The audience laughed and the houselights began to flicker on, the reporters and photographers suddenly rising, turning their attention to the back of the room. Jennings, the photographer, cursed himself for not having a long lens, and he focused on several heads, the angry youth centered among them.

On the stage, Thorn remained calm, but as the lights came up full, his manner suddenly changed. His eyes were not on the boy, but on another figure, hidden in the shadows some distance behind him. It was the figure of a priest, small in stature, a hat clutched tensely in his hand. It was Tassone. Even though Thorn could not see his features, he knew it was he, and it rendered him immobile.

"What's the matter, Thorn?" taunted the youth. "Nothing to say?"

Thorn's energy was suddenly gone, a wave of fear sweeping over him as he stood mute, gazing into the shadows. From a position beneath him, Jennings swung his camera in the direction of Thorn's fearful gaze, snapping off a series of shots.

"Come on, Thorn!" demanded the heckler. "You can see me now, what do you have to say?"

"I think . . ." said Thorn, faltering, ". . . your points are well taken. We should all share our wealth. I'll try to do more."

The boy was taken off guard, and so was the audience. Someone called for the lights to be switched out, and Thorn returned to his lectern. He struggled to find his place and then gazed up again into the darkness. And in a distant shaft of light, he could see the robes of the one who stalked him.

Jennings had returned late that night and put his films into the developer. The Ambassador had, as usual, impressed and intrigued him. He could spot fear as surely as a rat could smell cheese, and it was fear that he had seen through the viewfinder of his camera. It was not nameless fear, for it was evident that Thorn had seen something, or someone, in the darkness of the auditorium. The light had been poor and the camera angle wide, but Jennings had shot in the direction of the Ambassador's gaze and hoped he would find something when the film was developed. As he waited, he became aware that he was hungry and tore open a sack of groceries he'd bought on his way back from the hotel. He'd purchased a small barbecued chicken and a large bottle of root beer, and he set them out before him for a feast. The chicken was whole save for head and feet, and Jennings stuck it on the end of the root beer bottle so it sat upright, staring headlessly at him across the table. It was a mistake, for he could not eat it now, and instead reached over and flapped its little barbecued wings, and squawked a little as though it were talking. Then he opened a can of sardines and ate in silence with his mute dinner companion.