Her eyebrows raised. "Thank you, Herr Montag. You are a fine-looking man. You may call me Berta, if you'd like." Her glance was frankly appraising, with no trace of coyness.

"You may call me Kurt. How could we get to know each other better? Without alarming Herr Schurz?"

He realized he was on the edge of acting out of character, but it seemed necessary, and at any rate, Berta had already seen through him.

"I will think about that," she answered. "To be alone here is difficult." She gestured at the south win ell. At that distance Macurdy couldn't read the guard's aura, but it was a safe bet he was bored, and probably inattentive. "If we met in my room," she went on, "the other women would be upset, and perhaps tell. Also, the Schwarzriicken patrol the corridors from time to time."

Schwarzracken. Blackbacks; a disdainful term. So Berta was no admirer of the SS, the personification of the Nazis. That fitted the sense of-not rebelliousness but disdain that tinged her aura.

They stopped in front of the men's door, and she lay a light hand on his arm. "You are an interesting man, Kurt, as well as an attractive one. There is much more to you than meets most eyes, and I am very curious." Then, after a quick look around, she kissed him, her full lips pressing his briefly. "I will find a way," she said. "I am told-one of the blackbacks propositioned me once-I am told there's a room in the cellar where we can find privacy. If we can get there."

She left it at that, and Macurdy went thoughtfully into the men's quarters. This was developing faster than he'd expected. Now he needed to decide what he wanted to accomplish with this contact.

He only wished her kiss hadn't given him an erection.

After lights out, he examined what he might hope to accomplish, and at what risk. The basic risk was that Berta would give him away, but her aura belied that. And the scope of her disdain extended beyond the SS to the government, he had no doubt.

As for getting caught: If they moved together under his cloak, the odds seemed good that they wouldn't be seen, not at night in these indifferently lit corridors. Unless of course they triggered an alarm system. Jangling alarm bells would sharpen attention drastically, probably enough that his cloak would be seen through.

And if they were caught, they could say they were simply looking for somewhere to be alone together. A claim that would probably not be questioned, and would very likely keep them from being executed, though they'd no doubt be punished. It seemed highly unlikely that an invisibility spell would be suspected. Inattentive guards would be blamed for whatever progress they'd made through the halls.

Most troublesome, Berta would know about the spell. Would she keep it secret? It was his bottom-line escape mechanism. What restrictions would be put on him if the SS learned of it?

Risks could be lived with, if the potential payoffs made them worth taking. But what were the payoffs?

His only answer was, he had to start somewhere. And if he was alone and his spell failed him, he might well be executed. If he was with Berta, on the other hand, they had a convincing alibi that very likely would save their lives.

In class they'd begun practicing with other senses than sight alone, giving their images sounds and odors, trying to actually hear and smell them. It went slowly, like starting over.

Seeing Tsulgax in the corridor reminded Macurdy of Sarkia's people, especially her tiger troops. Most tiger clones had reddish hair and greenish eyes-certainly greener than his own. Tsulgax's ears were considerably larger though.

On their group walk, the following Sunday, the psychics got strung out a bit, and Macurdy dropped back beside Berta, murmuring that he'd listened at the hall door on two separate nights. The corridor was patrolled at intervals of thirty minutes, give or take 5 or 6, the guardsmen making no effort to walk softly. That might, he said, he would come to her door about ten minutes after the first patrol had passed. If she'd come out barefoot, they'd go to the room she'd mentioned.

He didn't wait for questions, just moved on ahead of her. Let her think about it. She'd either do it or not. He wasn't sure which he preferred.

The covert message had excited Berta, and not just sexually, hungry though she was for a man. That Montag had carried out such observations and planning verified her reading of his aura. Perhaps together they could figure a way to reach the Swiss border and get out of this rotten prison Germany had become.

She could not, however, see a way of getting past the guards. Did he have one? What could it be? Or was he acting on faith? If the latter, they were in trouble.

Actually she didn't know for certain there was such a room, but the blackback who'd told her of it had stuck his neck out dangerously by propositioning her. Nor, assuming it was real, did she know which room it was; somewhere beneath the SS wing, she presumed.

Her impulsiveness had gotten her in trouble before. She hoped it wouldn't this time.

The windows of the schloss wore heavy blackout curtains, which in the absence of artificial light provided utter darkness in its rooms. However, in the men's quarters, one small bulb was left on at night in the latrine, along with the light in the shower room, and the latrine door was left slightly ajar. Thus one could see dimly in the sleeping room.

Some minutes after lights out, Macurdy activated his cloak, then got up and went to the door, where he listened intently. After a bit he heard two men walking down the corridor, one murmuring, the other chuckling.

He scanned the auras in his room. Only Philipp was awake, and he seemed on the edge of sleep. Presumably, hopefully, it was safe to open the door, despite the light it would let in. After a few minutes of hearing nothing outside, Macurdy pulled it open and stepped out, closing it softly behind him.

He glanced toward the guard at the south ell, which was much the nearest. The man had noticed nothing. But the risk would be greater when the women's door opened; it would be more visible to him.

Macurdy scratched at it anyway, and it opened at once. Berta peered out, failing to see him. "It's me," he whispered, barely breathing the words, and touched her wrist. Starting, she saw him. "I can make myself hard to see," he breathed, "as if I'm invisible. You will be too, if you hold onto me."

After staring for a moment, she took his sleeve and stepped out, closing the door softly behind her.

Macurdy held a finger to his lips and glanced toward the guard again. The man was looking toward them, frowning. He'd noticed the door open, then close, but seemingly nothing else. Berta's eyes followed Macurdy's, and she froze, but the guard turned away.

Macurdy nodded reassurance, and they started down the corridor hand in hand, Berta's aura and sweaty palm reflecting extreme nervousness. The guard at the farther ell never even glanced their way.

"To the cellar, you said," Macurdy whispered.

She nodded. They walked down the staircase-the foyer guard was almost asleep on his feet and from the foyer into the cellar stairway, and down. The cellar corridor was more poorly lit than those on the other floors, and they saw no sign of guards.

"Which way?" Macurdy whispered.

Berta had recovered from her fright. "Beneath the north wing, I suppose," she whispered back. "It's a room the guards use when they smuggle in girls from town. They call it the `party room.' I don't think they use it during the week. They have no way to bring girls then."

Starting north from the stairs, they tried doors. Most were unlocked, the rooms empty. Macurdy could have opened those that were locked-their lever locks would be easy-but it wasn't the time for that. Then, beneath the north wing, he opened a door to a large room with a hodge-podge of furnishings. The thin light from the corridor showed sofas, a love seat, chairs, and on the floor, several large mattresses pushed together.