything you see. That has come to an end. The final purge has begun, here and below."

The Governor faced the window again, cursing the fading darkness. Shaking his head, he turned to Martin and Rachael, a wistful expression on his face.

"The only delvers left alive by weekend will be those who have taken refuge in the sewers. When the new night falls we will end that also. Now you may witness the execution of your comrade in arms, and then you will join the tailor in the dungeons."

"Torture," Margo breathed? "I want them tortured for a long time. I want it to last, not just something quick and easy." Fairmont laughed despite the silvering light.

"I promise, Margo, it will last as long as you can bear the pleasure."

* * * * * * * *

Martin and Rachael had no time to speak to one another. They were allowed to hold hands, but the sight they beheld on the crossing beam drove them closer together. Every girder in sight was filled by the body politic, every inch of space was occupied by a silent beam-walker. On the girders below them the population of the city stood in mute anticipation. Fairmont and Margo led the procession, followed by the Governor's personal guard. Martin and Rachael stepped carefully in single file, guarded by a line of troops.

Blake stood in the center of the crossing beam with his wrists bound tightly in front of him. The Inner Circle stood to his right, the Governor's party on his left. He did not look up as Fairmont stopped only inches away.

"Shaped to die," Fairmont muttered. "In all this eternal life, you alone of the body politic were shaped to die. Your eyes tell it, dull and lifeless. Your dreams speak of it, weary and uninteresting. Claudius Blake, I condemn you to death, the end of your shaping."

Martin realized that his theory had only been partially correct. The eyes marked the individual, but so did their physical and mental attributes. Fairmont backed away, allowing Blake time enough to lift his head. Surprisingly, he looked straight at Martin. Words formed on his lips, a whispered message that Martin tried desperately to understand. A faint smile touched Blake's face, and then he was gone. A single leaf in all eternity, he fluttered down through the unspoken heights and disappeared from sight.

No sound escaped from the thousands who watched. To some, he was a distinct figure falling to his death. To others, he was only a speck that evaporated even while they watched him fall. Silent, they turned to walk the beams back to their levels. Martin and Rachael trembled with fear.

"Take them to the holding level," Fairmont ordered. "They will die like delvers. Margo will direct your actions, she has a mind for these things.'

"Did you hear what Blake said?" Martin whispered with his head bowed.

"Yes....."

"A brief rest, and then the light....."

"Silence, Delver!"

The guard stabbed Martin's back with the barrel of his weapon, bringing a grimace of pain to his face. Fear stirred every fiber of Martin's body, and he shook openly as they were led through the halls of the Great Tower to another sealed elevator. Surrounded by uniforms, Martin and Rachael stood quietly as the lift descended. Martin cried out suddenly as a blow struck him in the back of the leg, dropping him to his knees. Rachael was forced down by the strength of a guards hands.

Delver's kneel in the presence of the elite." The officer's face reminded Rachael of Gurst. It was filled with hate, scowling at her insolent expression.

"AH!"

She bent in pain as the back of his hand slapped her face, stinging her cheek red with finger marks. Martin bolted up only to see lightening. He tried to be sick as the rifle butt hit him in the pit of the stomach, but even that reaction was not to be allowed. The door opened, and they were dragged off the elevator into a stone corridor. The smell told them of fear, dirty sweat, and rotting flesh.

Martin stumbled, doubled over with pain as they walked the echoing corridor. A door opened on well-oiled hinges and Martin found himself laying on a granite floor. Rachael bent over him and turned Martin onto his side.

"Breathe, you've got make yourself breathe," Rachael urged.

"Can't," he choked.

"Come on, get up."

Rachael struggled with him, encouraging Martin until he stood on shaking legs with his back against the door. He managed to straighten slowly, holding his stomach with both hands. A weak moan came to them from somewhere in the unlit dungeon.

"Who.....who's there," Rachael stuttered?

She left Martin's side, stumbling around the cell as her eyes tried to adjust to the darkness. She bumped against the wooden slab and jerked back quickly.

"Martin, over here....."

Martin followed the sound of her voice, seeing Rachael as a shape slightly darker than the blackness around them. He squinted, adjusting his sight until he could make out a bundle of rags at their feet. It was the tailor.

Far above them, one tiny window appeared in the stone. It became a subtle gray spot in the black of the cell, casting its weak light on the delver's face. His eyes were swollen shut, his nose broken. Blood stained his ancient cheeks, and cracked lips added to the flow of red that trickled down his chin. They moved to form a grotesque smile as the head nodded weakly.

"Let me help you."

Rachael knelt beside the figure and used the soiled cloth of his shirt to dab at the blood. Martin could only stare, his throat forming words that would not come out. Finally, he stooped, trying to straighten the bent figure.

"No, please," he moaned, "I have only just found this comfortable position."

The tailor shuddered, overcoming a desire to scream. Rachael touched a gnarled hand and looked up at Martin with tears filling her eyes. The fingers had been broken at their joints, ruined flesh that would never practice their skill again. Martin let out a deep breath and shook his head.

"How can he endure such pain," Martin sighed?

"Endure? We endure because it is the only thing we are allowed to do. There is nothing left but to endure."

Martin sat cross-legged on the floor, watching Rachael caress the broken hand. It seemed to comfort the tailor, and his whimpering soon trailed off into the troubled growling of an agonized coma. Rachael looked around as the bare cell grew lighter, but there was nothing to cover the old man with. Martin's hand on her shoulder told Rachael that it no longer mattered. The tailor has stopped breathing.

Blinding white light forced Martin and Rachael to cover their eyes. The cell door bolted open, and Margo strode into the room with her guard. Hands on hips, she stared down at the three huddled bodies.

"How touching," she muttered. "Consoling the sewer rat? How do you like the shaping we've designed for him. Get them up," she snarled.

Guards pulled Rachael to her feet, dragging her away as others pulled at the old man. His sightless face peered up, no eyes, no teeth, no pain.

"The sewer rat is dead," the soldier announced.

Margo rushed forward and dragged the lifeless corpse off the wooden slab. In her anger she kicked at the body, crushing the mangled face until there was nothing human about it.

"Damn Shaper. It never lasts, it's never long enough. These two," she pointed at Martin and Rachael, "they will not cheat me of my pleasure by dying. Rachael first, she's strong."

"Margo, for God's sake.....GAHHHH!"

The air left Martin's body as a boot caught him in the groin. His eyes folded back under the lids, and he sank to the floor, the pain repeating over and over again. Martin was frozen in the fetal position, gagging on the air he breathed. His arm reached across the floor as he heard Rachael scream from far away. His own voice froze in his throat as the boot came down on his hand. Margo laughed hysterically.

"See? A delver, a breeder rat from the sewers. She'll never breed again." The voice weakened strangely. "She'll never.....have the pleasure....."

Martin forced his head up, willing his eyes to open despite the pain. Rachael's arms had been tied behind her back, then raised up toward the ceiling until she was bent over, naked. Her limbs knotted in an agony he could easily read on her distorted face. Margo was standing behind her, a look of bestiality replacing the mask of beauty she had worn.

The guards who surrounded Rachael moved in slow motion. Laughter died on their lips as light poured in through the corridor windows.

"Bastard.....damn.....Shaper.....bi....."

Margo's eyes fogged as she mouthed the obscenity. Rachael was the only one moving, squirming in pain and humiliation as Martin got to his knees. He sagged, head against the floor as the dark shadow fell over him. Rachael squirmed in absolute terror, then twisted against the pull of the rope as the groundling waddled into the dungeon.

"G-Gateman....." Martin passed out."

* * * * * * * *

He woke into the gray light of weekend with Rachael bent over him. She held a damp cloth against his forehead, a look of concern on her face. Returning his weak smile with a squeeze of her hand, she sat on the edge of the cot and looked behind her. The groundling's roly-poly features appeared at his feet, a broad frown lining his smooth face. Martin sat up too quickly, the cell spinning around him as he fell back and grabbed his stomach.

"Careful," Rachael warned, "you caught a good one in the wrong place. Give yourself a few minutes."

"No, we've got to get out of here, Margo....."

Grunting, Martin moved his legs to the edge of the cot and sat up slowly. Gateman's hand rested on his shoulder.

"There is time, only a little, but time enough. Weekend starts and ends here. Its first light is only just beginning to filter down to level-one."

"The body politic is frozen in mindless sleep." Rachael kept watch on the door as she spoke.

"Approximately," Gateman corrected. "They are awake, aware, but their minds have been emptied of all conscious thought. It is that one moment of sanity I mentioned before, when all mental endeavor ceases. However, we must be out of the city before weekend is over."

"And how long will that be?" Gateman shook his head sadly.

"I told you before, only Shaper knows. You tourists never learn."

If Martin had not been in such pain he would have laughed. He managed to regain his feet and tried a few faltering steps with Rachael holding his arm. He reached for her and jerked his hand back painfully.

Margo seems to have taken a slight disliking to you," Rachael chided. "It's not broken, but you'll be favoring it for awhile.."

Martin stumbled to the door and peered down the empty corridor expecting to see uniforms rushing toward them with Fairmont's guard in the lead.

"Where are we?"

"The east-tower prisoner ward," Gateman answered. "Thankfully, we are very close to the east-side landing elevator. In a few moments we will be taking the lift down to level one. You must leave the city as you came in, and return to.....wherever it is that you came from."

"You know we're not delvers, don't you." Rachael's voice lowered.

"Of course I know. You have the spirit to resist and a will that moves you to protect each other. And no good delver would spend the time denying what they are. Any intelligent mind could see the difference in a moment."

The groundling waddled to the door and stepped into the corridor. Daylight streamed through the arched windows, surrounding his rotund figure with a halo of bright gray.

"Time to go. I will help Martin. Rachael, down the hallway and to the left."

Every step brought a new pain, but Martin held the groundling's shoulder, limping heavily as they turned into a short hallway. Rachael stood at the end of the corridor holding a door open. Broad daylight gave the city the appearance of dead bones piled one on top of the other. The glitter of the roost cafes was gone, and the false beauty of night had disappeared. With the coming of weekend it stood as Martin and Rachael had first seen it. Its unfinished ugliness stood in sharp contrast to the spectacle they remembered.

Martin was forced to move slowly across the beam, looking up once to note the trap door that opened onto level-ninety's store room. Gateman eased Martin onto the immense elevator with Rachael, and then joined them with a hurried motion. The platform began to lower at once, picking up speed as it moved toward level-one and the road. Martin lay back on the floor, his knees drawn up to ease the pain.

"Are you alright," Martin asked? "You should need my help, not the other way around. It must have been painful....."

"I'm fine." Rachael dropped her head bashfully. "Margo had just started using her sadistic little talents on me, but they gave you quite a going over. As soon as weekend is over, they'll be after us," she muttered.

"Not quite that fast," Gateman smiled. "I locked the cell door. They can get out, but it will take a bit of fumbling about. Until they do, they will not be able to get to a service phone. Fairmont and the slummers will not be warned for some time."

Rachael stared at the groundling for a moment, and then glanced at Martin. He nodded, aware of the same thing.

"You have been shaped with the ability to reason creatively. You are capable of thought, logic, just as we are, and the....."

"Delvers?" Gateman's smile was unexpected. "Yes, that is part of my shaping, but I am not a delver. I do what I can to attend to things, care for them when I can. But I was not prepared for the two of you, how could I have been?"

"And the body politic," Martin asked?

"They know, but they are also aware that I do not use my mind to shape things. It is an agreed peace. I do not interfere, and they do not kill me."

"But now," Rachael frowned, "you have chosen sides, you are in as much danger as we are." Gateman's smile grew into a chuckle of amusement.

"How perceptive of you, my dear. I will survive."

The light dimmed slowly as they sank into the lower levels, but as Gateman had predicted, weekend was having its effect on the population. Beam-walkers were descending the levels, moving across the steel rafters like sleep walkers until they crowded to a stop. Level-one was filled with figures sitting quietly, and the road was lined with the silent population of the city.

As soon as the elevator shuddered onto the landing, Gateman took Martin's arm and helped him onto the concrete square. Moving with less discomfort, he was soon able to walk without help, although his pace slowed the groundling to an anxious grumbling. Rachael forced herself to stay beside Martin but she kept looking behind them anxiously. They had stopped for a moment's rest when the groundling came scurrying back.

"Something is wrong," he breathed. "The roadway ahead has been blocked by the slummers."

Rachael hurried forward, rushing past Gateman and down the road until she could see the blockade. Gurst stood in the middle of the macadam street, hundreds of slummers gathered behind him. They blocked the road all the way back to Gateman's shack. She ran back to Martin, breathing heavily.

"We'll just walk through them."

"They are immovable," Gateman warned, "as solid as steel girders packed together. I can't imagine....." He stopped short, staring at Martin.

"Your mind has been shaping things since you arrived," Gateman muttered. "It is a slow process, but everything you have done here will be part of the city's existence from now on. Is it possible....." He paused again.

"Only Shaper can be doing this. Your capture is fact, only he could project the possibility of your escape. The slummers were coming from my hut."

"Then they know." Martin got to his feet. "And your situation is....."

"Untenable," Gateman answered. "Quickly, there is only one other way out of the city."

He started back toward the east-side landing, leaving Martin and Rachael to their own pace. Fear prodded Martin into a slow, jogging stride past the elevator and toward the depths of the city. As he ran, the pain grew worse and they were barely able to keep the groundling in sight.

As they neared the center of the city, Gateman waved them onto a right branch of the road which headed toward the base of the Great Tower. Its heavily beamed foundation was set blocks apart, massive girders that defied the efforts of any beam-walker. When they had reached the deep shadows, Gateman allowed them to stop.

The heavy air left Martin and Rachael gasping for air, their lungs strained with the effort of their flight. Sweating heavily, they leaned against an upright beam of steel and watched the groundling as he cleared a pile of debris near them.

"What are you looking for," Martin gasped?

"Not looking for, uncovering."

"Okay, what are you uncovering?"

"The central-landing manhole cover."

Martin and Rachael stared at each other, then watched the groundling as he labored feverishly. The clank of metal told them he had reached his goal. Digging at the round hatch with a piece of steel, he managed to pry an edge off its seal. He looked back at his charges with some annoyance.

"You might assist me, time is growing short."

Martin knelt beside the rotund figure, marveling at his strength. Gateman slid the cover back and stepped aside, avoiding the smell that rose from the sewer. The sour stench turned Martin's stomach, and he held a hand over his mouth and nose. Rachael refused to go near the black hole, fearing some unseen terror in the depths below. The groundling moved out of the shadows, looked around, and then scurried back.

"They are beginning to move, weekend is coming to an end. You must hurry. This is the main conduit, follow it until you reach the crossroads and then take the right turning. I should be able to find you soon after that." he stared at the two of them thoughtfully.

"Well? Go on, it is your only hope. The city is rising, weekend is over."

"You want us to go down there?" Martin shook his head in disbelief.

"Martin, you have walked the sky at the very top of this city and it took you into danger. Now it is time for you to see what is in its lowest level and find safety. Your only escape is through the sewers."

"What's down there," Rachael asked?

Gateman began to sway nervously, wringing his hands as Martin and Rachael delayed with their unending questions.

"The society of delvers. They will not harm you, on the contrary, they are incapable of hurting anyone. But you have a long way to go before you reach their levels, and if you do not start now you will get us all killed."

Beam-walkers and slummers were beginning to edge onto the road, climbing the girders to higher levels as weekend vanished in a deepening gray light. Night hid the roly-poly as he scurried from the pile of rubble and joined the population of level-one.

"You're out early tonight, groundling."

Gateman turned quickly at the hissed whisper of Gurst's voice. Margo was standing beside the slummer, her face twisted with anger. Slummers and uniforms surrounded both sides of the road, moving through the crowded booth areas in an obvious search for Martin and Rachael.

"Merely attending the alarm."

He tried to sound nonchalant, but he was certain his nervousness would give him away. Gateman was not used to deception or deceit, for the role of politic did not suit him well. He stepped forward in an effort to appear casual.

"You wouldn't be hiding our two delver spies, would you?" Margo's eyebrow lifted as she studied the groundling's pudgy face. "They would have no one else to help them."

Her eyes narrowed as she tried to remember something that had happened just as weekend started. A shadow crept into her mind, a name she could not quite recall. Margo edged forward and stared into Gateman's eyes without blinking.

"I'd cut you as fast as any delver," Gurst threatened, "if I knew you had given aid to the enemy." He brandished the silver blade.

"I was searching just like the rest of you. Is there any reason to suspect me of such a thing?"

"There is reason to suspect everyone, my friend," the Governor announced.

Fairmont came down the road with his personal guard circled about his stately figure. The white head shone with the many colors of night, reflecting the lights of the city like a crown.

"Margo found Martin's dreams beguiling, different than any she had ever stolen. She would lay with him again. Gurst would take them off as a prize, to kill them as he pleases. And I," Fairmont paused, "I would speak to them about the delver hordes, use them to bring an end to their shaping."

"Then all of us are implicated," Gateman smiled. "We are all guilty by the act of hesitation. If they had been put to death with Blake this would all be over, and we could get on with our business."

Fairmont laughed, shaking his head at the groundling's logic. The Governor motioned Gurst away, sending him back to his slummer band. Taking Margo's hand, he kissed it gently before answering the groundling.

"Guilty by hesitation. We all wanted something from those two, they were different. An end could have been made of them, and an end will be made of them." His eyes burned with a fire that terrified Gateman.

"I will see the matter closed properly and then, as you say, we can all get on with our business. Pleasant evening."