'Get after them' said Hobart. 'Let's have some arrests. And Bryn, you talk to these people. I want testimonies from everyone in the street.'

The two officers went about their business, leaving Hobart to ponder the problem. There was no doubt in his mind that events here were of human making. It might not be the same individuals whose heads he'd broken last year, but it was essentially the same animal. In his years of service he'd confronted that beast in its many guises, and it seemed to him that it grew more devious and damnable every time he stared into its maw.

But the enemy was a constant, whether it concealed itself behind fire, flood or whirlwind. He took strength from that fact. The battlefield might be new, but the war was old. It was the struggle between the Law, of which he was the representative, and the rot of disorder in the human heart. He would let no whirlwind blind him to that fact.

Sometimes, of course, the war required that he be cruel, but what cause worth fighting for did not require cruelty of its champions once in a while? He had never shirked that responsibility and he would not shirk now.

Let the beast come again, in whatever fancy dress it chose. He would be ready.

IX.

ON THE MIGHT OF PRINCES.

The Incantatrix did not look towards Shadwell when he entered; indeed it seemed she'd not moved a muscle since the night before. The hotel room was stale with her breath and sweat. Shadwell inhaled deeply.

'My poor libertine.' she murmured. 'He's destroyed.'

'How's that possible?' Shadwell replied. The image of the creature was still lodged in his head, in all its appalling magnificence. How could a thing so powerful be killed, especially as it had already been dead? 'It was the Cuckoos,' she said. 'Mooney, or the girl?' 'Mooney.'

'And the carpet crawlers?'

'All survived but one.' said Immacolata. 'Am I right, sister?' The Hag was squatting in the corner, her body like phlegm on a wall. Her reply to Immacolata was so soft Shadwell missed it.

'Yes.' the Incantatrix said. 'My sister saw one of them dispatched. The rest escaped.' 'And the Scourge?' 'I hear only silence.'

'Good.' said Shadwell. Til have the carpet moved this evening.' 'Where to?' 'A house across the river, that belongs to a man I once did business with: Shearman. We'll hold the Auction there. This place is too public for our clients.'

'Are they coming then?'

Shadwell grinned. 'Of course they're coming. They've waited years, these people. Just for a chance to bid. And I'm going to give it to them.'

It pleased him, to think of how readily they sprang to his command, the seven mighty bidders whom he'd invited to this Sale of Sales.

Among their members were some of the wealthiest individuals in the world; between them, fortunes sufficient to trade in nations. None of the seven had a name that would have meant anything to the hoi-polloi - they were, like the truly mighty, anonymously great. But Shadwell had done his researches well. He knew that these seven had something else in common besides wealth beyond calculation. All, he knew, hungered for the miraculous. That was why they were even now leaving their chateaux and penthouses and hurrying to this grimy city, their palates dry, their palms sweaty.

He had something each of them wanted almost as much as life itself: and perhaps more than wealth. Mighty they were. But today, was he not mightier?

X.

HUMANKINDNESS.

'So much desire,' Apolline commented to Su-zanna, as they walked the streets of Liverpool. They'd found nothing at Gilchrist's Warehouse but suspicious stares, and had made a quick exit before enquiries were made. Once out, Apolline had demanded to take a tour of the city, and had followed her nose to the busiest thoroughfare she could find, its pavements crammed with shoppers, children and dead-beats.

'Desire?' said Suzanna. It wasn't a motive that sprang instantly to mind on this dirty street.

'Everywhere,' said Apolline. 'Don't you see?'

She pointed across at a billboard advertising bed-linen, which depicted two lovers languishing in a post-coital fatigue; beside it a car advertisement boasted The Perfect Body, and made its point as much in flesh as steel. 'And there,' said Apolline, directing Suzanna to a window display of deodorants, in which the serpent tempted a fetchingly naked Adam and Eve with the promise of confidence in crowds.

The place is a whorehouse,' said Apolline, clearly approving.

Only now did Suzanna realize that they'd lost Jerichau. He'd been loitering a few paces behind the woman, his anxious eyes surveying the parade of human beings. Now he'd gone.

They retraced their steps through the throng of pedestrians and found him standing in front of a video rental shop, entranced by bank upon bank of monitors.

'Are they prisoners?' he said, as he stared at the talking heads.

'No,' said Suzanna. 'It's a show. Like a theatre.' She plucked at his oversized jacket. 'Come on,' she said.

He looked around at her. His eyes were brimming. The thought that he had been moved to tears by the sight of a dozen television screens made her fear for his tender heart.

'It's all right,' she said, coaxing him away from the window. They're quite happy.'

She put her arm through his. A flicker of pleasure crossed his face, and together they moved through the crowd. Feeling his body trembling against hers it was not difficult to share the trauma he was experiencing. She'd taken the harlot century she'd been born into for granted, knowing no other, but now - seeing it with his eyes, hearing it with his ears - she understood it afresh; saw just how desperate it was to please, yet how dispossessed of pleasure; how crude, even as it claimed sophistication; and, despite its zeal to spellbind, how utterly unenchanting.

For Apolline, however, the experience was proving a joy. She strode through the crowd, trailing her long black skirts like a widow on a post-funereal spree.

'I think we should get off the main street,' said Suzanna when they'd caught up with her. 'Jerichau doesn't like the crowd.'

'Well he'd best get used to it,' said Apolline, shooting a glance at Jerichau. This is going to be our world soon enough.'

So saying, she turned and started away from Suzanna again.

'Wait a minute!'

Suzanna went in pursuit, before they lost each other in the throng.

'Wait!' she said, taking hold of Apolline's arm. 'We can't wander around forever. We have to meet with the others.'

'Let me enjoy myself awhile,' said Apolline. 'I've been asleep too long. I need some entertainment.'

'Later maybe,' said Suzanna. 'When we've found the carpet.'

'Fuck the carpet,' was Apolline's prompt reply.

They were blocking the flow of pedestrians as they debated.

receiving sour looks and curses for their troubles. One pubescent boy spat at Apolline, who promptly spat back with impressive accuracy. The boy retreated, with a shocked look on his bespittled face.

'I like these people.' she commented. 'They don't pretend to courtesy.'

'We've lost Jerichau again,' Suzanna said. 'Damn him, he's like a child.'

'I see him.'

Apolline pointed down the street, to where Jerichau was standing, striving to keep his head above the crowd as though he feared drowning in this sea of humanity.

Suzanna started back towards him, but she was pressing against the tide, and it was tough going. But Jerichau didn't move. He had his fretful gaze fixed on the empty air above the heads of the crowd. They jostled and elbowed him but he went on staring.