“My God,” whispered Thanakar.

“Yes. My God,” said the captain in his expressionless voice.

“How long can she live like that?”

“It depends.” The captain flicked his light onto a card stuck to the bars of the cell. “She’s been here five months.”

“Five hundred days. It’s not possible.”

For an answer, the captain turned his lamp away and resumed walking. Thanakar had to hurry to keep up. He gripped the guardrail spasmodically, and sometimes his feet stumbled on the rivets of the track.

They walked in silence for what seemed like hours. Several times the doctor had to stop and rest his leg, and always his companion stopped and waited for him without speaking. For some reason, it seemed warmer as they rose higher. Moisture glistened on the walls.

“We’re getting close,” said the captain presently.

The cells were larger here, and there were several prisoners in each one. They squatted, crouched, and lay full length, and as the light passed, they turned to look and made small noises with their chains.

“Adventists,” said the captain.

They continued on. The cells were large enough to permit standing, and rows of men stood watching them, holding onto the bars with manacled hands. They didn’t wear gags, but still they made no sound, just an occasional soft clink as they moved their feet or moved their heads to watch the passage of the lamp. They were dark men, tall and hairy, from the eastern provinces, with wide, flat faces and slitted eyes.

“Rebel Angels,” said the captain.

“Why don’t they speak. Why are they so still?”

“They have no tongues.” As if to confirm the captain’s words, one of the prisoners grinned as they walked past, and opened his mouth to show his toothless gums and where his tongue had been cut away.

Above them, the masons had finished work, and the sky was dark. They continued on, up into the highest reaches of the tower. The captain stopped before a long cage. “Antinomials,” he said.

For the first time, the doctor could smell urine and human filth mixing with the sweet pervasive prison disinfectant. The captain sniffed. “Nobody likes to come up here much,” he remarked.

In the cell, an old man sat with his legs stretched out along the floor, his back against the wall. He raised his head when the light hit him. And when he saw the doctor he snarled at him with animal malice, his eyes gleaming, his lips curled back against his gleaming carnivorous teeth; and in the perfect silence Thanakar could swear he heard a low, throbbing growl. He took a step backward and the sound intensified, and a throaty rattle mixed with it. The antinomial was marked, a livid cross and circle branded between his brows.

“He’s got something wrong with him, sir,” said the captain. “This one does. Under his pants. Wait, you can’t see it. Wait till he moves. There.” He brought the beam of light down the antinomial’s right leg, and Thanakar could see part of a clumsy bandage where the cloth was ripped below his knee.