He came back from the window, rested his palms on the back of the chair. "Listen to me, Nicholas. This isn't your game. You have no stake in it. What's more, the questions are primarily academic. Simply help me clean up a few points regarding the arrangements at Richmond, and you can go. That's really all I want, a few details about the training facilities and field procedures."

Silence.

"Nicholas, please . . . Nicholas?"

The boy must have been waiting just outside the door, because he appeared the moment Spangler left. Gray saw him first from the corner of his eye: very blond youth with smooth features and a delicate mouth. He came in without speaking, then went to the girl —half bent, whispering to her. They might have been brother and sister, or even lovers—definitely a sympathetic pair. Briefly, the boy even laid his hand on her shoulder.

There moments of silence as the boy took off his jacket and carefully folded it on the back of a chair. His skin was faintly mottled in the cold, vaguely pink against his undershirt. The girl could not seem to take her eyes off him.

Although the boy must have carried the cane into the room with him, Gray did not notice it until the girl began toying with it— examining the silver tip, running her fingers along the varnished surface, testing its slight resilience. When at last she seemed satisfied, she handed it to the boy and watched as he performed a similar ritual, lightly testing the thing on his thigh.

The boy removed his wristwatch and pressed it into the girl's hand. She adjusted her glasses, as if to watch a theatrical display. Once more the boy picked up the cane and assumed his position to the right of Gray's chair. The girl nodded, and Gray watched as the cane swung back, and exploded onto his shins.

He was still conscious when it was over; conscious of the boy lifting his trousers with the tip of the cane, conscious of the girl examining his blackened wrists. There were voices around him, passing spectral shapes, and another woman's heels on the floorboards. He heard Spangler's voice ordering someone to take him away. He heard himself cry out as his legs collapsed.

After they had brought him back to the cell, he lay unmoving in the darkness. The pain had become a solid entity, extending from his legs through his groin to the pit of his stomach. Aware of his thirst, he could not keep from swallowing, compulsively swallowing nothing. He began to wonder if his eyes hadn't somehow been damaged ... or else how could he have seen Margaretha like a white light deep in the stone?