I joined in briefly at the esbat - midnight, full moon overhead, and ritual prayers being said in Latin, Greek, Old Norse (I think), and three other languages. One woman was a snake goddess from ancient Crete. Authentic? I don't know. Pixel rode my shoulder at the service as if he were used to the role of witch's familiar.

As I left the altar, he jumped down and ran ahead of me as usual.

I heard a shout. ‘There's her cat! And there she is! Grab her'

And they did.

As I've said, I don't like rape. I especially dislike it when four men hold me while a fat slob in an embroidered cope does things to my body. So I bit him. And discussed his ancestry and personal habits.

So I wound up in the hoosegow and stayed there until the crazies from the Committee for Aesthetic Deletions pulled a jail-break and got me loose.

This is called ‘Out of the frying-pan and into the fire.'

Last night the Committee was presided over by Count Dracula, the only case of type-casting that I saw - this repulsively handsome creature not only wore the opera cloak associated with video vampires, he had also taken the trouble to have a mouthpiece fashioned for him by a prosthodontist; he had dog teeth that came down over his lower lip. At least I assume that they were artificial; I don't really believe that any humans or quasi-human have teeth like that.

I joined the circle and took the one remaining chair. ‘Good evening, cousins. And good evening to you, Count. Where is the Old Man of the Mountain tonight?'

‘That is not a question one asks.'

‘Well, excuse me, please! And pray, why not?'

‘We will leave that to you as an exercise in deduction. But don't ask such a question again. And do not be late again. You are the subject of our discussion tonight, Lady Macbeth -‘

‘Maureen Johnson, if you please.'

‘It does not please me. It is one more instance of your unwillingness to observe the rules necessary to the safety of the Dead Men. Yesterday you were observed exchanging words with one of the hotel staff, a chambermaid. What were you talking about?'

I stood up. ‘Count Dracula.'

‘Yes, Lady Macbeth?'

‘You can go to hell. And I'm going to bed.'

‘Sit down!'

I did not. But all those near me grabbed at me, and sat me down. I don't think any three could have managed it; they all were ill, deathly ill. But seven were too much for me - and I was reluctant to be rough in resisting them.

The chairman went on, ‘Milady Macbeth, you have been with us over two weeks now. During that time you have refused every mission offered you. You owe us for your rescue -

‘Nonsense! The Committee owes me! I would never have been in a position to need rescue had you not kidnapped me and shoved me into bed with a corpse, one of your killings, Judge Hardacres. Don't talk to me about what I owe the Committee! You returned some of my clothes - but where's my purse? Why did you drug me? How dare you kidnap an innocent visitor to dress up one of your assassinations? Who planned that job? I want to talk to him.'

‘Lady Macbeth.'

‘Yes?'

‘Hold your tongue. You will now have a mission assigned to you. It has been planned and you will carry it out tonight. The client is Major General Lew Rawson, retired. He was in charge of the recent provocation incident in -‘

‘Count Dracula!'

‘Yes?'

‘Go hang by your heels!'

‘Don't interrupt again. The operation has been fully planned. Jack the Ripper and Lucrezia Borgia will go with you, and coach you. You can kill him in his bed, or, if you balk, you will be killed as he is killed and the two of you arranged in a tableau that will give substance to the rumours about him.'

The attention of everyone was on the row between the new chairman and me; proctors poured in off the balcony before they were seen. But a voice I recognised called out, ‘Watch it, Maureen!' and I dived for the deck.

The robes and hoods were the Ku-Klux-Klan ersatz of the proctors, but the voice was that of Dagmar. When I turned my head at her voice, I spotted Pixel with .her.

Time Corps military units have stun guns they use when killing must be selective. They fanned the room with them. I got the edge of one charge, did not quite pass out but did not object when a big, husky proctor (one of my husbands!) scooped me up. Then we were all out on the balcony and into a small troop carrier hovering at the rail.

I heard the door dose, felt it in my ears. ‘Ready?'

‘Ready!'

‘Has somebody got Pixel?'

‘I've got him! Let's go!' (Hilda's voice)

And then we were home in Boondock, on the parking lawn at the Long residence.

A voice I know well said, ‘Secure all systems,' and the pilot turned in his seat and looked at me. ‘Mama,' he said mournfully, ‘you sure give me a lot of grief.'

Tm sorry, Woodrow.'

‘Why didn't you tell me? I would have helped.'

‘I'm sure you would, dear. But I was merely scouting.'

‘But you should have -‘

Hilda interrupted. ‘Stop it, Lazarus. Mama Maureen is tired and probably hungry. Mama, Tamara has lunch ready. Two hours from now - local time fourteen hundred - is an operation briefing, all hands. Jubal is in charge of the briefing and -‘

‘Operation briefing? What operation?'

‘Your operation, Mama,' Woodrow answered. ‘We're going to go find Gramp. Either rescue him, or slip him into a body-bag. But we're doing it right, this time. It's a Time Corps major operation, resources as needed; the Circle of Ouroboros is unanimous. Mama, why didn't you tell me?'

Hilda said, ‘Shut up, Woodie. And stay shut. We've got Mama Maureen back and that's all that counts. Right, Pixel?'

‘Rrrrite!'

‘So let's go to lunch.'

Chapter 27 - At the Coventry Cusp

I didn't eat. much.

The party was in my honour and I loved it. But I needed two mouths, one for eating, one for the fifty-odd people who wanted to kiss me - and I wanted to kiss them. I wasn't really hungry. Even when I was a prisoner in the Cathedral the food had been adequate, and when I was another sort of prisoner with the Committee for Aesthetic Deletions, I was quite well fed, within the limits of hotel cooking.

But I was starved for love, and warm and loving people.

Did I say the party was in my honour? Well, yes, but any party Pixel attends is primarily in his honour. He is sure of that and behaves accordingly. He zigzagged among the couches, tail high, accepting hand feeding, and rubbing against his friends and retainers.

Dagmar came over, asked Laz to make room, and squeezed in beside me - hugged me and kissed me. I found that I was leaking tears.

‘Dagmar, I can't tell you how I felt when I heard your voice. Are you going to stay here? You'll like it here.'

She grinned at me, hanging on to my neck. ‘Do you think I want to go back to Kansas City? Compared with KC; Boondock is Heaven.'

‘Good! I'll sponsor you: I had my arm around her, which caused me to add, ‘You've put on a few pounds and it becomes you. And such a beautiful tan! Or is it out of a spray bomb?'

‘No, I did it the best way, lying in the sun and increasing the dosage slowly. Maureen, you won't believe what a treat sunbathing is to someone who would be risking a public flogging if she sunbathed in her home town.'

Laz said, ‘Mama, I wish I could tan the way Dragmar does, instead of these kingsize freckles:

‘You get that from me, Lapis Lazuli; I always freckle. It's the price we pay for red hair.'

‘I know. But Dagmar can sunbathe every day, month after month, and never get a freckle. Look at her.'

I sat up straight. ‘What did you say?'

‘I said she doesn't freckle. All our men are following her around.' Laz tickled Dagmar in the ribs. ‘Aren't they, Dag?'