I gesture confusion. She puffs smoke rings, considers, then gives me one of her sparrowlike tilts of her head.

"Sarah, I told you that car belonged to me when I drove it away. That's true-I made it mine. A cop could have pulled me over and everything in the computer would have said that flitter belonged to 'Abby Shane,' the name on the ID I was carrying."

She breaks one of her smoke rings with her index finger. "Setting that up took me a month, but I'm rich now. I can pay my fees to Head Wolf until the next 'repossession' is ready. And I can pay yours, too. That is, if you want a job."

I nod vigorously. Not to be a Tail Wolf or a Tabaqui!

Seeing my excitement, Abalone holds up a hand. "The job doesn't ask much-on the surface. But you're going to need to learn a whole lot to swing it."

"When the strong command, obedience is best," I reply.

"Fine, briefly then. I want you to help me steal vehicles. I've been at the job long enough that before long someone is going to get wise to me. I change my appearance, use false names and prints, and forge IDs. Still, I'm the same general height and build and if anyone started really checking..."

She shrugs. "I want to start using you to pick up the cars and sell them for me. We'll split the profits, say seventy/thirty."

A host of protests race through my mind. I can't drive. I can't bargain. I can't even talk! My worries choke me and my hands flutter to my throat.

Abalone pulls them down and holds them.

"Easy, Sarah. I think you can do it. If you don't want to, there are other ways to stay in the Jungle"-she looks away-"maybe even better ways."

I tilt my head inquiringly. Abalone lets go of my hands and starts thumping her heels on the wall. I wait.

"Head Wolf may not like that I'm giving you work-especially since he doesn't quite know what I do. The Law states that adults should be able to hunt for themselves. You know the part."

I nod. "The Jackal may follow the Tiger, but, Cub, when thy whiskers are grown. Remember the Wolf is a hunter-go forth and get food on thy own."

"Exactly, your Baloo is proud of you. I may be able to make Head Wolf see this as part of your training. Sweet Mike, you're innocent enough. I think he'd go for it." Her voice drops to a whisper. "Especially, if you're willing to make him feel good about it."

Even in the dawn's early light I cannot interpret the expression on her face. Shame, pity, even jealousy seem to vie for dominance before she is again my weird, wild teacher. I touch her shoulder and point to the sky.

"Remember the night is for hunting, and forget not the day is for sleep."

She stretches and hops off the wall. I stand and we walk back toward the nest of chemical tanks. We are almost there before she turns to me again.

"I'll speak to Head Wolf as soon as the Hunters have left tomorrow evening. Do you want me to?"

My heart is in my throat, but I manage, "Yes."

ABALONE HAS BEEN IN HEAD WOLF'S TENT FOR A LONG while. I try hard not to wonder why. while. I try hard not to wonder why.

Betwixt and Between can tell that I am worried, so to distract me they tell me what has happened while I was sleeping.

Betwixt starts. "Chocolate came running in here wearing this lovely leather biker's jacket. He was just starting to strut it around when what do you think happened?"

Between answers him. "What?"

"Shut up, stupid. I'm asking Sarah."

Lest the dragons start sulking, I politely meet the ruby eyes and look interested.

Satisfied, Betwixt continues, "We hear police whistles and sirens from the way Chocolate had come."

"The idiot not only propositioned a cop," Between snickers, "but stole his jacket."

"You can bet that Head Wolf wasn't pleased," Betwixt says. "He had the Jungle sealed and members of the Four on each doorway. Everyone who was awake had to keep silent."

"The cops never found any of the entrances," Between adds with a wondering shake of his head. "And when they were gone, Head Wolf beat Chocolate until the kid looked like the worst side of a s.a.d.i.s.t's fantasy."

I barely hear the end of the story. Below, the flap of the tent is moving and Abalone emerges. She waves for me to come down and I scramble with lines and pulleys.

In my month and more in the Jungle, I have gotten beyond sore muscles and fear of falling to where I move through the Web as easily as the long-term residents. I am at her feet practically before she has lowered her hand.

"Head Wolf was-receptive-to my suggestion."

She nervously licks her lips. I realize that she must have done this frequently in the last hour, for the blue eyeliner with which she paints them is nearly worn away in some places. I scan her for bruises or teeth marks and find none.

She continues. "He wants to speak with you alone and make certain that you really want to do this. It's up to you to prove to him how much you want it."

I nod, my options thinning into one line. My heart beats wildly, as I know what I must do.

"Go on." Again Abalone gives me the strange look she had in the Park. "Head Wolf wants you."

I hardly hear the snickers from the few Pack members still lounging around the camp stoves. With a hand I hope is steady I scratch the tent door as I have seen others do. The painted surface looks smooth, but is ridged and uneven to the touch.

"Who is there?"

"Sarah."

"Enter, Sarah."

Lifting the flap, I duck and enter. Once in, I kneel on the cushioned softness and wait.

"Make yourself comfortable, Sarah. I only have a few questions for you."

I look up and move to sit on the cushion he has indicated. The dark eyes seek for and hold mine. I can only bear to hold their gaze for a moment and am grateful that Abalone has taught me that a Cub must never hold the gaze of a senior Wolf, nor any Wolf the gaze of Head Wolf. But when I look away, it is not from courtesy, but from a sense that if I look too long, I will be swallowed.

"Abalone tells me that you are learning well, but that you have much to learn. Did you always live in places like the Home before you came here?"

I nod.

"So you cannot read or drive or even work a simple terminal?"

I blush and shake my head, ashamed.

He quizzes me further about what I can and cannot do, always thoughtfully phrasing his questions so that a "yes" or "no" will do and so that I will not need to struggle for an answer. His kindness relaxes me and I find that I can look at him as we talk.

Finally, he says, "I can see the reason for what Abalone has suggested. With your current a.s.sets, however, you could still do very well as one of the Tail Wolves. Surely, you do not scorn that way of hunting."

I do, but I shake my head, knowing that the Tail Wolves are the most reliable providers in the Jungle.

"Sometimes I think that Abalone does," he continues. "I hope she has not pa.s.sed that att.i.tude on to you."

His eyes say more than his words and my heart knows it is time. Words swim in my head in a chaotic pattern. My hand reaches out and touches him lightly on the cheek.

He waits with dark eyes hooded. I stretch out my other hand, hold his face between them.

Words I know are not needed for this form of communication. I make him as mute as I am, cover his mouth with mine. When next he speaks, there are no words at all, but I know perfectly what he desires. With only a small sorrow, I give in to him.

Indeed, he is glorious in his madness.

Four.

THE NEXT DAY, AS AS A ABALONE BEGINS MY LESSONS, I CAN CAN hardly keep from touching the ivory wolf's head that dangles from a silver loop in my left ear. hardly keep from touching the ivory wolf's head that dangles from a silver loop in my left ear.

The ceremony promoting me from Cub to Wolf had been simple yet moving. Head Wolf and Abalone shared the cry "Look well, O Wolves." The Pack members questioned Head Wolf and were satisfied as to my fitness. Even Edelweiss was more friendly after the inspection was pa.s.sed and the token presented.

Yet, I realize that I still must prove myself more than a hanger-on. Thus, I bend my head over the model control panel that Abalone has cobbled together for me. The letters and numbers mean nothing to me and have a disconcerting tendency to squirm and move upon the surface.

Abalone deals with her frustration with my inability by focusing the lesson on developing manual skills. What I will do with them comes after.

My determined concentration is shattered as if it is a smoke ring when a thin voice pierces the Jungle with the Stranger's Hunting Call: "Give me leave to hunt here because I am hungry."

I have dropped my practice panel into a holding bag and am sliding to the floor even as Head Wolf's deep voice answers, "Hunt then for food, but not for pleasure."

Thumping to the floor, I race across and embrace the little, bent woman who has entered the Jungle and stands before Head Wolf unintimidated by the Four who hover over her.

She embraces me in turn, "Easy, Sarah, love, in all things moderation. You will strangle me."

"Professor Isabella! Professor Isabella!" I repeat over and over.

"Dear child," she says. "Certainly I have taught you to speak better than that. But I won't leap you through Oth.e.l.lo Oth.e.l.lo and Chaucer quite yet; this charming gentleman with lupine pretensions wants to speak with me." and Chaucer quite yet; this charming gentleman with lupine pretensions wants to speak with me."

Head Wolf has watched me greeting Professor Isabella, amus.e.m.e.nt replacing his initial anger at her invasion. Abalone has joined us, those few members of the Pack who are not out hunting circling round.

Professor Isabella pats me and I sink down to sit at her feet. From this familiar post I study my old teacher. I had believed her unchanged from when I had known her in the Home, but now I see differences.

She still has snow-white hair and delicate, tissue paper skin faintly threaded with blue veins. But her frame is more bent and her hands are swollen, the knuckles shiny with arthritis. My initial joy had numbed me to the fact that she smells strongly, as if she has not bathed in weeks.

The Law of the Jungle insists, "Wash daily from nose tip to tail tip." I wonder why Professor Isabella is not taking better care of herself.

"Professor Isabella." Head Wolf c.o.c.ks an eyebrow. "May I call you that?"

She twinkles. "Professor Isabella Lacey, once of Columbia. I quit during the budget crisis of the nineties. Met Sarah in the Home where I was 'resting.'"

Head Wolf nods. "You don't look like a professor."

"She's a Tabaqui," chirps one of the new cubs, a little boy called Peep. "I seen her by the train station."

Professor Isabella smiles, but I see a flush underneath her weather-worn skin. The truth hits me suddenly.

Head Wolf is speaking. "I recognize the lady, Peep. I simply did not know her distinguished credentials. I recognize you, Professor Lacey. But why have you found hunting in our Jungle necessary?"

"Eloquent." Professor Isabella shakes her head wonderingly. "I would have enjoyed you as a speaker in some of the meetings I have been bored through. I am here because you have one of my students, my last student."

"Sarah." Head Wolf nods. "Lovely Sarah. If you wish to speak with her, you are welcome, but after this, meet her elsewhere."

Head Wolf steps back, the interview over. The Pack disperses and when Abalone would drift away, I reach out and snag her cape.

"Stay a while, that we may make an end sooner."

Abalone stops at my lightest touch. Professor Isabella studies her quizzically. Abalone's return gaze is cool.

"So, you are Sarah's friend," my teacher asks.

"I'm Abalone. Yeah, I'm her friend."

Their words are calm; their tones are even, friendly. But their budding animosity comes to me as a strong scent, like urine in a subway tunnel. My heart tears. I cannot bear that these two, at least, will not love each other, will torment each other over their possession of me.

I step between them, touch Professor Isabella's arm, then Abalone's. They let me turn them like dolls. I take Professor Isabella's hand.

"Thou wert my guide, philosopher, and friend."

"Pope," she says. "Yes, I was and am, Sarah."

Now I take Abalone's hand in my left. "Those friends thou hast, and their adoption tried, grapple them to thy soul with hoops of steel."

"Hamlet," she says, but the look that she flashes Professor Isabella is playful. "Act One, scene three." she says, but the look that she flashes Professor Isabella is playful. "Act One, scene three."

"Spoken by Polonius," Professor Isabella concludes. "Sarah has surrounded herself with people of sophistication and culture, it appears. I would be a fool not to listen to her judgment."

"It's still just a bit after dark," Abalone says. "Let me take you both to a diner."

I smile, feeling genuine curiosity flavor their new accord and dissolve the jealousy. When we are out in the cool night air, I walk between my friends and listen to them talk, taking pleasure that one can tell the other what I lack words to explain.

"...so when the word came that the Free People had adopted a peculiar, lovely woman who spoke only in strange fragments and carried a rubber dragon around, I knew she had to be Sarah. I tried to stay away, but I finally gave in."

We arrive at the diner and Abalone takes a corner booth, where our conversation will go unremarked. She slides me a jelly packet for Betwixt and Between.