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He looked from one wretched face to the next and realized that he didn't have a hope of dissuading them from their intentions。 They hadn't waited out the years to be diverted by argument。 They'd waited for revenge。 He had no choice but to stop them with a pneuma； regrettable as it was to add to their sum of suffering。 He passed the candle from his right hand to his left； but as he did so somebody reached around him from behind and pinned his arms to his torso。 The candle went from his fingers and rolled across the floor in the direction of his accusers。 Before it could drown in its own wax； Abelove picked it up in his fingered hand。
〃Good work； Flores；〃 Abelove said。
The man clutching Gentle grunted his acknowledgment； shaking his prey to prove he had it securely caught。 His arms were flayed； but they held Gentle like steel bands。
Abelove made something like a smile； though on a face with flaps for cheeks and blisters for lips it was a misbegotten thing。
〃You don't struggle；〃 he said； approaching Gentle with the candle held high。 〃Why's that？ Are you already resigned to joining us； or do you think we'll be moved by your martyrdom and let you go？〃 He was very close to Gentle now。 〃It is pretty；〃 he said。 He cocked his eye a little； sighing。 〃How your face was loved！〃 he went on。 〃And this chest。 How women fought to lay their heads upon it！〃 He slid his stump of a hand into Gentle's shirt and tore it open。 〃Very pale！ And hairless！ It's not Italian flesh； is it？〃
〃Does it matter？〃 said Esther。 〃As long as it bleeds； what do you care？〃
〃He never deigned to tell us anything about himself。 We had to take him on trust because he had power in his fingers and his wits。 He's like a little God； Tyrwhitt used to say。 But even little Gods have fathers and mothers。〃 Abelove leaned closer； allowing the candle flame within singeing distance of Gentle's lashes。 〃Who are you really？'' Abelove said。 〃You're not an Italian。 Are you Dutch？ You could be Dutch。 Or a Swiss。 Chilly and precise。 Huh？ Is that you？〃 He paused。 Then： 〃Or are you the Devil's child？〃
〃Abelove；〃 Esther protested。
〃I want to know！〃 Abelove yelped。 〃I want to hear him admit he's Lucifer's son。〃 He peered at Gentle more closely。 〃Go on；〃 he said。 〃Confess it。〃
〃I'm not；〃 Gentle said。
〃There was no Maestro in Christendom could match you for feits。 That kind of power has to e from somebody。 Who； Sartori？〃
Gentle would have gladly told； if he'd had an answer。 But he had none。 〃Whoever I am；〃 he said； 〃and whatever hurt I've done…〃
〃 'Whatever；' he says！〃 Esther spat。 〃Listen to him！ Whatever！ Whatever！〃
She pushed Abelove aside and tossed a loop of her gut over Gentle's head。 Abelove protested； but he'd prevaricated long enough。 He was howled down from all sides； Esther's howls the loudest。 Tightening the noose around Gentle's neck； she tugged on it； preparing to topple him。 He felt rather than saw the devourers awaiting him when he fell。 Something was gnawing at his leg； something else punching his testicles。 It hurt like hell； and he started to struggle and kick。 There were too many holds upon him； however…gut； arms； and teeth…and he earned himself not an inch of latitude with his thrashings。 Past the red blur of Esther's fury； he caught sight of Abelove； crossing himself with his one…fingered hand； then raising the candle to his mouth。
〃Don't！〃 Gentle yelled。 Even a little light was better than none。 Hearing him shout； Abelove looked up and shrugged。 Then he blew out the flame。 Gentle felt the wet flesh around him rise like a tide to claw him down。 The fist gave up beating at his testicles and seized them instead。 He screamed with pain； his clamor rising an octave as someone began to chew on his hamstrings。
〃Down！〃 he heard Esther screech。 〃Down！〃
Her noose had cut off all but the last squeak of breath。 Choked； crushed； and devoured； he toppled； his head thrown back as he did so。 They'd take his eyes； he knew； as soon as they could； and that would be the end of him。 Even if he was saved by some miracle； it would be worthless if they'd taken his eyes。 Unmanned； he could go on living； but not blind。 His knees struck the boards； and fingers clawed for access to his face。 Knowing he had mere seconds of sight left to him； he opened his eyes as wide as he could and stared up into the darkness overhead； hoping to find some last lovely thing to spend them on： a beam of dusty moonlight； a spider's web； trembling at the din he raised。 But the darkness was too deep。 His eyes would be thumbed out before he could use them again。
And then； a motion in that darkness。 Something unfurling； like smoke from a conch； taking figmental shape overhead。 His pain's invention； no doubt； but it sweetened his terror a little to see a face； like that of a beatific child； pour his gaze upon him。
〃Open yourself to me；〃 he heard it say。 〃Give up the struggle and let me be in you。〃
More cliche； he thought。 A dream of intercession to set against the nightmare that was about to geld and blind him。 But one was real…his pain was testament to that…so why not the other？
〃Let me into your head and heart；〃 the infant's lips said。
〃I don't know how；〃 he yelled； his cry taken up in parody by Abelove and the rest。
〃How？ How？ How？〃 they chanted。
The child had its reply。 〃Give up the fight；〃 he said。
That wasn't so hard； Gentle thought。 He'd lost it anyway。 What was there left to lose？ With his eyes fixed on the child； Gentle let every muscle in his body relax。 His hands gave up their fists； his heels； their kicks。 His head tipped back； mouth open。
〃Open your heart and head；〃 he heard the infant say。
〃Yes；〃 he replied。
Even as he uttered his invitation； a moth's…wing doubt fluttered in his ear。 At the beginning hadn't this smacked of melodrama？ And didn't it still？ A soul snatched from Purgatory by cherubim； opened； at the last； to simple salvation。 But his heart was wide； and the saving child swooped upon it before doubt could seal it again。 He tasted another mind in his throat and felt its chill in his veins。 The invader was as good as its word。 He felt his tormentors melt from around him； their holds and howls fading like mists。
He fell to the floor。 It was dry beneath his cheek； though seconds before Esther's skirts had been seeping on it。 Nor was there any trace of the creatures' stench in the air。 He rolled over and cautiously reached to touch his hamstrings。 They were intact。 And his testicles； which he'd presumed nearly pulped； didn't even ache。 He laughed with relief to find himself whole and； while he laughed； scrabbled for the candle he'd dropped。 Delusion！ It had all been delusion！ Some final rite of passage conducted by his mind so that he might supersede his guilt and face his future as a Reconciler unburdened。 Well； the phantoms had done their duty。 Now he was free。
His fingers had found the candle。 He picked it up； fumbled for the matches； struck one； and put the flame to the wick。 The stage he'd filled with ghouls and cherubim was empty from boards to gallery。 He got to his feet。 Though the hurts he'd felt had been imagined； the fight he'd put up against them had been real enough； and his body…which was far from healed after the brutalities of Yzordderrex… was the worse for his resistance。
As he hobbled towards the door； he heard the cherub speak again。 〃Alone at last；〃 it said。
He turned on his heel。 The voice had e from behind him； but the staircase was empty。 So was the landing and the passageways that led off the hall。 The voice came again； however。
〃Amazing； isn't it？〃 the putto said。 〃To hear and not to see。 It's enough to drive a man mad。〃
Again Gentle wheeled； the candle flame fluttering at his speed。
〃I'm still here；〃 the cherub said。 〃We'll be together for quite a time； just you and I； so we'd better get to like each other。 What do you enjoy chatting about？ Politics？ Food？ I'm good for anything but religion。〃
This time； as he turned； Gentle caught a glimpse of his tormentor。 It had put off the cherubic illusion。 What he saw resembled a small ape； its face either anemic or powdered； its eyes black beads； its mouth enormous。 Rather than waste his energies pursuing something so nimble （it had hung from