“But he didn’t know who got the other half of that garnet. He figured you were innocent, because he was. He expected you to alibi him. But you didn’t, and that was the end of him. You only had one reason to frame him like that, and that was because you knew we wouldn’t get no one else to confess, because no one else had done it—because you were the one who picked up the other half-garnet and slipped it into the basket for Tally. You were the traitor.”

And Bossman, slow to catch on, had executed Framy before figuring out the truth—and now had to stand by that mistake.

“Too bad,” Aton said sympathetically. “You also hold me responsible for Hastings’ death?”

“You’re smart.” Bossman had missed the ironic note. “You knew we’d wind up on the Hard Trek, and that’s what you wanted all the time. So other people would die instead of you. You couldn’t chance it alone. Everyone that’s died here, is dead because of you.”

“Even the victims of the chimera?”

“I looked when we heard Framy scream, and I didn’t see you. That’s when I began thinking. You came up from the other side of the tunnel. The chimera had to go right past you to get away. But you said nothing. You wanted Framy dead, so he couldn’t talk any more and maybe have someone believe him—”

“Sure. I have the hysterical strength vested in me by the sorcery of the minionette. I can kill instantly with my bare hands. I can take hold of the mass of cords in the front of a man’s neck and rip it out, or jab my fingertips in under his ribs and tear loose the entire rib cage. I can use my unkempt human nails in the feline trick of hooking the nose of my prey and breaking its neck by pulling the head around. I can neatly duplicate the cut and tear marks, the parallel lines left by animal claws, and the distinctive half-chewed, half-slashed look of the fang attack. I can do this because I have a secret cache of specialized appliance designed for the specific purpose of imitating the marks of the phantom chimera, and accomplishing this in a matter of seconds. I made these tools, since I forgot to smuggle them in, in my hidden laboratory in Chthon, where I have serviceable metal press and a small blast furnace to smelt my crude iron. Stone is too awkward, you see. I had to cut a hole to the surface of the planet for the smoke and fumes to escape through unnoticed. Every so often I have to go up there and shoo the tourists away from my chimney, because this is very private business and I don’t want any interference. My lab is soundproofed so that no one can overhear the noise of its operation, and I feel the need for another execution. I have special equipment to erase my bloody tracks, and of course I wear an all-enveloping covering, a form-fitting suit similar to those used in space, that takes the brunt of the spattering blood, and that I can peel out of and hide immediately so that my person retains no more than its natural grime, and no one can tell what I’ve been doing. For, you see, I have to be ready to rejoin the group at once, so that no one realizes that I’m missing when the sound of the first scream comes. I was a little slow with Framy, I must admit; but I’ve been practicing diligently. Oh, it takes the finest split-second timing. A real challenge. I can’t tell you how much fun it has been—”