In fact, their pursuers seemed to have lost them. Johanna saw an occasional flash from the arc light but that was way to her left. She also heard quiet conversations, but those seemed to be on the right. The searchers were moving forward, but not straight toward her and Pilgrim. Were they scared of triggering a response from the Choir? Maybe the biggest mystery was how Vendacious and his pals could survive in this environment at all. What kept the Choir from sweeping across this area and destroying all coherent packs?

Jo swept her violet light across the rubble ahead. This wasn't the decay of Northern-style buildings. The soaking mess looked like garbage, organized here and there into structures that might have been nests. She had seen a weasel nest once, briefly, when its inhabitants were trying to kill her. "Weasels" were about the size and appearance of gerbils. She quailed at the thought of what such monsters would be like if they were as big as Tines.

She angled her light upwards. The violet drowned in the falling rain, showing nothing but misty backglow beyond a few meters. Right at the limit of her vision, there was something-it looked almost like a long, low spider web.

It was a fence! The "spider threads" were cords hung between wooden posts. Vertical strands dropped from the top cord to tie to each of the cords below. How could this stop anything? Were the cords poisoned? As they got closer, Johanna could see how frayed and ripped the network was, especially near the ground, where it was clear that critters at least the size of small Tines had broken through.

Pilgrim tugged at her sleeves, drawing her down to the ground. A moment later, the arc light swept along the fence.

"Sorry," she said softly. Then, "Are you okay?"

"Yeah. Let's see if Vendacious and company dare follow us beyond that fence."

The ground immediately beyond the fence was flat and open. Even if Vendacious wouldn't chase them, he could still see-and shoot-them. At the limit of her vision she saw piles of ... something, maybe the true form of Tropical buildings. The thrum of Choir voices murmured loudly and yet she saw no Tines.

She and Pilgrim reached the fence. The cords were just woven plant fiber. Tearing a hole would be easy. They crawled along the fence line....

Their pursuers had spread out. They must know that Pilgrim and Jo were at the fence, even if they didn't know precisely where.

"They're going to find us," she whispered.

"Yeah, yeah," was all Pilgrim said. He was still searching for the perfect breakthrough point. At least here, the open area beyond the fence was not as wide as before. They skulked another three meters. Abruptly, Pilgrim jabbed a snout upwards, pointing. A sign medallion hung from the top fence rope. The patterned ceramic disks were a style of announcement that dated from long before the humans landed. Day or night, a pack would hear the echoes from it. By the pale light of her handlamp, Johanna could see the design that was painted on the surface: the death symbol, a pentagram of skulls. Someone thought it was a really bad idea to go beyond this fence.

"And I don't want any shooting." Vendacious glared around at his trigger-happy minions. "We're not in my territory anymore."

The crowd of packs straightened and looked properly obedient. They might be trigger happy, but they weren't crazy enough to cross him. Normally, these fellows patrolled the west side of the Reservation, making sure that no one crossed the boundary. Of course, no pack would voluntarily walk off the Reservation, but there was a constant dribble of Tropicals coming in. The creatures were dumb singletons. That was the thing about the Choir: it wasn't a proper tyranny. Its behavior was describable only in the mean. There was always a tiny fraction of outliers who were confused enough or ornery enough do almost anything. Guards like these working for him tonight were supposed to pick up such and take them to the convocation bourse. That was a pain. It was much easier just to shoot disobedient intruders. On the far side of the Reservation, that was easy to do. It was good sport, Vendacious thought. On this side, such shooting would be heard by Tycoon people who would loyally report the behavior, raising all sort of problems for Vendacious. Tonight of all nights, thought Vendacious, I don't want Tycoon's guns out here, nosing around.

Having made his point, Vendacious eased off on the homicidal glare. He wanted his people to be at the top of their form this evening. "The two I want are somewhere between us and the fence. Don't worry about exactly where. Push forward along a broad front. Eventually we'll flush them out." Two of the gunpacks broke into uneasy smiles. They had been on similar outings before. Killing dumb singletons was one thing. Forcing a thinking pack into Choir territory was a different matter entirely. "Go quietly. Listen for my signals." They would have to stay quiet till the next density of the Choir swept through. When that happened, they could probably make as much noise as they wanted.

Vendacious watched as the packs spread out in a ragged skirmish line and started toward the fence. The lamp manager stayed somewhat back, sweeping its light toward likely shapes and sounds.

Vendacious followed his people forward, unlimbering his own small rifle as he did so. At the same time, he reached into one of his pockets and unmuted the commset hidden there, but at such a low volume that even he could scarcely hear it.

He complained into his pocket: "They didn't come down where you said." And they survived the crash.

There was the half-second delay and then Nevil's voice came back. As usual, the human was full of cocky rejoinders: "You're just lucky I noticed them sneaking down your way. You're even more lucky I'd prepped their aircraft. I crashed them right where you said."

Vendacious didn't reply immediately. He found that silence often provoked Nevil Storherte into informative elaboration. And after a moment Nevil came up with something interesting: "You know the, um, targets took a commset with them when they escaped from the skiff."

What! Can they hear us talking then? Vendacious stifled the question. He had come to know that the starfolks' "commsets" were nothing like radio cloaks. Unless Nevil reprogrammed the devices, each would have a separate "channel" through his orbital relay. So aloud, he just said, "That's interesting. I assume you're blocking their calls."

"Of course, though at the moment they're just carrying the device. The interesting fact is that I can tell you where they are."

Vendacious' current plans depended on two incredibly powerful, incredibly infuriating tools. One was Nevil Storherte. I'm so glad Nevil is far away. I don't think I could keep from killing him otherwise. Nevertheless, Vendacious was pleased at his own mild response: "And where is that?"

"Thirty-one meters from you-your commset-on a bearing of forty-seven degrees." You could hear the smirk in the two-legs' techno-speak. Nevil was supposedly a master of guile, but that was with other humans. His contempt for Tines was strong and obvious.

Fortunately, Vendacious had spent much of the last ten years learning everything he could about humans and the Beyond. There was vast power in their knowledge, even though the religious nuttery sometimes made it hard to tell what was real. In any case, Vendacious could reason with numbers better than any unaided "Child of the Sky." He looked out at where the Reservation fence stood in his spotlight. Johanna and Pilgrim would be at the fence now, near the right end of his searchers. He squeaked pointedly at the various packs, shifting them to converge on the pile of rubble where his quarry must be hiding.

Tonight should still be a major triumph, but it had turned out riskier than the original plan. He'd expected to find his two greatest enemies crushed and dead in their aircraft. Instead he was skulking through the dark after them, hoping that neither his light nor his noise would attract Tycoon's interest. And yet, there was a thoroughly delicious side to this. At this very moment, Pilgrim and Johanna were squeezed up against the fence. To cross that fence would mean certain death, torn apart physically or mentally or both. But if they stayed where they were, Johanna would be back in his claws. This time she would not be rescued by Pilgrim's clever, humiliating lies, for Pilgrim himself would be just as helpless as the human. Either way, I win.

Vendacious maneuvered himself closer to his searchers. Normally he loathed every second here in the Tropics, even more when he had to work in the filthy outdoors. Tonight ... tonight he was truly enjoying himself.

"I think they know where we are," said Pilgrim.

Johanna nodded. Even though he was looking into the spaces beyond the fence, she knew he was talking about their pursuers. Looking over her shoulder, she could see occasional members of the searcher packs. They seemed closer, and now the search light was spending most of its time centered almost exactly over her head. The light glittered off the death-heads medallion. "Most of them are on the side we came from. Maybe we could sneak back the other way ... flank them." It was a forlorn suggestion.

"No," said Pilgrim. "You know, you might not have any trouble with the Choir, mindless as you are." That was a bit of Pilgrim humor. Johanna doubted the serious point behind his statement. There were stories about what happened to animals in the Tropical cities. Everything here was consumed, in mind or flesh.

Nevertheless she tried to match him. "You might be okay, too, near mindless as you are." He didn't reply, and after a moment Johanna was reduced to miserable reality. "I can't see looking for mercy from Vendacious." He will never get his claws on me again.

"Me neither." Pilgrim's voice was no longer bantering, but it didn't have the miserable tone that Johanna had heard in her own. But then Pilgrim was a pilgrim and such as he bragged about their fearlessness. "You know," the pack continued, "all my life, even back to the myths of earlier me's, the stories about the Tropics have been the same, that the place is deadly to mind, that you only go there if you want to dissolve in joy. But look at what we're not seeing." He pointed a snout into the rain that glittered in Vendacious' spotlight. "Scarcely a single Tropical member. We hear chanting, but this rain and this humidity damps the real sounds of thought down to nothing. Look at how hunched together each of Vendacious' packs are. I'll bet this rain is having even more effect on the Choir, and the chanting we hear is the Choir cooped up, out of the wet! I could probably run right across this street and find us a hidey-hole on the other side."

"If you don't get shot by Vendacious' goons-"

"Piffle." Pilgrim waved dismissively. Johanna guessed that Wicky didn't believe any of what he was saying, and was dying to get her out of harm's way. On the other hand, his voice had that intrigued, calculating tone he used when he was planning something over-the-top. "Honestly, Johanna, this doesn't look as crazy as when Scriber and I rescued you on Murder Meadows. And ... I've always wondered what the Choir was like. Imagine getting in, and returning alive." His Scarbutt member was pulling at a tear in the fence, making it large enough so the pack could sprint through.

"Oh, Pilgrim!" Her whisper was loud enough that even she could hear it. Not that that really mattered any more. She reached out, trying to hold him back. This was way too much like being a little orphan girl again.

"Hei, don't worry. We've gotten through worse." He wriggled loose from her, but did not immediately rush off. Maybe he was waiting for the arc light to drift away from their part of the fence. "Use your invisible light. Try to see where I end up on the other side. I'll find some place safe, and wave."

"Okay." She gave him a pat. Wicky was right, even if he was blowing smoke. She pulled the commset and other gear close and then shone her violet light out into the space beyond the fence.

A moment passed. The glare of the arc light shifted away, leaving blinding afterimages. That didn't stop Pilgrim. He sprinted out through the widened hole in the fence. She squinted into the afterimages and-the big light came back, shining right on the running foursome. Pilgrim zigged and zagged. Apparently the gun packs couldn't get a bead on him, for no one fired.

The chanting of the Choir was growing. Hopefully, the mind sounds were still attenuated by the wetness, but what Johanna could hear sounded like a mob at close quarters. An ambush on top of Vendacious' ambush? She swung her pale light to the right. There was a trickle of shapes in the rainglow. They were moving past her position, in the general direction of Pilgrim. The trickle became a crowd, a mob, members shoulder to shoulder as she had never seen before among the Tines.

Pilgrim turned, was running away, but all along the far edge of the open space, Tropicals were pushing into the open. They weren't running. The Tines strolled along almost parallel to the fence. Their numbers grew. Somehow Pilgrim Wickllrrackscar kept his mind. He was running all together, but Llr's limp kept him from full speed. It didn't matter. The Tropicals were a mob now, sweeping along the fence like the edge of some giant scissor blade, the cutting point of contact moving faster than any pack could run. Rac fell to slashing claws. The last Jo saw of Pilgrim was little Llr's body tossed into the air, like a tidbit for some vast carnivore.

"Pilgrim!" Maybe she screamed the name aloud.

Pilgrim was gone, but the mob did not overrun the fence. As a whole, they were sweeping parallel to the barrier. Avoidance wasn't perfect; the crowd was too jammed together for that. Here and there, Tropical members were rammed through the barrier. Most of them wriggled back; some wandered aimlessly further inward.

The Choir racket was a roar, even to her ears. The higher frequencies would be tearing at Vendacious' goons, but when she looked behind her: There was a pack with guns on one side. The arc light lit the rain on the other.

A human-sounding voice spoke conversationally. "Run, Johanna, run. Into the Choir. I want to see this." Vendacious.

It seemed like good advice, even considering the source. Johanna tore through the fence and ran into the Choir.

Well damn! So much for reverse psychology. The two-legs was running. Without thinking, Vendacious whipped up his rifle and aimed at her back. At the same time he was shouting to his troops "Don't shoot!"

His lips tightened on the trigger just as sense finally percolated all the way through him. There was a reason why he had threatened the others with death if they started shooting on this side of the Reservation. The work of eight years would be in jeopardy ... but oh, I could figure out a lie to cover it; Tycoon believes so many bigger lies. He stifled the thought. He had taken enough chances tonight. He must be content to enjoy this from a distance.

It was her good fortune that Johanna Olsndot had sprinted through the fence just as the passing mob became slightly thinner. She made it twenty feet into Choir territory, forty feet. Now the mob came thick again, the mindsounds even louder than when they had destroyed Pilgrim. Vendacious and his comrades hugged the ground, each pack holding all its own heads together. If not for the rain, some of them might have been destroyed, even on this side of the Reservation boundary.

Somehow Vendacious managed to keep some eyes and ears tracking the fleeing human. The mindsounds wouldn't stop the mantis, but now she was battered by dozens of Tines, the brute force of the Choir. She was knocked to her knees, and now some of the members had wakened to her otherness and the biting began. Joy spread through every one of Vendacious' own members. Oh, how long he had waited for this. And he knew just what to expect, thanks to his special diligence. He'd always wondered what the Choir would make of humans, since mental destruction would be impossible. So when one of the first humans he had kidnapped ceased to be useful, he'd arranged that it would "escape" from the Reservation. Just as now, there had been an initial hesitation. And then just as it did with non-Tinish animals of all sizes, the Choir had torn the creature apart, playing with the parts much as they seemed to play with the parts of dismembered packs. But unlike member sacrifices, the Choir valued animal intruders only for their food value. The hapless two-legs had served the eaters well-and served Vendacious far better than it had as a prisoner.

Now he watched as the same pattern played out. Johanna was back on her feet. The noise was so great he couldn't hear her breath, the whimpering, but the arc light showed blood streaming down one side of her face. She staggered away from the fence, swinging her gear at the mob and shouting, as if she thought the flow would go around her. She got another ten feet, almost to the burrows that edged this side of the Reservation. He knew from observation that there would be no salvation there. Jaws waited. She fell again, and this time didn't get up. The mob piled upon her, a wave on a lump of flesh. He saw bits and pieces bobbing to the surface, mostly the equipment she'd been carrying.

It took fifteen minutes before the density passed into full rarefaction, an unusually long time. The feeding clump boiled in the arc light, eventually rolling what was left into the burrows. As the mob swept out of the area, there was only the rain and humidity to keep him from hearing the outcome. And even the rain had diminished. He could hear no one moving around in the wreckage. Listening very carefully ... no, there was not even the sound of human breathing, just the moaning respiration of a thousand mindless Tines.

"So what happened?" That was Nevil's voice, from Vendacious' commset. There was ill-concealed uneasiness in his voice.

Vendacious didn't answer immediately. He stared out at the piles of soaked, stinking garbage. Somewhere under all that, just fifty feet beyond the fence, lay the corpse of the creature that had ruined his past life and threatened his future. Fifty feet. So near, and yet he could not safely cross that distance to crunch the marrow with his own jaws. He looked slyly at his loyal troops. It would take the threat of painful death to force them across. After watching the Choir, no normal pack could believe the stories about the Choir's endless joy. The chances of coming back from a fifty-foot sortie-even during a rarefaction-were close to zero. Besides, Vendacious operated this close to the House of Tycoon only when there was the deadliest necessity.

Vendacious thought a moment and realized there was something more he could do. He spoke into his commset, replying to his own pet human: "Where is Johanna's commset?" Is it still functioning at all?

"It's been stuck about twenty meters from you ever since she started screaming. There's no motion now. I-I could try to flush her out for you."

"Yes." Let's be sure.

There was silence from Vendacious' commset, and then Nevil's voice came from across the open area. Nevil seemed to be whispering, but the volume was easily loud enough to hear. "Sst. Johanna? Are you okay? Telemetry showed a problem with the skiff. Johanna?" This went on for several seconds. Vendacious thought it was quite artfully plaintive. Considering all the other evidence, it was wasted effort, but Vendacious admired the craft.

CHAPTER 19.

The second time she went down, Johanna knew she would not be getting up. The first bites had been tasting nibbles. She'd seen that behavior in the members of coherent packs-just before they went into a feeding frenzy with unusual meat. Now her face and arms were slick with blood. Swinging her equipment as a flail only seemed to excite the mob. They butted her behind her knees in a coordinated way that sent her down again. She covered her face with her arms and rolled onto her front, leaving her knapsack covering part of her body. Paws and jaws rolled her over, again and again. They were tearing at her clothes, pulling her gear out of the knapsack.

And yet, the feeding frenzy never came, though the crowd was a crushing mass upon her. It was almost as if they were battling each other just to get a snout down and take a nibble. She tried to keep an airgap between her face and forearm as she wriggled in the direction she guessed would take her out of sight of Vendacious and company. The crushing weight seemed to ease; the nips and jabs were distant pain, like memories.

Huh? She was lying flat on her back, dizzy even so. Everything was dark. She wiggled her hands and felt about her. There was the commset and what was left of her knapsack. The ground was like slick mucous. Nowhere did she touch Tinish fur or skin. Somehow, suddenly, she seemed to be alone. Or maybe she had died. Okay. So what's my next move?

"Sst. Johanna? Are you okay? Telemetry showed a problem with the skiff. Johanna?" It was Nevil's voice, a loud whisper.

She reached for the commset-then froze and tried to be very very quiet. There are betrayals and Betrayals. Until this moment, her worst suspicion was that Nevil had been used by Vendacious. Until this moment, she had not believed that Nevil was capable of Betrayal. She stared into the dark, in the direction of the commset. I don't have proof even now ... only certainty.

Nevil's voice came back on Vendacious' commset. "No reply," said the two-legs. "What about Pilgrim?"

"Both Pilgrim and the maggot are very dead," Vendacious replied. In fact, there might still be one or two members of Pilgrim alive, but past experience showed that such did not come back.

Nevil was silent for a moment, and then he sighed. "Well, that simplifies things, at least."

Vendacious smiled to himself. Though they had rarely met, Vendacious had studied Nevil Storherte thoroughly. Storherte was a young predator. Until recently he had never killed anything. The creature thought he was moved by virtuous necessity. He was still growing into his true nature.

Aloud, Vendacious said. "Indeed, it does simplify things." All revenge aside, my most dangerous lie is now much more secure. "And now it should be possible to deal with our other great enemy."

"Yeah. I'm going to enjoy giving you Ravna Bergsndot."

Johanna lay still for some minutes, but Nevil had nothing more to say.

All things considered, playing dead was easy. The mob had departed, but their warbling chant was still out there. Maybe that was enough to keep Vendacious' crew from searching for her corpse. The rain continued its windless heavy fall. Water dripped through the pile above her; what trickled down to her felt oily.

After a time, the Choir noise grew loud again. She could hear ten thousand paws scuffing in her direction. She could hear individual voices that made no sense, but just added to the grand susurrus. Now there were members snuffling all around, so close that their mindsounds, even though far kilohertz above human hearing, still made a buzzing through her body. They crowded over her, much as before, snouts pushing, but this time there were no painful bites, just gentle mouthing with soft forelips. The smells and sounds were overpowering, but after a moment, the swarm was flowing past her and almost no one was touching her.

Okay, so she was not to be eaten. And the mob's noise would be ideal cover, if only they would let her move. Johanna thought a moment, made sure she was taking nothing with her that might betray her to Nevil. My Knife? For sure. My light? She took a chance, kept that too. Then she rolled to her knees, tucked her head down, and crawled deliberately against the flow of the Choir, testing.

The mob was a tide of plush and flesh-but the Tines who rammed into her weren't biting. In fact, they seemed to be struggling to get out of her way. It was the pressure of the myriad bodies behind them that made that impossible. Then suddenly, as if some traffic information had been transmitted upstream, the pressure eased and the mob slid around her. Johanna crawled slowly through the roaring, warbling flow. She held the lamp in her mouth, the faint violet light splashing over the mob. The corridor's beslimed walls turned this way and that. In places there were forks or merges. Tines were coming from all but the lowest openings-maybe those were under water tonight. Johanna found that when she came to a fork, there were moments when the crowd was impassable, and then they would spread apart for her once more.

She must have spent an hour in the soggy catacombs. When she finally emerged, the rain had become drizzle and mist. Behind her, she could see lights, faint in the murk. She stared at them for a moment, noting the flickering, the occasional dark curling shadows that must be smoke. She was seeing torches in sconces. When the drizzle faltered she could see the straight edges of stone-and-timber walls, standard architecture from northern lands. Vendacious' landholding. The rest of the horizon was the unrelieved moaning darkness of the Choir.

She limped quietly away from Vendacious' lights, into the dark of the Choir. Oh Pilgrim!

Johanna wandered numbly for a time, vaguely aware of her slowly bleeding wounds, mostly remembering Pilgrim's dying. Her violet lamp was just bright enough to see her feet, to keep from walking into walls or water-filled pits. She'd kept the lamp so dim because some Tines could sense that violet color, if only as a nebulous patch at the edge of their vision. That fact had gotten her and Pilgrim into trouble on one mission to East Home. It really didn't matter anymore; she brightened the lamp, saw a few Tropicals ambling along their separate ways. None showed much interest in her. If anything, they were avoiding her. Where she was walking was almost like the middle of a city street. A city conceived in a mad and contradictory delirium, rebuilt and rebuilt on its own muddy ruins.

She proceeded along the gently descending street. In some places, the surface was rain-slick fungimoss over stone; in others, it looked like matted leaves. Where would downwards lead?

Silly question, when there was nothing more to lose.

And yet, just as she continued to walk, Johanna continued to think. Why am I still alive? Vendacious had seemed in mortal fear of crossing into Choir territory. He seemed to think the Choir would destroy Johanna as surely as it had Pilgrim. Vendacious was not stupid. He must have had precedent and observation to back up his belief.

On her left, the Choir noise was increasing. The simple solution to the mystery was that her survival was to be very temporary. The mob was thickening, oozing out from the vague walls. Their progress was the same slanting, scissors advance that had caught Pilgrim. There was a narrow cleft on the right, ahead. Maybe she should try to hide there.

Too late. The crowd was already upon her. But its touch was only occasional, and as she slowly walked onward, her private space moved with her. She still had no explanation for her survival, but it was clear that after the initial attack, something about her had been discovered, and communicated outwards from that contact.

After a time, the mob passed, and again she was almost alone on the street.

The lights of Vendacious' "safe" area were lost behind the muddle of the Choir's city. Johanna continued downslope, plans beginning to poke at her despair. If she could survive, could somehow tell Ravna and Woodcarver ... This path would eventually lead to the River Fell. The maps had shown it flowing south, just west of the agrav's ground path.

Around her feet, the mud was ankle deep. As she continued into the swampy mess, she heard creaking sounds. They were noises that Tines could make easily enough, but ... the buildings were moving. It was a gentle, repetitive motion, up and down just a centimeter or two. She went to the side of the street, and put her hand against the sodden mass of a wall. Yes, up and down, but with small horizontal motions too. She walked along the wall, still touching it. She crossed some irregularity in the street surface-and now the street had joined in the same mild motion. If she hadn't had the wall to lean against, the surprise would have sent her sprawling.

The edge of the street was floating in the River Fell.

Though she couldn't quite tell where rooted buildings gave way to floating rafts, the sound of quietly bobbing real estate grew louder as she walked on. Her street was more than a sandbar and less than a pier, and it extended into the slowly flowing Fell. In places, her light reflected off dark, rippling water. Whatever had been moored there had sailed away or simply broken off. In other places, the buildings were canted, piled two or three deep, perhaps the careless result of incoming rafts running onto occupied frontage. After heavy rains or a typhoon, all this might be swept away and even this roadway destroyed.

Tonight she had seen thousands of the Choir, but not a single froghen, not a single edible plant. However inefficiently, cargo must move into and out of here. The road ahead narrowed, but the rafts were larger. A crazy idea floated up; she knew where some of these rafts voyaged.

She walked onward, occasionally sending a violet light behind her, watching for the mob she heard coming. Ahead of her was a dead end: the tip of a peninsula. She could hear the Fell sweeping along like slow syrup. Her light gave a clear view of "buildings" festooned with rigging and jagged masts. Here and there, Tinish heads popped up from the jumble. A half dozen came off the rafts, running toward her, hissing displeasure. They circled close, nipping at her legs.

Meantime the main mob had returned from up the street. Okay, now she was truly trapped. But as these hundreds arrived, surrounding her, the Tines who had been hissing and nipping gave her space, merging with the rest. The crowd jostled and swirled, the space around Johanna disappearing as the hundreds behind came flowing into this bounded area. She heard splashing sounds that must be the occasional Choirmember squeezed off into the river.

The open space around Johanna was gone. Tines pressed upon her from all sides, even as they resisted the force behind them. Then, almost like a spring bouncing back, there was an easing of pressure and space opened up.