"I don't know that," Burton said. "There may be a very good explanation other than the one I'm thinking of. Anyway, don't mention this to anyone."

"I won't. Only ... listen, those two do have symbols on their heads. They always had them. So, if them agents didn't have them at one time, Pete and Monat couldn't be agents!"

Burton smiled. Kazz's thoughts were his. Nevertheless, he had to look into this. How could he do it without putting the two on guard? Of course, they might have nothing to hide.

"Yes, I know. Don't forget that Besst has also seen their sym­bols. So we have double confirmation, not that we need it.

"In any course, mum's the word until I say otherwise."

They started to walk toward the Snark. Kazz said, "I don't know. I sure have a bad feeling about this. Wish I'd kept my mouth shut. Loghu would say something about it."

25

Burton paced back and forth on the deck in the fog. though his body was warm in the cloths, his face was chilled. An unusually cold body of air had moved into the area, and as a result the mists were piled halfway up the mast. He could not see beyond his outstretched arms.

As far as he knew, everybody aboard except himself was asleep. His only company were his thoughts. These tended to stray as if they were sheep on a hillside. Burton had to work hard to bring them back, arrange them in an orderly band, keep them moving toward pasture. And what was pasture? Bitter eating.

There were thirty-three years to cover in his memory. It was a selective process, one which concentrated on Monat and Frigate. What actions, what words of theirs were suspicious? What could be fitted into a dark jigsaw puzzle?

There were very few people available. There might be more, but he could be looking at them and not even realize that they were pieces.

That terrible, joyous day, the day that he had awakened from the dead, he had met the Arcturan first of all. Of all those he had encountered that day, Monat had acted most calmly and rationally. He had taken stock of the situation amazingly fast, checked out the environment, and immediately understood the purpose of the grails.

The second person Burton had especially noticed was the Nean­derthal, Kazz. He, however, had not tried to talk to Burton at first. He had merely followed him for a while. Peter Frigate had been the second person to talk to Burton. And, now that Burton considered it, Frigate had been rather easy and casual in manner. This was strange in view of Frigate's claim that he suffered from anxiety and hysteria.

Later events had seemed to confirm this. However, from time to time, and consistently in the past twenty years, Frigate had over­come his faults. Had he really attained self-mastery or had he just abandoned a role, ceased to play-act?

Certainly, it had been quite a coincidence that the second person Burton met had written a biography of him. How many biographers of his existed? Ten or twelve? What were the probabilities that one of them would be resurrected only a few meters from him? Twelve in thirty-six billion.

Still, it was within the realm of chance; it was not impossible.

Then Kazz had joined those who'd collected around Burton. Then Alice. Then Lev Ruach.

Today, while Kazz had been helmsman, Burton had stood by him and questioned him. Had Kazz talked to Monat and Frigate during Resurrection Day when Burton had not been around? Did he re­member anything that was suspicious about them?

Kazz had shaken his thickly boned head. "I was with them several times when you were not in sight. But I don't remember nothing strange about them. That is, Burton-naq, there was nothing stranger than strange. Everything was strange that day."

"Did you notice the marks on people's foreheads that day?"

"Yes, a few. That was when the sun was highest."

"What about Monat and Frigate?"

"I don't remember seeing any on theirs that day. But then I don't remember seeing one on you, either. The light had to reflect at a certain angle."

Burton had taken out of his shoulderbag a pad of bamboo paper, a sharply pointed fish bone, and wooden bottle of ink. He took over the wheel while Kazz drew the marks he saw on the foreheads of the Arcturan and the American. Both were three parallel horizontal lines crossed by three parallel vertical lines juxtaposed to a cross enclosed in a circle. The lines were of even thickness and length except at the ends. Monat's lines broadened at the right; Frigate's, at the left.

"What about the sign on my forehead?" Burton had said.

Kazz showed him four wavy parallel horizontal lines next to a symbol like an ampersand (&). Below it was a short, thin, straight horizontal line.

"Mortal's and Pete's are remarkably alike," Burton said.

At Burton's request, Kazz then drew the symbols on the foreheads of everyone of the crew. Not one resembled any other.

"Do you remember Lev Ruach's?"

Kazz nodded, and a moment later he handed Burton the drawing. He felt disappointed, though he had no conscious reason to be so. Ruach's symbol was not at all like his prime suspects'.

Now, walking on the deck, Burton wondered why he had expect­ed it to be similar to the other two. Something tickled the back of his brain, some suspicion he could not scratch. There was a linkage among the three, but it slipped away just as he was about to grasp it.

He had done enough thinking. Now for action.

A white bundle lying against the cabin was the Neanderthal, wrapped in cloths. Guiding himself by the fellow's snoring, Burton went to him and shook him. Kazz, snorting, woke up at once.

"Time?"

"Time."

First, though, Kazz had to piss over the railing. Burton lit a fish-oil lantern, and they walked down the gangplank onto the dock. From there they moved slowly onto the plain, their destination an empty hut about two hundred paces away. They missed it, but after circling around, they found it. After they had entered, Burton shut the door. A bundle of logs and shavings had been placed in the stone hearth that evening by Kazz. In a minute, a small fire was blazing. Kazz sat down on a bamboo wickerwork chair near the fire. He coughed as he breathed smoke which had escaped the feeble draught of the chimney.

It was easy to place Kazz into a hypnotic trance. He had been one of Burton's subjects for years when Burton entertained locals by displaying his powers as a mesmerist.

Now that Burton thought about it, Monal and Frigate had always been present at these times. Had they been nervous then? If they had, they had successfully concealed it.

Burton took Kazz straight back to the time when he had men­tioned to the breakfasting group that Spruce had no mark. Working forward, he took him then to the point where the Neanderthal had gone into Monat's hut. Here he encountered first resistance.

"Are you now in the hut?"

Kazz, staring straight ahead, his eyes seemingly turned inward upon the past, said, "I am in the doorway."

"Go on in, Kazz."

The fellow shook with effort.

"I can't, Burton-naq."

"Why not?"

"I do not know."

"Is there something you fear in the hut?"

"I don't know."

"Has anyone told you that there is something bad in the hut?"

"No."

"Then you have nothing to fear. Kazz, you are a brave man, aren't you?"

"You know I am, Burton-naq."

"Why can't you go on in then?"

Kazz shook his head. "I don't know. Something..."

"Something what?"

"Something... tells me ... tells me ... can't remember."

Burton bit his lower lip. The flaming wood cracked and hissed.

"Who tells you? Monat? Frigate?"

"Don't know."