A Cry ofPlayers

Toni LichtensteinBogolub

Prologue

The two faced eachother, rapiers drawn, through pools of light. One was a tallteenager; as his face came into the light, black hair and steadygreen eyes were revealed. He was lanky with recent growth, but hissword lay confident and steady in his hand.

The other stood taller,broader, his great black cloak cascading nearly to the floor. Hishair was long, blond, silky; a great mane hanging to his shoulders.His sword, too, was steady and confident; the two circled each other,searching for openings.

The black-hairedteenager passed into shadow, and the light fell full upon hisopponent. His face was - inhuman; the broad, flat nose, bristlingfur, and bifurcated lip made him appear a great lion. His eyes,though - they were clear, human blue; they brought the rest of thatalien face into focus, made its differences almost unworthy ofnotice.

The swords flashed andmet, metal sliding and ringing against metal. There was no advantage;each felt out his opponent, seeking a weak point or flawedgarde.

Another had beenstanding in the shadows, watching them match swords; he waswell-muscled, but another teenager - not more than 16. He flew intothe light, forcing his way between them, seeking to stop theswordplay; he chided them,

" 'Gentlemen, for shame, forbear this outrage! --

Tybalt - Mercutio - the prince expressly hath
Forbidden bandying in Verona streets. --

Hold, Tybalt! - good Mercutio.'"

As he spoke, the lankyteenager - Tybalt's sword slipped through, and found its mark on hisleonine opponent, Mercutio. At the end of the speech, he departed,leaving his opponent proclaiming,

" 'I am hurt; --

a plague o' both your houses! - I am sped. -'"

Vincent continued withMercutio's death scene, laden with puns even as the wound sapped hisstrength. A skinny 14-year-old answered when he called to Benvolio;together they left the brightly lit front of the chamber that wasbeing used as a stage.

From the deepness ofshadow "off-stage" he watched the production of "Romeo and Juliet"proceed. Romeo, beneath whose arm Mercutio received his "fatal"wound, slew Tybalt in turn, and fled; the stage darkened.

Returning light showedan empty stage; a teenage girl almost bounded into view, deliriouslyhappy and telling herself of the joys that awaited with the coming ofnight and Romeo.

She commanded the eye,and absolutely compelled everyone to feel with her. Vincent was gladhe had no further part to play; nothing to distract him. He feltCatherine nearby, seated with Father, other Tunnel dwellers andHelpers; all just as enthralled as he was.

When Juliet left thestage, his attention wandered a bit, and he found himself rememberinghow all of this had come to be.

Chapter I

Vincent could notpinpoint the moment he'd known a group of the children had a secret.The knowledge had been growing in him for some time before herealized it. At first it was looks exchanged across a room; then itwas giggles. Then he noticed various children vanishing, singly or ingroups, sometimes for hours. The lifespan of a secret in the worldBelow was usually days; thinking back, Vincent could trace this onefor months. After careful consideration, he decided to lay hisconcerns before Father. Then someone involved came to him.

Christine was aresident of the world Below of nearly four years' standing. Vincenthad watched her change from a beaten, wary child, suspicious andhard, to a normal teenager - by turns exuberant andsoft-spoken.

She lingered in thechamber following a teaching session on Shakespeare. "What is it,Christine?"

"There's somethinggoing on I think you need to know about, Vincent." Christine's wordsrushed over each other; she wouldn't meet his clear gaze.

"Tell me."

"No - you need to see.Come with me tomorrow; about one-thirty. I'll meet youhere."

Vincent nodded, and shehurried away. Halfway down the corridor, she stopped, raced back, andadded, "Don't tell Father."

"Christine - I have nosecrets from Father."

"Just don't sayanything now, Vincent; wait until you see this. Then you can dowhatever you have to do."

Reluctantly, Vincentassented. Christine, long dark hair flying, vanished down the tunnel,leaving Vincent impatient for the resolution of thissecret.

Chapter II

Christine turned up atexactly the appointed hour; Vincent had been waiting for fifteenminutes. Saying, "Follow me," she set off toward the surface. Vincentstarted numerous questions, but Christine shook them all off, sayingonly, "Wait and see."

They eventually arrivedat a chamber dangerously close to the surface, in an unused area; afew torches gave a sporadic light. Christine checked quickly to besure they were alone, then took Vincent's arm, and half-dragged himin.

The chamber was huge,and only the front was lit - with a few of the omnipresent torches,and an incongruous Coleman electric lantern. Christine pulled him tothe depths of darkness at the rear of the chamber, and left himthere, not sure what to expect.

Within minutes, ten ofthe children, ranging in age from 12 to 16, were milling around,chatting with each other, practicing speeches; it looked likestudents early for a class. Then, from a side tunnel he could notplace, stepped a child he didn't know.

A little older than theothers, she was not really a child; perhaps eighteen. She was clad inworn blue jeans, a black turtleneck, and a pink T-shirt bearing thelegend "Go Lemmings Go". Not short or tall, or skinny or plump, shewas - average. Her hair, a shade exactly between light brown and darkblonde, just brushed her shoulders. Her face fit the rest of her -not unusually lovely or strongly featured, not ugly or unpleasant -just a face. She would have faded into any crowd Vincent had everseen. An electric-blue knapsack was slung over her arm by itsshoulder straps.

She called out as sheentered, "What ho, the players!" Her voice was the first remarkablething about her. There was resonance and life there; the joyous soundof a bubbling spring rising from underground.

A chorus of voices rosein reply, "What ho, Madame Sarah!"

The teenagers quicklyseated themselves in a semicircle. She turned to the gatheredstudents and asked, "Who's first?"

Patrick, 15 and tough,sprang to his feet, then stood shyly waiting to be recognized.Vincent gaped. Patrick was a boy who took what he wanted, andobserved social niceties only in the face of the sternest promptings.In his heart, Vincent had feared the boy would be lost to them beforelong, succumbing to the lure of the wild streets.

The stranger nodded tohim, and went to stand before the far right of the semicircle.Patrick hurried off into shadows on the far left.

"Madame Sarah" turnedher back, and signaled to Patrick. There was a moment of waitingsilence, then Patrick strode into the light before the otherchildren. Looking across the "stage", he began,

"He jests at scars thatnever felt a wound.

But soft - what lightthrough yonder window breaks!

It is the east, andJuliet is the sun! --"

Vincent hadn't knownwhat to expect, but this wasn't it. Acting seemed out of characterfor the ex-gang member he knew; and "Romeo and Juliet" possibly themost unlikely choice of play. Listening to the emotion within thewords, Vincent was impressed; as Romeo neared the end of the speech,he looked across to "Madame Sarah," who still had her back to heraudience.

"O, that I were a glove upon that hand,

That I might touch that cheek!"

A simple, accidentalmotion turned the "teacher" toward her Romeo; as Vincent looked ather, he quickly revised his estimate of her age. She was much youngerthan he'd thought; surely no older than Patrick's 15. Her "Ah me!",Juliet's first spoken words, almost passed unnoticed. Patrickdelivered a breathlessly excited rendition of Romeo's eightlines.

Then Juliet spoke. Therealization stole over Vincent as he listened; he was in the presenceof magic. For although he could have recited the passage with her,still he was hearing it for the first time. The words, so well known,were the only possible words that this girl could use, from thedepths of her heart, to speak of what she felt.

No longer a stonechamber lit by Coleman lantern and torchlight, this was a moonlitgarden. The girl before him spoke simply, in the only words fit toexpress her emotion.

"O Romeo, Romeo! Wherefore art thou Romeo?

Deny thy father and refuse thy name;

Or if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love,

And I'll no longer be a Capulet."

She stopped, toconsider her words, and Romeo's aside slid into its place. Such wasthe magic that Vincent ceased to see Patrick, doing a very crediblejob of Shakespeare; he saw only Romeo.

Juliet denied that anyimportant part of Romeo was a Montague, and pronounced words thathave been bandied about for centuries:

"What's in a name? that which we call a rose,

By any other name would smell as sweet;

So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call'd,

Retain that dear perfection which he owes
Without that title..."

Despite endlessfamiliarity with this scene, the words seemed new to Vincent. Theyoung woman gestured with precision and economy of motion. Throughoutthe scene, he was enthralled. Juliet's exit, saying
"Good-night, good-night, parting is such sweet sorrow; That I shallsay goodnight till it be morrow" still floated through the air overRomeo's declaration of his intention to find Friar Lawrence. ThenPatrick exited the stage, the children applauded mightily, andVincent had to exercise great restraint not to join them.

"Madame Sarah", oncemore the age Vincent first assigned her, stepped back from offstage,applauding Patrick with the others. Vincent was amused to note thatPatrick's ears were red, but his expression was surelypleased.

"That was wonderful,Patrick!" the "teacher" enthused. "You really used your experiences.I could feel it."

This apparently washighest praise, for Patrick's ears turned redder, and he looked awayand mumbled something incoherent. "Madame Sarah" scanned the circleagain. "Who's next?"

Christine rose inresponse to the question.

"I'd like to try mysolo, Madame." At nearly seventeen, she was the oldest of thechildren, and probably quite close to the "teacher's" age; the titlecould easily have seemed ridiculous. But it was clear the gatheredcrowd held her in great respect, and the title fell as easily fromtheir lips as did the title "Father".

"Madame Sarah" steppedclear, and gave Christine the stage. "St. Joan?"

"Yes, Madame. Scene VI;Joan's last speech."

"Madame" nodded.Christine moved slowly to center stage, faced the audience. Fromoffstage, heavy and dire, came a voice Vincent at first did notrecognize as "Madame Sarah"s, proclaiming Joan's doom of perpetualimprisonment.

Christine faced theoffstage voice. " 'Perpetual imprisonment! Am I not then to be setfree?'"

As the scene proceeded,Joan repudiated her signed confession, declared the cruelty ofconfining her away from the wind in the trees, the larks in thesunshine, and the church bells. Christine was trying, Vincent noted,but the words were just words.

The waiting audienceapplauded again, but the sound was more perfunctory, and fadedquickly. "Madame Sarah" returned to center stage.

"Not bad, Christine."The resonant voice was warm, but with reservations. "But tell me -who is Joan? What has she been doing?"

"Well - she's a peasantgirl who heard three saints tell her to lead an army to crown theyoung price, the Dauphin, king of France."

"Did she just tell thearmy what to do?"

"No, she lead themherself, dressed like a soldier." Christine's tone was increasinglypuzzled, so the "teacher" took a different tack. "Christine - do youknow anyone who is a leader - someone people listen to, someonephysically and mentally strong?"

Christine's eyes flewto the back of the room, toward Vincent, invisible in the shadows;then she answered, "Yes, Madame."

"He or she?"

"He."

"Picture this person inyour mind. Look at how he holds his body; see how hestands."

This was apparently afamiliar exercise; everyone was nodding as Christine closed her eyes,then slowly started to change her stance. Her shoulders squared, shebalanced her weight differently. Smiles crept around the semicircle;Christine opened her eyes, leaned slightly forward, and tilted herhead to one side. Giggles followed the smiles; Vincent heard his namewhispered by several of the watching teens.

"Madame" circledChristine, noting every detail of her posture. "Big man, ishe?"

The watching semicirclegiggled again, as Christine, embarrassed, replied "Yes,Madame."

"Very good - butremember, you and Joan are small. Not so much; pull it in. Think ofyour strong leader, and try the long speech again."

Christine complied;after two or three sentences, "Madame" interrupted her. "Not sosoftspoken; Joan is a peasant girl. Add in a touch ofPatrick."

After the laugh thiselicited, Christine resumed. Twice more the teacher interrupted; eachtime, there was less Christine on the stage, and more Joan. Then,Joan spoke longingly of the world Above, and the conviction that hadgathered was lost. It was Christine reading lines again, not Joanexplaining her decision to burn.

After she finished,"Madame Sarah" asked, "What do you value most in yourlife?"

Christine paused,giving serious thought to the question. "Friendship and love," shefinally replied, blushing a little but looking straight into herteacher's eyes.

"Madame" noddedthoughtfully. "That is what they want to take away from you. Feel itin your heart. Let it show. Now - try the whole thing again, and useeverything we've talked about." She stepped back off the "stage", anddelivered the opening cue.

It was a differentperformance this time, and Vincent was moved by the rendition. Theapplause was strong, for improvement as well as for the actualreading. "Madame Sarah" returned to center stage, and solicitedanother volunteer.

Class continued fornearly two hours in the same vein. Two of the works Vincent did notrecognize; the others were old friends, read and reread.

Then "Madame" glancedat her watch, and pronounced briskly, "Time for only one more; thisweek next meeting will be Friday at three."

She scanned the circleagain; after a moment, Luke, 13, very shy, silent, and skinny, rose."Madame Sarah"s smile was delighted. "I was hoping you'd think wewere ready this time, Luke. So - this is from 'The Elephant Man'."She retrieved the electric blue knapsack, laid it in front of theaudience.

The boy, known formonosyllabic answers to even the most complex questions, just nodded.He came to the front, lay down "center stage", his back supported bythe bright knapsack. "Madame" sat beside him.

In a thickened voice,Luke began, "'I planned so many things to say. I forget them. You areso beautiful.'"

"Madame Sarah" waselegant now, charming; much older than eighteen, but ageless. Hervoice was as delightfully British as Father's as she spoke. "'Howcharming, Mr. Merrick.'"

The first lines werepolitenesses exchanged; then suddenly they were discussing Romeo andJuliet. Luke's distorted voice said, " 'If I had been Romeo, guesswhat?'"

"'What?'"

"'I would not have heldthe mirror to her breath.'"

"'You mean the scenewhere Juliet appears to be dead and he holds the mirror to her breathand sees-'"

"'Nothing. How does itfeel when he kills himself because he just sees nothing?'"

Once again Vincent wasmesmerized; the play was not familiar, but "Madame Sarah" and Lukebrought it to life. The scene was short; as it neared its end, Lukereached out, deliberately awkward, to take "Madame Sarah"s hand. Hemiscalculated, and his hand impacted against her side.

Vincent, watching the"teacher", saw her turn ghostly white, all color draining from herface. The waiting students saw too, but no one moved. There was atension within the circle, but a familiarity as well - as though thissort of thing happened with some frequency.

Vincent prepared toreveal himself should the need arise, but only her color changed;Madame Sarah's posture and expression did not alter in the slightest.After a longish pause, she spoke her next line perfectly incharacter; the elegant middle-aged actress to the last. Slowly hercolor returned; most of it was back as Luke rose and bowed. Vincentcould almost believe he'd never seen that suddenblanching.

The applause wasthunderous; Vincent reflected that Luke had spoken more words, shownmore feeling, than Vincent had seen from him in fouryears.

Madame Sarah remainedseated on the floor. "Class dismissed." Her voice was still brisk."See you Friday! Remember rehearsals!"

The semicircle broke;the students exited, one or two lingering for a moment ofconversation with the teacher.

Within five minutesthey were all gone, leaving Vincent still lurking in the shadows, andMadame Sarah seated in the lighted front of the chamber.

The absolutely averageyoung woman looked over the room, then hugged her arms across hermidriff. Her chin dropped down to her chest. Vincent watcheduncomfortably as her tears fell in silence. She was as young now asthe other children; a weeping child always hurt his heart.Nonetheless, this was not his secret. He had to speak toChristine.

After a few minutes,the girl sniffled and stood up slowly, stiff and cautious. Vincent'sown misadventures let him recognize bruised or broken ribs. Sheleaned slowly down, turned off the Coleman lantern, and retrieved theknapsack with a groan. Vincent watched as the lively, wise teacherand magical actress exited, a wounded teenage girl.

Chapter III

Christine was waitingimpatiently at the entrance to Vincent's chamber.

"Who is she, Christine?Where did she come from? How long has this been going on?" Vincentushered her into his chamber, asking questions all thewhile.

"It's been about sixmonths since the first time I saw her Below, Vincent," Christinebegan, wandering aimlessly around the chamber. "Jonathon, Patrick andI; we were exploring over that way. Suddenly we heard loud voices. Aloud voice, I should say. We followed the sound to that chamber, thetheatre; we peeked in, and there she was - Madame, with her electriclantern. Patrick and Jonathon wanted to go in, to see if she neededhelp - then I recognized what she was saying. She was doing Hamlet,Vincent; 'O what a rogue and peasant slave am I!'"

A chill crept upVincent's spine; he wished he had been there, to see. Christine wenton, "When she finished, we applauded; she bowed, turned, and exited.The boys checked it out; she went through a long, little tunnel thatleads to the basement of an apartment building; it's about two blocksfrom Catherine's building."

"We went back a lotafter that. She's the first person I ever met who reads Shakespearebetter than you do, Vincent. Sometimes one or two of the other kidswere along when we'd find her; I guess maybe 12 of us know abouther."

"How did those classesstart?"

"Well, one day she wasplaying the scene she did with Patrick today; Romeo and Juliet, you know, and listening to imaginary cues from Romeo. You've had usread that one often enough; Jonathon started to give her Romeo'slines. She just moved over, and beckoned him up. They finished thescene, she told him how to feel the scene more, how to show what hefelt ... Pretty soon all of us were asking to read with her. Shebrought us some new plays, and poems - it just sort of -happened, Vincent. I mean, we started by reading scenes withher; then with each other; then meeting two, three times aweek."

"Why was it such asecret, Christine?"

She shrugged. "I guesswe all knew we shouldn't be there, with someone from Above; and'Madame Sarah's very secretive herself."

"Her name is Sarah,"Vincent mused. "I wonder -"

"Oh, no, Vincent; Idon't know what her name really is. None of us do. When we werereally starting to hold the class, the way you saw it today - shetold us to call her Madame Sarah, because when we'd first met, shewas doing Hamlet - like Sarah Bernhardt."

Vincent watchedChristine fiddle with his stacks of book, deliberately avoiding hisgaze. He rose, turned her to face him. He gazed into her eyes, whichshifted away, ashamed, then returned to his face. "Why did you tellme about her, Christine?"

Christine's voicebecame earnest. "She needs help, Vincent. She'll never ask for it.But you saw her today; she was awkward, she barely moved."

"If that was awkward. .. " Vincent murmured.

Christine threw him apuzzled glance, then went on. "I know you saw when Luke bumped her,too - we all did. Three weeks ago she had a black eye. She'd powderedit down to try to hide it, but Vincent, her eye was swollen shut.Before that she limped for two weeks. Before that - Vincent, sheneeds help." Christine was pleading for her namelessteacher.

"Christine - she mustask for our help."

The girl's shouldersslumped. "She'll never ask, Vincent. I know. Besides, you didn't wait'til I asked. You just helped me."

"Christine - you werestill a child. And you did ask for help; you ran away, hid in one ofthe surface tunnels."

"Vincent; Madame Sarahis a hooker; like I used to be." Christine's voice lost some of itsgentleness; as always when she talked about her former life, some ofthe brassy hardness returned. Christine had been a thirteen-year-oldrunaway-turned-prostitute when she had first come to them.

"Are you sure?" Vincentwas shocked.

"I'm sure. She's been a"working girl" since before I came here. She's not really like I usedto be; she's not a street girl, like I was; she costs plenty.Vincent, she's in Thomas Keithley's stable; veryexclusive."

"Keithley?"

"Well - they say he canget you whatever you want, but his specialty is young 'virgins'." Thequotation marks were clearly audible. "He works for Zachary Towers,Vincent."

The low, reverberatinggrowl that echoed in the room came unconsciously from Vincent.Christine blinked, then continued, "You saw her as Juliet. Lots ofmen will pay through the nose for Juliet. Or Joan, the saintedvirgin." Christine's voice was hard as the stone wallsnow.

The images Christinepainted burned within Vincent's brain. Sensing she'd reached him,Christine pressed her advantage. Her voice became passionate andpleading.

"We have to help her,Vincent." She paced away, measuring the angles of the room with hersteps. "I know what that life is like. On the good days, you feellike you're buried in cotton balls; nothing can touch you, notinside, where it counts. But the good days don't come often, Vincent.Usually your chest, your heart, is so tight with guilt and fear thatyou can't breathe; and you're always sure that all this is happeningbecause you aren't good enough to deserve another life." She pausedfor breath, tears starting down her cheeks at the memories she hadunearthed.

Vincent went to her, tocomfort her, but she stepped away from him. "I'm safe, Vincent," shesaid. Her voice had returned to the Christine he knew. "I am happy,and I am loved." She stood straight and tall before him. "Please -can't we help her? You saw her as Juliet; if you ever could seeMadame play Joan! So rough and graceless, but touched by fire andarmored with innocence...." Her own eloquent words seemed to surpriseeven Christine.

"What would you have usdo?"

"Something,Vincent." Christine was at a loss. "Can't you talk toher?"

"I don't think so."Once again Vincent marveled; Christine saw him through the eyes oflove. She plainly did not remember that he was more likely tofrighten a stranger than be trusted.

"Oh, yeah -" Christinedismissed his objection. "Don't worry about Madame. I'm sure-"

"I have to tell Father,Christine. Now."

"Can't you wait,Vincent? Do you have to do it now?"

"He needs to know. Thishas been going on too long already. You kept this a secret becauseyou knew you should not be doing it, Christine."

"Yes, Vincent," shesighed; the exasperated sigh of the reprimanded teenager.

"Come withme."

"Withyou?"

"Don't you think youshould tell Father yourself?"

"Oh, Viiiiincent..." she moaned. "Do I have to?"

"Don't you think youshould?" Vincent's voice was full of gentle encouragement.

Christine took a deepbreath, then nodded firmly. "For Madame Sarah. I will. Let's go,Vincent."

Chapter IV

"You've been what?" Father's voice was as stern as Vincent had ever heard it.Christine winced, but stood firm. "We've been meeting with someonefrom Above. For classes. About two, three times a week, plusrehearsal time."

Vincent could feelFather reining in his growing anger. "Vincent, did you know anythingabout this?"

"Not until today,Father. Christine brought me to one of the classes."

"You revealed yourselfto someone from above, Vincent?"

"He stayed in theshadows in the back, Father." Christine's voice quivered, but shedefended Vincent. "No one but me knew he was there."

"Why,Christine?"

She took another deepbreath, to control the quiver in her voice that was rapidly spreadingto her knees. Then she told Father the story, just as she had toldVincent. Father's expression remained highly skeptical. "Foracting lessons you revealed yourselves?"

"Father - 'MadameSarah' is magic." Vincent's soft voice cut through thetension.

"She needs someone tohelp her, Father; like you helped me." Christine's voice was pleadingagain; she forgot her own fear. "She has to get away from her lifeAbove."

"Then why doesn't she?Everyone has choices to make, Christine; you made yours by runningaway, hiding where we found you. Even though you were still a child,you made the choice to help yourself." Father's voice remained asstern as before.

"She won't make thatchoice on her own, Father. Please; can't someone talk to her, tellher she has a choice? That there is somewhere for her togo?"

"No. We cannot riskeverything, Christine, by revealing ourselves to someone who hastaken no risk to find us. We cannot compromise what we have here; asafe place, Christine, for those who make the choice to live init."

"Well - could Vincentor I talk to her, Father? I promise we won't talk about our worldBelow; only about choices. Someone did the same for me; that's why Iran away, all those years ago."

"Christine -" Father'svoice verged on active anger, with a healthy dose of exasperation."Can't you see she already knows of our world? Where do youimagine she thinks all of you come from - thin air?" Father wasworking on a full-length tirade.

Vincent put in quietly,"You should see this 'Madame Sarah', Father; barely more than achild, but with an incredible gift."

"Vincent -" Fatherturned his anger momentarily on his son, then abruptly shrugged hisshoulders, stalked to the doorway, and dismissed them with, "Do whatyou will. I would advise Christine, and not you, Vincent, speak toher; but you will do as you wish no matter what I say. Just do me thefavor of advising me of whatever you decide. "

"Thank you, Father!"Christine called after his retreating back. A snort was the onlyreply. She turned to Vincent. "I'll talk to her after Friday's class,Vincent."

"Very well. Come andtell me what happens."

Christine stood ontiptoe, planted a quick kiss on Vincent's furred cheek. "Thank you.Father never would have listened to me without you." With that, shebounced out of the chamber, buoyed by thoughts of how she could helpher teacher.

Chapter V

"She wouldn't listen,Vincent; she didn't want to hear anything I had to say." It was avery downcast Christine who stood before Vincent on Friday, justbefore dinnertime; she had just returned from her "class".

"The class was great;just like always. Afterwards, I stayed 'til everyone was gone. Itried to talk to her; to let her know that everything wasn't alwayshopeless, that there were choices, even for people like her and me.But she wouldn't listen. As soon as I started talking about it, shejust shook her head and laughed. Then she left. She even forgot herknapsack." Christine exhibited it to him. "I don't understand,Vincent. She refused to hear a word I said."

"As Father said, itmust be her choice, Christine. Perhaps she isn't ready to take such astep."

"She's going to gethurt real bad - maybe killed - one of these days, Vincent; that'swhat happens to girls like her." Christine shuddered. "She's way tooold now; the Juliet-and-Joan types don't last much over fifteen. It'sonly because she's so good that she's still working at all. I've seenthis before, Vincent... she's not young enough. She's less valuable;she doesn't have to be protected so much anymore."

"Christine - you can'thelp someone who does not want to be helped." Even as he spoke thewords, he couldn't fully believe them. They were Father's words; buthe could not give them full credence.

"Vincent - could youtalk to her? Maybe she'd listen to you."

"I'd be more likely tofrighten her away from your classes forever, Christine."

"Not Madame Sarah; I'msure, Vincent. Please - you care so much; you can help her, Iknow!"

As he had ruefullyknown he would, Vincent found himself agreeing. "I will try,Christine." As he tried to temper his words with cautions, she threwher arms around him, and gave him a hard hug.

"I knew youwould, Vincent! I just knew it! She said today next class isn't 'tilWednesday; but she rehearses in the theatre chamber a lot. You canprobably find her there."

"Christine; has 'MadameSarah' ever spoken to you about anything but plays andscenes?"

Christine started aroutine positive reply, then paused to think. "She's a greatlistener, Vincent; everybody thinks so. But I guess that's becauseshe never talks about anything; only the scenes. She'll listen toanything you want to say; and she's always so interested . . . Butshe never talks about herself."

This bore out theportrait forming in his mind. "Madame Sarah" lived only in herscenes.

"Anyway - I know she'lllisten to you, Vincent!"

"Christine -" Vincenttried again to inject a note of caution, of doubt; but the girlrefused to listen. Her certainty replaced, she breezed away, callingover her shoulder, "Be sure to tell me as soon as you talk toher!"

Vincent shook his headand sighed. Such confidence in him was quite a compliment; but thiswas a job that might prove undoable.

Chapter VI

For the next threedays, Vincent made it a point to frequent that unused tunnel, pastthe theatre chamber. For two days, the torches burned unattended, andthe Coleman lantern was dark. The third day, from forty feet away hervoice reached him.

"Wilt thou be gone? It is not yet near day:

It was the nightingale, and not the lark,

That pierc'd.....Damn!"

Vincent halted inshadows outside the doorway, looking in on the stage. "Madame Sarah",once again blue-jeaned and T-shirted (this one said "Overdrawn at theMemory Bank", Vincent noted wryly), knelt in the lighted area, herhand outstretched to an invisible Romeo. There was silence for amoment, then she began again,

"Wilt thou be gone? it is not yet near day:

It was the nightingale, and not the lark,

That pierc'd the fearful hollow of thine ear;

Nightly she sings in yon pomegranate tree:

Believe me, love, it was the nightingale."

She paused, to hear thereply of her unseen lover. She gazed into his imaginary eyes; Vincentcould almost see the apparition. Enough time passed; "Madame Sarah"gestured toward the window she saw clearly, and went on,

"Yon light is not daylight, I know it, I...."

She dropped her handand cursed again. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes, andstretched herself out on the floor. Vincent saw her body relax; thenshe curled against her invisible Romeo. Vincent watched, fascinated,as she awakened to the lark's song, then saw her lover awakened too.She made him see Romeo move to leave her; she took Romeo's unseen armand began the speech. At "Believe me, love, it was the nightingale",Vincent heard his own voice replying,

"It was the lark; the herald of the morn,

No nightingale:"

"Madame" jerked insurprise, turning to stare at the entryway. Quickly she recovered anddropped back into character, stretching her hand toward him insteadof her unseen acting partner.

After assuring his faceremained well shadowed beneath his hood, Vincent accepted herinvitation, and stepped onto her stage. He moved to the invisible"window", seeing Romeo's morning outside. He went on,

"... look, love, whatenvious streaks

Do lace the severing clouds in yonder east:

Night's candles are burnt out, and jocund day
Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops.

I must be gone and live, or stay and die."

He spoke, seeinghimself with Catherine, on her balcony. So often he had been torn asRomeo was; knowing it was time to be gone, but almost willing to givehis life to stay.

"Yon light is not daylight, I know it, I;

It is some meteor that the sun exhales,

To be to thee this night a torchbearer,

And light thee on the way to Mantua:

Therefore stay yet, thou need'st not be gone."

She was the embodimentof Juliet; desiring desperately that he remain, pleading for it; butknowing he must go even as she spoke the words. He understood whatChristine meant now; he could feel himself swept away by theconviction, the passion, that radiated from her. At this moment hewas teenaged Romeo, under sentence of death, awakening for thefirst time with his beloved. Still facing away from her, Vincent'sRomeo turned her words back on her, joined her foolish game ofdenial. Juliet, seeing the game had to be over, ran to him and senthim away with a gentle shove; "O, now be gone; more light and lightit grows."

"More light and light,- more dark and dark our woes!" replied Vincent.

She held her pose forseveral long seconds, then stepped back from him. Juliet was gone;"Madame Sarah" the teacher remained, surveying him with bird-quickmotions of her eyes.

Vincent kept his facewell hidden. She took in his great shoulders, his stance; then, aftertrying and failing to pierce the hood's shadows, she said, "And youmust be the fabled Vincent. I knew sooner or later you would find usout." Another moment of study, and she added, "Christine had you tothe life."

Vincent pretendedpuzzlement rather than attempt to explain he had witnessed thatscene. She laughed, and related briefly the incident in class. "Andthat wasn't the first time. Your name hovers on the edge of nearlyevery conversation I have with my students. They know they are not tosay it, I can tell; but I hear it behind my back, and see it in thework they do."

"You have my name; butneither I nor your students have yours." Vincent's slightly harshvoice was gentle. The awe of her performance still resonated throughhim, but over her facade of competent bravado was a different image:a crying teenager, hugging herself, then hobbling off.

"Some people believethat names give you power over their owners," she replied. "But Idoubt if you need any power over me." She curtsied regally to thefloor. "Miranda Stewart, at your service."

"Well, Miranda Stewart,that was a rare privilege."

"It certainly was.Thank you, Vincent." She stuck out her hand for Vincent to shake. Heengulfed that hand in his great gloved one, and held it as he studiedher face.

"Miranda Stewart, inlife there are always choices to be made." Vincent spoke almostwithout thinking, the words that Christine had wanted him touse.

"Life is made ofuncontrollable patterns, Vincent. There are no choices." Her tone andinflection mocked his; for an instant he saw the bitter stone facadeof the hopeless child. With a jerk, she pulled back the hand he stillheld; she turned and headed for her own exit. Stopping only to darkenthe Coleman lantern, she strode away, then halted, and turned back toface him. The flickering torchlight glinted off the tears that stoodin her eyes, overflowed down her cheeks; but her voice was once more"Madame Sarah"s. "You're welcome to come to my classes, Vincent - butI don't think you really need them." Then she turned her back todisappear into the darkness.

"Wait!" Vincent's voicewas sharp. Miranda halted in mid-pace for an instant, then resumedher path. Vincent pursued her, his great strides making short work ofthe distance between them.

"Why don't you want tohear my words, Miranda Stewart?" His half-whisper was gentle, rightbehind her. "Is it because you know they are true - that the choicesare yours?"

He saw her stiffen, butthis time she didn't even break stride. As he watched her backretreat, he called after her, "Christine and I will not give up,Miranda; not until you hear us out."

She vanished from hissight; but he could almost feel the hesitancy within her.

The next class wasWednesday; Miranda Stewart had invited him to attend. He would bethere - but first he would speak with Catherine.

Chapter VII

"Yes, Joe - tomorrowmorning. 10:15. I'll be there." Cathy Chandler leaned back on hercouch, phone in hand. The stars outside testified to the lateness ofthe hour; Mondays were always hectic. A weekend's worth of crimes andmisdemeanors waited, some or all of which required attention from theDistrict Attorney's office.

"Joe - any word on therequest for continuance on the Francisco case?" She frowned as herboss' words poured into her ear. "But - but - Joe, what about - JOE!"The voice in her ear finally ceased; "Joe, we can't possibly have allthe depositions ready by Thursday."

She lay her head downand closed her eyes, still holding the phone to her ear. With herfree hand she massaged her forehead, trying to loose the tensionbuilding toward a headache.

Finally Joe hung up;Cathy sighed and dropped the phone into its cradle. She remained onthe couch, too worn to drag herself up and get to bed.

She was trying toconvince herself that it would be a mortal sin to sleep on the couchfully clothed when a soft noise outside her French doors revitalizedher. She sat up, looked hopefully toward the balcony."Vincent?"

His great form was ashadow against the starry sky. From unable to move, suddenlyCatherine felt light and happy. She sprang off the couch, and justrestrained herself from running to him at top speed. She knew that hefelt her eagerness, her joy in his presence, and that increased herown pleasure.

He stood looking outover the night brightness of the city, his heavy black cloak swirlingin the breeze as though it had a life of its own. She stood besidehim, just letting his presence wash over her. He would speak when hewas ready.

Vincent was rememberingthe scene he had played that afternoon. Yes, he understood why Romeodid not want to leave, even if it cost his life. He stood byCatherine, her presence filling him with joy. He felt that if therest of his life could be spent just as it was now, he would have noregrets. But he had come, as was so often the case, to again begCatherine's aid.

Reluctant to break thespell, Vincent allowed five minutes to pass in blissful silence. Butfinally, like Romeo, he knew the hour to be late and the morningadvancing.

"Once more I have cometo you for help, Catherine." He spoke without facing her, stillside-by-side at the balcony rail. "I need information about a mannamed Thomas Keithley. He is a man who uses children for evilends."

"I'll see what I cando." She sighed. "These men are usually squeaky clean; at least asfar as provable offenses go." She looked at him, his golden maneblowing back, his eyes seeing things invisible and far away. "Didsomething happen today, Vincent?"

"Yes, Catherine. I meta child with an extraordinary gift." He paused, seeing her in hismind's eye. "I said a child, Catherine - that is true, and not. Iwould guess she is eighteen." He paused again, glanced out over thebrightness of the city below. Looking back, he seemed to see her forthe first time. "I am sorry, Catherine; the hour is late, and thestory long. I should leave you to your slumber."

"No, Vincent - don'tgo!" She could never convince him that his presence was more vital toher than sleep or any other mere biological necessity. "Why don't wesit down and you can tell me?"

He allowed himself tobe persuaded, and soon they sat side by side at the glass-topppedtable. "Go on, Vincent," Catherine urged, her eyes drinking in hisface and form.

Vincent did not need tolook at Catherine; he was always aware of her, within his heart andmind. He looked instead up at the sky, as starry as a bright citynight could ever be. "It started months ago, Catherine; a littleafter we - met."

He told her of hisfirst suspicions, his secret observation, and finally theextraordinary scene he had played that afternoon. "I thought Iunderstood, felt what Shakespeare was saying. She showed methings I did not suspect were there."

"Incredible. Where doesKeithley come into this, Vincent?"

"Christine told me,Catherine, that she recognizes 'Madame Sarah' as a prostitute. Anexpensive one, in the employ of this man."

Catherine tried to findwords to express her horror, but failed. Vincent felt the emotionfrom her, gently laid one gloved hand over her small one. "She hidesin this gift, Catherine. It is both her strength and hercurse."

He looked into hereyes, drowning silently in their depths for long moments. Then heroused himself, and stood. "I must go now, Catherine. The hour islate; and Father will need to know what happened today."

Catherine went to him,and leaned into the great curve of his shoulder, feeling the strengthof his body against her. He wrapped his arms gently about her, andheld her for what seemed to Catherine but an instant; then he put hergently away from him, and vanished over the balcony rail.

Chapter VIII

"Half an hour earlyshould be plenty," Christine agreed, on her way to the Wednesdayafternoon class with Vincent. Father wanted the students in hischamber following this class. Vincent hadn't told Christine yet; thepleasure of the class should not be spoiled by the anticipation ofwhat was to follow.

Christine babbled on."Sometimes she comes early and works by herself. That's always great.She's really exciting to watch!" Christine's enthusiasm was two partstruth, and one part nerves. She hadn't told the others Vincent knewtheir secret. And Vincent had explained that Madame hadn't reallyseen him. For now, he was still cloaked and hooded. Madame's realname remained his secret, even from Catherine; Miranda would tell theothers when she wanted it known.

Once again, her voicereached them before they arrived at the chamber. Vincent frowned;this time it was a light and wondering voice, a child - but he didnot know the work. He motioned Christine to stop out of view of thedoor; he wanted to listen unnoticed.

" 'He told me to lookat my hand,'" she was saying, all the wonder and awe that existedpresent in her voice. " 'For a part of it came from a star thatexploded too long ago to imagine. This part of me was formed from atongue of fire that screamed through the heavens until there was oursun. And this part of me - this tiny part of me - was on the sun whenit itself exploded and whirled in a great storm until..'"

The lines stopped.There was a sound of frustration, then a deep breath. The same speechstarted again. This time she stopped after two sentences. Vincentheard pacing footsteps, muttered curses, and another deep breath. Thespeech started again. This time it took only one sentence beforeMiranda yelled, "Damn!" There was a very long moment of silence, thensuddenly a completely different voice issued from theroom.

It was masculine intone and timbre; Vincent was momentarily confused. But Christine hadan expression of delight on her face; she whispered, "Madame doesn'tdo this one much!"

The words uttered bythe voice suddenly registered. Hamlet passionately raged at his owninability to accuse his mother and uncle of their crime.

" 'O, what a rogue and peasant slave am I!

Is it not monstrous that this player here,

But in a fiction, in a dream of passion,

Could force his soul so to his own conceit,

That from her working all his visage wan'd;

Tears in his eyes, distraction in 's aspect,

A broken voice, and his whole function suiting
With forms to his conceit? And all for nothing!"

Miranda's voice echoedoff the walls; the sound of her step was a solid slap as she strodethe floor. Unable to resist, Vincent edged forward to peer in thedoor.

The "average" girl nowlooked like an average young prince; or mostly so. There were detailsthat could be disguised better than by her ever-present turtleneckand T-shirt (this one bearing the legend "Reality is just a crutchfor those who can't handle science fiction") and jeans; but thestride, the posture, the movements were all male. And raging male;Hamlet paced and gestured, the passion and fury his speech deniedfilling the air. Vincent felt he could touch the anger. Hamlet'slitany rang throughout the chamber and corridor.

"'-bloody bawdy villain!

Remorseless, treacherous, lecherous, kindless villain!

O vengeance!

Why, what an ass am I! This is most brave,

That I, the son of a dear father murder'd,

Prompted to my revenge by heaven and hell,

Must, like a--'"

The ringing voice brokeoff abruptly. Vincent, lost in Hamlet's fury, was dazed at the suddencessation of sound. Before him, Miranda stood frozen - fistsclenched, strong stance reflecting masculine tension andanger.

Vincent's memory placedbefore him the completed line upon which she had stopped: "Must, likea whore, unpack my heart with words". In front of him, Hamletcrumpled into the Miranda he had watched before from the shadows;sinking to the floor, her arms crossed across her chest, her tearsflowed silently but heavily.

Christine, who had beenstanding on tiptoe to peek around Vincent into the theatre chamber,started to rush to her; but Vincent checked the motion, then lead hersilently away from the entrance. When they were out of earshot, hemurmured, "You must let her keep her dignity, Christine; she wouldnever have acted so if she'd known she were observed."

From far down thecorridor came the noisy sounds of more of her class arriving.Beverly, Patrick and Kate were laughing and teasing; but they fellsilent at the sight of Vincent.

Vincent let the long,embarrassed pause go on for nearly a minute; when the four teenagersbegan to visibly squirm, he relented. "Christine gave me your secretlast week."

"Vincent," Beverlybegan, but he hushed her with a stern motion.

"We're sorry, Vincent."It was Kate this time, who went on talking despite him. "We all sortof knew it was wrong; but -"

"What was wrong was thesecret, Kate. We will discuss this later. In the meantime; be awarethat Father knows as well." Varying degrees of apprehension appearedon the teenagers' faces. "Now - isn't it time for class tobegin?"

They all gaped; as didLuke and Jonathon, who had come in time to overhear Vincent'sremark.

"Yes, it is, myplayers," came the familiar brisk voice from theatre chamber. "MadameSarah" stood there; there were no signs of the storm that Christineand Vincent had witnessed. She bowed them into the chamber, waiteduntil they were seated. "Short class today," she announced. Thegroans paid tribute to the students' feelings. "Sorry; I have placesto be." A shadow flitted across her face, then was rapidly schooledaway. Vincent wasn't sure if anyone else had seen it. She turned tohim, seated on the floor with the others, enveloped in his concealinghood. "I'm warning you; there are no mere spectators in this class.You'll have to participate."

"Yes, Madame." A titterflew about the semicircle, now up to 11 with the arrival of anotherPatrick and Denise and Samantha.

With a sidelong glanceat Vincent, the teacher continued, "Although you may still call me'Madame Sarah', I suppose I should tell you that my name is Miranda."Dismissing the break of character with a shake of her head, shereturned to being "Madame". "Who's first?"

Vincent stood. Sheglared up at him, as he said mildly, "I think I'm ready for the scenewe rehearsed."

He could almost hearmouths drop open. Although he'd told Christine that he and Mirandahad spoken, he had not described the encounter to anyone butCatherine.

Miranda was trapped byher own words. With a brusque nod, she moved to center stage."Romeo and Juliet , Act III, Scene V." She lay gingerly on thestone floor, then pointed to Vincent. "You - down. We start at thebeginning here."

Vincent pulled his hoodfurther forward, to cover and shadow his face as much as possible.Then he obeyed Miranda, stretching his great length alongside her.She molded herself to his side, just as she had curled to her ghostlyRomeo two days ago.

The scene playedthrough; once again he found himself rising to her passion andchallenge. He was no more aware of this afternoon's audience than hehad been of one during their rehearsal. Indeed, the round of applauseas he exited through the unseen window startled him. The watchingchildren all rose to their feet, applauding and cheering.

After a moment, Julietgave way to Madame Sarah, who clapped once, a resounding clap thatechoed throughout the chamber. "Time is short, people! Next!" ButVincent saw her high color, and felt the pleasure the performance andapplause had brought her.

Denise and Jonathonstood; after one run-through as Antigone and Creon, Vincent watchedas Miranda lead them to insights and redefinitions of their roles.She called for the scene again, then looked at her watch. "I'm afraidthat's all I have time for today. Next class Friday, usual time.Okay?"

There was a generalmovement of nodding heads and murmured assents. She glanced at herwatch again, and shook her head. Then she turned her attention toVincent.

"You need somethingelse to work on. I've heard you like Shakespeare, and your Romeocertainly needs no work. How about a little casting against type?Mercutio - Act II, Scene IV. Luke, you take Benvolio; Patrick, youcan work on your Romeo."

"Yes, Madame," Vincentreplied, and this time there was no laughter.

"All right, everyone -remember to arrange your rehearsals, and see you on Friday!" Sheturned and vanished through her own exit.

Vincent waited untilshe was clearly beyond earshot. No one had left yet; rehearsal dates- and other dates - were being planned. Vincent raised his voiceslightly. "Father would like to see all of you."

Silence descended; asmuch as they loved Father, his discipline was not to be takenlightly. "Now. In his chamber."

"Yes, Vincent." It wasPatrick, his tone flat and hard, a harsh imitation of their greetingto Miranda.

The teenagers trailedbehind Vincent as he lead the way back to the heart of theirworld.

Chapter IX

From behind his desk,Father's frosty gaze pinned each teenager in turn. "Jonathon,Beverly. Kate, Patrick, Patrick, Luke." Father acknowledged each one."Samantha, Denise. Christine."

Uneasy nods and avertedeyes were his only answers. "You have broken our rules," he began. Asmall shudder passed through the room; the last time they heard thatformula, Mouse faced a month's silence.

"I have not convened afull council. I do not think one is necessary." He looked over theassembled children. "Does any one of you disagree?"

Small and large headshakes and murmured negatives answered him. "Nonetheless, I think youwill agree this is a serious offense. All of you are guilty ofrevealing our world; to someone who has not sought refuge here,someone we do not know we can trust."

Five or six hotprotests burst forth; Father stared them into silence. "Veryadmirable loyalty to your teacher; but there is no way you could haveknown for sure."

Vincent stood silentbehind the ranks of teenagers. Father let the silence prevail for amoment, then stood. "Do any of you contest the charge?"

For a moment, Vincentthought Patrick was going to explode into speech, but a glare fromChristine, and he subsided. Nine teenagers stood before Father, allsilent, downcast, and apprehensive. Father let them stew for anothermoment, then looked at Vincent.

"I am afraid that theremust be some punishment. Perhaps that will teach you to think morethoroughly next time." He paused again, eyeing each child in turn."For one month -" even breathing stopped within the chamber - "Forone month - you will not - attend these classes with your 'MadameSarah'. At the end of that time, you may resume. Even Vincent seemsto feel that she can be trusted."

The great collectivesigh of relief gave way to noisy cheers. Christine, Luke, Jonathon,Beverly and Kate rushed to Father's desk, all trying to thankhim.

Father seated himselfagain, waved them away in irritation. "Vincent, it will be your dutyto convey this sentence to the teacher. Explain the reasons to her,tell her when the classes may resume."

"Yes, Father."Vincent's eyes shone with pride and love for Father's mercifuljustice. "I will find her."

Chapter X

Following dinner,Vincent decided to pass the theatre chamber. She seemed to spend muchtime there; and even if he didn't see her, perhaps the sight of itwould help him puzzle out Miranda. Who was she beneath all hercharacters? Was there really anyone there, or only an endless stringof other people's words, other people's emotions?

There was no spill oflight through the entryway; one torch guttered dimly within the vastcavern. He stood outside, looking in at the darkness, and tried toremember every nuance, every word he had seen or heard from MirandaStewart.

Everything she spoke,every move she made always carried the force of truth - but alwaysthe truth as written by, spoken by, someone other than Miranda. Herreply, when he'd spoken about choices; even that soundedquoted.

He was pulled from hisreverie by a soft sound within the chamber. "Miranda?" he murmured,straining to hear.

Stepping into thechamber, he listened again. Faint and far away he heard it; nointelligible words, just an ongoing stream of soft sounds.

He followed the soundsacross the dimly lit "stage" and to the other side. There stood thetunnel that Miranda used to enter. The voice was a little louderhere, but not yet comprehensible. It was definitely coming fromfurther down that tunnel.

Vincent moved silentlytoward the sound, all senses alert to the possibility of danger ordiscovery. The blackness within the first leg of the tunnel wasabsolute; Vincent trailed a hand on the wall to guide himself. Thenthe tunnel rounded a sharp bend, and bright light shocked his eyes,made him blink.

In a moment the red andblack afterimages faded. About fifty yards down the stone corridorwas the source of the light; a hand-held portable lantern, lyingangled on the stone floor so that it pointed directly into his eyes.From the darkness behind the light came the voice he had heard. Eventhis close, he could not make out words. There were jerky pauseswithin the sound now, as though whoever spoke kept running out ofbreath. As he'd known, the voice was Miranda's; but its richness hadbeen stripped away. There was no depth left, no beauty; but the soundstill held his attention, even before he understood thewords.

It was only twoseconds' work to reach her side. She lay on the cold earth, unmoving;but as he reached her, the words became clear.

" 'Light your fire: doyou think that I dread it as much as the life of a rat in a hole? Myvoices were right!'"

"St. Joan," Vincentmuttered, as he turned the light onto her. Miranda was curled on herside, as if ready to enact Juliet's lark and nightingale scene; butboth of her eyes were swollen nearly shut and darkening with bruises.She cradled her right wrist in her left hand, and her breath cameshallow and jerky with pain.

Vincent knelt downbeside her. "Miranda!"

For reply, shecontinued with Joan's speech. " 'You think that life is not beingstone dead. It is not the bread and water I fear: I can live onbread: when have I asked for more?'"

His voice sharper,Vincent repeated her name. This time she heard him; Joan's speechceased. Only the sound of her ragged breathing filled thetunnel.

As gently as he could,Vincent examined her, to see if he could safely take her to Fatherfor aid. He stripped off his gloves, then eased the shirt up her backwith the gentleness of a butterfly's wing. Her breath caught atthat.

He turned the lanternonto her, and then had to look away. He steeled himself, looked backat the mass of raw flesh and bruises, then slid the pads of hisfingers along her spine, as Father had taught him. About halfwaythrough his gentle exam, there was another sharply indrawn breath.Beneath his fingers, all tension drained away as Mirandafainted.

He moved more quicklynow, ascertaining that she could be moved. Then he wrapped his cloakabout her cold body, lifted her into his arms and moved swiftlythrough the theatre back toward his world. A brief pause to tap amessage on one of the omnipresent pipes, then he headed swiftly forthe hospital chamber.

Chapter XI

Father was waiting whenhe strode in. Miranda had regained some degree of consciousness; butonce again, she spoke only in other people's words. This time it wasJuliet; a faint echo of the Juliet she had been earlier withVincent.

" 'Farewell! - Godknows when we shall meet again.

I have a faint coldfear thrills through my veins,

That almost freezes upthe heat of life....'"

The sinking,unsupported voice fell into the silence of the chamber. Vincent laidMiranda on the waiting bed, aware of Father's silent disapprovalfilling the room.

"This is becoming ahabit, Vincent," were the only words he spoke, but Vincent could readevery negative nuance of his behavior. "I take it this is thechildren's "Madame Sarah." Now - what happened here?"

As Vincent explainedbriefly how he'd found her, Father motioned for help to remove hershirt. He gave a brief involuntary chuckle at the message emblazonedupon it, then fell silent at the bruised flesh beneath. Filling thebackground, only a little louder than the messages running over thepipes, Miranda continued to recite Shakespeare.

" 'Shall I not then bestifled in the vault,

To whose foul mouth nohealthsome air breathes in,

And there die strangledere my Romeo comes? -'"

"Apt words for one fromAbove," Father murmured as he half-listened to the familiar speech.With sure, gentle fingers he probed her ribs; for the second time,Miranda fainted.

The disapproval fadedfrom Father's face as he worked; anger grew in its place. As hecleaned, bandaged, bound, using Vincent as an assistant, he shook hishead and began to mutter about the evils of the worldAbove.

This time consciousnessdid not return to Miranda quickly; Father gently pried the fingers ofher left hand from the right wrist they still gripped. The grate ofbone on bone brought a look of disquiet to his face; he shook hishead while requesting the proper supplies of Vincent.

He probed once morewith sure fingers, manipulating and aligning. With a sigh he placed awooden splint over his handiwork, then said, "That wrist may not healproperly, Vincent. Some degree of stiffness may remain permanently."He stepped away from the bed, motioned Vincent to cover her with ablanket. Miranda still did not stir; Father lead Vincent out of thechamber to the corridor.

"What are you going todo now, Vincent?"

"How isshe?"

"She will recover. Thatwrist may be impaired; she is suffering somewhat from exposure.Whoever did this was quite careful; no internal injuries, nothinglife-threatening; just superficial damage." Despite a deceptivelymild tone of voice, Father's eyes were gleaming with anger. He took adeep breath and released it, easing some of the tension that grippedhim. "I must send for Mary," he murmured, stepping to thepipes.

"And Christine,"Vincent added.

Father nodded. "A goodidea, Vincent; someone familiar to her. By the way, Vincent,Catherine sent you a message earlier; she said she needed to see youtonight."

"I must go to her,Father."

"Do whatever you feelis right, Vincent; we shall discuss this situation later."

Chapter XII

Despite her heavysweater, Catherine shivered as the November breeze blew across herbalcony. The heavy file folder lying on the balcony table chilled heras well, as it would chill Vincent. He would be here soon; she'd sentfor him.

She sat at her table,trying not to think about the contents of the neat brown folder lyingin front of her. The existence of a market for teenage girls sickenedher; the knowledge that there was not a way to stop it enraged her.Perhaps there might be a way to find a witness through Vincent; ithad happened before. Anything to slow down this terrible trade-!

She closed her eyes andleaned back to await Vincent's arrival.

The breeze's coldcaress through her sweater woke her; she sat up with a jerk andscanned the balcony. Still no sign of Vincent; a glance at her watchreported the hour to be midnight.

Catherine stood andstretched. She contemplated retiring to bed, weighed it againstwaiting up for Vincent. No contest; she strolled to the railing andglanced idly at the street below.

Only a moment hadpassed before she half-heard the familiar soft boot-falls; thenVincent was beside her.

He, too, looked outover the lights below; they shared their silence until Catherinesaid, "I have the information you asked for; about ThomasKeithley."

Vincent straightened;Catherine saw his fists clench, his whole body stiffen. "What is it,Vincent? Is something wrong?"

Vincent relaxed on anexhaled breath. "I will tell you later, Catherine. First tell me whatyou have found."

Catherine was uneasy atVincent's mood. He seemed on the edge of violence; she almostexpected his feline snarl of rage to erupt. But, she reminded herselfas she fetched the brown folder, that was just how she'd been feelinga few short hours ago.

"Here's what Edie wasable to find; and I did a little digging on my lunch hour." She waspulling papers from the folder as she spoke. "Everyone knows what hedoes - and no one can prove it. Not one shred of evidence. He's onlybeen arrested once; nearly 20 years ago. On a charge of beating hispregnant girlfriend."

She showed Vincent amug shot, face and profile, of a man nearing thirty, with lightishhair. "This is Keithley, then; his girlfriend wouldn't press charges,so the case was dropped."

She produced a sheet ofevidence photos of the same vintage, of a woman who might be barely20, obviously pregnant, with two black eyes, and numerous othermeticulously documented bruises and bumps.

"Keithley is known forprocuring young, frightened virgins and simulated virgins for highprices."

Catherine was about tocontinue when she caught sight of Vincent's expression. He held thephoto sheet of Keithley's ex-girlfriend, staring at it as if it mightturn into an animal and bite him. When he remained silent, she wenton, "Just for background - the girlfriend went back home to Illinois.She had the baby and sued for child support. She won. Keithley paidregularly for 14 years. Then something happened; he returned from atrip and brought his daughter back with him. That was about four anda half years ago. Apparently he maintains an apartment for her -" sheconsulted one of her sheets - "about 2 blocks fromhere..."

"Catherine -" Vincent'salways raspy voice was so rough Catherine could barely understandhim. "Does this child have a name, Catherine?"

Flipping quicklythrough the assembled pages, Catherine found the answer. "Let's see -her name is Miranda - Juliet - Stewart (that's the mother's name) -Keithley."

The growl that echoedthrough the night didn't startle her; she'd almost been expecting it."What is it, Vincent?" She went to him, took his clenched fists intoher hands.

"I went to seek thechildren's 'Madame Sarah' tonight, Catherine. When I found her, shelooked very much like this." He held up the photo sheet he had beenstaring at so intently.

"Vincent - how awful!"The words were inadequate, but Vincent felt the depths of Catherine'sdistress, and drew her close. "Catherine - there is more to this, andit is more evil than I can comprehend. I also learned "MadameSarah's" name, Catherine; she told me it was MirandaStewart."

"Miranda -" it took amoment for the import of that name to penetrate. "My God, Vincent;you can't mean - his own daughter?? Surely no one -"

"She bears an uncannyresemblance to him." Vincent held the picture of Keithley aloftgingerly, between his fingers, as though the photo could stain himwith the evil of its subject.

"Such a wonderful gift;his own blood. And all he can do is drown it in mud." Vincent threwthe photo from him, toward the table. It slid off, to land next to apotted plant.

"Where is she now,Vincent?"

"She is safe, below.Father has tended her injuries and says she will recover."

"Do you think I couldtalk to her, Vincent? If she's willing to testify -"

"I will speak to herwhen she awakens, Catherine."

Cathy sighed within theshelter of Vincent's arms. "I don't know if her unsupported word willbe enough, Vincent; between her known career, and now thisrelationship; it would be an easy defense to say she's out to get himfor reasons of her own." Her mind was searching for a sure way todispose of Keithley, but kept coming up empty. "I'd hate to let himget away, Vincent; but even if we can get him bound over for trial,it'll be a rough time for her."

"Catherine - you mustspeak to her. But her strength is not the same as yours; I do notknow how well she will hold up under what you call a 'roughtime'."

He fell silent,contemplating the past week and pondering what Miranda's future mightbring. As always, holding Catherine brought a profound peace and joy;but even that could not cancel the sights he had seen and the truthshe had learned this evening.

Gently he put Catherinefrom him. She swayed back toward him, but he shook his head. "Thehour is late, Catherine. Father told me he was going to summon Mary,and perhaps Christine to watch over her; but I saw his eyes. He willbe with her when I return." He took a step away, then paused. "Whenshe is able to see you, I'll send one of the children."

"Goodbye, Vincent,"Catherine whispered, but he was gone before she finished speaking.She gathered the scattered papers, stuffing them back into thefolder. Like Vincent, her skin crawled as she retrieved the photo ofKeithley from where it had been flung. For a moment she held the twophoto sheets side-by-side; she shook her head, then crammed them intothe folder with the rest.

Chapter XIII

" 'Tragedy is clean, itis restful, it is flawless. It has nothing to do with melodrama -with wicked villains, persecuted maidens, avengers, suddenrevelations and eleventh hour repentances.'"

Vincent entered thehospital chamber to the ongoing sound of Miranda's voice. As he hadpredicted, Father was seated next to her bed, shaking his head andwatching her. He looked up at the rustle of Vincent's cloak, andbeckoned his son to his side.

"I've been expectingyou, Vincent. I knew you would not retire without another visit." Hemotioned toward Miranda, whose voice still ran under theirconversation. "Fascinating. She's been drifting in and out ofconsciousness, Vincent; and all through classical - and, I assume,modern - drama." Before Vincent could speak he went on, "It seemed ashame to awaken Mary and Christine at this hour; and since I wasalready awake..."

Vincent gazed atMiranda as her voice faded to silence. Father had a cold compresslying across her eyes and the rest of her was still covered by theblanket; no signs of the brutal damage were visible. Once again shelooked so young; as young as her middle name.

"You've only called her'Madame Sarah', Vincent, and yet you've said that is not her name. Doyou know what her name is?"

"Yes, Father," Vincentreplied, feeling the shock of earlier this evening. "Her name isMiranda Juliet Stewart -- Keithley."

"Keithley? Vincent -didn't you tell me -?"

"Yes, Father. He is theman who put her on the streets some four years ago. He is also herfather."

Father, who alwaysexpected the worst from those Above, was nonetheless speechless withoutrage and fury. He stood and refreshed the cold compress overMiranda's eyes, his movements jerky with repressed anger. She stirreda trifle at the shock of cold, then her voice picked upagain.

" 'Where is thebeautous majesty of Denmark?'" She paused; as before, she listened toan unseen partner, then resumed, singing in a waveringvoice,

" 'How should I your true love know
From another one?

By his cockle hat and staff
And his sandal shoon.'"

"Ophelia," Fathersaid.

Vincent nodded. "Themad scene."

"That makes five plays,Vincent; three I recognized; and two I must admit are new tome."

As they spoke,Miranda's voice continued. Over this refrain, Vincent quickly toldFather Miranda's history, as he and Catherine had pieced it together.As he finished, Vincent looked back to the still figure underdiscussion. Her lips were the only part of her moving; the resonancewas gone; but Ophelia's pain, sorrow and confusion were alive in thechamber, permeating the words, drawing responses from both of theirhearts.

"Listen to her, Father;hear, now, how Ophelia lives and breathes. Even now. And this gift isall she is. Even unconscious, she does not dare beMiranda."

" 'They say the owl wasa baker's daughter. Lord, we know what we are, but know not what wemay be.'"

"If she knows whoMiranda is," Father muttered in reply. The soft voice faded again,leaving them to empty silence.

The silence was brokenwhen Father yawned. Vincent moved toward the chair Father had beenoccupying when he entered. "The hour is late, Father. I'llstay with her -"

"No, Vincent; I'm nottoo old for early morning vigils yet. I'll summon Mary and Christinein the morning."

"If you're certain,Father...."

"Good night, Vincent.Sleep well."

Vincent hugged Father,then stepped to the door. "She's fascinated you, too, Father andyou've not really met her yet. I will predict that once her studentsknow she is here, there will be no shortage of hands to help and eyesto watch over her. More likely an excess. Good night,Father."

"No doubt you'recorrect. Good night, Vincent." Father reclaimed his seat as Vincentexited the chamber.

Chapter XIV

The first thing shefelt was the coolness against the throbbing ache of her eyes. Shestruggled to open them; blackness was the only result. She startedher hand toward the coolness, stopping as pain flashed through herside. Years of training kept most of the moan trapped within herthroat; but a little of it leaked out.

She heard footsteps; agentle hand brushed the damp hair back from her forehead, and a gruffBritish voice ordered her to keep still. Her pulse was taken as shetried to clear her head and remember where she was, who she wassupposed to be. It was no use; every breath hurt, scattering eachgathering thought before she could grasp it.

"Where am I?" She hatedthe sound of her voice; too weak, unsure. And how cliched! Surely shecould have thought of something better than that tosay!

The gruff voicereplied, "You are safe. Vincent found you and brought youhere."

Vincent; her hoodedacting partner. So she was wherever her kids came from. She tried tofigure out what that meant, but her thoughts spun in all directions,refusing to focus.

"It hurts." She wasalmost unaware of having spoken; a small part of her listened, andfiled away the sound of a dazed child in pain.

"Where?" The gruffvoice had that indefinable professional sound that marked thephysician.

"Everywhere."

The footsteps receded,then returned. One arm was swabbed with something wet and cold; thencame the pinprick pain of an injection.

"I'm giving youmorphine," the voice reassured her. "Just lie still and let itwork."

The coolness left hereyes for a moment; this time flickering light came through her sealedeyelids, but nothing more. Then the cloth, fresh and wet, wasreturned to sooth her.

Damp air against herbared arm and shoulder sent shivers through her, each one leaving atrail of burning pain. This time she completely stifled theinvoluntary sound that tried to erupt; but the watcher could not befooled. Before a second bout of shivering could begin, another heavywarm blanket settled around her.

"Thank you." The risingringing inside her ears almost masked the sound of her own voice; butshe could hear enough to despise the shuddering weakness, the fadingwhisper that mocked her.

"You're welcome." Sheheard a creak near her ear; the sound of a chair being occupied.Strong sure fingers, clad in half-gloves, took her left hand and heldit. "You are in a place of safety, Miranda; no one can harm youhere."

She wanted to laugh atthat; she knew there was no such thing as safety. That voice was sotempting, though; she wanted to believe, to put all her trust in himand accept his decree.

Roaring sounds louderthan the sea filled her head; she felt rising heat inside her ears.She clutched her awareness to her, struggling to ask anotherquestion; but no sound escaped. The last thing that penetrated beforethe roaring and heat bore her away was the gentle hand stroking theuntidy hair from her forehead again.

Chapter XV

"It is eery, Vincent."Father spoke outside the hospital chamber. Through the archeddoorway, Vincent could see Christine reading near Miranda's bedside.The ten teens had shared a round-the-clock watch since the news oftheir teacher's arrival had reached them.

"What is,Father?"

"So many voices shespeaks with; each individual unto itself, a complete person withinthe words. Somewhere beneath all those speeches, there must be a veryspecial person."

"I believe so, Father.So do all of her students."

As he spoke, lanky,dark-haired Jonathon came into view down the corridor. He nodded toFather and Vincent as he passed, then entered the chamber to take thewatch from Christine.

On her way to her ownbed, Christine stopped before Father. "Father - is she going to beall right? You can tell me; I mean, it's been two days, Father, and..."

"There is no reason sheshouldn't recover completely, Christine."

From within the chambercame the sound of Miranda's voice once again. Harsher and hoarser,still it painted pictures with words; still someone else'spictures.

Christine did not soundconvinced. "But - you're sure she's going to be okay,Father?"

"Christine - nothing inlife is sure. But there is no reason she shouldn't recover. She wasconscious for a few moments last night. Between the morphine, theexposure, and her injuries, I am not surprised she's wandering abit."

Reassured, Christinetook her leave and disappeared to her own chamber. Soft-footed andunnoticed, Patrick had arrived. He stood uncomfortably next to Fatherand Vincent for a moment, then took a deep breath.

"Father . .."

"Yes,Patrick?"

Patrick fidgeted andkept his gaze fixed on the stone floor.

"Father. . ." He pausedagain, struggled to find the right words. They escaped in a rush."What's going to happen to Madame, Father? When she's better? Youcan't put her back up there -"

"Patrick -" Both Fatherand Vincent spoke at once. Then they both fell silent, each deferringto the other. Finally Father replied, "That depends on what your'Madame Sarah' wants, Patrick. I'm afraid I shall have to wait forher decision."

"If she wants to stay,Father -"

"I said we shall haveto wait, Patrick. I'm afraid you must be content with that fornow."

Patrick was clearly notsatisfied nor pleased with Father's answer, but Father was just asclearly finished. With his hands thrust defiantly into his pockets,Patrick deliberately turned his back to them and swaggered into thehospital chamber. He began a low-toned conversation with Jonathonthat not even Vincent could overhear.

Father and son stood insilence, then Vincent's soft voice repeated Patrick's question. "Whatshall become of Miranda, Father?"

"Just as I toldPatrick, that will be for Miranda to decide." The heat of suddenanger flared within his voice. "My God, Vincent - do you think I wantto return her to the life you tell me she led - the life that led tothat?" He waved a hand toward the chamber where Miranda lay."But our whole way of life is based on personal choice, Vincent. Icannot tell you what she will choose when she awakens."

Inside the chamber,Jonathon removed the wet compress that still lay across her eyes.Father watched as he wrung it in a bowl of water.

"I wonder what willcome forth this time."

Vincent looked puzzled.Jonathon replaced the freshly cooled cloth, and Miranda's voiceresumed, so harsh it was painful to hear.

"'I found an old babypicture of me. And it was someone else, not me. That's who I startedout, and this is who's left. That's what this is about. It's somebodyI lost all, right, it's my own self. Who I never was. Or who I triedto be and never got there. Somebody I waited for who never came. Andnever will. So, see, it doesn't much matter what else happens in theworld or in this house, even...'" Slowly her voice trailed off in itsnow-familiar manner.

"How bleak." Fathershook his head. "She has a great repertoire of painful and tragicscenes - even for a teenager." He stifled a yawn.

"Why don't you go tobed, Father?"

"In a little while,Vincent. Mary should be along soon; I'll go then."

Knowing that Father hadlived in the hospital chamber for the past two days, Vincent couldonly shake his head. "Yes, Father." His eyes told Father he wasn'tfooling anyone. "Goodnight, Father. I shall return tomorrow, after mymorning class."

"Goodnight,Vincent."

Chapter XVI

Vincent counted fivevisitors in the hospital chamber before he entered; once inside, thecount rose to eight. This did not include Father, or Mary, who wastrying delicately to convince the eight theatre students that theywere not needed, without making them feel unwanted. She succeeded inshooing away all but Christine and Patrick; the two of them mulishlyrefused her polite hints.

"Out, you two." Fatherdid not take refuge in politeness. His eyes were red, and Vincentcould read the exhaustion in the deepening lines of his face. "You'vebeen here nearly 18 hours; you need to rest. Somehow we shall copewithout you."

Both teens started toprotest, but Father was adamant. "Out!" They left with severalbackward glances, passing Vincent, who entered through the archeddoorway.

Mary folded her arms."You've been here for more than 72 hours, Father."

"That is true, Mary...but I am the doctor."

" 'Physician, healthyself'; go to sleep."

Father's laugh wasinterrupted by a yawn. "Yes. You are right; there is nothing that youtwo can't take care of." He limped to another bed within the chamber,and awkwardly lay upon it. "Wake me if you need me." His eyes closed,and within seconds Vincent and Mary could see that heslept.

Mary shook her head,amused love shining through her eyes. "He must have the last word,mustn't he, Vincent?" she whispered. She started toward the chair, tosit by Miranda, now without the compress to mask her bruisedeyes.

"Still nochange?"

"None,Vincent."

"I am free for a while,Mary. You go - I am sure there are things you need to do."

"Well - if you're sure,Vincent -" Mary glanced out into the passage. "There are one or twothings I've neglected the past couple of days."

"Go, Mary. I will standguard over them." Vincent's nod included Father.

Mary left with only onebackward glance. Vincent settled himself, pulled a small volume froma pocket within his cloak. Sinking into the words, time flewpast.

He was roused from hisbook by the now-familiar sound of Miranda's voice. Shakespeare again,he mused.

" 'There are morethings in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in yourphilosophy.'" Miranda's voice was dry and harsh, but amused; andstronger than it had sounded last night. He waited for the rest ofthe speech to follow. When there was nothing but silence, he glancedat the bed, and met Miranda's gaze staring back at him. Even sobruised, Vincent saw wide-eyed surprise; but none of the horror orfear he'd encountered so often. "I see now why you wear the hood."She tried to swallow. "May I have a drink?"

"Of course." Hecomplied quickly with her request.

"Much better. Thankyou." The dry rasp had disappeared. "Was there somebody else here? Ithought. . . " Her voice was wistful. For an instant, Vincent knewthat Miranda spoke, not 'Madame Sarah', Juliet, or Hamlet; but in thenext sentence the brisk competent "Madame" returned. "I understand Ihave you to thank for rescuing me and bringing me here." She frownedslightly. "Although I'm not sure how I know. And I'm not sure where"here" is."

" "Here" is where we -your students and I, and many other good people - live. It is a safeplace."

"That's what hesaid."

"Who?"

"Someone talked to me -last night? Before now. How long have I been here?"

"I found you Wednesdayevening. It is now Sunday morning; nearly noon."

"Three and a half days.A new record."

"Who did this to you,Miranda?"

"I walked into a door."Her tone was filled with sarcasm.

No matter how he tried,Vincent got no further answer. "Madame Sarah" sparred with him, spokein Shakespearean quotes, and otherwise continued in character.Vincent shook his head. Perhaps someday she would tellhim.

Chapter XVII

With a sigh, Fatherlaid his book on the desk and gave up. He removed his glasses andrubbed his eyes. After reading the same stanza five times, he stillhadn't the faintest idea what he'd read. His mind was not in Troywith Achilles and Hector; it kept wandering stubbornly several levelsdown to the hospital chamber.

It had been just overtwo weeks since Vincent had brought the children's "Madame Sarah"there, with Shakespeare running through her. The classicist withinhim marveled at how the words carried their full weight even then.The psychologist wondered at the pressures causing her to stayshielded behind those packaged scenes and emotions.

She was well on her wayto physical recovery. There had already been two of her classsessions held in that normally quiet chamber, and it seemed full tobursting the rest of the time. Freed from their secrecy, the originaltwelve students had quickly bragged to their friends, and a largeminority of the dwellers Below had been by to meet her.

But except in verybrief flashes, there had been no sign of a Miranda behind "MadameSarah". Yesterday Father had asked Vincent to speak to her; it wouldnot be long before she was strong enough to make a decision about herlife.

The report back hadbeen what he expected; "Madame" had waved the words away in herno-nonsense fashion. But at least they'd been spoken; the subject wasout in the open.

He rubbed his eyesagain, replaced his glasses, and determinedly opened "The Iliad",applying himself to the play of words. Before he had read two lines,running footsteps outside his doorway caught his attention. As helooked up, Luke burst in, out of breath and greatlydisturbed.

"It's "Madame",Father," he gasped, "You've got to come, quick!"

Grabbing his stick,Father forced himself from his chair. "What's happened,Luke?"

"She just startedcrying, Father; all of a sudden. She's crying so hard she can'tbreathe. I don't think she can stop; she's all sort of curled up onher bed, crying and crying. We were all really scared."

"It doesn't sound tooserious, Luke," Father reassured the boy as they hurried at Father'stop speed. The words bursting from Luke had startled him, despiteVincent's report of scenes he had seen played. Father doubted he'dheard more than four words at once from Luke before.

The corridors seemedlonger than before, but it was still only moments before they reachedthe chamber. Father could hear Patrick and Christine's voices,worried; and the gasping sounds of hysterics, as he came into thechamber.

Christine and Patrickstood by her bedside, trying to talk to her, to make her look atthem. But Miranda was curled tightly to herself, fists clenched andpressed against her forehead, the splint digging into her flesh. Deepshudders that must have hurt her healing ribs shook her entire body;she could not stop the sobs for long enough to draw a solid breath.Father seated himself on the bed, turning her toward him, forciblymoving her hands.

"I don't know whathappened, Father." Christine looked over Father's shoulder, her eyesfrightened and worried. "We were just talking; not even aboutanything. We were telling her about hide and seek in the Maze, andthe bridge over the Abyss, and just stuff; and then she just startedcrying, and crying, and..."

"She will be fine,Christine. But I want you, and Patrick, and Luke to leave. Go fetchMary. And tell Vincent." Luke fled the chamber immediately; Christineand Patrick hesitated. Miranda was fighting against Father, trying toreturn to her fetal position, still shaken with violent sobs andgasping for breath. Father crossed her wrists and grasped themfirmly, but carefully. Patrick protested, "But, Father -"

"Go. Now." No oneargued with Father when he used that tone of voice. As Patrick andChristine edged out, they heard the sharp crack of Father's handagainst Miranda's cheek.

She stopped fightinghim at the sudden and unexpected pain. Father smiled grimly tohimself. Old remedies were often the truest; Miranda's sobs weresubsiding, and he could hear the air reaching her again. As he haddone on that first night she spent under his care, he soothed herdamp and tangled hair back from her eyes. She instinctively movedtoward him, some of the hectic flush leaving her face. Then herclosed eyes flew open, and she stared up at him.

"They all call youFather," she whispered. She spoke jerkily; Father could hear hersearching to find her own words within her. "And they all mean it.You're a father to them. This place, this place is a home, a safeplace, a happy place. They're so lucky; I can't - I don'tdeserve...." Her hiccupping sobs began again, on the edge ofreturning hysteria.

"Miranda; hush,Miranda. Listen to me." The force of her sobs diminished a little;Father tardily released her wrists. Her hands fell limply to hersides; he lifted one, and held it quietly in his. It was icy cold. Hesnagged the blanket folded at the foot of the bed and coveredher.

Her sobs were quieternow, but still present. Her eyes were open, awash with tears, theeyes of an animal in a trap. "Miranda, Vincent tried to tell youbefore. You may stay here if you so choose. Our world lacks many ofthe luxuries of the world Above; but it is a safe place, where welive together and help one another. This can be your world if youwish it."

She shook her head andaverted her eyes. The words were a barely audible whisper, so foreignto her usual full tone. "No. I can't. You don't know me; what I'vedone, what I've been. You can't want me."

"You are a child with awonderful gift who has been used very badly. That is in no way yourfault. We know what your life was above; that does not matter. If youwish it, your life can start again; right here, rightnow."

" 'Such a dream youspin,'" she murmured. " 'And how easy it would be for me to getcaught up in it.'"

"No, Miranda Juliet."Father's voice was somehow both stern and tender. "You may not hidenow. We would all welcome you if you decide to remain with us; but itmust be Miranda who decides."

Shyly and wistfully,she said, "No one's ever called me Miranda before. It's my name; butin school I was Julie; and - he called me M.J." She shuddered; Fatherknew she must be speaking of Keithley. She freed her hand fromFather's and sat up shakily, keeping the blanket wrapped around hershoulders.

"I can't believe this."Father heard a touch of "Madame Sarah" return as Miranda lookedaround the chamber. "This has to be a dream."

"It's real, Miranda. Assolid as these stone walls."

Miranda scannedFather's face thoroughly, seeming to study every line, every feature.She dropped her eyes again, and asked softly, "Could I call youFather too?"

"I should behonored."

Miranda yawned, as thelast of the left-over adrenaline fled. Still clutching the blanket toher, she lay back onto the bed. Her eyelids slid closed. As reactionclaimed her, he heard a sleepy "Goodnight, Father."

Tucking the blanketsaround her, he whispered, "Goodnight, Miranda Juliet."

ChapterXVIII

The sound of a heavyfolder slamming onto her desk dragged Cathy from the depths of thedeposition she was poring over. Joe Maxwell stood next to her desk,pointing to the familiar bulky brown file. "What the hell is that,Radcliffe?"

" 'That' is a requestfor a grand jury hearing for the Thomas Keithley case..."

"Wrong, Cathy," Joeretorted. "That is garbage. You couldn't get a grand jury to sneezeat this, much less indict."

"Joe, my witness isgood. You need to hear her testimony..."

"Cathy, you need morethan one lone witness for a guy like Thomas Keithley. And theentanglements of this witness - the defense would make mincemeat outof her."

"But, Joe -"

"Listen, Radcliffe -when you've got a case - that is, some evidence - bring itback. No one wants Keithley off the streets more than me, but they'lllaugh this out of court." He turned on his heel and returned to hisoffice.

"Yes, Joe," Cathymuttered at his departing back. She shook her head. This was going tohurt Vincent. And Miranda, who retreated into a character - how wouldthis affect her?

She recalled the lookin Miranda's eye, her sidelong glance at Father as she agreed totestify. Miranda's terror had seemed to reach out and grab at her;Cathy was sure only Father and Vincent's presence had enabled her toagree to testify in the first place.

Cynical for a second,Cathy decided Miranda would probably be better off without theendless interviews and cross-examinations. But the image of Keithleystill selling his girls on the open market - and Miranda's eyes atthe mention of his name - intruded; her moment of cynicism passed.She vowed passionately to find enough hard evidence for Joe - and forthe grand jury. But Joe was right - it was not there now. With a sighshe took the file and and put it in her drawer, the one marked"Pending." It was a very full drawer.

Epilogue

"'For never was a story of more woe
Than this of Juliet and her Romeo.'"

Luke strode off stageas the Prince, then all the players returned to bask in the echoingapplause. They joined hands, bowed, as one by one the audience roseto their feet, still clapping. Patrick and Christine each took one ofMiranda's hands, and dragged her out to take a solo bow. The volumeof applause doubled, its roar completely drowning out the backgroundof messages flying across the pipes.

The noise slowlysubsided, then the audience surged up, surrounding the proud actorswith congratulations. A large number of the children had engulfedMiranda, and Vincent could see "Madame Sarah" taking over thequestions and requests for classes. Then Catherine reached his side."She's everything you said, Vincent. What a loss to my world." Shetook his hand, her own eyes glowing with the force of his presence."And you were wonderful."

"Thank you." Vincentenjoyed the afterglow of Shakespeare, and the nearness of Catherine.One by one, the audience members came to him with praise for hisportrayal, the production, and a special word for the magic ofJuliet. Slowly the chamber emptied, until only the cast, Father,Catherine, Mouse, and Pascal remained. Mouse was deep in discussionwith Miranda about new machines to handle future lighting chores.There was an unlikely pairing; but there was something right aboutsuch a meeting of talents.

Pascal came over toVincent. His eyes kept straying to Miranda and Mouse, as the twotossed themselves on the floor to pore over one of Mouse's inevitableblueprints. "That was wonderful, Vincent. I've never seen anythinglike it." Although he spoke to Vincent, all his attention remained onthe pair arguing animatedly on the floor. He could have posed for apicture of Romeo staring at his unattainable Juliet on herbalcony.

Taking Catherine withhim, Vincent lead Pascal over, and brought Miranda to her feet."Miranda, this is Pascal. Pascal, Miranda."

A ready smile litMiranda's face as she acknowledged the introduction. With Mouse, shewas more comfortable than she'd ever been in her life. There wasnothing to prove, nothing to avoid, no pressures; only someone elsewho understood the burdens of being different, even in a world ofunique individuals.

Pascal stammered, "Youwere just extraordinary tonight. Extraordinary," and their eyesmet.

"Thank you," shemurmured. There was a silence, then Pascal looked away. Vincent wasamused to see both of them were blushing. As Pascal excused himselfto return to the pipe chamber, Miranda stared after him, then shookherself as if coming out from under a spell. She returned to Mouse'sside, but Vincent saw her glance steal over to look down the passagewhere Pascal had disappeared.

Vincent tookCatherine's arm, to lead her back to their inevitable parting, as shereturned to her world and he remained in his. They passed through thedoorway into the corridor, and Catherine gazed back at the stage."Thank you, Vincent. I don't think this play has ever moved me asmuch as it did tonight."

"Her students insistedthat this be the first play, and that she play Juliet. They're all soproud of having found her."

They strolled slowly tothe tunnel leading to Catherine's apartment building. Just outsidethe door at which they must part, the two stood together quietly,neither willing to make the first move to part.

Catherine shiveredagainst the Tunnel cool and damp. Vincent drew her close, into theshelter of his cloak and the warmth of his body. They remained so foran eternity that was over before either of them was ready; Catherinepulled gently, reluctantly away.

Vincent released her,opened the door leading to her utility room, helped her through. Likea wraith, she vanished to the light of her world; and Vincent,delighting in her recent presence and despairing at her currentdeparture, returned to the shadows of his.