The woman held out her lumpy handbag.

"Here. Take this. It's all I've got."

"Oh, she wants us to have it now."

The black boy said, "Now give me yer dog."

Malach touched the backs of the wolfhounds' two stony skulls.

Without hesitation they trotted forward.

The white youth danced around, alerted by some current of new air. Out of the fog he saw something go up and up, and on it the face of a grey-white fog beast, long teeth and glowing eyes. It rose until it was over his head, and then two iron paws came down on his shoulders.

He made a sound. The beast growled into his face. Its breath smelled of meat and smoke.

The black boy, too, had turned in amazement, and at the same moment the other pale dog reared up to meet him. He shrieked and tried to pull away, but the sheer weight of the animal held him pinned.

The knife wavered in his hand.

"What's happening?" said the woman. "What is it?" The little dog on the lead was wagging its tail now.

The black boy tried to get his knife right, so he could push it into the great stone dog that leaned on him.

Then he felt the knife drawn lightly from his grip. He heard the knife break in two, and the two pieces clink on the street. A hand closed on the back of his neck, mild, almost loving. A man said softly into his ear, "Your people were hung on a cross. You should know better."

The stone dog swung suddenly off and away.

Malach led the black boy forward to where the other wolfhound had the white boy, blocked, shivering. He had dropped the bag. "Enki."

As the second wolfhound cascaded away, the little dog on the lead gave a pleased high yap.

Malach put his right hand on the white boy's neck. He stood between them, the youths, benign, priestly. Then he slammed their heads together. Something happened. He let both of them fall down.

"What's going on?" said the woman.

"It's all right," said Malach.

The fog and her eyesight had hidden it from her. He picked up her bag and took it over.

The little dog jumped and panted, and Oskar lowered his head to it, licking it once end to end.

Malach gave the woman her bag.

"Thank you," she said, "thank you, Officer."

She pulled the little dog, bouncing and excited, away into the fog. Something made her hurry.

Malach stepped between the two dead muggers, his dogs running now to keep up with him.

CHAPTER 31

FAINTLY A WINDOW SHONE DOWN ON them, that was where the light came from, about five stories up. Possibly someone had seen, and phoned the police. But it was a forlorn hope. More likely the light, probably of some office, had only been forgotten.

Within, immersed in her terror, Rachaela knew a bizarre curiosity. What would Althene do?