I whispered, “Jimmy!” and he came alert and moved lo the door of the cell.

“Am I glad to see you,” he whispered back.

I said, “I have the keys. Which one fits?”

“The key marked ‘D.’ It fits the four cells here in the corner.”

I couldn’t see well enough there and I didn’t want to light a match, so I moved back to the light and fumbled through the keys until I found the key tagged “D.” I opened the cell with as little noise as I could manage.

“Come on,” I said. “We’ve got to get out of here in a hurry.”

He slipped out and pushed the door shut behind him. We started for the stairs. We were almost there when I heard somebody coming up. Jimmy grabbed my arm and pulled me back. We flattened out as best we could.

The policeman looked around in the dark and said, “Be you up here, Robards?” Then he saw us and started to say, “What the hell?”

I stepped out and pointed one of the pistols at him. I hadn’t loaded it. I had just stuck them in my pocket.

I said, “Easy now. I’ve got nothing to lose by shooting you. If you want to live, put up your hands.”

He put up his hands.

“All right. Walk down here.”

Jimmy opened the door for him and the policeman stepped inside the cell. While his back was turned, I hit him with the pistol. I probably hurt him worse than I did Sgt. Robards — a gun is a good deal more solid than a sack of sand — but I didn’t feel quite so bad about it because I didn’t know him. He groaned and fell and I didn’t try to break the fall at all. Instead I swung the cell door shut and locked it.

Then I heard the sound of low voices in one of the other cells and somebody said, “Shut up,” quite clearly to somebody else.

I turned and said, “Do you want to get shot?”

The voice was collected. “No. No trouble here.”

“Do you want to be let out?”

The voice was amused. “I don’t think so. Thank you just the same. I be due to be let out tomorrow and I think I’ll wait.”

Jimmy said, “Come on. Come on. Let’s go.”

On the stairs, I said, “Where’s your signal? We’ve got to have it.”

“It’s not here,” Jimmy said. “The soldiers took all my gear when I was arrested. All they have here are my clothes.”

“We’re in trouble,” I said. “My signal is broken and lost.”

“Oh, no!” Jimmy said. “I was counting on you. Well, we can try to get mine back.”

There was no real comfort in that. We collected Jimmy’s coat and clothes and headed into the night. When we were three blocks away and on a side street we stopped for a moment and kissed and hugged, and then I handed Jimmy one of the guns and half the ammunition. He loaded the gun immediately.

Then he said, “Tell me something, Mia. Would you really have shot him?”

“I couldn’t,” I said. “My gun wasn’t loaded.”

He laughed and then he asked in another tone, “What do we do now?”

“We steal horses,” I said. “And I know where, too.”

Jimmy said, “Should we?”

I said, “This man stole Ninc and everything else I have. He smashed my signal, and he beat me up.”

“He beat you up?” Jimmy said, immediately concerned.

“I’m all right now,” I said. “It only hurt for awhile.”

There was a fetid, unwashed odor hanging around the entire district and the rain did nothing to carry the smell away. Instead the wetness seemed to hold the odor in place in a damp foggy stink that surrounded and penetrated everything. There were Losel pens all along the street. When we came to Fanger’s place, we slipped by the pen and if the Losels heard us, they made no noise. I had marked the stable and we went directly to it and slipped inside. Jimmy closed the door behind us.

“Stand outside and keep watch,” I said. “These are mean, unpleasant people. I’ll pick out horses.”

Jimmy said, “Right,” and slipped outside again.

When the door had clicked shut, I struck a match. I found a lamp and lit it. Then I started along the rows. I found Ninc, good old Nincompoop, and my saddle and I saddled up. Then I picked out a fairly small black-and-white horse for Jimmy and quickly saddled it, and added saddle bags.

After that, I took a quick look around. I didn’t find my gun, but I found the bubble tent thrown in a corner — apparently they hadn’t figured out how it worked. I found my bedroll, too. The rest of my things I wrote off. I decided that I would have to get Jimmy to share his clothes with me.

On impulse, then, I took out my pad and penciL I wrote, “I’m a girl, you Mudeater!” and hung the note on a nail. I blew the light out.

We led the horses to the street and rode. I didn’t regret the note, but I was feeling sorry I hadn’t picked a better name than Mudeater. On the way, I asked Jimmy how he got caught.

He said, “There’s an army encampment north of here. They’ve got a scout from one of the other Ships there.”

“I’ve seen it,” I said.

“Well, I got caught looking the place over,” Jimmy said. “That’s where my gear is.”

“I’ve got a map,” I said. My copying hadn’t come out well so I had reluctantly added a map of Mr. Kutsov s to my package. “We’ll go that way.”

I told Jimmy about Mr. Kutsov. “He left this afternoon. After he left, I gathered things we’ll need. All we have to do is pick them up and get going. The sooner we get away from this town, the better.”

When we got to the house, we rode to the back.

“Hold the horses,” I said. “I’ll be out in just a second.”

We both dismounted and Jimmy took Ninc’s reins from me. I went up the steps and inside.

“Hello, Mia,” Mr. Kutsov said as I stepped inside.

I shut the door. “Hello,” I said.

“I came back,” he said. “I read your note.”

“Why did you come back?”

He said sadly, “It didn’t seem right to leave you here by yourself. I be sorry. I think I underestimated you. Be that another child from the Ships outside?”

“You’re not mad?”

He shook his head slowly. “No. I been’t angry. I think I understand. I couldn’t keep you. I thought I could, but I be a foolish old man.”

For some reason, I started crying and couldn’t stop. The tears ran down my face. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m sorry.”

“You see,” he said, “you even talk as you did before.”

The front door signal, a knocker, sounded then and Mr. Kutsov got up and moved to answer the door. A green-uniformed policeman stood there in the doorway, his face yellowish in the light of the single candle in the front room.

“Daniel Kutsov?” he asked.

Instinctively, I shrank back. I swiped at my face with my sleeve.

The policeman moved one step inside the house and said in a flat voice, “I have a warrant for your arrest.”

I watched them both in fear. Mr. Kutsov seemed to have forgotten that I was there. The policeman had a hard, young face, nothing like Sgt. Robards in any way except for the uniform. Sgt. Robards was a kind man, but there was no kindness at all in this one.

“To jail again? For my book?” Mr. Kutsov shook his head. “No.”

“It be nothing to do with any book, Kutsov. This be a roundup of all dissidents, ordered by Governor Moray. It be known that you be an Anti-Redemptionist. Come along.” He reached out and grasped Mr. Kutsov by the arm.

Mr. Kutsov shook loose. “No. I won’t go to jail again. It be no crime to be against stupidity. I won’t go.”

The policeman said, “You be coming whether you like or not. You be under arrest.”

I had known that Mr. Kutsov was old, for all that my father had lived several years longer than he had, and I had suspected that his mind was no longer completely firm, but now at last his age seemed to catch up with him. He backed away and said in a voice that shook, “Get out of my house!”

The policeman took another step inside. I was fascinated and frozen. Why exactly, I cannot say, but I couldn’t speak or move. I could only watch. It is the only time in my life that this has ever happened and since then I have felt I understood the episode on the ladder with Zena Andrus a little better. But in my case, it wasn’t just fear. Events got out of control and rushed past me, something like watching a moving merry-goround and wanting to jump on, but never quite being able to decide to go.