diff --git "a/data_all_eng_slimpj/shuffled/split2/finalzzroae" "b/data_all_eng_slimpj/shuffled/split2/finalzzroae" new file mode 100644--- /dev/null +++ "b/data_all_eng_slimpj/shuffled/split2/finalzzroae" @@ -0,0 +1,5 @@ +{"text":"The Project Gutenberg Etext of Supplemental Nights, Volume 2\nby Richard F. Burton\n#13 in our series by Sir Richard Francis Burton\n\nCopyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check\nthe copyright laws for your country before distributing this or\nany other Project Gutenberg file.\n\nWe encourage you to keep this file, exactly as it is, on your\nown disk, thereby keeping an electronic path open for future\nreaders. Please do not remove this.\n\nThis header should be the first thing seen when anyone starts to\nview the etext. Do not change or edit it without written\npermission. 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FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.10\/04\/01*END*\n\n\n\n\n\n\nThis etext was scanned by JC Byers\n(http:\/\/www.capitalnet.com\/~jcbyers\/index.htm) and proofread by\nLynn Bornath, JC Byers, Diane Doerfler, Peggy Klein, P.J.\nLaBrocca, Robert Sinton, and Mats Wernersson.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n SUPPLEMENTAL\n NIGHTS\n To The Book Of The Thousand\n And One Nights With Notes\n Anthropological And\n Explanatory\n\n By\n Richard F. Burton\n\n VOLUME TWO\n Privately Printed By The Burton Club\n\n\n\n To Henry Irving, Esq.\n\nMy Dear Irving,\n\n To a consummate artist like yourself I need hardly suggest\nthat The Nights still offers many a virgin mine to the\nPlaywright; and I inscribe this volume to you, not only in\nadmiration of your genius but in the hope that you will find\nmeans of exploiting the hidden wealth which awaits only your\n\"Open Sesame!\"\n\n Every yours sincerely,\n Richard F. Burton.\n\nLondon, August 1, 1886.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n Contents of the Twelfth Volume.\n\n\n13. Al-Malik Al-Zahir Rukn Al-Din Bibars Al-Bundukdari and the\n Sixteen Captains of Police\n a. First Constable's History\n b. Second Constable's History\n c. Third Constable's History\n d. Fourth Constable's History\n e. Fifth Constable's History\n f. Sixth Constable's History\n g. Seventh Constable's History\n h. Eighth Constable's History\n ha. The Thief's Tale\n i. Ninth Constable's History\n j. Tenth Constable's History\n k. Eleventh Constable's History\n l. Twelfth Constable's History\n m. Thirteenth Constable's History\n n. Fourteenth Constable's History\n na. A Merry Jest of a Clever Thief\n nb. Tale of the Old Sharper\n o. Fifteenth Constable's History\n p. Sixteenth Constable's History\n14. Tale of Harun Al-Rashid and Abdullah Bin Nafi'\n a. Tale of the Damsel Torfat Al-Kulub and the Caliph Harun\n Al-Rashid\n15. Women's Wiles\n16. Nur Al-Din Ali of Damascus and the Damsel Sitt Al-Milah\n17. Tale of King Ins Bin Kays and His Daughter with the Son of\n King Al-'Abb\u00e1s\n18. Tale of the Two kings and the Wazir's Daughters\n19. The Concubine and the Caliph\n20. The Concubine of Al-Maamun\n\nAppendix: Variants and Analogues of Some of the Tales in Vols. XI\n and XII.\n by W. A. Clouston\n\nThe Sleeper and the Waker\nThe Ten Wazirs; or the History of King Azadbakht and His Son\nKing Dadbin and His Wazirs\nKing Aylan Shah and Abu Tammam\nKing Sulayman Shah and His Niece\nFiruz and His Wife\nKing Shah Bakht and His Wazir Al-Rahwan\nOn the Art of Enlarging Pearls\nThe Singer and the Druggist\nThe King Who Kenned the Quintessence of Things\nThe Prince Who Fell in Love With the Picture\nThe Fuller, His Wife, and the Trooper\nThe Simpleton Husband\nThe Three Men and Our Lord Isa\nThe Melancholist and the Sharper\nThe Devout Woman Accused of Lewdness\nThe Weaver Who Became a Leach by Order of His Wife\nThe King Who Lost Kingdom, Wife, and Wealth\nAl-Malik Al-Zahir and the Sixteen Captains of Police\nThe Thief's Tale\nThe Ninth Constable's Story\nThe Fifteenth Constable's Story\nThe Damsel Tuhfat Al-Kulub\nWomen's Wiles\nNur Al-Din and the Damsel Sitt Al-Milah\nKing Ins Bin Kays and his Daughter\n\nAdditional Notes:\n Firuz and His Wife\n The Singer and the Druggist\n The Fuller, His Wife, and the Trooper\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n Supplemental Nights\n\n To The Book Of The\n\n Thousand Nights And A Night\n\n\n\n\n\n\n AL-MALIK AL-ZAHIR RUKN AL-DIN BIBARS AL-\n BUNDUKDARI AND THE SIXTEEN CAPTAINS OF\n POLICE.[FN#1]\n\n\n\n\nThere was once in the climes[FN#2] of Egypt and the city of\nCairo, under the Turks, a king of the valiant kings and the\nexceeding mighty Soldans, hight Al-Malik al-Z\u00e1hir Rukn al-Din\nBibars al-Bundukd\u00e1ri,[FN#3] who was used to storm the Islamite\nsconces and the strongholds of \"The Shore\"[FN#4] and the Nazarene\ncitadels. His Chief of Police in the capital of his kingdom{} was\njust to the folk, all of them; and Al-Malik al-Zahir delighted in\nstories of the common sort and of that which men purposed in\nthought; and he loved to see this with his own eyes and to hear\ntheir sayings with his own ears. Now it fortuned that he heard\none night from a certain of his nocturnal reciters[FN#5] that\namong women are those who are doughtier than the doughtiest men\nand prower of prowess, and that among them are some who will\nengage in fight singular with the sword and others who beguile\nthe quickest-witted of Walis and baffle them and bring down on\nthem all manner of miseries; wherefore said the Soldan, \"I would\nlief hear this of their legerdemain from one of those who have\nhad to do with it, so I may hearken unto him and cause him\ndiscourse.\" And one of the story-tellers said, \"O king, send for\nthe Chief of Police of this thy city.\" Now 'Alam al-Din[FN#6]\nSanjar was at that time Wali and he was a man of experience, in\naffairs well versed; so the king sent for him and when he came\nbefore him, he discovered to him that which was in his mind.\nQuoth Sanjar, \"I will do my endeavour for that which our lord\nseeketh.\" Then he arose and returning to his house, summoned the\nCaptains of the watch and the Lieutenants of the ward and said to\nthem, \"Know that I purpose to marry my son and make him a bridal\nbanquet, and I desire that ye assemble, all of you, in one place.\nI also will be present, I and my company, and do ye relate that\nwhich you have heard of rare occurrences and that which hath\nbetided you of experiences.\" And the Captains and Runners and\nAgents of Police answered him, \"'Tis well: Bismillah--in the name\nof Allah! We will make thee see all this with thine own eyes and\nhear it with thine own ears.\" Then the Chief of Police arose and\ngoing up to Al-Malik al-Zahir, informed him that the assembly\nwould meet on such a day at his house; and the Soldan said, \"'Tis\nwell,\" and gave him somewhat of coin for his spending-money. When\nthe appointed day came the Chief of Police set apart for his\nofficers and constables a saloon, which had latticed casements\nranged in order and giving upon the flower-garden, and Al-Malik\nal-Zahir came to him, and he seated himself and the Soldan, in\nthe alcove. Then the tables were spread for them with food and\nthey ate: and when the bowl went round amongst them and their\nsouls were gladdened by meat and drink, they mutually related\nthat which was with them and, revealed their secrets from\nconcealment. The first to discourse was a man, a Captain of the\nWatch, hight Mu'\u00edn al-Din[FN#7] whose heart was wholly occupied\nwith the love of fair women; and he said, \"Harkye, all ye people\nof high degree, I will acquaint you with an extraordinary affair\nwhich fortuned me aforetime.\" Then he began to tell\n\n\n\n\nThe First Constable's History.[FN#8]\n\n\n\nKnow ye that when I entered the service of this Emir,[FN#9] I had\na great repute and every low fellow and lewd feared me most of\nall mankind, and when I rode through the city, each and every of\nthe folk would point at me with their fingers and sign at me with\ntheir eyes. It happened one day, as I sat in the palace of the\nPrefecture, back-propped against a wall, considering in myself,\nsuddenly there fell somewhat in my lap, and behold, it was a\npurse sealed and tied. So I hent it in hand and lo! it had in it\nan hundred dirhams,[FN#10] but I found not who threw it and I\nsaid, \"Lauded be the Lord, the King of the Kingdoms!\"[FN#11]\nAnother day, as I sat in the same way, somewhat fell on me and\nstartled me, and lookye, 'twas a purse like the first: I took it\nand hiding the matter, made as though I slept, albeit sleep was\nnot with me. One day as I thus shammed sleep, I suddenly sensed\nin my lap a hand, and in it a purse of the finest; so I seized\nthe hand and behold, 'twas that of a fair woman. Quoth I to her,\n\"O my lady, who art thou?\" and quoth she, \"Rise and come away\nfrom here, that I may make myself known to thee.\" Presently I\nrose up and following her, walked on, without tarrying, till we\nstopped at the door of a high-builded house, whereupon I asked\nher, \"O my lady, who art thou? Indeed, thou hast done me\nkindness, and what is the reason of this?\" She answered, \"By\nAllah, O Captain[FN#12] Mu'in, I am a woman on whom love and\nlonging are sore for desire of the daughter of the Kazi Am\u00edn\nal-Hukm.[FN#13] Now there was between me and her what was and\nfondness for her fell upon my heart and I agreed upon an\nassignation with her, according to possibility and convenience;\nbut her father Amin al-Hukm took her and went away, and my heart\ncleaveth to her and yearning and distraction waxed sore upon me\nfor her sake.\" I said to her, marvelling the while at her words,\n\"What wouldst thou have me do?\" and said she, \"O Captain Mu'in, I\nwould have thee lend me a helping hand.\" Quoth I, \"Where am I and\nwhere is the daughter of the Kazi Amin al-Hukm?\"[FN#14] and quoth\nshe \"Be assured that I would not have thee intrude upon the\nKazi's daughter, but I would fain work for the winning of my\nwishes. This is my will and my want which may not be wroughten\nsave by thine aid.\" Then she added, \"I mean this night to go with\nheart enheartened and hire me bracelets and armlets and anklets\nof price; then will I hie me and sit in the street wherein is the\nhouse of Amin al-Hukm; and when 'tis the season of the round and\nfolk are asleep, do thou pass, thou and those who are with thee\nof the men, and thou wilt see me sitting and on me fine raiment\nand ornaments and wilt smell on me the odour of Ottars; whereupon\ndo thou question me of my case and I will say, 'I hail from the\nCitadel and am of the daughters of the deputies[FN#15] and I came\ndown into the town for a purpose; but night overtook me all\nunawares and the Zuwaylah Gate[FN#16] was shut against me and all\nthe other portals and I knew not whither I should wend this\nnight. Presently I saw this street and noting the goodly fashion\nof its ordinance and its cleanliness, I sheltered me therein\nagainst break of day.' When I speak these words to thee with\ncomplete self-possession,[FN#17] the Chief of the watch will have\nno ill suspicion of me, but will say, 'There's no help but that\nwe leave her with one who will take care of her till morning.'\nThereto do thou rejoin, ''Twere best that she night with Amin\nal-Hukm and lie with his wives[FN#18] and children until dawn of\nday.' Then straightway knock at the Kazi's door, and thus shall I\nhave secured admission into his house, without inconvenience, and\nwon my wish; and--the Peace!\" I said to her, \"By Allah, this is\nan easy matter.\" So, when the night was blackest, we rose to make\nour round, followed by men with girded swords, and went about the\nways and compassed the city, till we came to the street[FN#19]\nwhere was the woman, and it was the middle of the night. Here we\nsmelt mighty rich scents and heard the clink of rings: so I said\nto my comrades, \"Methinks I espy a spectre;\" and the Captain of\nthe watch cried, \"See what it is.\" Accordingly, I undertook the\nwork and entering the thoroughfare presently came out again and\nsaid, \"I have found a fair woman and she telleth me that she is\nfrom the Citadel and that dark night surprised her and she saw\nthis street and noting its cleanness and goodly fashion of\nordinance, knew that it belonged to a great man[FN#20] and that\nneeds must there be in it a guardian to keep watch over it, so\nshe sheltered her therein.\" Quoth the Captain of the watch to me,\n\"Take her and carry her to thy house;\" but quoth I, \"I seek\nrefuge with Allah![FN#21] My house is no strong box[FN#22] and on\nthis woman are trinkets and fine clothing. By Allah, we will not\ndeposit the lady save with Amin al-Hukm, in whose street she hath\nbeen since the first starkening of the darkness; therefore do\nthou leave her with him till the break of day.\" He rejoined, \"Do\nwhatso thou willest.\" So I rapped at the Kazi's gate and out came\na black slave of his slaves, to whom said I, \"O my lord, take\nthis woman and let her be with you till day shall dawn, for that\nthe lieutenant of the Emir Alam al-Din hath found her with\ntrinkets and fine apparel on her, sitting at the door of your\nhouse, and we feared lest her responsibility be upon you;[FN#23]\nwherefore I suggested 'twere meetest she night with you.\" So the\nchattel opened and took her in with him. Now when the morning\nmorrowed, the first who presented himself before the Emir was the\nKazi Amin al-Hukm, leaning on two of his slaves; and he was\ncrying out and calling for aid and saying, \"O Emir, crafty and\nperfidious, yesternight thou depositedst with me a woman and\nbroughtest her into my house and home, and she arose in the dark\nand took from me the monies of the little orphans my\nwards,[FN#24] six great bags, each containing a thousand\ndinars,[FN#25] and made off; but as for me, I will say no\nsyllable to thee except in the Soldan's presence.\"[FN#26] When\nthe Wali heard these words, he was troubled and rose and sat down\nin his agitation; then he took the Judge and placing him by his\nside, soothed him and exhorted him to patience, till he had made\nan end of talk, when he turned to the officers and questioned\nthem of that. They fixed the affair on me and said, \"We know\nnothing of this matter but from Captain Mu'in al-Din.\" So the\nKazi turned to me and said, \"Thou wast of accord to practice upon\nme with this woman, for she said she came from the Citadel.\" As\nfor me, I stood, with my head bowed ground-wards, forgetting both\nSunnah and Farz,[FN#27] and remained sunk in thought, saying,\n\"How came I to be the dupe of that randy wench?\" Then cried the\nEmir to me, \"What aileth thee that thou answerest not?\" Thereupon\nI replied, \"O my lord, 'tis a custom among the folk that he who\nhath a payment to make at a certain date is allowed three days'\ngrace: do thou have patience with me so long, and if, at the end\nof that time, the culprit be not found, I will be responsible for\nthat which is lost.\" When the folk heard my speech they all\napproved it as reasonable and the Wali turned to the Kazi and\nsware to him that he would do his utmost to recover the stolen\nmonies adding, \"And they shall be restored to thee.\" Then he went\naway, whilst I mounted without stay or delay and began to-ing and\nfro-ing about the world without purpose, and indeed I was become\nthe underling of a woman without honesty or honour; and I went my\nrounds in this way all that my day and that my night, but\nhappened not upon tidings of her; and thus I did on the morrow.\nOn the third day I said to myself, \"Thou art mad or silly;\" for I\nwas wandering in quest of a woman who knew me[FN#28] and I knew\nher not, she being veiled when I met her. Then I went round about\nthe third day till the hour of mid-afternoon prayer, and sore\nwaxed my cark and my care for I kenned that there remained to me\nof my life but the morrow, when the Chief of Police would send\nfor me. However, as sundown-time came, I passed through one of\nthe main streets, and saw a woman at a window; her door was ajar\nand she was clapping her hands and casting sidelong glances at\nme, as who should say, \"Come up by the door.\" So I went up,\nwithout fear or suspicion, and when I entered, she rose and\nclasped me to her breast. I marvelled at the matter and quoth she\nto me, \"I am she whom thou depositedst with Amin al-Hukm.\" Quoth\nI to her, \"O my sister, I have been going round and round in\nrequest of thee, for indeed thou hast done a deed which will be\nchronicled and hast cast me into red death[FN#29] on thine\naccount.\" She asked me, \"Dost thou speak thus to me and thou a\ncaptain of men?\" and I answered, \"How should I not be troubled,\nseeing that I be in concern for an affair I turn over and over in\nmind, more by token that I continue my day long going about\nsearching for thee and in the night I watch its stars and\nplanets?\"[FN#30] Cried she, \"Naught shall betide save weal, and\nthou shalt get the better of him.\"[FN#31] So saying, she rose and\ngoing to a chest, drew out therefrom six bags full of gold and\nsaid to me, \"This is what I took from Amin al-Hukm's house. So an\nthou wilt, restore it; else the whole is lawfully[FN#32] thine;\nand if thou desire other than this, thou shalt obtain it; for I\nhave monies in plenty and I had no design herein save to marry\nthee.\" Then she arose and opening other chests, brought out\ntherefrom wealth galore and I said to her, \"O my sister, I have\nno wish for all this, nor do I want aught except to be quit of\nthat wherein I am.\" Quoth she, \"I came not forth of the Kazi's\nhouse without preparing for thine acquittance.\" Then said she to\nme, \"When the morrow shall morn and Amin al-Hukm shall come to\nthee bear with him till he have made an end of his speech, and\nwhen he is silent, return him no reply; and if the Wali ask,\n'What aileth thee that thou answerest me not?' do thou rejoin, 'O\nlord and master[FN#33] know that the two words are not alike, but\nthere is no helper for the conquered one[FN#34] save Allah\nAlmighty.' The Kazi will cry, 'What is the meaning of thy saying,\nThe two words are not alike?' And do thou retort, 'I deposited\nwith thee a damsel from the palace of the Sultan, and most likely\nsome enemy of hers in thy household hath transgressed against her\nor she hath been secretly murdered. Verily, there were on her\nraiment and ornaments worth a thousand ducats, and hadst thou put\nto the question those who are with thee of slaves and\nslave-girls, needs must thou have litten on some traces of the\ncrime.' When he heareth this from thee, his trouble will redouble\nand he will be amated and will make oath that thou hast no help\nfor it but to go with him to his house: however, do thou say,\n'That will I not do, for I am the party aggrieved, more\nespecially because I am under suspicion with thee.' If he\nredouble in calling on Allah's aid and conjure thee by the oath\nof divorce saying, 'Thou must assuredly come,' do thou reply, 'By\nAllah, I will not go, unless the Chief also go with me.' Then, as\nsoon as thou comest to the house, begin by searching the\nterrace-roofs; then rummage the closets and cabinets; and if thou\nfind naught, humble thyself before the Kazi and be abject and\nfeign thyself subjected, and after stand at the door and look as\nif thou soughtest a place wherein to make water,[FN#35] because\nthere is a dark corner there. Then come forward, with heart\nharder than syenite-stone, and lay hold upon a jar of the jars\nand raise it from its place. Thou wilt find there under it a\nmantilla-skirt; bring it out publicly and call the Wali in a loud\nvoice, before those who are present. Then open it and thou wilt\nfind it full of blood, exceeding for freshness, and therein a\nwoman's walking-boots and a pair of petticoat-trousers and\nsomewhat of linen.\" When I heard from her these words, I rose to\ngo out and she said to me, \"Take these hundred sequins, so they\nmay succour thee; and such is my guest-gift to thee.\" Accordingly\nI took them and leaving her door ajar returned to my lodging.\nNext morning, up came the Judge, with his face like the\nox-eye,[FN#36] and asked, \"In the name of Allah, where is my\ndebtor and where is my property?\" Then he wept and cried out and\nsaid to the Wali, \"Where is that ill-omened fellow, who aboundeth\nin robbery and villainy?\" Thereupon the Chief turned to me and\nsaid, \"Why dost thou not answer the Kazi?\" and I replied, \"O\nEmir, the two heads[FN#37] are not equal, and I, I have no\nhelper;[FN#38] but, an the right be on my side 'twill appear.\" At\nthis the Judge grew hotter of temper and cried out, \"Woe to thee,\nO ill-omened wight! How wilt thou make manifest that the right is\non thy side?\" I replied \"O our lord the Kazi, I deposited with\nthee and in thy charge a woman whom we found at thy door, and on\nher raiment and ornaments of price. Now she is gone, even as\nyesterday is gone;[FN#39] and after this thou turnest upon us and\nsuest me for six thousand gold pieces. By Allah, this is none\nother than a mighty great wrong, and assuredly some foe[FN#40] of\nhers in thy household hath transgressed against her!\" With this\nthe Judge's wrath redoubled and he swore by the most solemn of\noaths that I should go with him and search his house. I replied,\n\"By Allah I will not go, unless the Wali go with us; for, an he\nbe present, he and the officers, thou wilt not dare to work thy\nwicked will upon me.\" So the Kazi rose and swore an oath, saying,\n\"By the truth of Him who created mankind, we will not go but with\nthe Emir!\" Accordingly we repaired to the Judge's house,\naccompanied by the Chief, and going up, searched it through, but\nfound naught; whereat fear fell upon me and the Wali turned to me\nand said, \"Fie upon thee, O ill-omened fellow! thou hast put us\nto shame before the men.\" All this, and I wept and went round\nabout right and left, with the tears running down my face, till\nwe were about to go forth and drew near the door of the house. I\nlooked at the place which the woman had mentioned and asked,\n\"What is yonder dark place I see?\" Then said I to the men, \"Pull\nup[FN#41] this jar with me.\" They did my bidding and I saw\nsomewhat appearing under the jar and said, \"Rummage and look at\nwhat is under it.\" So they searched, and behold, they came upon a\nwoman's mantilla and petticoat-trousers full of blood, which when\nI espied, I fell down in a fainting-fit. Now when the Wali saw\nthis, he said, \"By Allah, the Captain is excused!\" Then my\ncomrades came round about me and sprinkled water on my face till\nI recovered, when I arose and accosting the Kazi (who was covered\nwith confusion), said to him, \"Thou seest that suspicion is\nfallen on thee, and indeed this affair is no light matter,\nbecause this woman's family will assuredly not sit down quietly\nunder her loss.\" Therewith the Kazi's heart quaked and fluttered\nfor that he knew the suspicion had reverted upon him, wherefore\nhis colour yellowed and his limbs smote together; and he paid of\nhis own money, after the measure of that he had lost, so we would\nquench that fire for him.[FN#42] Then we departed from him in\npeace, whilst I said within myself, \"Indeed, the woman falsed me\nnot.\" After that I tarried till three days had passed, when I\nwent to the Hammam and changing my clothes, betook myself to her\nhome, but found the door shut and covered with dust. So I asked\nthe neighbours of her and they answered, \"This house hath been\nempty of habitants these many days; but three days agone there\ncame a woman with an ass, and at supper-time last night she took\nher gear and went away.\" Hereat I turned back, bewildered in my\nwit, and for many a day after I inquired of the dwellers in that\nstreet concerning her, but could happen on no tidings of her. And\nindeed I wondered at the eloquence of her tongue and the\nreadiness of her talk; and this is the most admirable of all I\nhave seen and of whatso hath betided me. When Al-Malik al-Zahir\nheard the tale of Mu'in al-Din, he marvelled thereat. Then rose\nanother constable and said, \"O lord, hear what befel me in bygone\ndays.\"\n\n\n\n\nThe Second Constable's History.\n\n\n\nI was once an overseer in the household of the Emir Jam\u00e1l al-Din\nal-Atwash al-Mujhidi, who was made governor of the two provinces,\nShark\u00edyah and Gharb\u00edyah,[FN#43] and I was dear to his heart and\nhe hid from me naught of whatso he desired to do; and he was eke\nmaster of his reason.[FN#44] It came to pass one day of the days\nthat it was reported to him how the daughter of Such-an-one had a\nmint of monies and raiment and ornaments and at that present she\nloved a Jewish man, whom every day she invited to be private with\nher, and they passed the light hours eating and drinking in\ncompany and he lay the night with her. The Wali feigned not to\nbelieve a word of this story, but he summoned the watchmen of the\nquarter one night and questioned them of this tittle-tattle.\nQuoth one of them, \"As for me, O my lord, I saw none save a\nJew[FN#45] enter the street in question one night; but I have not\nmade certain to whom he went in;\" and quoth the Chief, \"Keep\nthine eye on him from this time forward and note what place he\nentereth.\" So the watchman went out and kept his eye on the\nJudaean. One day as the Prefect sat in his house, the watchman\ncame in to him and said, \"O my lord, in very sooth the Jew goeth\nto the house of Such-an-one.\" Whereupon Al-Atwash sprang to his\nfeet and went forth alone, taking with him none save\nmyself.\"[FN#46] As he went along, he said to me, \"Indeed, this\ngirl is a fat piece of meat.\"[FN#47] And we gave not over going\ntill we came to the door of the house and stood there until a\nhand-maid came out, as if to buy them something wanted. We waited\ntill she opened the door, whereupon, without question or answer,\nwe forced our way into the house and rushed in upon the girl,\nwhom we found seated with the Jew in a saloon with four da\u00efses,\nand cooking-pots and candles therein. When her eyes fell on the\nWali, she knew him and rising to her feet, said, \"Well come and\nwelcome and fair cheer! By Allah, great honour hath betided me by\nmy lord's visit and indeed thou dignifiest my dwelling.\" Hereat\nshe carried him up to the dais and seating him on the couch,\nbrought him meat and wine and gave him to drink; after which she\nput off all that was upon her of raiment and ornaments and tying\nthem up in a kerchief, said to him, \"O my lord, this is thy\nportion, all of it.\" Then she turned to the Jew and said to him,\n\"Rise, thou also, and do even as I:\" so he arose in haste and\nwent out very hardly crediting his deliverance.[FN#48] When the\ngirl was assured of his escape, she put out her hand to her\nclothes and jewels and taking them, said to the Chief, \"O Emir,\nis the requital of kindness other than kindness? Thou hast\ndeigned to visit me and eat of my bread and salt; so now arise\nand depart from us without ill-doing; or I will give a single\noutcry and all who are in the street will come forth.\" So the\nEmir went out from her, without having gotten a single dirham;\nand on this wise she delivered the Jew by the seemliness of her\nstratagem. The company admired this tale, and as for the Wali and\nAl-Malik al-Zahir, they said, \"Ever devised any the like of this\ndevice?\" and they marvelled with the utterest of marvel. Then\narose a third constable and said, \"Hear what betided me, for it\nis yet stranger and rarer.\"\n\n\n\n\nThe Third Constable's History.\n\n\n\nI was one day abroad on business with certain of my comrades;\nand, as we walked along behold, we fell in with a company of\nwomen, as they were moons, and among them one, the tallest of\nthem and the handsomest. When I saw her and she saw me, she\nlagged behind her companions and waited for me till I came up to\nher and bespake her. Quoth she, \"O my lord (Allah favour thee!) I\nsaw thee prolong thy looking on me and I fancied that thou\nknewest me. An it be thus, let me learn more of thee.\" Quoth I,\n\"By Allah, I know thee not, save that the Most High Lord hath\ncast the love of thee into my heart and the goodliness of thy\nqualities hath confounded me; and that wherewith the Almighty\nhath gifted thee of those eyes that shoot with shafts hath\ncaptivated me.\" And she rejoined, \"By Allah, indeed I feel the\nlike of that which thou feelest; ay, and even more; so that\nmeseemeth I have known thee from childhood.\" Then said I, \"A man\ncannot well effect all whereof he hath need in the\nmarket-places.\" She asked me, \"Hast thou a house?\" and I\nanswered, \"No, by Allah, nor is this city my dwelling-place.\"\nRejoined she, \"By Allah, nor have I a place; but I will contrive\nfor thee.\" Then she went on before me and I followed her till she\ncame to a lodging-house[FN#49] and said to the Housekeeper, \"Hast\nthou an empty room?\" The other replied, \"Yes:\"[FN#50] and my\nmistress said, \"Give us the key.\" So we took the key and going up\nto see the room, entered to inspect it; after which she went out\nto the Housekeeper and giving her a dirham, said to her \"Take the\ndouceur of the key[FN#51] for the chamber pleaseth us, and here\nis another dirham for thy trouble. Go, fetch us a gugglet of\nwater, so we may refresh ourselves and rest till siesta-time pass\nand the heat decline, when the man will depart and bring our bag\nand baggage.\" Therewith the Housekeeper rejoiced and brought us a\nmat, two gugglets of water on a tray, a fan and a leather rug. We\nabode thus till the setting-in of mid-afternoon, when she said,\n\"Needs must I make the Ghusl-ablution ere I fare.\"[FN#52] Said I,\n\"Get water wherewith we may both wash,\" and drew forth from my\npocket a score or so of dirhams, thinking to give them to her;\nbut she cried, \"Refuge with Allah!\" and brought out of her pocket\na handful of silver, saying, \"But for destiny and that the\nAlmighty hath caused the love of thee fall into my heart, there\nhad not happened that which hath happened.\" Quoth I, \"Accept this\nin requital of that which thou hast spent;\" and quoth she, \"O my\nlord, by and by, whenas mating is prolonged between us, thou wilt\nsee if the like of me looketh unto money and means or no.\" Then\nthe lady took a jar of water and going into the lavatory, made\nthe Ghusl-ablution[FN#53] and presently coming forth, prayed the\nmid-afternoon prayer and craved pardon of Allah Almighty for the\nsin into which she had fallen. Now I had asked her name and she\nanswered, \"Rayh\u00e1nah,\"[FN#54] and described to me her\ndwelling-place. When I saw her make the ablution, I said within\nmyself, \"This woman doth on this wise, and shall I not do the\nlike of her doing?\" Then quoth I to her, \"Peradventure[FN#55]\nthou wilt seek us another jar of water?\" Accordingly she went out\nto the Housekeeper and said to her, \"O my sister, take this Nusf\nand fetch us for it water wherewith we may wash the\nflags.\"[FN#56] So the Housekeeper brought two jars of water and I\ntook one of them and giving her my clothes, entered the lavatory\nand bathed. When I had made an end of bathing, I cried out,\nsaying, \"Harkye, my lady Rayhanah!\" However none answered me. So\nI went out and found her not; but I did find that she had taken\nmy clothes and all that was in them of silver, to wit, four\nhundred dirhams. She had also carried off my turband and my\nkerchief and I lacked the wherewithal to veil my shame; so I\nsuffered somewhat than which death is less grievous and abode\nlooking about the place, hoping that haply I might espy a rag\nwherewith to hide my nakedness. Then I sat a little and presently\ngoing up to the door, smote upon it; whereat up came the\nHousekeeper and I said to her, \"O my sister, what hath Allah done\nwith the woman who was here?\" She replied, \"The lady came down\njust now and said, 'I'm going to cover the boys with the\nclothes,' adding, 'and I have left him sleeping; an he awake,\ntell him not to stir till the clothes come to him.'\" Then cried\nI, \"O my sister, secrets are safe with the fair-dealing and the\nfreeborn. By Allah, this woman is not my wife, nor ever in my\nlife have I seen her before this day!\" And I recounted to her the\nwhole affair and begged of her to cover me, informing her that my\nprivate parts were clean unconcealed. She laughed and cried out\nto the women of the lodging-house, saying, \"Ho, F\u00e1timah! Ho,\nKhad\u00edjah! Ho, Har\u00edfah! Ho, San\u00ednah!\" Whereupon all those who were\nin the place of women and neighbours flocked to me and fell\na-mocking me and saying, \"O pimp,[FN#57] what hadst thou to do\nwith gallantry?\" Then one of them came and looked in my face and\nlaughed, and another said, \"By Allah, thou mightest have known\nthat she lied, from the time she said she liked thee and was in\nlove with thee! What is there in thee to love?\" A third said,\n\"This is an old man without wisdom;\" and all vied one with other\nin exercising their wits upon me, I suffering mighty sore\nchagrin. However, one of the women took compassion on me after a\nwhile, and brought me a rag of thin stuff and cast it on me. With\nthis I covered my shame, and no more, and abode awhile thus: then\nsaid I in myself, \"The husbands of these women will presently\ngather together upon me and I shall be disgraced.\" So I went out\nby another door of the lodging-house, and young and old crowded\nabout me, running after me and crying, \"A madman! A\nmadman![FN#58] till I came to my house and knocked at the door;\nwhereupon out came my wife and seeing me naked, tall, bare of\nhead, cried out and ran in again, saying, \"This is a maniac, a\nSatan!\" But, when my family and spouse knew me, they rejoiced and\nsaid to me, \"What aileth thee?\" I told them that thieves had\ntaken my clothes and stripped me and had been like to slay me;\nand when I assured them that the rogues would have slaughtered\nme, they praised Allah Almighty and gave me joy of my safety. So\nconsider the craft this woman practised upon me, and I pretending\nto cleverness and wiliness. Those present marvelled at this story\nand at the doings of women; then came forward a fourth constable\nand said, \"Now that which hath betided me of strange adventures\nis yet stranger than this, and 'twas after the following\nfashion.\"\n\n\n\n\nThe Fourth Constable's History.\n\n\n\nWe were sleeping one night on the terrace-roof, when a woman made\nher way through the darkness into the house and, gathering into a\nbundle all that was therein, took it up that she might go away\nwith it. Now she was big with child and nigh upon her time of\ndelivery; so, when she packed up the bundle and prepared to\nshoulder it and make off with it, she hastened the coming of the\nlabour-pangs and bare a child in the dark. Then she sought for\nthe fire-sticks and when they burned, kindled the lamp and went\nround about the house with the little one, and it was weeping.\nThe wail awoke us, as we lay on the roof, and we marvelled. So we\nrose to see what was to do, and looking down through the opening\nof the saloon,[FN#59] saw a woman, who had lit the lamp, and\nheard the little one crying. As we were peering, she heard our\nwords and raising her head to us, said, \"Are ye not ashamed to\ndeal thus with us and bare our shame? Wist ye not that the day\nbelongeth to you and the night to us? Begone from us! By Allah,\nwere it not that ye have been my neighbours these many years, I\nwould assuredly[FN#60] bring down the house upon you!\" We doubted\nnot but that she was of the Jinn and drew back our heads; but,\nwhen we rose on the morrow, we found that she had taken all that\nwas with us and made off with it;[FN#61] wherefore we knew that\nshe was a thief and had practised on us a device, such as was\nnever before practised; and we repented, whenas repentance\navailed us naught. The company, hearing this tale, marvelled\nthereat with the utmost marvelling. Then the fifth constable, who\nwas the lieutenant of the bench,[FN#62] came forward and said,\n\"This is no wonder and there befel me a story which is rarer and\nstranger than this.\"\n\n\n\n\nThe Fifth Constable's History.\n\n\n\nAs I sat one day at the door of the Prefecture, behold, a woman\nsuddenly entered and said as though consulting me. \"O my lord, I\nam the wife of Such-an-one the Leach, and with him is a company\nof the notables[FN#63] of the city, drinking fermented drinks in\nsuch a place.\" When I heard this, I misliked to make a scandal;\nso I bluffed her off and sent her away unsatisfied. Then I rose\nand walked alone to the place in question and sat without till\nthe door opened, when I rushed in and entering, found the company\neven as the woman aforesaid had set out, and she herself with\nthem. I saluted them and they returned my salam and rising,\ntreated me with honour and seated me and served me with meat.\nThen I informed them how one had denounced them to me, but I had\ndriven him away and had come to them by myself; so they thanked\nme and praising me for my kindness, brought out to me from among\nthem two thousand dirhams[FN#64] and I took them and went away.\nNow two months after this adventure, there came to me one of the\nKazi's officers, with a paper, wherein was the judge's writ,\nsummoning me to him. So I accompanied the officer and went in to\nthe Kazi, whereupon the plaintiff, he who had taken out the\nsummons, sued me for two thousand dirhams, declaring I had\nborrowed them of him as the agent or guardian of the woman. I\ndenied the debt, but he produced against me a bond for that sum,\nattested by four of those who were in company on the occasion;\nand they were present and bore witness to the loan. I reminded\nthem of my kindness and paid the amount, swearing that I would\nnever again follow a woman's counsel. Is not this marvellous? The\ncompany admired the goodliness of his tale and it pleased\nAl-Malik al-Zahir; and the Wali said, \"By Allah, this is a\nstrange story!\" Then came forward the sixth constable and said to\nthose present, \"Hear my adventure and that which befel me, to\nwit, that which befel Such-an-one the Assessor, for 'tis rarer\nthan this and finer.\"\n\n\n\n\nThe Sixth Constable's History.\n\n\n\nA certain Assessor one day of the days was taken with a woman and\nmuch people assembled before his house and the Lieutenant of\npolice and his posse came to him and rapped at the door. The\nAssessor peered from house-top and seeing the folk, said, \"What\ndo ye want?\" Replied they, \"Speak with the Lieutenant of police\nSuch-an-one.\" So he came down and as he opened the door they\ncried to him, \"Bring forth the woman who is with thee.\" \"Are ye\nnot ashamed? How shall I bring forth my wife?\" \"Is she thy wife\nby book[FN#65] or without marriage-lines?\" \"She is my wife\naccording to the Book of Allah and the Institutes of His\nApostle.\" \"Where is the contract?\" \"Her lines are in her mother's\nhouse.\" \"Arise thou and come down and show us the writ.\" \"Go from\nher way, so she may come forth.\" Now, as soon as he got wind of\nthe matter, he had written the bond and fashioned it after the\nfashion of his wife,[FN#66] to suit with the case, and he had\nwritten therein the names of certain of his friends to serve as\nwitnesses and forged the signatures of the drawer and the wife's\nnext friend and made it a contract of marriage with his wife and\na legal deed.[FN#67] Accordingly, when the woman was about to go\nout from him, he gave her the contract he had forged, and the\nEmir sent with her a servant of his, to carry her home to her\nfather. So the servant went with her and when she was inside she\nsaid to him, \"I will not return to the citation of the Emir: but\nlet the Assessors present themselves and take my contract.\"\nHereupon the servant carried this message to the Lieutenant of\npolice, who was standing at the Assessor's door, and he said,\n\"This is permissible.\" Then said the Assessor to the servant,\n\"Fare, O eunuch, and fetch us Such-an-one the Notary;\" for that\nhe was his friend and 'twas he whose name he had forged as the\ndrawer-up of the contract.[FN#68] So the Lieutenant sent after\nhim and fetched him to the Assessor, who, when he saw him, said\nto him, \"Get thee to Such-an-one, her with whom thou marriedst\nme, and cry out upon her, and when she cometh to thee,[FN#69]\ndemand of her the contract and take it from her and bring it to\nus.\" And he signed to him, as much as to say, \"Bear me out in the\nlie and screen me, for that she is a strange woman and I[FN#70]\nam in fear of the Lieutenant who standeth at the door; and we\nbeseech Allah Almighty to screen us and you from the woes of this\nworld. Amen.\" So the Notary went up to the Lieutenant, who was\namong the witnesses, and said, \" 'Tis well. Is she not Such-an-\none whose marriage-contract we drew up in such a place?\" Then he\nbetook himself to the woman's house and cried out upon her;\nwhereat she brought him the forged contract and he took it and\nreturned with it to the Lieutenant of police.[FN#71] When the\nofficer had taken cognizance of the document and professed\nhimself satisfied, the Assessor said to the Notary, \"Go to our\nlord and master, the Kazi of the Kazis, and acquaint him with\nthat which befalleth his Assessors.\" The Notary rose to go, but\nthe Lieutenant feared for himself and was urgent in beseeching\nthe Assessor and in kissing his hands till he forgave him;\nwhereupon the Lieutenant went away in the utmost concern and\naffright. On such wise the Assessor ordered the case and carried\nout the forgery and feigned marriage with the woman; and thus\nescaped calumny and calamity by the seemliness of his\nstratagem.[FN#72] The folk marvelled at this with the uttermost\nmarvel and the seventh constable said, \"There befel me in\nAlexandria the God-guarded a wondrous thing, and 'twas\nthis.\"[FN#73]\n\n\n\n\nThe Seventh Constable's History.\n\n\n\nThere came one day an old woman to the stuff-bazar, with a casket\nof mighty fine workmanship, containing trinkets, and she was\naccompanied by a young baggage big with child. The crone sat down\nat the shop of a draper and giving him to know that the girl was\npregnant by the Prefect[FN#74] of Police of the city, took of\nhim, on credit, stuffs to the value of a thousand dinars and\ndeposited with him the casket as security. She opened the casket\nand showed him that which was therein and he found it full of\ntrinkets of price; so he trusted her with the goods and she\nfarewelled him and carrying the stuffs to the girl who was with\nher, went her way. Then the old woman was absent from him a great\nwhile, and when her absence was prolonged, the draper despaired\nof her; so he went up to the Prefect's house and asked anent the\nwoman of his household who had taken his stuffs on credit; but\ncould obtain no tidings of her nor happen on any trace of her.\nThen he brought out the casket of jewellery and showed it to\nexperts, who told him that the trinkets were gilt and that their\nworth was but an hundred dirhams. When he heard this, he was sore\nconcerned thereat and presenting himself before the Deputy of the\nSultan made his complaint to him; whereupon the official knew\nthat a sleight had been served upon him and that the sons of\nAdam[FN#75] had cozened him and conquered him and cribbed his\nstuffs. Now the magistrate in question was a man of experience\nand judgment, well versed in affairs; so he said to the draper,\n\"Remove somewhat from thy shop, including the casket, and to-\nmorrow morning break the lock and cry out and come to me and\ncomplain that they have plundered all thy shop.[FN#76] Also mind\nthou call upon Allah for aid and wail aloud and acquaint the\npeople, so that a world of folk may flock to thee and sight the\nbreach of the lock and that which is missing from thy shop: and\non this wise display it to every one who presenteth himself that\nthe news may be noised abroad, and tell them that thy chief\nconcern is for a casket of great value, deposited with thee by a\ngreat man of the town and that thou standest in fear of him. But\nbe thou not afraid and still say ever and anon in thy saying, 'My\ncasket was the casket of Such-an-one, and I fear him and dare not\nbespeak him; but you, O company and all ye who are present, I\ncall you to witness of this for me.' And if there be with thee\nmore than this saying, say it; and the old woman will assuredly\ncome to thee.\" The draper answered with \"To hear is to obey\" and\ngoing forth from the Deputy's presence, betook himself to his\nshop and brought out thence the casket and a somewhat making a\ngreat display, which he removed to his house. At break of day he\narose and going to his shop, broke the lock and shouted and\nshrieked and called on Allah for aid, till each and every of the\nfolk assembled about him and all who were in the city were\npresent, whereupon he cried out to them, saying even as the\nPrefect had bidden him; and this was bruited abroad. Then he made\nfor the Prefecture and presenting himself before the Chief of\nPolice, cried out and complained and made a show of distraction.\nAfter three days, the old woman came to him and bringing him the\nthousand dinars, the price of the stuffs, demanded the\ncasket.[FN#77] When he saw her, he seized her and carried her to\nthe Prefect of the city; and when she came before the Kazi, he\nsaid to her, \"Woe to thee O Sataness; did not thy first deed\nsuffice thee, but thou must come a second time?\" She replied, \"I\nam of those who seek their salvation[FN#78] in the cities, and we\nforegather every month: and, yesterday we foregathered.\" He asked\nher, \"Canst thou cause me to catch them?\" and she answered, \"Yes;\nbut, an thou wait till to-morrow, they will have dispersed; so I\nwill deliver them to thee to-night.\" The Emir said to her, \"Go;\"\nand said she, \"Send with me one who shall go with me to them and\nobey me in whatso I shall say to him, and all that I bid him he\nshall not gainsay and therein conform to my way.\" Accordingly, he\ngave her a company of men and she took them and bringing them to\na certain door, said to them, \"Stand ye here, at this door, and\nwhoso cometh out to you seize him; and I will come out to you\nlast of all.\" \"Hearing and obeying,\" answered they and stood at\nthe door, whilst the crone went in. They waited a whole hour,\neven as the Sultan's deputy had bidden them, but none came out to\nthem and their standing waxed longsome, and when they were weary\nof waiting, they went up to the door and smote upon it a heavy\nblow and a violent, so that they came nigh to break the wooden\nbolt. Then one of them entered and was absent a long while, but\nfound naught; so he returned to his comrades and said to them,\n\"This is the door of a dark passage, leading to such a\nthoroughfare; and indeed she laughed at you and left you and went\naway.\"[FN#79] When they heard his words, they returned to the\nEmir and acquainted him with the case, whereby he knew that the\nold woman was a cunning craft-mistress and that she had mocked at\nthem and cozened them and put a cheat on them, to save herself.\nWitness, then, the wiles of this woman and that which she\ncontrived of guile, for all her lack of foresight in presenting\nherself a second time to the draper and not suspecting that his\nconduct was but a sleight; yet, when she found herself hard upon\ncalamity, she straightway devised a device for her deliverance.\nWhen the company heard the seventh constable's story, they were\nmoved to mirth galore, than which naught could be more; and\nAl-Malik al Zahir B\u00edbars rejoiced in that which he heard and\nsaid, \"Verily, there betide things in this world wherefrom kings\nare shut out, by reason of their exalted degree!\" Then came\nforward another person from amongst the company and said, \"There\nhath reached me through one of my friends a similar story bearing\non the malice of women and their wiles, and it is more wondrous\nand marvellous, more diverting and more delectable than all that\nhath been told to you.\" Quoth the company there present, \"Tell us\nthy tale and expound it unto us, so we may see that which it hath\nof extraordinary.\" And he began to relate\n\n\n\n\nThe Eighth Constable's History.\n\n\n\nYe must know that a company, amongst whom was a friend of mine,\nonce invited me to an entertainment; so I went with him, and when\nwe came into his house and sat down on his couch, he said to me,\n\"This is a blessed day and a day of gladness, and who is he that\nliveth to see the like of this day? I desire that thou practice\nwith us and disapprove not our proceedings, for that thou hast\nbeen accustomed to fall in with those who offer this.\"[FN#80] I\nconsented thereto and their talk happened upon the like of this\nsubject.[FN#81] Presently, my friend, who had invited me, arose\nfrom among them and said to them, \"Listen to me and I will\nacquaint you with an adventure which happened to me. There was a\ncertain person who used to visit me in my shop, and I knew him\nnot nor he knew me, nor ever in his life had he seen me; but he\nwas wont, whenever he wanted a dirham or two, by way of loan, to\ncome to me and ask me, without acquaintance or introduction\nbetween me and him, and I would give him what he required. I told\nnone of him, and matters abode thus between us a long while till\nhe began a-borrowing at a time ten or twenty dirhams, more or\nless. One day, as I stood in my shop, behold, a woman suddenly\ncame up to me and stopped before me; and she was a presence as\nshe were the full moon rising from among the constellations, and\nthe place was a-light by her light. When I saw her, I fixed my\neyes on her and stared in her face; and she fell to bespeaking me\nwith soft voice. When I heard her words and the sweetness of her\nspeech, I lusted after her; and as soon as she saw that I longed\nfor her, she did her errand and promising me an assignation, went\naway, leaving my thoughts occupied with her and fire a-flame in\nmy heart. Accordingly I abode, perplexed and pondering my affair,\nthe fire still burning in my heart, till the third day, when she\ncame again and I could hardly credit her coming. When I saw her,\nI talked with her and cajoled her and courted her and craved her\nfavour with speech and invited her to my house; but, hearing all\nthis, she only answered, \"I will not go up into any one's house.\"\nQuoth I, \"I will go with thee\" and quoth she, \"Arise and come\nwith me.\" So I rose and putting into my sleeve a kerchief,\nwherein was a fair sum of silver and a considerable, followed the\nwoman, who forwent me and ceased not walking till she brought me\nto a lane and to a door, which she bade me unlock. I refused and\nshe opened it and led me into the vestibule. As soon as I had\nentered, she bolted the entrance door from within and said to me,\n\"Sit here till I go in to the slave-girls and cause them enter a\nplace whence they shall not see me.\" \"'Tis well,\" answered I and\nsat down: whereupon she entered and was absent from me an\neye-twinkling, after which she returned to me, without a veil,\nand straightway said, \"Arise and enter in the name of Allah.\" So\nI arose and went in after her and we gave not over going till we\nreached a saloon. When I examined the place, I found it neither\nhandsome nor pleasant, but desolate and dreadful without symmetry\nor cleanliness; indeed, it was loathsome to look upon and there\nwas in it a foul smell. After this inspection I seated myself\namiddlemost the saloon, misdoubting; and lo and behold! as I sat,\nthere came down on me from the dais a body of seven naked men,\nwithout other clothing than leather belts about their waists. One\nof them walked up to me and took my turband, whilst another\nseized my kerchief that was in my sleeve, with my money, and a\nthird stripped me of my clothes; after which a forth came and\nbound my hands behind my back with his belt. Then they all took\nme up, pinioned as I was, and casting me down, fell a-haling me\ntowards a sink-hole that was there and were about to cut my\nthroat, when suddenly there came a violent knocking at the door.\nAs they heard the raps, they were afraid and their minds were\ndiverted from me by affright; so the woman went out and presently\nreturning, said to them, \"Fear not; no harm shall betide you this\nday. 'Tis only your comrade who hath brought you your dinner.\"\nWith this the new-comer entered, bringing with him a roasted\nlamb; and when he came in to them, he asked, \"What is to do with\nyou, that ye have tucked up sleeves and bag-trousers?\" Replied\nthey, \"This is a head of game we've caught.\" As he heard these\nwords, he came up to me and peering in my face, cried out and\nsaid, \"By Allah, this is my brother, the son of my mother and\nfather! Allah! Allah!\" Then he loosed me from my pinion-bonds and\nbussed my head, and behold it was my friend who used to borrow\nsilver of me. When I kissed his head, he kissed mine and said, \"O\nmy brother, be not affrighted;\" and he called for my clothes and\ncoin and restored all to me nor was aught missing. Also, he\nbrought me a porcelain bowl full of sherbet of sugar, with lemons\ntherein, and gave me to drink; and the company came and seated me\nat a table. So I ate with them and he said to me, \"O my lord and\nmy brother, now have bread and salt passed between us and thou\nhast discovered our secret and our case; but secrets with the\nnoble are safe.\" I replied, 'As I am a lawfully-begotten child\nand a well-born, I will not name aught of this nor denounce you!\"\nThey assured themselves of me by an oath; then they brought me\nout and I went my way, very hardly crediting but that I was of\nthe dead. I lay ill in my house a whole month; after which I went\nto the Hammam and coming out, opened my shop and sat selling and\nbuying as was my wont, but saw no more of that man or that woman\ntill, one day, there stopped before my shop a young\nTurkoman,[FN#82] as he were the full moon; and he was a\nsheep-merchant and had with him a leathern bag, wherein was\nmoney, the price of sheep he had sold. He was followed by the\nwoman, and when he stopped over against my shop, she stood by his\nside and cajoled him, and indeed he inclined to her with great\ninclination. As for me, I was dying of solicitude for him and\nbegan casting furtive glances at him and winked at him, till he\nchanced to look round and saw me signing to him; whereupon the\nwoman gazed at me and made a signal with her hand and went away.\nThe Turkoman followed her and I deemed him dead without a doubt;\nwherefore I feared with exceeding fear and shut my shop. Then I\njourneyed for a year's space and returning, opened my shop;\nwhereupon, behold, the woman as she walked by came up to me and\nsaid, \"This is none other than a great absence.\" I replied, \"I\nhave been on a journey;\" and she asked, \"Why didst thou wink at\nthe Turkoman?\" I answered, \"Allah forfend! I did not wink at\nhim.\" Quoth she, \"Beware lest thou thwart me;\" and went away.\nAwhile after this a familiar of mine invited me to his house and\nwhen I came to him, we ate and drank and chatted. Then he asked\nme, \"O my friend, hath there befallen thee aught of sore trouble\nin the length of thy life?\" Answered I, \"Tell me first, hath\nthere befallen thee aught?\" He rejoined, \"Know that one day I\nespied a fair woman; so I followed her and sued her to come home\nwith me. Quoth she, 'I will not enter any one's house but my own;\nso come thou to my home, an thou wilt, and be it on such a day.'\nAccordingly, on the appointed day, her messenger[FN#83] came to\nme, proposing to carry me to her; and when he announced his\npurpose I arose and went with him, till we arrived at a goodly\nhouse and a great door. He opened the door and I entered,\nwhereupon he bolted it behind me and would have gone in; but I\nfeared with exceeding fear and foregoing him to the second door,\nwhereby he would have had me enter, bolted it and cried out at\nhim, saying, 'By Allah, an thou open not to me, I will slay\nthee;[FN#84] for I am none of those whom thou canst readily\ncozen!' 'What deemest thou of cozening?' 'Verily, I am startled\nby the loneliness of the house and the lack of any keeper at its\ndoor; for I see none appear.' 'O my lord, this is a private\ndoor.' 'Private or public, open to me.' So he opened to me and I\nwent out and had gone but a little way from the door when I met a\nwoman, who said to me, 'A long life was fore-ordained to thee;\nelse hadst thou never come forth of yonder house.' I asked, 'How\nso?' and she answered, 'Enquire of thy friend Such-an-one,'\n(naming thee), 'and he will acquaint thee with strange things.'\nSo, Allah upon thee, O my friend, tell me what befel thee of\nwondrous and marvellous, for I have told thee what befel me.\" \"O\nmy brother, I am bound by a solemn oath.\" \"O my friend, false\nthine oath and tell me.\"[FN#85] \"Indeed, I dread the issue of\nthis.\" But he urged me till I told him all, whereat he marvelled.\nThen I went away from him and abode a long while, without further\nnews. One day, I met another of my friends who said to me, \"A\nneighbour of mine hath invited me to hear singers\" but I\nsaid:--\"I will not foregather with any one.\" However, he\nprevailed upon me; so we repaired to the place and found there a\nperson, who came to meet us and said, \"Bismillah!\"[FN#86] Then he\npulled out a key and opened the door, whereupon we entered and he\nlocked the door after us. Quoth I, \"We are the first of the folk;\nbut where be the singers' voices?\" He replied, \"They're within\nthe house: this is but a private door; so be not amazed at the\nabsence of the folk.\" My friend said to me, \"Behold, we are two,\nand what can they dare to do with us?\" Then he brought us into\nthe house, and when we entered the saloon, we found it desolate\nexceedingly and dreadful of aspect. Quoth my friend, \"We are\nfallen into a trap; but there is no Majesty and there is no Might\nsave in Allah, the Glorious, the Great!\" And quoth I, \"May God\nnever requite thee for me with good!\"[FN#87] Then we sat down on\nthe edge of the dais and suddenly I espied a closet beside me; so\nI peered into it and my friend asked me, \"What seest thou?\" I\nanswered, \"I see there wealth in store and corpses of murdered\nmen galore. Look.\" So he looked and cried, \"By Allah, we are down\namong the dead!\" and we fell a-weeping, I and he. As we were\nthus, behold, four men came in upon us, by the door at which we\nhad entered, and they were naked, wearing only leather belts\nabout their waists, and made for my friend. He ran at them and\ndealing one of them a blow with his swordpommel, knocked him\ndown, whereupon the other three rushed upon him. I seized the\nopportunity to escape while they were occupied with him, and\nespying a door by my side, slipped into it and found myself in an\nunderground room, without issue, even a window. So I made sure of\ndeath, and said, \"There is no Majesty and there is no Might save\nin Allah, the Glorious, the Great!\" Then I looked at the top of\nthe vault and saw in it a range of glazed and \nlunettes;[FN#88] so I clambered up for dear life, till I reached\nthe lunettes, and I out of my wits for fear. I made shift to\nremove the glass and scrambling out through the setting, found\nbehind them a wall which I bestrode. Thence I saw folk walking in\nthe street; so I cast myself down on the ground and Allah\nAlmighty preserved me, and when I reached the face of earth,\nunhurt, the folk flocked round me and I acquainted them with my\nadventure. Now as Destiny decreed, the Chief of Police was\npassing through the market-street; so the people told him what\nwas to do and he made for the door and bade raise it off its\nhinges. We entered with a rush and found the thieves, as they had\nthrown my friend down and cut his throat; for they occupied not\nthemselves with me, but said, \"Whither shall yonder fellow wend?\nVerily, he is in our grasp.\" So the Wali hent them with the\nhand[FN#89] and questioned them of their case, and they confessed\nagainst the woman and against their associates in Cairo. Then he\ntook them and went forth, after he had locked up the house and\nsealed it; and I accompanied him till he came without the first\nhouse. He found the door bolted from within; so he bade raise it\nand we entered and found another door. This also he caused pull\nup, enjoining his men to silence till the doors should be lifted,\nand we entered and found the band occupied with new game, whom\nthe woman had just brought in and whose throat they were about to\ncut. The Chief released the man and gave him back whatso the\nthieves had taken from him; and he laid hands on the woman and\nthe rest and took forth of the house a mint of money, with which\nthey found the purse of the Turkoman sheep-merchant. They at once\nnailed up the thieves against the house-wall, whilst, as for the\nwoman, they wrapped her in one of her mantillas and nailing her\nto a board, set her upon a camel and went round about the town\nwith her. Thus Allah razed their dwelling-places and did away\nfrom me that which I feared from them. All this befel, whilst I\nlooked on, and I saw not my friend who had saved me from them the\nfirst time, whereat I wondered to the utterest of wonderment.\nHowever, some days afterward, he came up to me, and indeed he had\nrenounced the world and donned a Fakir's dress; and he saluted me\nand went away.[FN#90] Then he again began to pay me frequent\nvisits and I entered into conversation with him and questioned\nhim of the band and how he came to escape, he alone of them all.\nHe replied, \"I left them from the day on which Allah the Most High\ndelivered thee from them, for that they would not obey my say; so\nI sware I would no longer consort with them.\" Quoth I, \"By Allah,\nI marvel at thee, for that assuredly thou wast the cause of my\npreservation!\" Quoth he, \"The world is full of this sort; and we\nbeseech the Almighty to send us safety, for that these wretches\npractice upon men with every kind of malpractice.\" Then I said to\nhim, \"Tell me the rarest adventure of all that befel thee in this\nvillainy thou wast wont to work.\" And he answered, \"O my brother,\nI was not present when they did such deeds, for that my part with\nthem was to concern myself with selling and buying and feeding\nthem; but it hath reached me that the rarest thing which befel\nthem was on this wise.\"\n\n\n\n\nThe Thief's Tale.\n\n\n\nThe woman who acted decoy for them and trapped their game and\nused to inveigle damsels from marriage-banquets, once caught them\na woman from a bride-feast, under pretence that she had a wedding\nin her own house, and fixed for her a day when she should come to\nher. As soon as the appointed time arrived, the woman presented\nherself and the other carried her into the house by a door,\ndeclaring that it was a private wicket. When she entered the\nsaloon, she saw men and braves[FN#91] and knew that she had\nfallen into a snare; so she looked at them and said, \"Harkye, my\nfine fellows![FN#92] I am a woman and in my slaughter there is no\nglory, nor have ye against me any feud of blood-wite wherefor ye\nshould pursue me; and that which is upon me of raiment and\nornaments ye are free to take as lawful loot.\" Quoth they, \"We\nfear thy denunciation;\" but quoth she, \"I will abide with you,\nneither coming in nor going out.\" So they said, \"We grant thee\nthy life.\" Then the Captain looked on her and she pleased him; so\nhe took her for himself, and she abode with him a whole year\ndoing her very best in their service, till they became familiar\nwith her and felt assured of her faith. One night of the nights\nshe plied them with drink and they drank till they became\ndrunken; whereupon she arose and took her clothes and five\nhundred dinars from the Captain; after which she fetched a razor\nand shaved off all their beards. Then she took soot from the\ncooking-pots and blackening their faces[FN#93] opened the doors\nand fared forth; and when the thieves recovered from their drink,\nthey abode confounded and knew that the woman had practiced upon\nthem. All present marvelled at this his story and the ninth\nconstable came forward and said, \"I will tell you a right\npleasant tale I heard at a wedding.\"\n\n\n\n\nThe Ninth Constable's History.\n\n\n\nA certain singing-girl was fair of favour and bruited of repute,\nand it happened one day that she fared forth to a garden\na-pleasuring. As she sat in the summer-house, behold, a man\nlopped of the hand stopped to beg of her, and suddenly entered in\nat the door. Then he touched her with his stump, saying, \"An\nalms, for the love of Allah!\"[FN#94] but she answered, \"Allah\nopen!\" and insulted him. Many days after this, there came to her\na messenger and gave her the hire of her going forth.[FN#95] So\nshe took with her a hand-maid and an accompanyist;[FN#96] and\nwhen she came to the place appointed, the messenger brought her\ninto a long passage, at the end whereof was a saloon. \"So\" (quoth\nshe) \"we entered therein and found nobody, but we saw the room\nmade ready for an entertainment with candles, dried fruits and\nwine, and in another place we saw food and in a third beds.\nThereupon we sat down and I looked at him who had opened the door\nto us, and behold he was lopped of the hand. I misliked this, and\nwhen I sat a little longer, there entered a man, who filled the\ncandelabra in the saloon and lit the waxen candles; and behold,\nhe also was handlopped. Then flocked the folk and there entered\nnone except he were lopped of the hand, and indeed the house was\nfull of these companions.[FN#97] When the session was complete,\nthe host came in and the company rose to him and seated him in\nthe place of honour. Now he was none other than the man who had\nfetched me, and he was clad in sumptuous clothes, but his hands\nwere in his sleeves, so that I knew not how it was with them.\nThey brought him food and he ate, he and the company; after which\nthey washed hands and the host began casting at me furtive\nglances. Then they drank till they were drunken, and when they\nhad taken leave of their wits, the host turned to me and said,\n'Thou dealtest not in friendly fashion with him who sought an\nalms of thee, and thou saidst to him, \"How loathsome art thou!\"'\u00b4\nI considered him and behold, he was the lophand who had accosted\nme in my pleasance.[FN#98] So I asked, 'O my lord, what is this\nthou sayest?' and he answered, 'Wait; thou shalt remember it.' So\nsaying, he shook his head and stroked his beard, whilst I sat\ndown for fear. Then he put out his hand to my mantilla and\nwalking-boots and laying them by his side, cried to me, 'Sing, O\naccursed!' Accordingly, I sang till I was tired out, what while\nthey occupied themselves with their case and drank themselves\ndrunk and the heat of their drink redoubled. Presently, the\ndoorkeeper came to me and said, 'O my lady, fear not; but when\nthou hast a mind to go, let me know.' Quoth I, 'Thinkest thou to\ndelude me?' and quoth he, 'Nay, by Allah! But I have ruth on thee\nfor that our Captain and chief purposeth thee no good and\nmethinketh he will kill thee this night.' Said I to him, 'An thou\nbe minded to do me a favour, now is its time;' and said he, 'When\nour Chief riseth to his need and goeth to the Chapel of Ease, I\nwill precede him with the light and leave the door open; and do\nthou wend whithersoever thou wiliest.' Then I sang and the\nCaptain cried, ''Tis good.' Replied I, 'Nay, but thou'rt\nloathsome.' He looked at me and rejoined, 'By Allah, thou shalt\nnever more scent the odour of the world!' But his comrades said\nto him, 'Do it not,' and gentled him, till he added, 'An it must\nbe so, and there be no help for it, she shall tarry here a whole\nyear and not fare forth.' My answer was, 'I am content to submit\nto whatso pleaseth thee: if I have failed in respect to thee,\nthou art of the clement.' He shook his head and drank, then arose\nand went out to do his need, whilst his comrades were occupied\nwith what they were about of merry-making and drunkenness and\nsport. So I winked to my friends and we all slipped out into the\ncorridor. We found the door open and fled forth, unveiled[FN#99]\nand unknowing whither we went; nor did we halt till we had fared\nafar from the house and happened on a Cook cooking, of whom I\nasked, 'Hast thou a mind to quicken the dead?' He said, 'Come\nup;' so we went up into the shop, and he whispered, 'Lie down.'\nAccordingly, we lay down and he covered us with the Halfah\ngrass,[FN#100] wherewith he was used to kindle the fire under the\nfood. Hardly had we settled ourselves in the place when we heard\na noise of kicking at the door and people running right and left\nand questioning the Cook and asking, 'Hath any one passed by\nthee?' Answered he, 'None hath passed by me.' But they ceased not\nto go round about the shop till the day broke, when they turned\nback, disappointed. Then the Cook removed the reeds and said to\nus, 'Rise, for ye are delivered from death.' So we arose, and we\nwere uncovered, sans veil or mantilla; but the Cook carried us up\ninto his house and we sent to our homes and fetched us veils; and\nwe repented to Allah Almighty and renounced singing, for indeed\nthis was a mighty narrow escape after stress.\"[FN#101] Those\npresent marvelled at this, and the tenth constable came forward\nand said, \"As for me, there befel me that which was yet rarer\nthan all ye have yet heard.\" Quoth Al-Malik al-Zahir, \"What was\nthat?\" And quoth he, \"Deign give ear to me.\"\n\n\n\n\nThe Tenth Constable's History.\n\n\n\nA robbery of stuffs had been committed in the city and as it was\na great matter I was cited,[FN#102] I and my fellows:\nthey[FN#103] pressed hard upon us: but we obtained of them some\ndays' grace and dispersed in search of the stolen goods. As for\nme, I sallied forth with five men and went round about the city\nthat day; and on the morrow we fared forth into the suburbs. When\nwe found ourselves a parasang or two parasangs away from the\ncity, we waxed athirst; and presently we came to a garden. There\nI went in alone and going up to the waterwheel,[FN#104] entered\nit and drank and made the Wuzu-ablution and prayed. Presently, up\ncame the keeper of the garden and said to me, \"Woe to thee! Who\nbrought thee to this water-wheel?\" and he smote me and squeezed my\nribs[FN#105] till I was like to die. Then he bound me with one of\nhis bulls and made me work the water-wheel, flogging me as I\nwalked round with a cattle-whip[FN#106] he had with him, till my\nheart was a-fire; after which he loosed me and I went out,\nknowing not the way. Now when I came forth, I fainted: so I sat\ndown till my trouble subsided; then I made for my comrades and\nsaid to them, \"'I have found money and malefactor, and I\naffrighted him not neither troubled him, lest he should flee; but\nnow, come, let us go to him, so we may contrive to lay hold upon\nhim.\" Then I took them and we repaired to the keeper of the\ngarden, who had tortured me with tunding, with the intent to make\nhim taste the like of that which he had done with me and lie\nagainst him and cause him eat many a stick. So we rushed to the\nwaterwheel and seized the keeper. Now there was with him a youth\nand, as we were pinioning the gardener, he said, \"By Allah, I was\nnot with him and indeed 'tis six months since I entered this\ncity, nor did I set eyes on the stuffs until they were brought\nhither.\" Quoth we, \"Show us the stuffs;\" upon which he carried us\nto a place wherein was a pit, beside the waterwheel, and digging\nthere, brought out the stolen goods with not a thread or a stitch\nof them missing. So we took them and carried the keeper to the\nPrefecture of Police where we stripped him and beat him with\npalm-rods till he confessed to thefts manifold. Now I did this by\nway of mockery against my comrades, and it succeeded. The company\nmarvelled at this story with the utmost marvelling, and the\neleventh constable rose and said, \"I know a story yet stranger\nthan this: but it happened not to myself.\"\n\n\n\n\nThe Eleventh Constable's History.\n\n\n\nThere was once in times of yore a Chief Officer of Police and\nthere passed by him one day of the days a Jew, hending in hand a\nbasket wherein were five thousand dinars; whereupon quoth that\nofficer to one of his slaves, \"Art able to take that money from\nyonder Jew's basket?\" \"Yes,\" quoth he, nor did he tarry beyond\nthe next day ere he came to his lord, bringing the basket. \"So\"\n(said the officer) \"I bade him 'Go, bury it in such a place;'\nwhereupon he went and buried it and returned and told me. Hardly\nhad he reported this when there arose a clamour like that of\nDoomsday and up came the Jew, with one of the King's officers,\ndeclaring that the gold pieces belonged to the Sultan and that he\nlooked to none but us for it. We demanded of him three days'\ndelay, according to custom and I said to him who had taken the\nmoney, 'Go and set in the Jew's house somewhat that shall occupy\nhim with himself.' Accordingly he went and played a mighty fine\ntrick, which was, he laid in a basket a dead woman's hand,\npainted with henna and having a gold seal-ring on one of the\nfingers, and buried that basket under a slab in the Jew's home.\nThen we came and searched and found the basket, whereupon without\na moment of delay we clapped the Jew in irons for the murder of a\nwoman. As soon as it was the appointed time, there entered to us\nthe man of the Sultan's guards, who had accompanied the Jew, when\nhe came to complain of the loss of the money,[FN#107] and said,\n'The Sultan sayeth to you, Nail up[FN#108] the Jew and bring the\nmoney, for there is no way by which five thousand gold pieces can\nbe lost.' Wherefore we knew that our device did not suffice. So I\nwent forth and finding a young man, a Haur\u00e1ni,[FN#109] passing\nalong the road, laid hands on him forthright and stripped him,\nand whipped him with palm-rods. Then I threw him in jail, ironed,\nand carrying him to the Prefecture, beat him again, saying to\nthem, 'This be the robber who stole the coin.' And we strove to\nmake him confess; but he would not. Accordingly, we beat him a\nthird and a fourth time, till we were aweary and exhausted and he\nbecame unable to return a reply; but, when we had made an end of\nbeating and tormenting him, he said, 'I will fetch the money this\nvery moment.' Presently we went with him till he came to the\nplace where my slave had buried the gold and he dug there and\nbrought it out; whereat I marvelled with the utmost marvel and we\ncarried it to the Prefect's house. When the Wali saw the money\nand made sure of it with his own eyes, he rejoiced with joy\nexceeding and bestowed on me a robe of honour. Then he restored\nthe coin straightway to the Sultan and we left the youth in\ndurance vile; whilst I said to my slave who had taken the money,\n'Say me, did yonder young man see thee, what time thou buriedst\nthe money?' and he replied, 'No, by Allah the Great!' So I went\nin to the young man, the prisoner, and plied him with\nwine[FN#110] till he recovered, when I said to him, 'Tell me how\nthou stolest the money?' Answered he, 'By Allah, I stole it not,\nnor did I ever set eyes on it till I brought it forth of the\nearth!' Quoth I, 'How so?' and quoth he, 'Know that the cause of\nmy falling into your hands was my parent's imprecation against\nme; because I entreated her evilly yesternight and beat her and\nshe said to me, 'By Allah, O my son, the Lord shall assuredly gar\nthe oppressor prevail over thee!' Now she is a pious woman. So I\nwent out forthright and thou sawest me on my way and didst that\nwhich thou didst; and when beating was prolonged on me, my senses\nfailed me and I heard a voice saying to me, 'Fetch it.' So I said\nto you what I said and the Speaker[FN#111] guided me till I came\nto the place and there befel what befel of the bringing out of\nthe money.' I admired this with the utmost admiration and knew\nthat he was of the sons of the pious. So I bestirred myself for\nhis release and cured him and besought him of acquittance and\nabsolution of responsibility.\" All those who were present\nmarvelled at this story with the utmost marvel, and the twelfth\nconstable came forward and said, \"I will tell you a pleasant\ntrait that I heard from a certain person, concerning an adventure\nwhich befel him with one of the thieves.\n\n\n\n\nThe Twelfth Constable's History.\n\n\n\nI was passing one day in the market, when I found that a robber\nhad broken into the shop of a shroff, a changer of monies, and\nthence taken a casket, wherewith he had made off to the\nburial-ground. Accordingly I followed him thither and came up to\nhim, as he opened the casket and fell a-looking into it;\nwhereupon I accosted him, saying, \"Peace be on you!\"[FN#112] And\nhe was startled at me; so I left him and went away from him. Some\nmonths after this, I met him again under arrest, in the midst of\nthe guards and \"men of violence,\"[FN#113] and he said to them,\n\"Seize this man.\" So they laid hands on me and carried me to the\nChief of Police, who said, \"What hast thou to do with this\nwight?\" The robber turned to me and looking a long while in my\nface, asked, \"Who took this man?\" and the officer answered, \"Thou\nbadest us take him; so we took him.\" And he cried, \"I ask refuge\nof Allah! I know not this man, nor knoweth he me; and I said not\nthat to you but of a person other than this.\" So they released\nme, and a while after the thief met me in the street and saluted\nme with the salam, saying, \"O my lord, fright for fright! Hadst\nthou taken aught from me, thou hadst a part in the\ncalamity.\"[FN#114] I replied to him, \"Allah be the judge between\nthee and me!\"[FN#115] And this is what I have to recount. Then\ncame forward the thirteenth constable and said, \"'I will tell you\na tale which a man of my friends told me.\"\n\n\n\n\n\nThe Thirteenth Constable's History.\n\n\n\nI went out one night of the nights to the house of a friend and\nwhen it was the middle of the night, I sallied forth alone to hie\nme home. When I came into the road, I espied a sort of thieves\nand they espied me, whereupon my spittle dried up; but I feigned\nmyself drunken and staggered from side to side, crying out and\nsaying, \"I am drunken.\" And I went up to the walls right and left\nand made as if I saw not the thieves, who followed me afoot till\nI reached my home and knocked at the door, when they went away.\nSome few days after this, as I stood at the door of my house,\nbehold, there came up to me a young man, with a chain about his\nneck and with him a trooper, and he said to me, \"O my lord, an\nalms for the love of Allah!\" I replied, \"Allah open!\" and he\nlooked at me a long while and cried, \"That which thou shouldst\ngive me would not come to the worth of thy turband or thy\nwaistcloth or what not else of thy habit, to say nothing of the\ngold and the silver which were about thy person.\" I asked, \"And\nhow so?\" and he answered, \"On such a night, when thou fellest\ninto peril and the thieves would have stripped thee, I was with\nthem and said to them, Yonder man is my lord and my master who\nreared me. So was I and only I the cause of thy deliverance and\nthus I saved thee from them.\" When I heard this, I said to him,\n\"Stop ;\" and entering my house, brought him that which Allah\nAlmighty made easy to me.[FN#116] So he went his way; and this is\nall I have to say. Then came forward the fourteenth constable and\nsaid, \"Know that the tale I have to tell is rarer and pleasanter\nthan this; and 'tis as follows.\"\n\n\n\n\nThe Fourteenth Constable's History.\n\n\n\nI had a draper's shop before I entered this corporation,[FN#117]\nand there used to come to me a person whom I knew not, save by\nhis face, and I would give him whatso he sought and have patience\nwith him, till he could pay me. One night, I foregathered with\ncertain of my friends and we sat down to liquor: so we drank and\nwere merry and played at T\u00e1b;[FN#118] and we made one of us Wazir\nand another Sultan and a third Torchbearer or Headsman.[FN#119]\nPresently, there came in upon us a spunger, without bidding, and\nwe went on playing, whilst he played with us. Then quoth the\nSultan to the Wazir, \"Bring the Parasite who cometh in to the\nfolk, without leave or license, that we may enquire into his\ncase; after which I will cut off his head;\" so the headsmen arose\nand dragged the spunger before the Sultan who bade cut off his\nhead. Now there was with them a sword, that would not cut clotted\ncurd;[FN#120] so the headsmen smote him therewith and his head\nflew from his body. When we saw this, the wine fled from our\nbrains and we became in the foulest of plights. Then my friends\nlifted up the corpse and went out with it, that they might hide\nit, whilst I took the head and made for the river. Now I was\ndrunken and my clothes were drenched with the blood; and as I\npassed along the road, I met a robber. When he saw me, he knew me\nand cried to me, \"Such-an-one!\" \"Well?\" said I, and he rejoined,\n\"What is that thou hast with thee?\" So I acquainted him with the\ncase and he took the head from me. Then we fared on till we came\nto the river, where he washed the head and considering it\nstraitly, exclaimed, \"By Allah, verily this be my brother, the\nson of my sire, and he used to spunge upon the folk;\" after which\nhe threw that head into the river. As for me, I was like a dead\nman for dread; but he said to me, \"Fear not, neither do thou\ngrieve, for I acquit thee of my brother's blood.\" Presently, he\ntook my clothes and washed them and dried them and put them on\nme; after which he said to me, \"Get thee gone to thy house.\" So I\nreturned to my house and he accompanied me, till I came thither,\nwhen he said to me, \"Allah never desolate thee! I am thy friend\nSuch-an-one, who used to take of thee goods on credit, and I owe\nthee a kindness; but henceforward thou wilt never see me more.\"\nThen he went his ways. The company marvelled at the manliness of\nthis man and his clemency[FN#121] and courtesy, and the Sultan\nsaid, \"Tell us another of thy stories, O Shahrazad.\"[FN#122] She\nreplied, \" 'Tis well! They set forth[FN#123]\n\n\n\n\nA Merry Jest of a Clever Thief.\n\n\n\nA thief of the thieves of the Arabs went one night to a certain\nman's house, to steal from a heap of wheat there, and the people\nof the house surprised him. Now on the heap was a great copper\ntasse, and the thief buried himself in the corn and covered his\nhead with the tasse, so that the folk found him not and went\ntheir ways; but, as they were going, behold, there came a mighty\ngreat fart[FN#124] forth of the corn. So they went up to the\ntasse and raising it, discovered the thief and laid hands on him.\nQuoth he, \"I have saved you the trouble of seeking me: for I\npurposed, in breaking wind, to direct you to my hiding-place;\nwherefore do you be easy with me and have ruth on me, so may\nAllah have ruth on you!\" Accordingly they let him go and harmed\nhim not. \"And for another story of the same kind\" (she\ncontinued), \"hearken to\n\n\n\n\nThe Tale of the Old Sharper.\n\n\n\nThere was once an old man renowned for clever roguery, and he\nwent, he and his mates, to one of the markets and stole thence a\nquantity of stuffs: then they separated and returned each to his\nquarter. Awhile after this, the old man assembled a company of\nhis fellows and, as they sat at drink, one of them pulled out a\ncostly piece of cloth and said, \"Is there any one of you will\ndare sell this in its own market whence it was stolen, that we\nmay confess his superior subtlety?\" Quoth the old man, \"I will;\"\nand they said, \"Go, and Allah Almighty open to thee the door!\" So\nearly on the morrow, he took the stuff and carrying it to the\nmarket whence it had been stolen, sat down at the very shop out\nof which it had been purloined and gave it to the broker, who\nhent it in hand and cried it for sale. Its owner knew it and\nbidding for it, bought it and sent after the Chief of Police, who\nseized the Sharper and seeing him an old man of grave presence\nand handsomely clad said to him, \"Whence hadst thou this piece of\nstuff?\" Quoth he, \"I had it from this market and from yonder shop\nwhere I was sitting.\" Quoth the Wali, \"Did its owner sell it to\nthee?\" and quoth the robber, \"Not so; I stole it, this and other\nthan it.\" Then said the Chief, \"How camest thou to bring it for\nsale to the place whence thou stolest it?\" \"I will not tell my\ntale save to the Sultan, for that I have a profitable counsel\nwherewith I would lief bespeak him.\" \"Name it!\" \"Art thou the\nSultan?\" \"No!\" \"I'll not tell it save to himself.\" Accordingly\nthe Wali carried him up to the Sultan and he said, \"I have a\ncounsel for thee, O my lord.\" Asked the Sultan, \"What is thy\ncounsel?\" And the thief said, \"I repent and will deliver into thy\nhand all who are evildoers, and whomsoever I bring not, I will\nstand in his stead.\" Cried the Sultan, \"Give him a robe of honour\nand accept his profession of penitence.\" So he went down from the\npresence and returning to his comrades, related to them that\nwhich had passed, when they confessed his subtlety and gave him\nthat which they had promised him. Then he took the rest of the\nbooty and went up therewith to the Sultan, who, seeing him,\nrecognised him and he was magnified in the royal eyes and the\nking commanded that naught should be taken from him. After this,\nwhen he went down, the Sultan's attention was diverted from him,\nlittle by little, till the case was forgotten, and so he saved\nthe booty for himself. Those present marvelled at this and the\nfifteenth constable came forward and said, \"Know that among those\nwho make a trade of trickery are those whom Allah Almighty taketh\non their own testimony against themselves.\" It was asked him,\n\"How so?\" and he began to relate\n\n\n\n\nThe Fifteenth Constable's History.[FN#125]\n\n\n\nIt is told of a thieving person, one of the braves, that he used\nto rob and cut the way by himself upon caravans, and whenever the\nChief of Police and the Governors sought him, he would flee from\nthem and fortify himself in the mountains. Now it came to pass\nthat a certain man journeyed along the road wherein was that\nrobber, and this man was single-handed and knew not the sore\nperils besetting his way. So the highwayman came out upon him and\nsaid to him, \"Bring out that which is with thee, for I mean to\nkill thee and no mistake.\" Quoth the traveller, \"Kill me not,\nbut annex these saddle-bags and divide that which is in them and\ntake to thee the fourth part.\" And the thief answered, \"I will\nnot take aught but the whole.\"[FN#126] Rejoined the traveller,\n\"Take half, and let me go;\" but the robber replied, \"I will have\nnaught but the whole, and eke I will kill thee.\" So the wayfarer\nsaid, \"Take it.\" Accordingly the highwayman took the saddle-bags\nand offered to slay the traveller, who said, \"What is this? Thou\nhast against me no blood-feud that should make my slaughter\nincumbent.\" Quoth the other, \"Needs must I kill thee;\" whereupon\nthe traveller dismounted from his horse and grovelled before him,\nbeseeching the thief and bespeaking him fair. The man hearkened\nnot to his prayers, but cast him to the ground; whereupon the\ntraveller raised his eyes and seeing a francolin flying over him,\nsaid, in his agony, \"O Francolin,[FN#127] bear testimony that\nthis man slayeth me unjustly and wickedly; for indeed I have\ngiven him all that was with me and entreated him to let me go,\nfor my children's sake; yet would he not consent. But be thou\nwitness against him, for Allah is not unmindful of deeds which\nthe oppressors do.\" The highwayman paid no heed to what he heard,\nbut smote him and cut off his head. After this, the rulers\ncompounded with the highwayman for his submission, and when he\ncame before them, they enriched him and he became in such favour\nwith the lieutenant of the Sultan that he used to eat and drink\nwith him and there befel between them familiar converse which\nlasted a long while till in fine there chanced a curious chance.\nThe lieutenant of the Sultan one day of the days made a banquet,\nand therein was a roasted francolin, which when the robber saw,\nhe laughed a loud laugh. The lieutenant was angered against him\nand said to him, \"What is the meaning of thy laughter? Seest thou\nany fault or dost thou mock at us, of thy lack of good manners?\"\nAnswered the highwayman, \"Not so, by Allah, O my lord; but I saw\nyonder francolin, which brought to my mind an extraordinary\nthing; and 'twas on this wise. In the days of my youth, I used to\ncut the way, and one day I waylaid a man, who had with him a pair\nof saddle-bags and money therein. So I said to him, 'Leave these\nsaddle-bags, for I mean to slay thee.' Quoth he, 'Take the fourth\npart of that which is in them and leave me the rest;' and quoth\nI, 'Needs must I take the whole and kill thee without mistake.'\nThen said he, 'Take the saddle bags and let me wend my way;' but\nI answered, 'There is no help but that I slay thee.' As we were\nin this contention, behold, he saw a francolin and turning to it,\nsaid, 'Bear testimony against him, O Francolin, that he slayeth\nme unjustly and letteth me not go to my children, for all he hath\ntaken my money.' However, I had no pity on him neither hearkened\nto that which he said, but smote him and slew him and concerned\nnot myself with the evidence of the francolin.\" His story\ntroubled the lieutenant of the Sultan and he was enraged against\nhim with sore rage; so he drew his sword and smiting him, cut off\nhis head while he sat at table; whereupon a voice recited these\ncouplets--\n\n\"An wouldst not be injur\u00e8d, injure not; * But do good and from\n Allah win goodly lot,\nFor what happeth by Allah is doomed to be * Yet thine acts are\n the root I would have thee wot.\"[FN#128]\n\nNow this voice was the francolin which bore witness against him.\nThe company present marvelled at this tale and all cried, \"Woe to\nthe oppressor!\" Then came forward the sixteenth constable and\nsaid, \"And I for another will tell you a marvellous story which\nis on this wise.\"\n\n\n\n\nThe Sixteenth Constable's History.\n\n\n\nI went forth one day of the days, intending to travel, and\nsuddenly fell upon a man whose wont it was to cut the way. When\nhe came up with me he offered to slay me and I said to him, \"I\nhave naught with me whereby thou mayst profit.\" Quoth he, \"My\nprofit shall be the taking of thy life.\" I asked, \"What is the\ncause of this? Hath there been enmity between us aforetime?\" and\nhe answered, \"Nay; but needs must I slay thee.\" Thereupon I ran\naway from him to the river side; but he caught me up and casting\nme to the ground, sat down on my breast. So I sought help of the\nShaykh of the Pilgrims[FN#129] and cried to him, \"Protect me from\nthis oppressor!\" And indeed he had drawn a knife to cut my throat\nwhen, lo and behold! there came a mighty great crocodile forth of\nthe river and snatching him up from off my breast plunged into\nthe water, with him still hending knife in hand, even within the\njaws of the beast: whilst I abode extolling Almighty Allah, and\nrendering thanks for my preservation to him who had delivered me\nfrom the hand of that wrong-doer.[FN#130]\n\n\n\n\n TALE OF HARUN AL-RASHID AND ABDULLAH BIN\n NAFI'.[FN#131]\n\n\n\nKnow thou, O King of the Age, that there was in days of yore and\nin ages and times long gone before, in the city of Baghdad, the\nAbode of Peace, a Caliph Harun al-Rashid hight, and he had cup-\ncompanions and tale-tellers to entertain him by night. Among his\nequerries was a man named Abdullah bin N\u00e1fi', who stood high in\nfavour with him and dear to him, so that he did not forget him a\nsingle hour. Now it came to pass, by the decree of Destiny, that\nit became manifest to Abdullah how he was grown of small account\nwith the Caliph, who paid no heed unto him nor, if he absented\nhimself, did he ask after him, as had been his habit. This was\ngrievous to Abdullah and he said within himself, \"Verily, the\nsoul of the Commander of the Faithful and his Wazir are changed\ntowards me and nevermore shall I see in him that cordiality and\naffection wherewith he was wont to treat me.\" And this was\nchagrin-full to him and concern grew upon him, so that he recited\nthese couplets:--\n\n\"Whoso's contemned in his home and land * Should, to better his\n case, in self-exile hie:\nSo fly the house where contempt awaits, * Nor on fires of grief\n for the parting fry;\nCrude Ambergris[FN#132] is but offal where * 'Tis born; but\n abroad on our necks shall stye;\nAnd Kohl at home is a kind of stone, * Cast on face of earth and\n on roads to lie;\nBut when borne abroad it wins highest worth * And thrones between\n eyelid and ball of eye.\"\n\n(Quoth the sayer,) Then he could brook this matter no longer; so\nhe went forth from the dominions of the Prince of True Believers,\nunder presence of visiting certain of his kith and kin, and took\nwith him nor servant nor comrade, neither acquainted any with his\nintent, but betook himself to the road and fared deep into the\nwold and the sandwastes, unknowing whither he went. After awhile,\nhe unexpectedly fell in with travellers who were making the land\nof Hind and journeyed with them. When he came thither, he lighted\ndown in a city of that country and housed him in one of the\nlodging-houses; and there he abode a while of days, relishing not\nfood neither solacing himself with sleep; nor was this for lack\nof dirhams or dinars, but for that his mind was occupied with\nmusing upon the shifts of Destiny and bemoaning himself for that\nthe revolving sphere had turned against him in enmity, and the\ndays had decreed unto him the disfavour of our lord the\nImam.[FN#133] After such fashion he abode a space of days, and\npresently he homed him in the land and took to himself friends\nand got him many familiars, with whom he addressed himself to\ndiversion and good cheer. He used also to go a-pleasuring with\nhis companions and their hearts were solaced by his company and\nhe entertained them every evening with stories and displays of\nhis manifold accomplishments[FN#134] and diverted them with\ndelectable verses and told them abundance of stories and\nhistories. Presently, the report of him reached King Jamh\u00far, lord\nof Kashgar of Hind, who sent in quest of him, and great was his\ndesire to see him. So Abdullah repaired to his court and going in\nto him, kissed ground before him; and Jamhur welcomed him and\ntreated him with kindness and bade lodge him in the guest-house,\nwhere he abode three days, at the end of which the king sent to\nhim a chamberlain of his chamberlains and bade bring him to the\npresence. When he came before him, he greeted him, and the\ntruchman accosted him, saying, \"Verily, King Jamhur hath heard of\nthy report, that thou art a pleasant cup-companion and an\neloquent teller of night-tales, and he would have thee company\nwith him o' nights and entertain him with that which thou knowest\nof histories and pleasant stories and verses.\" And he made\nanswer, ' To hear is to obey!\" (Quoth Abdullah bin Nafi',) So I\nbecame his boon-companion and entertained him by night with tales\nand talk; and this pleased him with the utmost pleasure and he\ntook me into favour and bestowed on me robes of honour and set\napart for me a lodging; indeed he was bountiful exceedingly to me\nand could not brook to be parted from me a single hour. So I\nsojourned with him a while of time and every night I caroused and\nconversed with him till the most part of the dark hours was past;\nand when drowsiness overcame him, he would rise and betake\nhimself to his sleeping-place, saying to me, 'Forsake not my\nservice and forego not my presence.' And I made answer with\n'Hearing and obeying.' Now the king had a son, a nice child,\ncalled the Emir Mohammed, who was winsome of youth and sweet of\nspeech: he had read books and had perused histories and he loved\nabove all things in the world the telling and hearing of verses\nand tales and anecdotes. He was dear to his father King Jamhur,\nfor that he owned no other son than he on life, and indeed he had\nreared him in the lap of love and he was gifted with exceeding\nbeauty and loveliness, brilliancy and perfect grace: he had also\nlearnt to play upon the lute and upon all manner instruments and\nhe was used to converse and company with friends and brethren.\nNow it was his wont when the king arose seeking his\nsleeping-chamber, to sit in his place and require me to entertain\nhim with tales and verses and pleasant anecdotes; and on this\nwise I abode with them both a great while in all joyance and\ndelight, and the Prince still loved me with mighty great love and\ntreated me with the utmost tenderness. It fortuned one day that\nthe king's son came to me, after his sire had withdrawn, and\ncried, 'O Ibn Nafi'!' 'At thy service, O my lord;' 'I would have\nthee tell me a wondrous story and a marvellous matter, which thou\nhast never related either to me or to my father Jamhur.' 'O my\nlord, what story is this that thou desirest of me and of what kind\nshall it be of the kinds?' 'It mattereth little, so it be a\ngoodly story, whether it befel of olden tide or in these times.'\n'O my lord, I know by rote many stories of various kinds; so\nwhich of the kinds preferrest thou, and wilt thou have a story of\nmankind or of Jinn kind?' ' 'Tis well! An thou have espied aught\nwith thine eyes and heard it with thine ears, tell it me.' Then\nhe bethought himself and said to me, 'I conjure thee by my life,\ntell me a tale of the tales of the Jinn and that which thou hast\nheard of them and seen of them!' I replied, 'O my son, indeed\nthou conjurest me by a mighty conjuration; so lend an ear to the\ngoodliest of stories, ay, and the strangest of them and the\npleasantest and rarest.' Quoth the Prince, 'Say on, for I am\nattentive to thy speech;' and quoth I, 'Hear then, O my son,\n\n\n\n\nThe Tale of the Damsel Tohfat al-Kulub and the Caliph Harun al-\nRashid.\n\n\n\nThe Viceregent of the Lord of the three Worlds, Harun al-Rashid,\nhad a boon-companion of the number of his boon-companions, by\nname Ishak bin Ibrahim al-Nadim al-Mausili,[FN#135] who was the\nmost accomplished of the folk of his time in smiting upon the\nlute; and of the Commander of the Faithful's love for him, he set\napart for him a palace of the choicest of his palaces, wherein he\nwas wont to instruct hand-maidens in the arts of singing and of\nlute playing. If any slave-girl became, by his instruction,\nclever in the craft, he carried her before the Caliph, who bade\nher perform upon the lute; and if she pleased him, he would order\nher to the Harim; else would he restore her to Ishak's palace.\nOne day, the Commander of the Faithful's breast was straitened;\nso he sent after his Wazir Ja'afar the Barmecide and Ishak the\ncup-companion and Masrur the eunuch, the Sworder of his\nvengeance; and when they came, he changed his habit and disguised\nhimself, whilst Ja'afar and Ishak and Masrur and Al-Fazl[FN#136]\nand Y\u00fanus[FN#137] (who were also present) did the like. Then he\nwent out, he and they, by the postern, to the Tigris and taking\nboat fared on till they came to near Al-T\u00e1f,[FN#138] when they\nlanded and walked till they came to the gate of the high street.\nHere there met them an old man, handsome in his hoariness and of\na venerable bearing and a dignified, agreeable of aspect and\napparel. He kissed the earth before Ishak al-Mausili (for that he\nknew only him of the company, the Caliph being disguised, and\ndeemed the others certain of his friends), and said to him, \"O my\nlord, there is presently with me a hand-maid, a lutanist, never\nsaw eyes the like of her nor the like of her grace, and indeed I\nwas on my way to pay my respects to thee and give thee to know of\nher, but Allah, of His favour, hath spared me the trouble. So now\nI desire to show her to thee, and if she take thy fancy, well and\ngood; otherwise I will sell her.\" Quoth Ishak, \"Go before me to\nthy quarters,[FN#139] till I come to thee and see her.\" The old\nman kissed his hand and went away; whereupon quoth Al-Rashid to\nhim, \"O Ishak, who is yonder man and what is his want?\" The other\nreplied, \"O my lord, this is a man Sa'\u00edd the Slave-dealer hight,\nand 'tis he that buyeth us maidens and Mamelukes. He declareth\nthat with him is a fair slave, a lutanist, whom he hath withheld\nfrom sale, for that he could not fairly sell her till he had\npassed her before me in review.\" Quoth the Caliph, \"Let us go to\nhim so we may see her, by way of solace, and sight what is in the\nslave-dealer's quarters of slave-girls;\" and quoth Ishak,\n\"Command belongeth to Allah and to the Commander of the Faithful.\"\nThen he forewent them and they followed in his track till they\ncame to the slave-dealer's quarters and found a building tall of\nwall and large of lodgment, with sleeping-cells and chambers\ntherein, after the number of the slave-girls, and folk sitting\nupon the wooden benches. So Ishak entered, he and his company and\nseating themselves in the place of honour, amused themselves by\nlooking at the hand-maids and Mamelukes and watching how they\nwere bought and sold, till the vending came to an end, when some\nof the folk went away and some remained seated. Then cried the\nslave-dealer, \"Let none sit with us except whoso purchaseth by\nthe thousand dinars and upwards.\" Accordingly those present\nwithdrew and there remained none but Al-Rashid and his suite;\nwhereupon the slave-dealer called the damsel, after he had caused\nset her a chair of Faww\u00e1k,[FN#140] lined with Grecian brocade,\nand she was like the sun shining high in the shimmering sky. When\nshe entered, she saluted and sitting down, took the lute and\nsmote upon it, after she had touched its strings and tuned it, so\nthat all present were amazed. Then she sang thereto these\ncouplets:\n\n\"Breeze o' Morn, an thou breathe o'er the loved one's land, *\n Deliver my greeting to all the dear band!\nAnd declare to them still I am pledged to their love * And my\n longing excels all that lover unmanned:\nO ye who have blighted my heart, ears and eyes, * My passion and\n ecstasy grow out of hand;\nAnd torn is my sprite every night with desire, * And nothing of\n sleep can my eyelids command.\"\n\nIshak exclaimed, \"Brava, O damsel! By Allah, this is a fair\nhour!\" Whereupon she sprang up and kissed his hand, saying, 'O my\nlord, in very sooth the hands stand still before thy presence and\nthe tongues at thy sight, and the loquent when confronting thee\nwax dumb; but thou art the looser of the veil.\"[FN#141] Then she\nclung to him and cried, \"Stand;\" so he stood and said to her,\n\"Who art thou and what is thy need?\" She raised a corner of the\nveil, and behold she was a damsel as she were the full moon\nrising or the levee glancing, with two side-locks of hair which\nfell down to her anklets. She kissed his hand and said to him, \"O\nmy lord, know that I have been in these quarters some five\nmonths, during which I have withheld myself from sale till thou\nshouldst be present and see me; and yonder slave-dealer also made\nthy coming a pretext for not vending me, and forbade me for all I\nsought of him night and day that he should cause thee come hither\nand vouchsafe me thy company and gar me and thee forgather.\"\nQuoth Ishak, \"Tell me what thou wouldst have;\" and quoth she, \"I\nbeseech thee, by Allah Almighty, that thou buy me, so I may be\nwith thee by way of service.\" He asked, \"Is that thy desire?\" and\nshe answered, \"Yes.\" So Ishak returned to the slave-dealer and\nsaid to him, \"Ho thou, Shaykh Sa'\u00edd!\" Said the old man, \"At thy\nservice, O my lord,\" and Ishak continued, \"In the corridor is a\nchamber and therein wones a damsel pale and wan. What is her\nprice in dirhams and how much dost thou ask for her?\" Quoth the\nslave-dealer, \"She whom thou mentionest, O my lord, is called\nTohfat al-Humak\u00e1?\"[FN#142] Ishak asked, \"What is the meaning of\nAl-Humaka?\" and the old man answered, \"Her price hath been\nweighed and paid an hundred times and she still saith, Show me\nhim who would buy me; and when I show her to him she saith, This\none I mislike; he hath in him such and such a default. And in\nevery one who would fain buy her she noteth some defect or other,\nso that none careth now to purchase her and none seeketh her, for\nfear lest she find some fault in him.\" Quoth Ishak, \"She seeketh\nat this present to sell herself; so go thou to her and inquire of\nher and see her price and send her to the palace.\" Quoth Sa'id,\n\"O my lord, her price is an hundred dinars, though, were she free\nof this paleness that is upon her face, she would be worth a\nthousand gold pieces; but wanton folly and wanness have\ndiminished her value; and behold I will go to her and consult her\nof this.\" So he betook himself to her and enquired of her, \"Wilt\nthou be sold to Ishak bin Ibrahim al-Mausili?\" She replied,\n\"Yes,\" and he said, \"Leave folly, for to whom doth it happen to\nbe in the house of Ishak the cup-companion?\"[FN#143] Thereupon\nIshak went forth the slave-dealer's quarters and overtook Al-\nRashid who had preceded him; and they ceased not walking till\nthey came to their landing-place, where they embarked in the boat\nand fared on to Thaghr al-Kh\u00e1nakah.[FN#144] As for the slave-\ndealer, he sent the damsel to the house of Ishak al-Nadim, whose\nslave-girls took her and carried her to the Hammam. Then each\ndamsel gave her somewhat of her gear and they decked her with\nearrings and bracelets, so that she redoubled in beauty and\nbecame as she were the moon on the night of its full. When Ishak\nreturned home from the Caliph's palace, Tohfah rose to him and\nkissed his hand; and he saw that which the hand-maids had done\nwith her and thanked them for so doing and said to them, \"Let her\nhome in the house of instruction and bring her instruments of\nmusic, and if she be apt at song teach her; and may Allah\nAlmighty vouchsafe her health and weal!\" So there passed over her\nthree months, while she homed with him in the house of\ninstruction, and they brought her the instruments of music.\nFurthermore, as time went on she was vouchsafed health and\nsoundness and her beauty waxed many times brighter than before\nand her pallor was changed to white and red, so that she became a\nseduction to all who saw her. One day, Ishak bade summon all who\nwere with him of slave-girls from the house of instruction and\ncarried them up to Al-Rashid's palace, leaving none in his house\nsave Tohfah and a cookmaid; for that he thought not of Tohfah,\nnor did she come to his memory, and none of the damsels reminded\nhim of her. When she saw that the house was empty of the slave-\ngirls, she took the lute (now she was singular in her time for\nsmiting upon the lute, nor had she her like in the world, no, not\nIshak himself, nor any other) and sang thereto these couplets:--\n\n\"When soul desireth one that is its mate * It never winneth dear\n desire of Fate:\nMy life for him whose tortures tare my frame, * And dealt me pine\n he can alone abate!\nHe saith (that only he to heal mine ill, * Whose sight is\n medicine to my doleful state),\n'O scoffer-wight, how long wilt mock my woe * As though did Allah\n nothing else create?' \"\n\nNow Ishak had returned to his house on an occasion that called\nfor him; and when he entered the vestibule, he heard a sound of\nsinging, the like whereof he had never heard in the world, for\nthat it was soft as the breeze and more strengthening than\noil[FN#145] of almonds. So the pleasure of it get hold of him and\ndelight so seized him, that he fell down fainting in the\nvestibule. Tohfah heard the noise of footfalls and laying the\nlute from her hand, went out to see what was the matter. She\nfound her lord Ishak lying aswoon in the entrance; so she took\nhim up and strained him to her bosom, saying, \"I conjure thee in\nAllah's name, O my lord, tell me, hath aught of ill befallen\nthee?\" When he heard her voice, he recovered from his fainting\nand asked her, \"Who art thou?\" She answered, \"I am thy slave-\ngirl Tohfah;\" and he said to her, \"Art thou indeed Tohfah?\"\n\"Yes,\" replied she; and he, \"By Allah, I had indeed forgotten\nthee and remembered thee not till this moment!\" Then he looked at\nher and said, \"Verily, thy case is altered to other case and thy\nwanness is changed to rosiness and thou hast redoubled in beauty\nand loveliness. But was it thou who was singing just now?\" She\nwas troubled and affrighted and answered, \"Even I, O my lord;\"\nwhereupon Ishak seized upon her hand and carrying her into the\nhouse, said to her, \"Take the lute and sing; for never saw I nor\nheard thy like in smiting upon the lute; no, not even myself!\"\nQuoth she, \"O my lord, thou mockest me. Who am I that thou\nshouldst say all this to me? Indeed, this is but of thy\nkindness.\" Quoth he, \"Nay, by Allah, I said but the truth to thee\nand I am not of those on whom pretence imposeth. For these three\nmonths nature hath not moved thee to take the lute and sing\nthereto, and this is naught save a rare thing and a strange. But\nall this cometh of strength in the art and thy self-restraint.\"\nThen he bade her sing; and she said, \"Hearkening and obedience.\"\nSo she took the lute and tightening its strings to the sticking\npoint, smote thereon a number of airs, so that she confounded\nIshak's wit and for delight he was like to fly. Then she returned\nto the first mode and sang thereto these couplets:--\n\n\"By your ruined stead aye I stand and stay, * Nor shall change or\n dwelling depart us tway!\nNo distance of homestead shall gar me forget * Your love, O\n friends, but yearn alway:\nNe'er flies your phantom the babes of these eyne * You are moons\n in Nighttide's murkest array:\nAnd with growing passion mine unrest grows * And each morn I find\n union dissolved in woes.\"\n\nWhen she had made an end of her song and laid down the lute,\nIshak looked fixedly on her, then took her hand and offered to\nkiss it; but she snatched it from him and said to him, \"Allah, O\nmy lord, do not that!\"[FN#146] Cried he, \"Be silent. By Allah, I\nhad said that there was not in the world the like of me; but now\nI have found my din\u00e1r in the art but a d\u00e1nik,[FN#147] for thou\nart more excellent of skill than I, beyond comparison or\napproximation or calculation! This very day will I carry[FN#148]\nthee up to the Commander of the Faithful, Harun al-Rashid, and\nwhen his glance lighteth on thee, thou wilt become a Princess of\nwomankind. So Allah, Allah upon thee, O my lady, whenas thou\nbecomest of the household of the Prince of True Believers, do not\nthou forget me!\" She replied, \"Allah, O my lord, thou art the\nroot of my fortunes and in thee is my heart fortified.\" Thereat\nhe took her hand and made a covenant with her of this and she\nswore to him that she would not forget him. Then said he to her,\n\"By Allah, thou art the desire of the Commander of the Faithful!\nNow take the lute and sing a song which thou shalt sing to the\nCaliph, when thou goest in to him.\" So she took the lute and\ntuning it, improvised these couplets:--\n\n\"His lover hath ruth on his woeful mood * And o'erwept him as\n still by his couch he[FN#149] stood:\nAnd garred him drink of his lip-dews and wine[FN#150] * Ere he\n died and this food was his latest good.\"\n\nIshak stared at her and seizing her hand, said to her, \"Know that\nI am bound by an oath that, when the singing of a damsel pleaseth\nme, she shall not end her song but before the Prince of True\nBelievers. But now tell me, how came it that thou tarriedst with\nthe slave-dealer five months and wast not sold to any one, and\nthou of this skill, especially when the price set on thee was no\ngreat matter?\" Hereat she laughed and answered, \"O my lord, my\nstory is a wondrous and my case a marvellous. Know that I belonged\naforetime to a Maghribi merchant,who bought me when I was three\nyears old, and there were in his house many slave-girls and\neunuchs; but I was the dearest to him of them all. So he kept me\nwith him and used not to address me otherwise than, 'O\ndaughterling,' and indeed to this moment I am a clean maid. Now\nthere was with him a damsel, a lutanist, and she reared me and\ntaught me the art, even as thou seest. Then was my master removed\nto the mercy of Allah Almighty[FN#151] and his sons divided his\nmonies. I fell to the lot of one of them; but 'twas only a little\nwhile ere he had wasted all his wealth and there was left him\nnaught of coin. So I gave up the lute, fearing lest I should fall\ninto the hand of a man who knew not my worth, for well I wot that\nneeds must my master sell me; and indeed but a few days passed\nere he carried me forth to the quarters of the slave-merchant who\nbuyeth damsels and displayeth them to the Commander of the\nFaithful. Now I desired to learn the art and mystery; so I\nrefused to be sold to other than thou, until Allah (extolled and\nexalted be He!) vouchsafed me my desire of thy presence;\nwhereupon I came out to thee, as soon as I heard of thy coming,\nand besought thee to buy me. Thou heartenedst my heart and\nboughtest me; and since I entered thy house, O my lord, I have\nnot taken up the lute till now; but to-day, when I was left\nprivate by the slave-girls, I took it; and my purpose in this was\nthat I might see if my hand were changed[FN#152] or not. As I was\nsinging, I heard a footfall in the vestibule; so springing up, I\nlaid the lute from my hand and going forth to see what was to do,\nfound thee, O my lord, after this fashion.\" Quoth Ishak, \"Indeed,\nthis was of thy fair fortune. By Allah, I know not that which\nthou knowest in this art!\" Then he arose and opening a chest,\nbrought out therefrom striped clothes,[FN#153] netted with jewels\nand great pearls and other costly gems and said to her, \"In the\nname of Allah, don these, O my lady Tohfah.\" So she arose and\ndonned that dress and veiled herself and went up with Ishak to\nthe palace of the Caliphate, where he made her stand without,\nwhilst he himself went in to the Prince of True Believers (with\nwhom was Ja'afar the Barmaki) and kissing the ground before him,\nsaid to him, \"O Commander of the Faithful, I have brought thee a\ndamsel, never saw eyes of seer her like for excellence in singing\nand touching the lute; and her name is Tohfah.\" Al-Rashid asked,\n\"And where be this Tohfah[FN#154] who hath not her like in the\nworld?\" Answered Ishak, \"Yonder she standeth, O Commander of the\nFaithful ;\" and he acquainted the Caliph with her case from first\nto last. Then said Al-Rashid, \" 'Tis a marvel to hear thee praise\na slave-girl after this fashion. Admit her that we may look upon\nher, for verily the morning may not be hidden.\" Accordingly,\nIshak bade admit her; so she entered, and when her eyes fell upon\nthe Prince of True Believers, she kissed ground before him and\nsaid, \"The Peace be upon thee, O Commander of the faithful Fold\nand Asylum of all who the true Creed hold and Quickener of\njustice in the Worlds threefold! Allah make thy feet tread on\nsafest wise and give thee joy of what He gave thee in generous\nguise and make thy harbourage Paradise and Hell-fire that of\nthine enemies!\" Quoth Al-Rashid, \"And on thee be the Peace, O\ndamsel! Sit.\" So she sat down and he bade her sing; whereupon she\ntook the lute and tightening its strings, played thereon in many\nmodes, so that the Prince of True Believers and Ja'afar were\nconfounded in sprite and like to fly for delight. Then she\nreturned to the first mode and improvised these couplets:--\n\n\"O mine eyes! I swear by him I adore, * Whom pilgrims seek\n thronging Araf\u00e1t;\nAn thou call my name on the grave of me, * I'll reply to thy call\n tho' my bones go rot:\nI crave none for friend of my heart save thee; * So believe me,\n for true are the well-begot.\"\n\nAl-Rashid considered her comeliness and the goodliness of her\nsinging and her eloquence and what other qualities she comprised\nand rejoiced with joy exceeding; and for the stress of that which\novercame him of delight, he descended from the couch and sitting\ndown with her upon the floor, said to her, \"Thou hast done well,\nO Tohfah. By Allah, thou art indeed a choice gift!\"[FN#155] Then\nhe turned to Ishak and said to him, \"Thou dealtest not justly, O\nIshak, in the description of this damsel, nor didst thou fairly\nset forth all that she comprised of charms and art; for that, by\nAllah, she is inconceivably more skilful than thou; and I know of\nthis craft that which none knoweth save I!\" Exclaimed the Wazir\nJa'afar, \"By Allah, thou sayst sooth, O my lord, O Commander of\nthe Faithful. Indeed, she hath done away my wit, hath this\ndamsel.\" Quoth Ishak, \"By Allah, O Prince of True Believers, I\nhad said that there was not on the face of the earth one who knew\nthe art of the lute like myself; but when I heard her, my skill\nbecame nothing worth in mine eyes.\" Then said the Caliph to her,\n\"Repeat thy playing, O Tohfah.\" So she repeated it and he cried\nto her, \"Well done!\" Moreover, he said to Ishak, \"Thou hast\nindeed brought me a marvellous thing, one which is worth in mine\neyes the empire of the world.\" Then he turned to Masrur the\neunuch and said to him, \"Carry Tohfah to the chamber of honour.\"\nAccordingly, she went away with the Castrato and the Caliph\nlooked at her raiment and ornaments and seeing her clad in\nclothing of choice, asked Ishak, \"O Ishak, whence hath she these\nrobes?\" Answered he, \"O my lord, these are somewhat of thy\nbounties and thy largesse, and they are a gift to her from me. By\nAllah, O Commander of the Faithful, the world, all of it, were\nlittle in comparison with her!\" Then the Caliph turned to the\nWazir Ja'afar and said to him, \"Give Ishak fifty thousand dirhams\nand a robe of honour of the choicest apparel.\" \"Hearing and\nobeying,\" replied Ja'afar and gifted him with that which the\nCaliph ordered him. As for Al-Rashid, he was private with Tohfah\nthat night and found her a pure virgin and rejoiced in her; and\nshe took high rank in his heart, so that he could not suffer her\nabsence a single hour and committed to her the keys of the\naffairs of the realm, for that which he saw in her of good\nbreeding and fine wit and leal will. He also gave her fifty\nslave-girls and two hundred thousand dinars and a quantity of\nraiment and ornaments, gems and jewels worth the kingdom of\nEgypt; and of the excess of his love for her, he would not\nentrust her to any of the hand-maids or eunuchs; but, whenever he\nwent out from her, he locked the door upon her and took the key\nwith him, against he should return to her, forbidding the damsels\nto go in to her, of his fear lest they should slay her or poison\nher or practice on her with the knife; and in this way he abode\nawhile. One day, as she sang before the Commander of the\nFaithful, he was delighted with exceeding delight, so that he\noffered to kiss her hand;[FN#156] but she drew it away from him\nand smote upon her lute and broke it and wept. Al-Rashid wiped\naway her tears and said, \"O desire of the heart, what is it\nmaketh thee weep? May Allah not cause an eye of thine to shed\ntears!\" Said she, \"O my lord, what am I that thou shouldst kiss\nmy hand? Wilt thou have Allah punish me for this and my term come\nto an end and my felicity pass away? For this is what none ever\nattained unto.\" He rejoined, \"Well said, O Tohfah. Know that thy\nrank in my esteem is high and for that which delighted me of what\nI saw in thee, I offered to do this, but I will not return unto\nthe like thereof; so be of good cheer, with eyes cool and clear,\nfor I have no desire to other than thyself and will not die but\nin the love of thee, and thou to me art queen this day, to the\nexclusion of al! humankind.\" Therewith she fell to kissing his\nfeet; and this her fashion pleased him, so that his love for her\nredoubled and he became unable to brook severance from her a\nsingle hour. Now Al-Rashid one day went forth to the chase and\nleft Tohfah in her pavilion. As she sat perusing a book, with a\ncandle-branch of gold before her, wherein was a perfumed candle,\nbehold, a musk-apple fell down before her from the top of the\nsaloon.[FN#157] So she looked up and beheld the Lady Zubaydah\nbint al-Kasim,[FN#158] who saluted her with a salam and\nacquainted her with herself, whereupon Tohfah sprang to her feet\nand said, \"O my lady, were I not of the number of the\nnew,[FN#159] I had daily sought thy service; so do not thou\nbereave me of those noble steps.\"[FN#160] The Lady Zubaydah\ncalled down blessings upon her and replied, \"I knew this of thee;\nand, by the life of the Commander of the Faithful, but that it is\nnot of my wont to go forth of my place, I had come out to do my\nservice to thee.\" Then quoth she to her, \"Know, O Tohfah, that\nthe Commander of the Faithful hath deserted all his concubines\nand favourites on thine account, even myself hath he abandoned on\nthis wise, and I am not content to be as one of the mistresses;\nyet hath he made me of them and forsaken me, and I have sought\nthee, so thou mayst beseech him to come to me, though it be but\nonce a month, in order that I may not be the like of the hand-\nmaids and concubines nor take rank with the slave-girls; and this\nis my need of thee.\" Answered Tohfah, \"Hearkening and obedience!\nBy Allah, O my lady, I would that he might be with thee a whole\nmonth and with me but one night, so thy heart might be heartened,\nfor that I am one of thy hand-maids and thou in every case art my\nlady.\" The Princess Zubaydah thanked her for this and taking\nleave of her, returned to her palace. When the Caliph came back\nfrom the chase and course, he betook himself to Tohfah's pavilion\nand bringing out the key, opened the lock and went in to her. She\nrose to receive him and kissed his hand, and he gathered her to\nhis breast and seated her on his knee.[FN#161] Then food was\nbrought to them and they ate and washed their hands; after which\nshe took the lute and sang, till Al-Rashid was moved to sleep.\nWhen aware of this, she ceased singing and told him her adventure\nwith the Lady Zubaydah, saying, \"O Prince of True Believers, I\nwould have thee favour me with a favour and hearten my heart and\naccept my intercession and reject not my supplication, but fare\nthee forthright to the Lady Zubaydah.\" Now this talk befel after\nhe had stripped himself naked and she also had doffed her dress;\nand he said, \"Thou shouldst have named this ere we stripped\nourselves naked, I and thou!\" But she answered, saying, \"O\nCommander of the Faithful, I did this not except in accordance\nwith the saying of the poet in these couplets,\n\n\"Of all intercessions can none succeed, * Save whatso Tohfah bint\n Marj\u00e1n sue'd:\nNo intercessor who comes enveiled;[FN#162] * She sues the best\n who sues mother-nude.\"\n\nWhen Al-Rashid heard this, her speech pleased him and he strained\nher to his bosom. Then he went forth from her and locked the door\nupon her, as before; whereupon she took the book and sat perusing\nit awhile. Presently, she set it aside and taking the lute,\ntightened its strings; and smote thereon, after a wondrous\nfashion, such as would have moved inanimate things to dance, and\nfell to singing marvellous melodies and chanting these couplets:--\n\n\"Cease for change to wail,* The world blames who rail;\nBear patient its shafts * That for aye prevail.\nHow often a joy * Grief-garbed thou shalt hail:\nHow oft gladding bliss * Shall appear amid bale!\"\n\nThen she turned and saw within the chamber an old man, handsome\nin his hoariness and stately of semblance, who was dancing in\ngoodly and winning wise, a dance whose like none might dance. So\nshe sought refuge with Allah Almighty from Satan the Stoned and\nsaid, \"I will not give over what I am about, for whatso the Lord\nwilleth, He fulfilleth.\" Accordingly, she went on singing till\nthe Shaykh came up to her and kissed ground before her, saying,\n\"Well done, O Highmost of the East and the West! May the world be\nnot bereaved of thee! By Allah, indeed thou art perfect of\nmanners and morals, O Tohfat al-Sud\u00far![FN#163] Dost thou know\nme?\" Cried she, \"Nay, by Allah, but methinks thou art of the\nJann.\" Quoth he, \"Thou sayst sooth; I am Ab\u00fa al-Taw\u00e1if[FN#164]\nIblis, and I come to thee every night, and with me thy sister\nKamariyah, for that she loveth thee and sweareth not but by thy\nlife; and her pastime is not pleasant to her, except she come to\nthee and see thee whilst thou seest her not. As for me, I\napproach thee upon an affair, whereby thou shalt gain and rise to\nhigh rank with the kings of the Jann and rule them, even as thou\nrulest mankind; and to that end I would have thee come with me\nand be present at the festival of my daughter's wedding and the\ncircumcision of my son;[FN#165] for that the Jann are agreed upon\nthe manifestation of thy command. And she answered, \"Bismillah;\nin the name of the Lord.\"[FN#166] So she gave him the lute and he\nforewent her, till he came to the Chapel of Ease,[FN#167] and\nbehold, therein was a door and a stairway. When Tohfah saw this,\nher reason fled; but Iblis cheered her with chat. Then he\ndescended the steps and she followed him to the bottom of the\nstair, where she found a passage and they fared on therein, till\nthey came to a horse standing, ready saddled and bridled and\naccoutred. Quoth Iblis, \"Bismillah, O my lady Tohfah;\" and he\nheld the stirrup for her. So she mounted and the horse heaved\nlike a wave under her and putting forth wings soared upwards with\nher, while the Shaykh flew by her side; whereat she was\naffrighted and clung to the pommel of the saddle;[FN#168] nor was\nit but an hour ere they came to a fair green meadow, fresh-\nflowered as if the soil thereof were a fine robe, purfled with\nall manner bright hues. Amiddlemost that mead was a palace\ntowering high in air, with crenelles of red gold, set with pearls\nand gems, and a two-leaved door; and about the gateway were much\npeople of the chiefs of the Jann, clad in costliest clothing.\nWhen they saw the Shaykh, they all cried out, saying, \"The Lady\nTohfah is come!\" And as soon as she reached the palace-gate, they\npressed forward in a body, and dismounting her from the horse's\nback, carried her into the palace and fell to kissing her hands.\nWhen she entered, she beheld a palace whereof seers ne'er saw the\nlike; for therein were four halls, one facing other, and its\nwalls were of gold and its ceilings of silver. It was high-\nbuilded of base, wide of space, and those who descried it would\nbe posed to describe it. At the upper end of the hall stood a\nthrone of red gold set with pearls and jewels, up to which led\nfive steps of silver, and on its right and on its left were many\nchairs of gold and silver. Quoth Tohfah, \"The Shaykh led me to\nthe estrade and seated me on a chair of gold beside the throne,\nand over the dais was a curtain let down, gold and silver wrought\nand broidered with pearls and jewels.\" And she was amazed at that\nwhich she beheld in that place and magnified her Lord (extolled\nand exalted be He!) and hallowed Him. Then the kings of the Jann\ncame up to that throne and seated themselves thereon; and they\nwere in the semblance of Adam's sons, excepting two of them, who\nappeared in the form and aspect of the Jann, each with one eye\nslit endlong and jutting horns and projecting tusks.[FN#169]\nAfter this there came up a young lady, fair of favour and seemly\nof stature, the light of whose face outshone that of the waxen\nflambeaux; and about her were other three women, than whom none\nfairer abode on face of earth. They saluted Tohfah with the salam\nand she rose to them and kissed ground before them whereupon they\nembraced her after returning her greeting[FN#170] and sat down on\nthe chairs aforesaid. Now the four women who thus accosted Tohfah\nwere the Princess Kamariyah, daughter of King Al-Sh\u00edsb\u00e1n, and her\nsisters; and Kamariyah loved Tohfah with exceeding love. So, when\nshe came up to her, she fell to kissing and embracing her, and\nShaykh Iblis cried, \"Fair befal the accolade! Take me between\nyou.\" At this Tohfah laughed and Kamariyah said, \"O my sister, I\nlove thee, and doubtless hearts have their witnesses,[FN#171]\nfor, since I saw thee, I have loved thee.\" Replied Tohfah, \"By\nAllah, hearts have sea-like deeps, and thou, by Allah, art dear\nto me and I am thy hand-maid.\" Kamariyah thanked her for this and\nkissing her once more said, \"These be the wives of the kings of\nthe Jann: greet them with the salam! This is Queen\nJamrah,[FN#172] that is Queen Wakh\u00edmah and this other is Queen\nShar\u00e1rah, and they come not but for thee.\" So Tohfah rose to her\nfeet and bussed their hands, and the three queens kissed her and\nwelcomed her and honoured her with the utmost honour. Then they\nbrought trays and tables and amongst the rest a platter of red\ngold, inlaid with pearls and gems; its raised rims were of or and\nemerald, and thereon were graven[FN#173] these couplets:--\n\nTo bear provaunt assigned, * By hands noble designed,\nFor the gen'rous I'm made * Not for niggardly hind!\nSo eat safe all I hold * And praise God of mankind.\n\nAfter reading the verses they ate and Tohfah looked at the two\nkings who had not changed shape and said to Kamariyah, \"O my\nlady, what be this feral and that other like unto him? By Allah,\nmine eye may not suffer the sight of them.\" Kamariyah laughed and\nanswered, \"O my sister, that is my sire Al-Shisban and the other\nis hight Maymun the Sworder; and of the arrogance of their souls\nand their insolence, they consented not to change their created\nshapes. Indeed, all whom thou seest here are nature-fashioned\nlike them; but on thine account they have changed favour, for\nfear lest thou be disquieted and for the comforting of thy mind,\nso thou mightest become familiar with them and be at thine ease.\"\nQuoth Tohfah, \"O my lady, verily I cannot look at them. How\nfrightful is this Maymun, with his monocular face! Mine eye\ncannot brook the sight of him, and indeed I am in affright of\nhim.\" Kamariyah laughed at her speech, and Tohfah continued, \"By\nAllah, O my lady, I cannot fill my eye with the twain!\"[FN#174]\nThen cried her father Al-Shisban to her, \"What be this laughing?\"\nSo she bespoke him in a tongue none understood but they two and\nacquainted him with that which Tohfah had said; whereat he\nlaughed a prodigious loud laugh, as it were the roaring thunder.\nPresently they ate and the tables were removed and they washed\ntheir hands; after which Iblis the Accursed came up to Tohfah and\nsaid to her, \"O my lady, thou gladdenest the place and\nenlightenest and embellishest it with thy presence; but now fain\nwould these kings hear somewhat of thy singing, for Night hath\ndispread her pinions for departure and there abideth of it but a\nlittle.\" Quoth she, \"Hearing and obeying.\" So she took the lute\nand touching its strings with rare touch, played thereon after\nwondrous wise, so that it seemed to those who were present as if\nthe palace surged like a wave with them for the music. Then she\nbegan singing and chanting these couplets,\n\n\"Folk of my faith and oath, Peace with you be! * Quoth ye not I\n shall meet you you meet me?\nI'll chide you softerwise than breeze o' morn, * Sweeter than\n spring of coolest clarity.\nI' faith mine eyelids are with tears chafed sore: * My vitals\n plain to you some cure to see.\nMy friends! Our union to disunion changed * Was aye my fear for\n 'twas my certainty.\nI'll plain to Allah of all ills I bore; * For pine and yearning\n misery still I dree.\"\n\nThe kings of the Jann were moved to delight by that sweet singing\nand seemly speech and thanked Tohfah therefore; and Queen\nKamariyah rose to her and threw her arms round her neck and\nkissed her between the eyes, saying, \"By Allah, 'tis good, O my\nsister and coolth of mine eyes and core of my heart!\" Then said\nshe, \"I conjure thee by Allah, give us more of this lovely\nsinging;\" and Tohfah answered with \"To hear is to obey.\" So she\ntook the lute and playing thereon in a mode different from the\nformer fashion, sang these couplets:--\n\n\"I, oft as ever grows the pine of me, * Console my soul with hope\n thy sight to see.\nHaply shall Allah join our parted lives, * E'en as my fortunes\n far from thee cast He!\nThen oh! who thrallest me by force of love-- * Seiz\u00e8d by fond\n affection's mastery\nAll hardships easy wax when thou art nigh; * And all the far\n draws near when near thou be.\nAh! be the Ruthful light to lover fond, * Love-lorn, frame- wasted, ready Death to dree!\nWere hope of seeing thee cut off, my loved; * After thine absence\n sleep mine eyes would flee!\nI mourn no worldly joyance, my delight * Is but to sight thee\n while thou seest my sight.\"\n\nAt this the accursed Iblis was hugely pleased and thrust his\nfinger up his fundament,[FN#175] whilst Maymun danced and said,\n\"O Tohfat al-Sudur, soften the sound;[FN#176] for, as pleasure\nentereth into my heart, it arresteth my breath and blood.\" So she\ntook the lute and altering the tune, played a third air; then she\nreturned to the first and sang these couplets:--\n\n\"The waves of your[FN#177] love o'er my life have rolled; * I\n sink while I see you all aid withhold:\nYou have drowned my vitals in deeps of your love, * Nor can heart\n and sprite for your loss be consoled:\nDeem not I forget my troth after you: * How forget what Allah\n decreed of old?[FN#178]\nLove clings to the lover who nights in grief, * And 'plains of\n unrest and of woes ensouled.\n\nThe kings and all those who were present rejoiced in this with\njoy exceeding and the accursed Iblis came up to Tohfah and\nkissing her hand, said to her, \"Verily there abideth but little\nof the night; so tarry with us till the morrow, when we will\napply ourselves to the wedding[FN#179] and the\ncircumcision.\"[FN#180] Then all the Jann went away, whereupon\nTohfah rose to her feet and Iblis said, \"Go ye up with Tohfah to\nthe garden for the rest of the night.\" So Kamariyah took her and\nwent with her into the garden, which contained all manner birds,\nnightingale and mocking-bird and ringdove and curlew[FN#181] and\nother than these of all the kinds. Therein were all manner of\nfruits: its channels[FN#182] were of gold and silver and the\nwater thereof, as it broke forth of its conduits, was like the\nbellies of fleeing serpents, and indeed it was as it were the\nGarden of Eden.[FN#183] When Tohfah beheld this, she called to\nmind her lord and wept sore and said, \"I beseech Allah the Most\nHigh to vouchsafe me speedy deliverance and return to my palace\nand to my high estate and queendom and glory, and reunion with my\nlord and master Al-Rashid.\" Then she walked about that garden and\nsaw in its midst a dome of white marble, raised on columns of\nblack teak whereto hung curtains purfled with pearls and gems.\nAmiddlemost this pavilion was a founfain, inlaid with all kinds\nof jacinths, and thereon a golden statue of a man and beside it a\nlittle door. She opened the door and found herself in a long\ncorridor: so she followed it and entered a Hammam-bath walled\nwith all kinds of costly marbles and floored with a mosaic of\npearls and jewels. Therein were four cisterns of alabaster, one\nfacing other, and the ceiling of the bath was of glass \nwith all varieties of colours, such as confounded the\nunderstanding of those who have insight and amazed the wit of\nevery wight. Tohfah entered the bath, after she had doffed her\ndress, and behold the Hammam-basin was overlaid with gold set\nwith pearls and red balasses and green emeralds and other jewels:\nso she extolled Allah Almighty and hallowed Him for the\nmagnificence of that which she saw of the appointments of that\nbath. Then she made her Wuzu-ablution in that basin and\npronouncing the Prohibition,[FN#184] prayed the dawn-prayer and\nwhat else had escaped her of orisons;[FN#185] after which she\nwent out and walked in that garden among jessamine and lavender\nand roses and chamomile and gillyflowers and thyme and violets\nand basil royal, till she came to the door of the pavilion\naforesaid. There she sat down, pondering that which would betide\nAl-Rashid after her, when he should come to her apartment and\nfind her not; and she plunged into the sea of her solicitude,\ntill slumber overtook her and soon she slept. Presently she felt\na breath upon her face; whereupon she awoke and found Queen\nKamariyah kissing her, and with her her three sisters, Queen\nJamrah, Queen Wakh\u00edmah and Queen Shar\u00e1rah. So she arose and\nkissed their hands and rejoiced in them with the utmost joy and\nthey ceased not, she and they, to talk and converse, what while\nshe related to them her history, from the time of her purchase by\nthe Maghrabi to that of her coming to the quarters of the slave-\ndealer, where she besought Ishak al-Nadim to buy her,[FN#186] and\nhow she won union with Al-Rashid, till the moment when Iblis came\nto her and brought her to them. They gave not over talking till\nthe sun declined and yellowed and the hour of its setting drew\nnear and the day departed, whereupon Tohfah was urgent in\nsupplication[FN#187] to Allah Almighty, on the occasion of the\nsundown-prayer, that he would reunite her with her lord\nAl-Rashid. After this, she abode with the four queens, till they\narose and entered the palace, where she found the waxen tapers\nlit and ranged in candlesticks of gold and silver, and censing\nvessels of silver and gold filled with lign-aloes and ambergris,\nand there were the kings of the Jann sitting. So she saluted them\nwith the salam, kissing the earth before them and doing them\nservice; and they rejoiced in her and in her sight. Then she\nascended the estrade and sat down upon her chair, whilst King Al-\nShisban and King Al-Muzfir[FN#188] and Queen L\u00fal\u00faah and other\nkings of the Jann sat on chairs, and they brought choice tables,\nspread with all manner meats befitting royalties. They ate their\nfill; after which the tables were removed and they washed their\nhands and wiped them with napkins. Then they brought the wine-\nservice and set on tasses and cups and flagons and beakers of\ngold and silver and bowls of crystal and gold; and they poured\nout the wines and they filled the flagons. Then Iblis took the\nbowl and signed to Tohfah to sing: and she said, \"To hear is to\nobey!\" So she hent the lute in hand and tuning it, sang these\ncouplets,\n\n\"Drink wine, O ye lovers, I rede you alw\u00e0y, * And praise his\n worth who loves night and day;\n'Mid the myrtle, narcissus and lavender, * And the scented herbs\n that bedeck the tray.\"\n\nSo Iblis the Damned drank and said, \"Brava, O desire of hearts!\nBut thou owest me still another aria.\" Then he filled the cup and\nsigned to her to sing. Quoth she, \"Hearkening and obedience,\" and\nchanted these couplets,\n\n\"Ye wot, I am whelmed in despair and despight, * Ye dight me\n blight that delights your sight:\nYour wone is between my unrest and my eyes; * Nor tears to melt\n you, nor sighs have might.\nHow oft shall I sue you for justice, and you * With a pining\n death my dear love requite?\nBut your harshness is duty, your farness near; * Your hate is\n Union, your wrath is delight:\nTake your fill of reproach as you will: you claim * All my heart,\n and I reck not of safety or blame.\"\n\n\nAll present were delighted and the sitting-chamber was moved like\na wave with mirth, and Iblis said, \"Brave, O Tohfat al-Sudur!\"\nThen they left not liquor-bibbing and rejoicing and making merry\nand tambourining and piping till the night waned and the dawn\nwaxed near; and indeed exceeding delight entered into them. The\nmost of them in mirth was the Shaykh Iblis, and for the stress of\nthat which befel him of joyance, he doffed all that was on him of\n clothes and cast them over Tohfah, and among the rest a\nrobe broidered with jewels and jacinths, worth ten thousand\ndinars. Then he kissed the earth and danced and he thrust his\nfinger up his fundament and hending his beard in hand, said to\nher, \"Sing about this beard and endeavour after mirth and\npleasance, and no blame shall betide thee for this.\" So she\nimprovised and sang these couplets:--\n\n\"Barbe of the olden, the one eyed goat! * What words shall thy\n foulness o' deed denote?\nBe not of our praises so pompous-proud: * Thy worth for a dock-\n tail dog's I wot.\nBy Allah, to-morrow shall see me drub * Thy nape with a\n cow-hide[FN#189] and dust thy coat!\"\n\nAll those present laughed at her mockery of Iblis and wondered at\nthe wittiness of her visnomy[FN#190] and her readiness in\nversifying, whilst the Shaykh himself rejoiced and said to her,\n\"O Tohfat al-Sudur, verily, the night be gone; so arise and rest\nthyself ere the day; and to-morrow there shall be naught save\nweal.\" Then all the kings of the Jinn departed, together with\nthose who were present of guards; and Tohfah abode alone,\npondering the case of Al-Rashid and bethinking her of how it went\nwith him after her going, and of what had betided him for her\nloss, till the dawn lightened, when she arose and walked about\nthe palace. Suddenly she saw a handsome door; so she opened it\nand found herself in a flower-garden finer than the first--ne'er\nsaw eyes of seer a fairer than it. When she beheld this garth,\nshe was moved to delight and she called to mind her lord Al-\nRashid and wept with sore weeping and cried, \"I crave of the\nbounty of Allah Almighty that my return to him and to my palace\nand to my home may be nearhand!\" Then she walked about the\nparterres till she came to a pavilion, high-builded of base and\nwide of space, never espied mortal nor heard of a grander than\nit. So she entered and found herself in a long corridor, which\nled to a Hammam goodlier than that aforetime described, and its\ncisterns were full of rose-water mingled with musk. Quoth Tohfah,\n\"Extolled be Allah! Indeed, this[FN#191] is none other than a\nmighty great king.\" Then she pulled off her clothes and washed\nher body and made her Ghusl-ablution of the whole person[FN#192]\nand prayed that which was due from her of prayer from the evening\nof the previous day.[FN#193] When the sun rose upon the gate of\nthe garden and she saw the wonders thereof, with that which was\ntherein of all manner blooms and streams, and heard the voices of\nits birds, she marvelled at what she beheld of the rareness of\nits ordinance and the beauty of its disposition and sat musing\nover the case of Al-Rashid and pondering what was come of him\nafter her. Her tears coursed down her cheeks and the Zephyr blew\non her; so she slept and knew no more till she suddenly felt a\nbreath on her side-face, whereat she awoke in affright and found\nQueen Kamariyah kissing her, and she was accompanied by her\nsisters, who said, \"Rise, for the sun hath set.\" So Tohfah arose\nand making the Wuzu-ablution, prayed her due of prayers[FN#194]\nand accompanied the four queens to the palace, where she saw the\nwax candles lighted and the kings sitting. She saluted them with\nthe salam and seated herself upon her couch; and behold, King Al-\nShisban had shifted his semblance, for all the pride of his soul.\nThen came up Iblis (whom Allah damn!) and Tohfah rose to him and\nkissed his hands. He also kissed her hand and blessed her and\nasked, \"How deemest thou? Is not this place pleasant, for all its\ndesertedness and desolation?\" Answered she, \"None may be desolate\nin this place;\" and he cried, \"Know that this is a site whose\nsoil no mortal dare tread;\" but she rejoined, \"I have dared and\ntrodden it, and this is one of thy many favours.\" Then they\nbrought tables and dishes and viands and fruits and sweetmeats\nand other matters, whose description passeth powers of mortal\nman, and they ate their sufficiency; after which the tables were\nremoved and the dessert-trays and platters set on, and they\nranged the bottles and flagons and vessels and phials, together\nwith all manner fruits and sweet-scented flowers. The first to\nraise the bowl was Iblis the Accursed, who said, \"O Tohfat al-\nSudur, sing over my cup.\" So she took the lute and touching it,\ncarolled these couplets,\n\n\"Wake ye, Ho sleepers all! and take your joy * Of Time, and boons\n he deign\u00e8d to bestow;\nThen hail the Wine-bride, drain the wine-ptisane * Which, poured\n from flagon, flows with flaming glow:\nO Cup-boy, serve the wine, bring round the red[FN#195] * Whose\n draught gives all we hope for here below:\nWhat's worldly pleasure save my lady's face, * Draughts of pure\n wine and song of musico?\"\n\nSo Iblis drained his bowl and, when he had made an end of his\ndraught, waved his hand to Tohfah; then, throwing off that which\nwas upon him of clothes, delivered them to her. The suit would\nhave brought ten thousand dinars and with it was a tray full of\njewels worth a mint of money. Presently he filled again and gave\nthe cup to his son Al-Shisban, who took it from his hand and\nkissing it, stood up and sat down again. Now there was before him\na tray of roses; so he said to her, \"O Tohfah, sing thou somewhat\nupon these roses.\" She replied, \"Hearkening and obedience,\" and\nchanted these two couplets,\n\n\"It proves my price o' er all the flowers that I * Seek you each\n year, yet stay but little stound:\nAnd high my vaunt I m dy\u00e8d by my lord * Whom Allah made the best\n e'er trod on ground.[FN#196]\"\n\nSo Al-Shisban drank off the cup in his turn and said, \"Brava, O\ndesire of hearts!\" and he bestowed on her that was upon him, to\nwit, a dress of cloth-of-pearl, fringed with great unions and\nrubies and purfled with precious gems, and a tray wherein were\nfifty thousand dinars. Then Maymun the Sworder took the cup and\nbegan gazing intently upon Tohfah. Now there was in his hand a\npomegranate-flower and he said to her, \"Sing thou somewhat, O\nqueen of mankind and Jinn kind upon this pomegranate-flower; for\nindeed thou hast dominion over all hearts.\" Quoth she, \"To hear\nis to obey;\" and she improvised and sang these couplets,\n\n\"Breathes sweet the zephyr on fair part\u00e8rre; * Robing lute in the\n flamings that fell from air:\nAnd moaned from the boughs with its cooing rhyme * Voice of\n ring-doves plaining their love and care:\nThe branch dresses in suit of fine sendal green* And in wine-hues\n borrowed from bloom Gulnare.\"[FN#197]\n\nMaymun the Sworder drained his bowl and said to her, \"Brava, O\nperfection of qualities!\" Then he signed to her and was absent\nawhile, after which he returned and with him a tray of jewels\nworth an hundred thousand ducats, which he gave to Tohfah.\nThereupon Kamariyah arose and bade her slave-girl open the closet\nbehind the Songstress, wherein she laid all that wealth; and\ncommitted the key to her, saying, \"Whatso of riches cometh to\nthee, lay thou in this closet that is by thy side, and after the\nfestivities, it shall be borne to thy palace on the heads of the\nJinn.\" Tohfah kissed her hand and another king, by name\nMun\u00edr,[FN#198] took the bowl and filling it, said to her, \"O\nferly Fair, sing to me over my bowl somewhat upon the jasmine.\"\nShe replied with, \"Hearkening and obedience,\" and improvised\nthese couplets,\n\n\"'Twere as though the Jasmine (when self she enrobes * On her\n boughs) doth display to my wondering eyne;\nIn sky of green beryl, which Beauty enclothes, * Star-groups like\n studs of the silvern mine.\"\n\nMunir drank off his cup and ordered her eight hundred thousand\ndinars, whereat Kamariyah rejoiced and rising to her feet, kissed\nTohfah on her face and said to her, \"Be the world never bereaved\nof thee, O thou who lordest it over the hearts of Jinn-kind and\nmankind!\" Then she returned to her place and the Shaykh Iblis\narose and danced, till all present were confounded; after which\nthe Songstress {sic!} said, \"Verily, thou embellishest my festivities, O\nthou who commandest men and Jinn and rejoicest their hearts with\nthy loveliness and the beauty[FN#199] of thy faithfulness to thy\nlord. All that thy hands possess shall be borne to thee in thy\npalace and placed at thy service; but now the dawn is nearhand;\nso do thou rise and rest thee according to thy custom.\" Tohfah\nturned and found with her none of the Jinn; so she laid her head\non the floor and slept till she had gotten her repose; after\nwhich she arose and betaking herself to the lakelet, made the\nWuzu-ablution and prayed. Then she sat beside the water awhile\nand meditated the matter of her lord Al-Rashid and that which had\nbetided him after her loss and wept with sore weeping. Presently,\nshe heard a blowing behind her;[FN#200] so she turned and behold,\na Head without a body and with eyes slit endlong: it was of the\nbigness of an elephant's skull and bigger and had a mouth as it\nwere an oven and projecting canines as they were grapnels, and\nhair which trailed upon the ground. So Tohfah cried, \"I take\nrefuge with Allah from Satan the Stoned!\" and recited the Two\nPreventives;[FN#201] what while the Head drew near her and said,\n\"Peace be with thee, O Princess of Jinn and men and union-pearl\nof her age and her time! Allah continue thee on life, for all the\nlapsing of the days, and reunite thee with thy lord the\nImam!\"[FN#202] She replied, \"And upon thee be Peace; O thou whose\nlike I have not seen among the Jann!\" Quoth the Head, \"We are a\nfolk who may not change their favours and we are hight Ghuls:\nmortals summon us to their presence, but we cannot present\nourselves before them without leave. As for me, I have gotten\nleave of the Shaykh Abu al-Tawaif to appear before thee and I\ndesire of thy favour that thou sing me a song, so I may go to thy\npalace and question its Haunters[FN#203] concerning the plight of\nthy lord after thee and return to thee; and know, O Tohfat al-\nSudur, that between thee and thy lord be a distance of fifty\nyears' journey for the bon\u00e2-fide traveller.\" She rejoined,\n\"Indeed, thou grievest me anent him between whom and me is fifty\nyears' journey;\" but the Head[FN#204] cried to her, \"Be of good\ncheer and of eyes cool and clear, for the sovrans of the Jann\nwill restore thee to him in less than the twinkling of an eye.\"\nQuoth she, \"I will sing thee an hundred songs, so thou wilt bring\nme news of my lord and that which betided him after me.\" And\nquoth the Head, \"Do thou favour me and sing me a song, so I may\ngo to thy lord and fetch thee tidings of him, for that I desire,\nbefore I go, to hear thy voice, so haply my thirst[FN#205] may be\nquenched.\" So she took the lute and tuning it, sang these\ncouplets:--\n\n\"They have marched, yet no empty stead left they: * They are\n gone, nor heart grieves me that fled be they:\nMy heart forebode the bereaval of friends; * Allah ne'er bereave\n steads wherefrom sped be they!\nThough they hid the stations where led were they, * I'll follow\n till stars fall in disarray!\nYe slumber, but wake shall ne'er fly these lids; * 'Tis I bear\n what ye never bore--well-away!\nIt had irked them not to farewell who fares * With the parting-\n fires that my heart waylay.\nMy friends,[FN#206] your meeting to me is much * But more is the\n parting befel us tway:\nYou're my heart's delight, or you present be * Or absent, with\n you is my soul for aye!\"\n\nThereupon the Head wept exceeding sore and cried, \"O my lady,\nindeed thou hast solaced my heart, and I have naught but my life;\nso take it.\" She replied, \"Nay, an I but knew that thou wouldst\nbring me news of my lord Al-Rashid, 'twere fainer to me than the\nreign of the world;\" and the Head answered her, \"It shall be done\nas thou desirest.\" Then it disappeared and returning to her at\nthe last of the night, said, \"O my lady, know that I have been to\nthy palace and have questioned one of its Haunters of the case of\nthe Commander of the Faithful and that which befel him after\nthee; and he said, 'When the Prince of True Believers came to\nTohfah's apartment and found her not and saw no sign of her, he\nbuffeted his face and head and rent his raiment.' Now there was\nin thy chamber the Castrato, the chief of thy household, and the\nCaliph cried out at him, saying, 'Bring me Ja'afar the Barmaki\nand his father and brother at this very moment!' The Eunuch went\nout, bewildered in his wit for fear of the King, and when he\nstood in the presence of Ja'afar, he said to him, 'Come to the\nCommander of the Faithful, thou and thy father and thy brother.'\nSo they arose in haste and betaking themselves to the presence,\nsaid, 'O Prince of True Believers what may be the matter?' Quoth\nhe, 'There is a matter which passeth description. Know that I\nlocked the door and taking the key with me, betook myself to my\nuncle's daughter, with whom I lay the night; but, when I arose in\nthe morning and came and opened the door, I found no sign of\nTohfah.' Quoth Ja'afar, 'O Commander of the Faithful have\npatience, for that the damsel hath been snatched away, and needs\nmust she return, seeing that she took the lute with her, and 'tis\nher own lute. The Jinns have assuredly carried her off, and we\ntrust in Allah Almighty that she will return.' Cried the Caliph,\n'This[FN#207] is a thing which may nowise be!' And he abode in\nher apartment, nor eating nor drinking, while the Barmecides\nbesought him to fare forth to the folk; and he weepeth and\ntarrieth on such fashion till she shall return. This, then, is\nthat which hath betided him after thee.\" When Tohfah heard his\nwords, they were grievous to her and she wept with sore weeping;\nwhereupon quoth the Head to her, \"The relief of Allah the Most\nHigh is nearhand; but now let me hear somewhat of thy speech.\" So\nshe took the lute and sang three songs, weeping the while. The\nHead exclaimed, \"By Allah, thou hast been bountiful to me, the\nLord be with thee!\" Then it disappeared and the season of sundown\ncame: so she rose and betook herself to her place in the hall;\nwhereupon behold, the candles sprang up from under the earth and\nkindled themselves. Then the kings of the Jann appeared and\nsaluted her and kissed her hands and she greeted them with the\nsalam. Presently appeared Kamariyah and her three sisters and\nsaluted Tohfah and sat down; whereupon the tables were brought\nand they ate; and when the tables were removed there came the\nwine-tray and the drinking-service. So Tohfah took the lute and\none of the three queens filled the cup and signed to the\nSongstress. Now she had in her hand a violet, so Tohfah\nimprovised these couplets:--\n\n\"I'm clad in a leaf-cloak of green; * In an honour-robe\n ultramarine:\nI'm a wee thing of loveliest mien * But all flowers as my vassals\n are seen:\nAn Rose title her 'Morn-pride,' I ween * Nor before me nor after\n she's Queen.\"\n\nThe queen drank off her cup and bestowed on Tohfah a dress of\ncloth-of-pearl, fringed with red rubies, worth twenty thousand\nducats, and a tray whereon were ten thousand sequins. All this\nwhile Maymun's eye was upon her and presently he said to her,\n\"Harkye, Tohfah! Sing to me.\" But Queen Zalzalah cried out at\nhim, and said \"Desist,[FN#208] O Maymun. Thou sufferest not\nTohfah to pay heed to us.\" Quoth he, \"I will have her sing to\nme:\" and many words passed between them and Queen Zalzalah cried\naloud at him. Then she shook and became like unto the Jinns and\ntaking in her hand a mace of stone, said to him, \"Fie upon thee!\nWhat art thou that thou shouldst bespeak us thus? By Allah, but\nfor the respect due to kings and my fear of troubling the session\nand the festival and the mind of the Shaykh Iblis, I would\nassuredly beat the folly out of thy head!\" When Maymun heard\nthese her words, he rose, with the fire shooting from his eyes,\nand said, \"O daughter of Iml\u00e1k, what art thou that thou shouldst\noutrage me with the like of this talk?\" Replied she, \"Woe to\nthee, O dog of the Jinn, knowest thou not thy place?\" So saying,\nshe ran at him, and offered to strike him with the mace, but the\nShaykh Iblis arose and casting his turband on the ground cried,\n\"Out on thee, O Maymun! Thou dost always with us on this wise.\nWheresoever thou art present, thou troublest our pleasure! Canst\nthou not hold thy peace until thou go forth of the festival and\nthis bride-feast be accomplished? When the circumcision is at an\nend and ye all return to your dwellings, then do as thou willest.\nFie upon thee, O Maymun! Wottest thou not that Imlak is of the\nchiefs of the Jinn? But for my good name, thou shouldst have seen\nwhat would have betided thee of humiliation and chastisement; yet\non account of the festival none may speak. Indeed thou exceedest;\ndost thou not ken that her sister Wakhimah is doughtier[FN#209]\nthan any of the Jann? Learn to know thyself: hast thou no regard\nfor thy life?\" So Maymun was silent and Iblis turned to Tohfah\nand said to her, \"Sing to the kings of the Jinns this day and to-\nnight until the morrow, when the boy will be circumcised and each\nshall return to his own place.\" Accordingly she took the lute and\nKamariyah said to her (now she had a citron in hand), \"O my\nsister, sing to me somewhat on this citron.\" Tohfah replied, \"To\nhear is to obey,\" and improvising, sang these couplets,\n\n\"I'm a dome of fine gold and right cunningly dight; * And my\n sweetness of youth gladdeth every sight:\nMy wine is ever the drink of kings * And I'm fittest gift to the\n friendliest sprite.\n\nAt this Queen Kamariyah rejoiced with joy exceeding and drained\nher cup, crying, \"Brava! O thou choice Gift of hearts!\"\nFurthermore, she took off a sleeved robe of blue brocade, fringed\nwith red rubies, and a necklace of white jewels worth an hundred\nthousand ducats, and gave them to Tohfah. Then she passed the cup\nto her sister Zalzalah, who hent in her hand herb basil, and she\nsaid to Tohfah, \"Sing to me somewhat on this basil.\" She replied,\n\"Hearing and obeying,\" and improvised and sang these couplets,\n\n\"I'm the Queen of herbs in the s\u00e9ance of wine * And in Heaven\n Na'\u00edm are my name and sign:\nAnd the best are promised, in garth of Khuld, * Repose, sweet\n scents and the peace divine:[FN#210]\nWhat prizes then with my price shall vie? * What rank even mine,\n in all mortals' eyne?\"\n\nThereat Queen Zalzalah rejoiced with joy exceeding and bidding\nher treasuress bring a basket, wherein were fifty pairs of\nbracelets and the same number of earrings, all of gold, crusted\nwith jewels of price, whose like nor mankind nor Jinn-kind\npossessed, and an hundred robes of vari- brocades and an\nhundred thousand ducats, gave the whole to Tohfah. Then she\npassed the cup to her sister Shararah, who had in her hand a\nstalk of narcissus; so she took it from her and turning to the\nSongstress, said to her, \"O Tohfah, sing to me somewhat on this.\"\nShe replied, \"Hearkening and obedience,\" and improvised these\ncouplets,\n\n\"With the smaragd wand doth my form compare; * 'Mid the finest\n flowers my worth's rarest rare:\nMy eyes are likened to Beauty's eyne, * And my gaze is still on\n the bright part\u00e8rre.\"\n\nWhen she had made an end of her song, Shararah was moved to\ndelight exceeding, and drinking off her cup, said to her, \"Brava,\nO thou choice Gift of hearts!\" Then she ordered her an hundred\ndresses of brocade and an hundred thousand ducats and passed the\ncup to Queen Wakhimah. Now she had in her hand somewhat of\nNu'uman's bloom, the anemone; so she took the cup from her sister\nand turning to the Songstress, said to her, \"O Tohfah, sing to me\non this.\" Quoth she, \"I hear and I obey,\" and improvised these\ncouplets,\n\n\"I'm a dye was dyed by the Ruthful's might; * And all confess me\n the goodliest sight:\nI began in the dust and the clay, but now * On the cheeks of fair\n women I rank by right.\"\n\nTherewith Wakhimah rejoiced with joy exceeding and drinking off\nthe cup, ordered her twenty dresses of Roum\u00ed brocade and a tray,\nwherein were thirty thousand ducats. Then she gave the cup to\nQueen Shu'\u00e1'ah,[FN#211] Regent of the Fourth Sea, who took it and\nsaid, \"O my lady Tohfah, sing to me on the gillyflower.\" She\nreplied, \"Hearing and obeying,\" and improvised these couplets,\n\n\"The time of my presence ne'er draws to a close, * Amid all whose\n joyance with mirth o'erflows;\nWhen topers gather to sit at wine * Or in nightly shade or when\n morning shows,\nI filch from the flagon to fill the bowls * And the crystal cup\n where the wine-beam glows.\"\n\nQueen Shu'a'ah rejoiced with joy exceeding and emptying her cup,\ngave Tohfah an hundred thousand ducats. Then up sprang Iblis\n(whom Allah curse!) and cried, \"Verily, the dawn lighteneth;\"\nwhereupon the folk arose and disappeared, all of them, and there\nabode not one of them save the Songstress, who went forth to the\ngarden and entering the Hamman made her Wuzu-ablutions and prayed\nwhatso lacked her of prayers. Then she sat down and when the sun\nrose, behold, there came up to her near an hundred thousand green\nbirds, which filled the branches of the trees with their\nmultitudes and they warbled in various voices, whilst Tohfah\nmarvelled at their fashion. Suddenly, appeared eunuchs, bearing a\nthrone of gold, studded with pearls and gems and jacinths, both\nwhite and red, and having four steps of gold, together with many\ncarpets of sendal and brocade and Coptic cloth of silk sprigged\nwith gold; and all these they spread in the centre of the garden\nand setting up the throne thereon, perfumed the place with virgin\nmusk, Nadd[FN#212] and ambergris. After that, there came a queen;\nnever saw eyes a fairer than she nor than her qualities; she was\nrobed in rich raiment, broidered with pearls and gems, and on her\nhead was a crown set with various kinds of unions and jewels.\nAbout her were five hundred slave-girls, high-bosomed maids, as\nthey were moons, screening her, right and left, and she among\nthem like the moon on the night of its full, for that she was the\nmost worthy of them in majesty and dignity. She ceased not\nwalking till she came to Tohfah, whom she found gazing on her in\namazement; and when the Songstress saw her turn to her, she rose\nto her, standing on her feet, and saluted her and kissed ground\nbetween her hands. The queen rejoiced in her and putting out her\nhand to her, drew her to herself and seated her by her side on\nthe couch; whereupon the Songstress kissed her hands and the\nqueen said to her, \"Know, O Tohfah, that all which thou treadest\nof these carpets belongeth not to any of the Jinn, who may never\ntread them without thy leave,[FN#213] for that I am the queen of\nthem all and the Shaykh Abu al-Tawaif Iblis sought my permission\nto hold festival[FN#214] and prayed me urgently to be present at\nthe circumcision of his son. So I despatched to him, in my stead,\na slave-girl of my slave-girls, namely, Shu'\u00e1'ah Queen of the\nFourth Sea, who is vice-reine of my reign. When she was present\nat the wedding and saw thee and heard thy singing, she sent to\nme, informing me of thee and setting forth to me thy grace and\namiability and the beauty of thy breeding and thy\ncourtesy.[FN#215] So I am come to thee, for that which I have\nheard of thy charms, and hereby I do thee a mighty great favour\nin the eyes of all the Jann.\"[FN#216] Thereupon Tohfah arose and\nkissed the earth and the queen thanked her for this and bade her\nsit. So she sat down and the queen called for food; when they\nbrought a table of gold, inlaid with pearls and jacinths and\njewels and bearing kinds manifold of birds and viands of various\nhues, and the queen said, \"O Tohfah, in the name of Allah! Let us\neat bread and salt together, I and thou.\" Accordingly the\nSongstress came forward and ate of those meats and found therein\nsomewhat the like whereof she had never eaten; no, nor aught more\ndelicious than it, while the slave-girls stood around the table,\nas the white compasseth the black of the eye, and she sat\nconversing and laughing with the queen. Then said the lady, \"O my\nsister, a slave-girl told me of thee that thou saidst, 'How\nloathly is what yonder Jinni Maymun eateth!\"[FN#217] Tohfah\nreplied, \"By Allah, O my lady, I have not any eye that can look\nat him,[FN#218] and indeed I am fearful of him.\" When the queen\nheard this, she laughed till she fell backwards and said \"O my\nsister, by the might of the graving upon the seal-ring of\nSolomon, prophet of Allah, I am queen over all the Jann, and none\ndare so much as cast on thee a glance of the eye;\" whereat Tohfah\nkissed her hand. Then the tables were removed and the twain sat\ntalking. Presently up came the kings of the Jinn from every side\nand kissed ground before the queen and stood in her service; and\nshe thanked them for this, but moved not for one of them.[FN#219]\nThen appeared the Shaykh Abu al-Taw\u00e1if Iblis (Allah curse him!)\nand kissed the earth before her, saying, \"O my lady, may I not be\nbereft of these steps!\"[FN#220] She replied, \"O Shaykh Abu\nal-Taw\u00e1if, it behoveth thee to thank the bounty of the Lady\nTohfah, who was the cause of my coming.\" Rejoined he, \"Thou\nsayest sooth,\" and kissed ground. Then the queen fared on towards\nthe palace and there arose and alighted upon the trees an hundred\nthousand birds of manifold hues. The Songstress asked, \"How many\nare these birds?\" and Queen Wakhimah answered her, \"Know, O my\nsister, that this queen is hight Queen al-Shahb\u00e1[FN#221] and that\nshe is queen over all the Jann from East to West. These birds\nthou seest are of her host, and unless they appeared in this\nshape, earth would not be wide enough for them. Indeed, they came\nforth with her and are present with her presence at this\ncircumcision. She will give thee after the measure of that which\nhath been given to thee from the first of the festival to the\nlast thereof;[FN#222] and indeed she honoureth us all with her\npresence.\" Then the queen entered the palace and sat down on the\ncouch of the circumcision[FN#223] at the upper end of the hall,\nwhereupon Tohfah took the lute and pressing it to her breast,\ntouched its strings suchwise that the wits of all present were\nbewildered and Shaykh Iblis cried to her, \"O my lady Tohfah, I\nconjure thee, by the life of this noble queen, sing for me and\npraise thyself, and cross me not.\" Quoth she, \"To hear is to\nobey; still, but for thine adjuration, I had not done this. Say\nme, doth any praise himself? What manner thing is this?\" Then she\nimprovised these couplets:\n\n\"In all f\u00eates I'm Choice Gift[FN#224] to the minstrel-race;\nFolk attest my worth, rank and my pride of place,\nWhile Fame, merit and praises with honour engrace.\"\n\nHer verses pleased the kings of the Jann and they cried, \"By\nAllah, thou sayst sooth!\" Then she rose to her feet, hending lute\nin hand, and played and sang, whilst the Jinns and the Shaykh Abu\nal-Taw\u00e1if danced. Presently the Father of the Tribes came up to\nher bussing her bosom, and gave her a Br\u00e1hmani[FN#225] carbuncle\nhe had taken from the hidden hoard of Y\u00e1fis bin N\u00fah[FN#226] (on\nwhom be the Peace), and which was worth the reign of the world;\nits light was as the sheen of the sun and he said to her, \"Take\nthis and be equitable therewith to the people of the world.\"\n[FN#227] She kissed his hand and rejoiced in the jewel and said,\n\"By Allah, this befitteth none save the Commander of the\nFaithful.\" Now Queen Al-Shahba laughed with delight at the\ndancing of Ibl\u00eds and she said to him, \"By Allah, this is a goodly\npavane!\" He thanked her for this and said to the Songstress, \"O\nTohfah, there is not on earth's face a skilfuller than Ishak\nal-Nadim;[FN#228] but thou art more skilful than he. Indeed, I\nhave been present with him many a time and have shown him\npositions[FN#229] on the lute, and there has betided me with him\nthat which betided. Indeed, the story of my dealings with him is\na long one but this is no time to repeat it; for now I would show\nthee a shift on the lute, whereby thou shalt be exalted over all\nfolk.\" Quoth she, \"Do what seemeth good to thee.\" So he took the\nlute and played thereon a wondrous playing, with rare divisions\nand marvellous modulations, and showed her a passage she knew\nnot; and this was goodlier to her than all that she had gotten.\nThen she took the lute from him and playing thereon, sang and\npresently returned to the passage which he had shown her; and he\nsaid, \"By Allah, thou singest better than I!\" As for Tohfah, it\nbecame manifest to her that her former practice was all of it\nwrong and that what she had learnt from the Shaykh Abu al-Taw\u00e1if\nIblis was the root and foundation of all perfection in the art\nand its modes. So she rejoiced in that which she had won of skill\nin touching the lute far more than in all that had fallen to her\nlot of wealth and honour-robes and kissed the Master's hand. Then\nsaid Queen Al-Shahba, \"By Allah, O Shaykh, my sister Tohfah is\nindeed singular among the folk of her time, and I hear that she\nsingeth upon all sweet-smelling blooms.\" Iblis replied, \"Yes, O my\nlady, and I am in extremest wonderment thereat. But there\nremaineth somewhat of sweet-scented flowers, which she hath not\nbesung, such as myrtle and tuberose and jessamine and the\nmoss-rose and the like.\" Then the Shaykh signed to her to sing\nsomewhat upon the rest of the flowers, that Queen Al-Shahba might\nhear, and she said, \"Hearing and obeying.\" So she took the lute\nand played thereon in many modes, then returned to the first and\nsang these couplets,\n\n\"I'm one of the lover-retinue * Whom long pine and patience have\n doom\u00e8d rue:\nAnd sufferance of parting from kin and friends * Hath clothed me,\n O folk, in this yellow hue:\nThen, after the joyance had passed away, * Heart-break, abasement\n and cark I knew,\nThrough the long, long day when the lift is light, * Nor, when\n night is murk, my pangs cease pursue:\nSo, 'twixt fairest hope and unfailing fear, * My bitter tears\n ever flow anew.\"\n\nThereat Queen Al-Shahba rejoiced with joy exceeding and cried,\n\"Brava, O queen of delight! No one is able to describe thee. Sing\nto us on the Apple.\" Quoth Tohfah, \"Hearkening and obedience.\"\nThen she recited these couplets,\n\n\"I surpass all forms in my coquetry* For mine inner worth and\n mine outer blee;\nTend me noble hands in the sight of all * And slake with pure\n waters the thirst of me;\nMy robe is of sendal, and eke my veil * Is of sunlight the\n Ruthful hath bidden be:\nWhen my fair companions are marched afar, * In sorrow fro' home\n they are forced to flee:\nBut noble hands deign hearten my heart * With beds where I sit in\n my high degree; [FN#230]\nAnd where, like full moon at its rise, my light * 'mid the\n garden-fruits thou shalt ever see.\"\n\nQueen Al-Shahba rejoiced in this with exceeding joy and cried\n\"Brava! By Allah, there is none excelleth thee.\" Tohfah kissed\nthe ground, then returned to her place and versified on the\nTuberose, saying,\n\n\"I'm a marvel-bloom to be worn on head! * Though a stranger among\n you fro' home I fled:\nMake use of wine in my company * And flout at Time who in\n languish sped.\nE'en so doth camphor my hue attest, * O my lords, as I stand in\n my present stead.\nSo gar me your gladness when dawneth day, * And to highmost seat\n in your homes be I led:\nAnd quaff your cups in all jollity, * And cheer and ease shall\n ne'er cease to be.\"\n\nAt this Queen Al-Shahba rejoiced with exceeding joy and cried,\n\"Brava, O queen of delight! By Allah, I know not how I shall do\nto give thee thy due! May the Most High grant us the grace of thy\nlong continuance!\" Then she strained her to her breast and bussed\nher on the cheek; whereupon quoth Iblis (on whom be a curse!),\n\"This is a mighty great honour!\" Quoth the queen, \"Know that this\nlady Tohfah is my sister and that her biddance is my biddance and\nher forbiddance my forbiddance. So all of you hearken to her word\nand render her worshipful obedience.\" Therewith the kings rose in\na body and kissed ground before Tohfah, who rejoiced in this.\nMoreover, Queen Al-Shahba doffed dress and habited her in a suit\nadorned with pearls, jewels and jacinths, worth an hundred\nthousand ducats, and wrote for her on a slip of paper[FN#231] a\npatent appointing her to be her deputy. So the Songstress rose\nand kissed ground before the Queen, who said to her, \"Of thy\nfavour, sing to us somewhat concerning the rest of the\nsweet-scented flowers and herbs, so I may hear thy chant and\nsolace myself with witnessing thy skill.\" She replied, \"To hear\nis to obey, O lady mine,\" and, taking the lute, improvised these\ncouplets,\n\n\"My hue excelleth all hues in light, * And I would all eyes\n should enjoy my sight:\nMy site is the site of fillets and pearls * Where the fairest\n brows are with jasmine dight:\nMy light's uprist (and what light it shows!) * Is a silvern zone\n on the waist of Night.\"\n\nThen she changed the measure and improvised these couplets,\n\n\"I'm the gem of herbs, and in seasons twain * My tryst I keep\n with my lovers-train:\nI stint not union for length of time * Nor visits, though some be\n of severance fain;\nThe true one am I and my troth I keep, * And, easy of plucking,\n no hand disdain.\"\n\nThen, changing measure and the mode, she played so that she\nbewildered the wits of those who were present, and Queen\nAl-Shahba, moved to mirth and merriment, cried, \"Brava, O queen\nof delight!\" Presently she returned to the first mode and\nimproved these couplets on Nenuphar,\n\n\"I fear me lest freke espy me, * In air when I fain deny me;\nSo I root me beneath the wave, * And my stalks to bow down apply\nme.\"\n\nHereat Queen Al-Shahba rejoiced with exceeding joy, and cried,\n\"Brava, O Tohfah! Let me hear more of thy chant.\" Accordingly,\nshe smote the lute and changing the mode, recited on the Moss-\nrose these couplets,\n\n\"Look on Nasr\u00edn[FN#232] those branchy shoots surround; * With\n greenest leafery 'tis deckt and crowned:\nIts graceful bending stem draws every gaze * While beauteous\n bearing makes their love abound.\"\n\nThen she changed measure and mode and sang these couplets on the\nWater-lily,\n\n\"O thou who askest S\u00fasan[FN#233] of her scent, * Hear thou my\n words and beauty of my lay.\n'Emir am I whom all mankind desire' * (Quoth she) 'or present or\n when ta'en away.'\"\n\nWhen Tohfah had made an end of her song, Queen Al-Shahba rose and\nsaid, \"I never heard from any the like of this;\" and she drew the\nSongstress to her and fell to kissing her. Then she took leave of\nher and flew away; and on like wise all the birds took flight\nwith her, so that they walled the horizon; whilst the rest of the\nkings tarried behind. Now as soon as it was the fourth night,\nthere came the boy who was to be circumcised, adorned with jewels\nsuch as never saw eye nor heard ear of, and amongst the rest a\ncrown of gold crusted with pearls and gems, the worth whereof was\nan hundred thousand sequins. He sat down upon the couch and\nTohfah sang to him, till the chirurgeon[FN#234] came and they\nsnipped his foreskin in the presence of all the kings, who\nshowered on him a mighty great store of jewels and jacinths and\ngold. Queen Kamariyah bade her Eunuchs gather up all this and lay\nit in Tohfah's closet and it was as much in value as all that had\nfallen to her, from the first of the festivities to the last\nthereof. Moreover, the Shaykh Iblis (whom Allah curse!) bestowed\nupon the Songstress the crown worn by the boy and gave the\ncircumcisee another, whereat Tohfah's reason took flight. Then\nthe Jinn departed, in order of rank, whilst Iblis farewelled\nthem, band after band. Seeing the Shaykh thus occupied with\ntaking leave of the kings, Maymun seized his opportunity, the\nplace being empty, and taking up Tohfah on his shoulders, soared\naloft with her to the confines of the lift, and flew away with\nher. Presently, Iblis came to look for the Songstress and see\nwhat she purposed, but found her not and sighted the slave-girls\nslapping their faces: so he said to them, \"Fie on you! What may\nbe the matter?\" They replied, \"O our lord, Maymun hath snatched\nup Tohfah and flown away with her.\" When Iblis heard this, he\ngave a cry whereto earth trembled and said, \"What is to be done?\"\nThen he buffetted his face and head, exclaiming, \"Woe to you!\nThis be none other than exceeding insolence. Shall he carry off\nTohfah from my very palace and attaint mine honour? Doubtless,\nthis Maymun hath lost his wits.\" Then he cried out a second time,\nso that the earth quaked, and rose on his wings high in air. The\nnews came to the rest of the kings; so they flew after him and\novertaking him, found him full of anxiety and affright, with fire\nissuing from his nostrils, and said to him, \"O Shaykh\nal-Tawaif,[FN#235] what is to do?\" He replied, \"Know ye that\nMaymun hath carried off Tohfah from my palace and attainted mine honour.\"\nWhen they heard this, they cried, \"There is no Majesty and there\nis no Might save in Allah the Glorious, the Great. By God he hath\nventured upon a grave matter and verily he destroyeth self and\nfolk!\" Then Shaykh Iblis ceased not flying till he fell in with\nthe tribes of the Jann, and they gathered together a world of\npeople, none may tell the tale of them save the Lord of\nAll-might. So they came to the Fortress of Copper and the Citadel\nof Lead,[FN#236] and the people of the sconces saw the tribes of\nthe Jann issuing from every deep mountain-pass[FN#237] and said,\n\"What be the news?\" Then Iblis went in to King Al-Shisban and\nacquainted him with that which had befallen; whereupon quoth he,\n\"Verily, Allah hath destroyed Maymun and his many! He pretendeth\nto possess Tohfah, and she is become queen of the Jann! But have\npatience till we devise that which befitteth in the matter of\nTohfah.\" Iblis asked, \"And what befitteth it to do?\" And\nAl-Shisban answered, \"We will fall upon him and kill him and his\nhost with cut of brand.\" Then quoth Shaykh Iblis, \"'Twere better\nto acquaint Queen Kamariyah and Queen Zalzalah and Queen\nShararah and Queen Wakhimah; and when they are assembled, Allah\nshall ordain whatso He deemeth good in the matter of her\nrelease.\" Quoth Al-Shisban, \"Right is thy rede\" and they\ndespatched to Queen Kamariyah an Ifrit hight Salhab who came to\nher palace and found her sleeping, so he roused her and she said,\n\"What is to do, O Salhab?\" Cried he, \"O my lady, come to the\nsuccour of thy sister the Songstress, for Maymun hath carried her\noff and attainted thine honour and that of Shaykh Iblis.\" Quoth\nshe, \"What sayst thou?\" and she sat up straight and cried out\nwith a great cry. And indeed she feared for Tohfah and said, \"By\nAllah, in very sooth she used to say that he gazed at her and\nprolonged the gaze; but ill is that whereto his soul hath\nprompted him.\" Then she rose in haste and mounting a Sataness of\nher Satans, said to her, \"Fly.\" So she flew off with her and\nalighted in the palace of her sister Shararah, whereupon she sent\nfor her sisters Zalzalah and Wakhimah and acquainted them with\nthe tidings, saying, \"Know that Maymun hath snatched up Tohfah\nand flown off with her swiftlier than the blinding leven.\" Then\nthey all flew off in haste and lighting down in the place where\nwere their father Al-Shisban and their grandfather the Shaykh Abu\nal-Taw\u00e1if, found the folk on the sorriest of situations. When\ntheir grandfather Iblis saw them, he rose to them and wept, and\nthey all wept for the Songstress. Then said Iblis to them,\n\"Yonder hound hath attainted mine honour and taken Tohfah, and I\nthink not other wise[FN#238] but that she is like to die of\ndistress for herself and her lord Al-Rashid and saying, 'The\nwhole that they said and did was false.'\"[FN#239] Quoth\nKamariyah, \"O grandfather mine, nothing is left for it but\nstratagem and device for her deliverance, for that she is dearer\nto me than everything; and know that yonder accursed when he\nwaxeth ware of your coming upon him, will ken that he hath no\npower to cope with you, he who is the least and meanest of the\nJann; but we dread that he, when assured of defeat, will slay\nTohfah; wherefore nothing will serve but that we contrive a\nsleight for saving her; else will she perish.\" He asked, \"And\nwhat hast thou in mind of device?\" and she answered, \"Let us take\nhim with fair means, and if he obey, all will be well;[FN#240]\nelse will we practice stratagem against him; and expect not her\ndeliverance from other than myself.\" Quoth Iblis, \"The affair is\nthine; contrive what thou wilt, for that Tohfah is thy sister and\nthy solicitude for her is more effectual than that of any other.\"\nSo Kamariyah cried out to an Ifrit of the Ifrits and a calamity\nof the calamities,[FN#241] by name Al-Asad al-Tayy\u00e1r, the Flying\nLion, and said to him, \"Hie with my message to the Crescent\nMountain,[FN#242] the wone of Maymun the Sworder, and enter and\nsay to him, My lady saluteth thee with the salam and asketh thee,\n'How canst thou be assured for thyself of safety, after what thou\nhast done, O Maymun? Couldst thou find none to maltreat in thy\ndrunken humour save Tohfah, she too being a queen? But thou art\nexcused, because thou didst not this deed, but 'twas thy drink,\nand the Shaykh Abu al-Taw\u00e1if pardoneth thee, because thou wast\ndrunken. Indeed, thou hast attainted his honour; but now restore\nher to her palace, for that she hath done well and favoured us\nand rendered us service, and thou wottest that she is this day\nour queen. Belike she may bespeak Queen Al-Shahba, whereupon the\nmatter will become grievous and that wherein there is no good\nshall betide thee; and thou wilt get no tittle of gain. Verily, I\ngive thee good counsel, and so the Peace!'\" Al-Asad answered\n\"Hearing and obeying,\" and flew till he came to the Crescent\nMountain, when he sought audience of Maymun, who bade admit him.\nSo he entered and kissing ground before him, gave him Queen\nKamariyah's message, which when he heard, he cried to the Ifrit,\n\"Return whence thou comest and say to thy mistress, 'Be silent\nand thou wilt show thy good sense.' Else will I come and seize\nupon her and make her serve Tohfah; and if the kings of the Jinn\nassemble together against me and I be overcome by them, I will\nnot leave her to scent the wind of this world and she shall be\nneither mine nor theirs, for that she is presently my sprite\n[FN#243] from between my ribs; and how shall any part with his\nsprite?\" When the Ifrit heard Maymun's words, he said to him, \"By\nAllah, O Maymun, art thou a changeling in thy wits, that thou\nspeakest these words of my lady, and thou one of her page-boys?\"\nWhereupon Maymun cried out and said to him, \"Woe to thee, O dog\nof the Jinns! Wilt thou bespeak the like of me with these words?\"\nThen he bade those who were about him bastinado Al-Asad, but he\ntook flight and soaring high in air, betook himself to his\nmistress and told her the tidings: when she said, \"Thou hast done\nwell, O good knight!\" Then she turned to her sire and said to\nhim, \"Hear that which I shall say to thee.\" Quoth he, \"Say on;\"\nand quoth she, \"I rede thee take thy troops and go to him, for\nwhen he heareth this, he will in turn levy his many and come\nforth to thee; whereupon do thou offer him battle and prolong the\nfight with him and make a show to him of weakness and giving way.\nMeantime, I will devise me a device for getting at Tohfah and\ndelivering her, what while he is busied with you in battle; and\nwhen my messenger cometh to thee and informeth thee that I have\ngotten possession of Tohfah and that she is with me, return thou\nupon Maymun forthwith and overthrow him and his hosts, and take\nhim prisoner. But, an my device succeed not with him and we fail\nto deliver Tohfah, he will assuredly practice to slay her,\nwithout recourse, and regret for her will remain in our hearts.\"\nQuoth Iblis, \"This is the right rede\" and bade call a march among\nthe troops, whereupon an hundred thousand knights, doughty wights\nof war, joined themselves to him and set out for the country of\nMaymun. As for Queen Kamariyah, she flew off to the palace of her\nsister Wakhimah, and told her what deed Maymun had done and how\nhe declared that, whenas he saw defeat nearhand, he would slay\nTohfah; adding, \"And indeed, he is resolved upon this; otherwise\nhad he not dared to work such sleight. So do thou contrive the\naffair as thou see fit, for in rede thou hast no superior.\" Then\nthey sent for Queen Zalzalah and Queen Shararah and sat down to\ntake counsel, one with other, concerning what they had best do in\nthe matter. Presently said Wakhimah, \" 'Twere advisable we fit\nout a ship in this our island home and embark therein, disguised\nas Adam's sons, and fare on till we come to anchor under a little\nisland that lieth over against Maymun's palace. There will we sit\ndrinking and smiting the lute and singing; for Tohfah will\nassuredly be seated there overlooking the sea, and needs must she\nsee us and come down to us, whereupon we will take her by force\nand she will be under our hands, so that none shall be able to\nmolest her any more. Or, an Maymun be gone forth to do battle\nwith the Jinns, we will storm his stronghold and take Tohfah and\nraze his palace and slay all therein. When he hears of this, his\nheart will be broken and we will send to let our father know,\nwhereat he will return upon him with his troops and he will be\ndestroyed and we shall have rest of him.\" They answered her,\nsaying, \"This is a good counsel.\" Then they bade fit out a ship\nfrom behind the mountain,[FN#244] and it was fitted out in less\nthan the twinkling of an eye; so they launched it on the sea and\nembarking therein, together with four thousand Ifrits, set out,\nintending for Maymun's palace. They also bade other five thousand\nIfrits betake themselves to the island under the Crescent\nMountain and there lie in wait for them ambushed well. Thus fared\nit with the kings of the Jann; but as regards Shaykh Abu\nal-Taw\u00e1if Iblis and his son Al-Shisban the twain set out, as we\nhave said, with their troops, who were of the doughtiest of the\nJinn and the prowest of them in wing-flying and horsemanship,\nand fared on till they drew near the Crescent Mountain. When the\nnews of their approach reached Maymun, he cried out with a mighty\ngreat cry to the troops, who were twenty thousand riders, and\nbade them make ready for departure. Then he went in to Tohfah and\nkissing her, said, \"Know that thou art this day my life of the\nworld, and indeed the Jinns are gathered together to wage war on\nme for thy sake. An I win the day from them and am preserved\nalive, I will set all the kings of the Jann under thy feet and\nthou shalt become queen of the world.\" But she shook her head and\nshed tears; and he said, \"Weep not, for I swear by the virtue of\nthe mighty inscription borne on the seal-ring of Solomon, thou\nshalt never again see the land of men; no, never! Say me, can any\none part with his life? Give ear, then, to my words; else will I\nslay thee.\" So she was silent. And forthright he sent for his\ndaughter, whose name was Jamrah,[FN#245] and when she came, he\nsaid to her, \"Harkye, Jamrah! Know that I am going to fight the\nclans of Al-Shisban and Queen Kamariyah and the Kings of the\nJann. An I be vouchsafed the victory over them, to Allah be the\nlaud and thou shalt have of me largesse;[FN#246] but, an thou see\nor hear that I am worsted and any come to thee with ill news of\nme, hasten to kill Tohfah, so she may fall neither to me nor to\nthem.\" Then he farewelled her and mounted, saying, \"When this\ncometh about, pass over to the Crescent Mountain and take up\nthine abode there, and await what shall befal me and what I shall\nsay to thee.\" And Jamrah answered \"Hearkening and obedience.\" Now\nwhen the Songstress heard these words, she fell to weeping and\nwailing and said, \"By Allah, naught irketh me but severance from\nmy lord Al-Rashid; however, when I am dead, let the world be\nruined after me!\"[FN#247] And she was certified in herself that\nshe was assuredly lost. Then Maymun set forth with his army and\ndeparted in quest of the hosts of the Jinn, leaving none in the\npalace save his daughter Jamrah and Tohfah and an Ifrit which was\ndear to him. They fared on till they met with the army of\nAl-Shisban; and when the two hosts came face to face, they fell\neach upon other and fought a fight, a passing sore than which\nnaught could be more. After a while, Al-Shisban's troops began to\ngive way, and when Maymun saw them do thus, he despised them and\nmade sure of victory over them. On this wise it befel them; but\nas regards Queen Kamariyah and her company they sailed on without\nceasing, till they came under the palace wherein was Tohfah, to\nwit, that of Maymun the Sworder; and by the decree of the Lord of\ndestiny, the Songstress herself was at that very time sitting on\nthe belvedere of the palace, pondering the affair of Harun\nal-Rashid and her own and that which had befallen her and weeping\nfor that she was doomed to death. She saw the vessel and what was\ntherein of those we have named, and they in mortal guise, and\nsaid, \"Alas, my sorrow for this ship and for the men that be\ntherein!\" As for Kamariyah and her many, when they drew near the\npalace, they strained their eyes and seeing the Songstress\nsitting, cried, \"Yonder sitteth Tohfah. May Allah not bereave us\nof her!\" Then they moored their craft and, making for the island\nwhich lay over against the palace, spread carpets and sat eating\nand drinking; whereupon quoth Tohfah, \"Well come and welcome to\nyonder faces! These be my kinswomen and I conjure thee by Allah,\nO Jamrah, that thou let me down to them, so I may sit with them\nawhile and enjoy kindly converse with them and return.\" Quoth\nJamrah, \"I may on no wise do that;\" and Tohfah wept. Then the\nfolk brought out wine and drank, while Kamariyah took the lute\nand sang these couplets,\n\n\"By Allah, had I never hoped to greet you * Your guide had failed\n on camel to seat you!\nFar bore you parting from friend would greet you * Till meseems\n mine eyes for your wone entreat you.\"\n\nWhen Tohfah heard this, she cried out so great a cry, that the\nfolk heard her and Kamariyah said, \"Relief is nearhand.\" Then the\nSongstress looked out to them and called to them, saying, \"O\ndaughters of mine uncle, I am a lonely maid, an exile from kin\nand country: so for the love of Allah Almighty, repeat that\nsong!\" Accordingly Kamariyah repeated it and Tohfah swooned away.\nWhen she came to herself, she said to Jamrah, \"By the rights of\nthe Apostle of Allah (whom may He save and assain!) unless thou\nsuffer me go down to them and look on them and sit with them for\na full hour, I will hurl myself headlong from this palace, for\nthat I am aweary of my life and know that I am slain to all\ncertainty; wherefore will I kill myself, ere you pass sentence\nupon me.\" And she was instant with her in asking. When Jamrah\nheard her words, she knew that, an she let her not down, she\nwould assuredly destroy herself. So she said to her, \"O Tohfah,\nbetween thee and them are a thousand cubits, but I will bring the\nwomen up to thee.\" The Songstress replied, \"Nay, there is no help\nbut that I go down to them and solace me in the island and look\nupon the sea anear; then will we return, I and thou; for that, an\nthou bring them up to us, they will be affrighted and there will\nbetide them neither joy nor gladness. As for me, I wish but to be\nwith them, that they may cheer me with their company neither give\nover their merrymaking, so peradventure I may broaden my breast\nwith them, and indeed I swear that needs must I go down to them;\nelse I will cast myself upon them.\" And she cajoled Jamrah and\nkissed her hands, till she said, \"Arise and I will set thee down\nbeside them.\" Then she took Tohfah under her armpit and flying up\nswiftlier than the blinding leven, set her down with Kamariyah\nand her company; whereupon she went up to them and accosted them,\nsaying, \"Fear ye not: no harm shall befal you; for I am a mortal,\nlike unto you, and I would fain look on you and talk with you and\nhear your singing.\" So they welcomed her and kept their places\nwhilst Jamrah sat down beside them and fell a-snuffing their\nodours and saying, \"I smell the scent of the Jinn![FN#248] Would\nI wot whence it cometh!\" Then said Wakhimah to her sister\nKamariyah, \"Yonder foul slut smelleth us and presently she will\ntake to flight; so what be this inaction concerning her?\"[FN#249]\nThereupon Kamariyah put out an arm long as a camel's neck, and\ndealt Jamrah a buffet on the head, that made it fly from her body\nand cast it into the sea. Then cried she, \"Allah is\nAll-great!\"[FN#250] And they uncovered their faces, whereupon\nTohfah knew them and said to them, \"Protection!\" Queen Kamariyah\nembraced her, as also did Queen Zalzalah and Queen Wakhimah and\nQueen Shararah, and the first-named said to her, \"Receive the\ngood tidings of assured safety, for there abideth no harm for\nthee; but this is no time for talk.\" Then they cried out,\nwhereupon up came the Ifrits ambushed in that island, hending\nswords and maces in hand, and taking up Tohfah, flew with her to the\npalace and made themselves masters of it, whilst the Ifrit\naforesaid, who was dear to Maymun and whose name was\nDukh\u00e1n,[FN#251] fled like an arrow and stinted not flying till he\ncame to Maymun and found him fighting a sore fight with the Jinn.\nWhen his lord saw him, he cried out at him, saying, \"Fie upon\nthee! Whom hast thou left in the palace?\" Dukhan answered,\nsaying, \"And who abideth in the palace? Thy beloved Tohfah they\nhave captured and Jamrah is slain and they have taken the palace,\nall of it.\" At these ill tidings Maymun buffeted his face and\nhead and said, \"Oh! Out on it for a calamity!\" Then he cried\naloud. Now Kamariyah had sent to her sire and reported to him the\nnews, whereat the raven of the wold[FN#252] croaked for the foe.\nSo, when Maymun saw that which had betided him (and indeed the\nJinn smote upon him and the wings of eternal severance overspread\nhis host), he planted the heel of his lance in the earth and\nturning its head to his heart, urged his charger thereat and\npressed upon it with his breast, till the point came forth\ngleaming from his back. Meanwhile the messenger had made the\nfriendly host with the news of Tohfah's deliverance, whereat the\nShaykh Abu al-Taw\u00e1if rejoiced and bestowed on the bringer of lief\ntidings a sumptuous robe of honour and made him commander over a\ncompany of the Jann. Then they charged home upon Maymun's host\nand wiped them out to the last man; and when they came to Maymun,\nthey found that he had slain himself and was even as we have\nsaid. Presently Kamariyah and her sister Wakhimah came up to\ntheir grandfather and told him what they had done; whereupon he\ncame to Tohfah and saluted her with the salam and congratulated\nher on deliverance. Then he made over Maymun's palace to Salhab;\nand, taking all the rebel's wealth gave it to the Songstress,\nwhile the troops encamped upon the Crescent Mountain.\nFurthermore, the Shaykh Abu al-Taw\u00e1if said to Tohfah, \"Blame me\nnot,\" and she kissed his hands, when behold, there appeared to\nthem the tribes of the Jinn, as they were clouds, and Queen\nAl-Shahba flying in their van, drawn sword in grip. As she came\nin sight of the folk, they kissed ground between her hands and\nshe said to them, \"Tell me what hath betided Queen Tohfah from\nyonder dog Maymun and why did ye not send to me and report to\nme?\" Quoth they, \"And who was this dog that we should send to\nthee on his account? Indeed he was the least and lowest of the\nJinn.\" Then they told her what Kamariyah and her sisters had done\nand how they had practiced upon Maymun and delivered the\nSongstress from his hand, fearing lest he should slay her when he\nfound himself defeated; and she said, \"By Allah, the accursed was\nwont to lengthen his looking upon her!\" And Tohfah fell to\nkissing Al-Shahba's hand, whilst the queen strained her to her\nbosom and kissed her, saying, \"Trouble is past; so rejoice in\nassurance of deliverance.\" Then they rose and went up to the\npalace whereupon the trays of food were brought and they ate and\ndrank; after which quoth Queen Al-Shahba, \"O Tohfah, sing to us,\nby way of sweetmeat[FN#253] for thine escape, and favour us with\nthat which shall solace our minds, for that indeed my thoughts\nhave been occupied with thee.\" And quoth Tohfah, \"Hearkening and\nobedience, O my lady.\" So she improvised and sang these couplets,\n\n\"Breeze of East[FN#254] an thou breathe o'er the dear ones' land\n * Speed, I pray thee, my special salute and salam:\nAnd say them I'm pledged to love them and * In pine that passeth\n all pine I am.\"\n\nThereat Queen Al-Shahba rejoiced and with her all who were\npresent; and they admired her speech and fell to kissing her; and\nwhen she had made an end of her song, Queen Kamariyah said to\nher, \"O my sister, ere thou go to thy palace, I would fain bring\nthee to look upon Al-'Ank\u00e1,[FN#255] daughter of Bahram J\u00far, whom\nAl-'Anka, daughter of the wind, carried off, and her beauty; for\nthat there is not her fellow on earth's face.\" And Queen\nAl-Shahba said, \"O Kamariyah, I also think it were well an I\nbeheld her.\" Quoth Kamariyah, \"I saw her three years ago; but my\nsister Wakhimah seeth her at all times, for she is near to her\npeople, and she saith that there is not in the world fairer than\nshe. Indeed, this Queen Al-Anka is become a byword for beauty and\ncomeliness.\" And Wakhimah said, \"By the mighty inscription on the\nseal-ring of Solomon, there is not her like for loveliness here\nbelow.\" Then said Queen Al-Shahba, \"An it needs must be and the\naffair is as ye say, I will take Tohfah and go with her to\nAl-Anka, so she may look upon her!\" So they all arose and\nrepaired to Al-Anka, who abode in the Mountain Kaf. When she saw\nthem, she drew near to them and saluted them, saying, \"O my\nladies, may I not be bereaved of you!\" Quoth Wakhimah to her,\n\"Who is like unto thee, O Anka? Behold, Queen Al-Shahba is come\nto thee.\" So Al-Anka kissed the Queen's feet and lodged them in\nher palace; whereupon Tohfah came up to her and fell to kissing\nher and saying, \"Never saw I a seemlier than this semblance.\" Then\nshe set before them somewhat of food and they ate and washed\ntheir hands; after which the Songstress took the lute and smote\nit well; and Al-Anka also played, and they fell to improvising\nverses in turns, whilst Tohfah embraced Al-Anka every moment.\nAl-Shahba cried, \"O my sister, each kiss is worth a thousand\ndinars;\" and Tohfah replied, \"And a thousand dinars were little\ntherefor;\" whereat Al-Anka laughed and after nighting in her\npavilion on the morrow they took leave of her and went away to\nMaymun's palace. Here Queen Al-Shahba farewelled them and taking\nher troops, returned to her capital, whilst the kings also went\naway to their abodes and the Shaykh Abu al-Taw\u00e1if applied himself\nto diverting Tohfah till nightfall, when he mounted her on the\nback of one of the Ifrits and bade other thirty gather together\nall that she had gotten of treasure and raiment, jewels and robes\nof honour. Then they flew off, whilst Iblis went with her, and in\nless than the twinkling of an eye he set her down in her sleeping\nroom, where he and those who were with him bade adieu to her and\nwent away. When Tohfah found herself in her own chamber[FN#256]\nand on her couch, her reason fled for joy and it seemed to her as\nif she had never stirred thence: then she took the lute and tuned\nit and touched it in wondrous fashion and improvised verses and\nsang. The Eunuch heard the smiting of the lute within the chamber\nand cried, \"By Allah, that is the touch of my lady Tohfah!\" So he\narose and went, as he were a madman, falling down and rising up,\ntill he came to the Castrato on guard at the gate of the\nCommander of the Faithful and found him sitting. When his fellow\nneutral saw him, and he like a madman, slipping down and\nstumbling up, he asked him, \"What aileth thee and what bringeth\nthee hither at this hour?\" The other answered, \"Wilt thou not\nmake haste and awaken the Prince of True Believers?\" And he fell\nto crying out at him; whereupon the Caliph awoke and heard them\nbandying words together and Tohfah's slave crying to the other,\n\"Woe to thee! Awaken the Commander of the Faithful in haste.\" So\nquoth he, \"O Sawab, what hast thou to say?\" and quoth the Chief\nEunuch, \"O our lord, the Eunuch of Tohfah's lodging hath lost his\nwits and crieth, 'Awaken the Commander of the Faithful in haste!'\n\" Then said Al-Rashid to one of the slave-girls, \"See what may be\nthe matter.\" Accordingly she hastened to admit the Castrato, who\nentered at her order; and when he saw the Commander of the\nFaithful, he salamed not neither kissed ground, but cried in his\nhurry, \"Quick: up with thee! My lady Tohfah sitteth in her\nchamber, singing a goodly ditty. Come to her in haste and see all\nthat I say to thee! Hasten! She sitteth awaiting thee.\" The\nCaliph was amazed at his speech and asked him, \"What sayst thou?\"\nHe answered, \"Didst thou not hear the first of the speech? Tohfah\nsitteth in the sleeping-chamber, singing and lute-playing. Come\nthy quickest! Hasten!\" Accordingly Al-Rashid sprang up and donned\nhis dress; but he believed not the Eunuch's words and said to\nhim, \"Fie upon thee! What is this thou sayst? Hast thou not seen\nthis in a dream?\" Quoth the Eunuch, \"By Allah, I wot not what\nthou sayest, and I was not asleep;\" and quoth Al-Rashid, \"An thy\nspeech be soothfast, it shall be for thy good luck, for I will\nfree thee and give thee a thousand gold pieces; but, an it be\nuntrue and thou have seen this in dream-land, I will crucify\nthee.\" The Eunuch said within himself, \"O Protector, let me not\nhave seen this in vision!\" then he left the Caliph and running to\nthe chamber-door, heard the sound of singing and lute-playing;\nwhereupon he returned to Al-Rashid and said to him, \"Go and\nhearken and see who is asleep.\" When the Prince of True Believers\ndrew near the door of the sleeping-chamber, he heard the sound of\nthe lute and Tohfah's voice singing; whereat he could not\nrestrain his reason and was like to faint for excess of delight.\nThen he pulled out the key, but his hand refused to draw the bolt:\nhowever, after a while, he took heart and applying himself,\nopened the door and entered, saying, \"Methinks this is none other\nthan a vision or an imbroglio of dreams.\" When Tohfah saw him,\nshe rose and coming to meet him, pressed him to her breast; and\nhe cried out a cry wherein his sprite was like to depart and fell\ndown in a fit. She again strained him to her bosom and sprinkled\non him rose-water mingled with musk, and washed his face, till he\ncame to himself, as he were a drunken man, and shed tears for the\nstress of his joy in Tohfah's return to him, after he had\ndespaired of her returning. Then she took the lute and smote\nthereon, after the fashion she had learnt from Shaykh Iblis, so\nthat Al-Rashid's wit was bewildered for excess of joy and his\nunderstanding was confounded for exultation; after which she\nimprovised and sang these couplets,\n\n\"That I left thee my heart to believe is unlief; * For the life\n that's in it ne'er leaveth; brief,\nAn thou say 'I went,' saith my heart 'What a fib!' * And I bide\n 'twixt believing and unbelief.\"\n\nWhen she had made an end of her verses, Al-Rashid said to her, \"O\nTohfah, thine absence was wondrous, yet is thy presence still\nmore marvellous.\" She replied, \"By Allah, O my lord, thou sayst\nsooth;\" then, taking his hand, she said to him, \"O Commander of\nthe Faithful, see what I have brought with me.\" So he looked and\nspied treasures such as neither words could describe nor\nregisters could document, pearls and jewels and jacinths and\nprecious stones and unions and gorgeous robes of honour, adorned\nwith margarites and jewels and purfled with red gold. There he\nbeheld what he never had beheld all his life long, not even in\nidea; and she showed him that which Queen Al-Shahba had bestowed\non her of those carpets, which she had brought with her, and that\nthrone, the like whereof neither Kisr\u00e0 possessed nor C\u00e6sar, and\nthose tables inlaid with pearls and jewels and those vessels\nwhich amazed all who looked on them, and that crown which was on\nthe head of the circumcised boy, and those robes of honour, which\nQueen Al-Shahba and Shaykh Abu al-Taw\u00e1if had doffed and donned\nupon her, and the trays wherein were those treasures; brief, she\nshowed him wealth whose like he had never in his life espied and\nwhich the tongue availeth not to describe and whereat all who\nlooked thereon were bewildered, Al-Rashid was like to lose his\nwits for amazement at this spectacle and was confounded at that\nhe sighted and witnessed. Then said he to Tohfah, \"Come, tell me\nthy tale from beginning to end, and let me know all that hath\nbetided thee, as if I had been present.\" She answered,\n\"Hearkening and obedience,\" and acquainting him with all that had\nbetided her first and last, from the time when she first saw the\nShaykh Abu al-Taw\u00e1if, how he took her and descended with her\nthrough the side of the Chapel of Ease; and she told him of the\nhorse she had ridden, till she came to the meadow aforesaid and\ndescribed it to him, together with the palace and that was\ntherein of furniture, and related to him how the Jinn rejoiced in\nher, and whatso she had seen of their kings, masculine and\nfeminine, and of Queen Kamariyah and her sisters and Queen\nShu'a'ah, Regent of the Fourth Sea, and Queen Al-Shahba, Queen of\nQueens, and King Al-Shisban, and that which each one of them had\nbestowed upon her. Moreover, she recited to him the story of\nMaymun the Sworder and described to him his fulsome favour, which\nhe had not deigned to change, and related to him that which befel\nher from the kings of the Jinn, male and female, and the coming\nof the Queen of Queens, Al-Shahba, and how she had loved her and\nappointed her her vice-reine and how she was thus become ruler\nover all the kings of the Jann; and she showed him the writ of\ninvestiture which Queen Al-Shahba had written her and told him\nwhat had betided her with the Ghulish Head, when it appeared to\nher in the garden, and how she had despatched it to her palace,\nbeseeching it to bring her news of the Commander of the Faithful\nand of what had betided him after her. Then she described to him\nthe flower-gardens, wherein she had taken her pleasure, and the\nHammam-baths inlaid with pearls and jewels and told him that\nwhich had befallen Maymun the Sworder, when he bore her off, and\nhow he had slain himself; in fine, she related to him everything\nshe had seen of wonders and marvels and that which she had beheld\nof all kinds and colours among the Jinn. Then she told him the\nstory of Al-Anka, daughter of Bahram Jur, with Al-Anka, daughter\nof the wind, and described to him her dwelling-place and her\nisland, whereupon quoth Al-Rashid, \"O Tohfat al-Sadr,[FN#257]\ntell me of Al-Anka, daughter of Bahram Jur; is she of the\nJinn-kind or of mankind or of the bird-kind? For this long time\nhave I desired to find one who should tell me of her.\" Tohfah\nreplied, \"'Tis well, O Commander of the Faithful. I asked the\nqueen of this and she acquainted me with her case and told me who\nbuilt her the palace.\" Quoth Al-Rashid, \"Allah upon thee, tell it\nme;\" and quoth Tohfah, \"I will well,\" and proceeded to tell him.\nAnd he was amazed at that which he heard from her and what she\nreported to him and at that which she had brought back of jewels\nand jacinths of various hues and precious stones of many sorts,\nsuch as amazed the beholder and confounded thought and mind. As\nfor this, Tohfah was the means of the enrichment of the\nBarmecides and the Abbasides, and they had endurance in their\ndelight. Then the Caliph went forth and bade decorate the city:\nso they decorated it and the drums of glad tidings were beaten;\nand they made banquets to the people for whom the tables were\nspread seven days. And Tohfah and the Commander of the Faithful\nceased not to enjoy the most delightsome of life and the most\nprosperous till there came to them the Destroyer of delights and\nthe Severer of societies; and this is all that hath come down to\nus of their story.\n\n\n\n\n WOMEN'S WILES[FN#258]\n\n\n\nOn the following night Dunyazad said to her sister Shahrazad, \"O\nsister mine, an thou incline not unto sleep, prithee tell us a\ntale which shall beguile our watching through the dark hours.\"\nShe replied:--With love and gladness.[FN#259] It hath reached me,\nO magnificent King, that whilome there was in the city of\nBaghdad, a comely youth and a well-bred, fair of favour, tall of\nstature, and slender of shape. His name was Al\u00e1 al-D\u00edn and he was\nof the chiefs of the sons of the merchants and had a shop wherein\nhe sold and bought. One day, as he sat in his shop, there passed\nby him a merry girl[FN#260] who raised her head and casting a\nglance at the young merchant, saw written in a flowing hand on\nthe forehead[FN#261] of his shop door these words, \"THERE BE NO\nCRAFT SAVE MEN'S CRAFT, FORASMUCH AS IT OVERCOMETH WOMEN'S\nCRAFT.\" When she beheld this, she was wroth and took counsel with\nherself, saying, As my head liveth, there is no help but I show\nhim a marvel-trick of the wiles of women and put to naught this\nhis inscription!\" Thereupon she hied her home; and on the morrow\nshe made her ready and donning the finest of dress, adorned\nherself with the costliest of ornaments and the highest of price\nand stained her hands with Henna. Then she let down her tresses\nupon her shoulders and went forth, walking with coquettish gait\nand amorous grace, followed by her slave-girl carrying a parcel,\ntill she came to the young merchant's shop and sitting down under\npretext of seeking stuffs, saluted him with the salam and\ndemanded of him somewhat of cloths. So he brought out to her\nvarious kinds and she took them and turned them over, talking\nwith him the while. Then said she to him, \"Look at the\nshapeliness of my shape and my semblance! Seest thou in me aught\nof default?\" He replied, \"No, O my lady;\" and she continued, \"Is\nit lawful in any one that he should slander me and say that I am\nhumpbacked?\" Then she discovered to him a part of her bosom, and\nwhen he saw her breasts his reason took flight from his head and\nhis heart clave to her and he cried, \"Cover it up,[FN#262] so may\nAllah veil thee!\" Quoth she, \"Is it fair of any one to decry my\ncharms?\" and quoth he, \"How shall any decry thy charms, and thou\nthe sun of loveliness?\" Then said she, \"Hath any the right to say\nof me that I am lophanded?\" and tucking up her sleeves, she\nshowed him forearms as they were crystal; after which she\nunveiled to him a face, as it were a full moon breaking forth on\nits fourteenth night, and said to him, \"Is it lawful for any to\ndecry me and declare that my face is pitted with smallpox or that\nI am one-eyed or crop-eared?\" and said he, \"O my lady, what is it\nmoveth thee to discover unto me that lovely face and those fair\nlimbs, wont to be so jealously veiled and guarded? Tell me the\ntruth of the matter, may I be thy ransom!\" And he began to\nimprovise,[FN#263]\n\n\"White Fair now drawn from sheath of parted hair, * Then in the\n blackest tresses hid from sight,\nFlasheth like day irradiating Earth * While round her glooms the\n murk of nightliest night.\"\n\n--And Shahrazad perceived the dawn of day and ceased to say her\npermitted say. Whereupon cried Dunyazad her sister, \"O sister\nmine, how delectable is this tale and how desirable!\" She\nreplied, saying, \"And where is this compared with that which I\nwill recount to thee next night, Inshallah?\"\n\n The Hundred and Ninety-seventh Night.\n\nNow when came the night, quoth Dunyazad to her sister Shahrazad,\n\"O sister mine, an thou incline not unto sleep, prithee finish\nthy tale which shall beguile our watching through the dark\nhours.\" She replied:--With love and gladness! It hath reached me,\nO auspicious King, that the girl said to the young merchant,\n\"Know, O my lord, that I am a maid oppressed of my sire, who\nspeaketh at me and saith to me, Thou art loathly of looks and\nsemblance and it besitteth not that thou wear rich raiment; for\nthou and the slave-girls are like in rank, there is no\ndistinguishing thee from them. Now he is a richard, having a\nmighty great store of money and saith not thus save because he is\na pinchpenny, and grudgeth the spending of a farthing; wherefore\nhe is loath to marry me, lest he be put to somewhat of expense in\nmy marriage, albeit Almighty Allah hath been bounteous to him and\nhe is a man puissant in his time and lacking naught of worldly\nweal.\" The youth asked, \"Who is thy father and what is his\ncondition?\" and she answered, \"He is the Chief Kazi of the well-\nknown Supreme Court, under whose hands are all the Kazis who\nadminister justice in this city.\" The merchant believed her and\nshe farewelled him and fared away, leaving in his heart a\nthousand regrets, for that the love of her had prevailed over him\nand he knew not how he should win to her; wherefore he woned\nenamoured, love-distracted, unknowing if he were alive or dead.\nAs soon as she was gone, he shut up shop and walked straightway\nto the Court, where he went in to the Chief Kazi and saluted him.\nThe magistrate returned his salam and treated him with\ndistinction and seated him by his side. Then said Ala al-Din to\nhim, \"I come to thee seeking thine alliance and desiring the hand\nof thy noble daughter.\" Quoth the Kazi, \"O my lord merchant,\nwelcome to thee and fair welcome; but indeed my daughter\nbefitteth not the like of thee, neither beseemeth she the\ngoodliness of thy youth and the pleasantness of thy compostition\nand the sweetness of thy speech;\" but Ala al-Din replied, \"This\ntalk becometh thee not, neither is it seemly in thee; if I be\ncontent with her, how should this vex thee?\" So the Kazi was\nsatisfied and they came to an accord and concluded the marriage\ncontract at a dower precedent of five purses[FN#264] ready money\nand a dower contingent of fifteen purses, so it might be hard for\nhim to put her away, her father having given him fair warning,\nbut he would not be warned. Then they wrote out the contract\ndocument and the merchant said, \"I desire to go in to her this\nnight.\" Accordingly they carried her to him in procession that\nvery evening, and he prayed the night prayer and entered the\nprivate chamber prepared for him; but, when he lifted the head\ngear from the bride's head and the veil from her face and looked,\nhe saw a foul face and a favour right fulsome; indeed he beheld\nsomewhat whereof may Allah never show thee the like! loathly,\ndispensing from description, inasmuch as there were reckoned in\nher all legal defects.[FN#265] So he repented, when repentance\navailed him naught, and knew that the girl had cheated him.--And\nShahrazad perceived the dawn of day and ceased to say her\npermitted say. Whereupon cried Dunyazad, her sister, \"O sister\nmine, how delectable is thy story and how sweet!\" She replied,\nsaying, \"And where is this compared with that which I will\nrecount to thee next night an I be spared and suffered to live by\nthe King, whom Almighty Allah preserve?\"\n\n The Hundred and Ninety-eight Night.\n\nNow whenas came the night, quoth Dunyazad to her sister\nShahrazad, \"O sister mine, an thou incline not unto sleep,\nprithee finish thy story which shall beguile our watching through\nthe dark hours, for indeed 'tis a fine tale and a wondrous.\" She\nreplied:--With love and gladness! It hath reached me, O generous\nKing, that the unhappy merchant carnally knew the loathly bride,\nsore against the grain, and abode that night troubled in mind, as\nhe were in the prison of Al-Daylam.[FN#266] Hardly had the day\ndawned when he arose from her side and betaking himself to one of\nthe Hammams, dozed there awhile, after which he made the\nGhusl-ablution of ceremonial impurity[FN#267] and donned his\nevery day dress. Then he went out to the coffee house and drank a\ncup of coffee; after which he returned to his shop and opening\nthe door, sat down, with concern and chagrin manifest on his\ncountenance. After an hour or so, his friends and intimates among\nthe merchants and people of the market began to come up to him,\nby ones and twos; to give him joy, and said to him, laughing, \"A\nblessing! a blessing! Where be the sweetmeats? Where be the\ncoffee?[FN#268] 'Twould seem thou hast forgotten us; and nothing\nmade thee oblivious save that the charms of the bride have\ndisordered thy wit and taken thy reason, Allah help thee! We give\nthee joy, we give thee joy.\" And they mocked at him whilst he\nkept silence before them, being like to rend his raiment and shed\ntears for rage. Then they went away from him, and when it was the\nhour of noon, up came his mistress, the crafty girl, trailing her\nskirts and swaying to and fro in her gait, as she were a branch\nof Ban in a garden of bloom. She was yet more richly dressed and\nadorned and more striking and cutting[FN#269] in her symmetry and\ngrace than on the previous day, so that she made the passers stop\nand stand in espalier to gaze upon her. When she came to Ala\nal-Din's shop, she sat down thereon and said to him, \"Blessed be\nthe day to thee, O my lord Ala al-Din! Allah prosper thee and be\ngood to thee and perfect thy gladness and make it a wedding of\nweal and welfare!\" He knitted his brows and frowned in answer to\nher; then asked her, \"Wherein have I failed of thy due, or what\nhave I done to harm thee, that thou shouldst requite me after\nthis fashion?\" She answered, \"Thou hast been no wise in default;\nbut 'tis yonder inscription written on the door of thy shop that\nirketh me and vexeth my heart. An thou have the courage to change\nit and write up the contrary thereof, I will deliver thee from\nthine evil plight.\" And he answered, \"Thy requirement is right\neasy: on my head and eyes!\" So saying, he brought out a\nsequin[FN#270] and summoning one of his Mamelukes, said to him,\n\"Get thee to Such-an-one the Scribe and bid him write us an\nepigraph, adorned with gold and lapis lazuli, in these words,\n\"THERE BE NO CRAFT SAVE WOMEN'S CRAFT, FOR INDEED THEIR CRAFT IS\nA MIGHTY CRAFT[FN#271] AND OVERCOMETH AND HUMBLETH THE FALSES OF\nMEN.\" And she said to the white slave \"Fare thee forthright.\" So\nhe repaired to the Scribe, who wrote him the scroll, and he\nbrought it to his master, who set it on the door and asked the\ndamsel, \"Is thy heart satisfied?\" She answered, \"Yes! Arise\nforthwith and get thee to the place before the citadel, where do\nthou foregather with all the mountebanks and ape-dancers and\nbear-leaders and drummers and pipers and bid them come to thee\nto-morrow early, with their kettle-drums and flageolets, whilst\nthou art drinking coffee with thy father-in-law the Kazi, and\ncongratulate thee and wish thee joy, saying, 'A blessing, O son\nof our uncle! Indeed, thou art the vein[FN#272] of our eye! We\nrejoice for thee, and if thou be ashamed of us, verily we pride\nourselves upon thee; so, although thou banish us from thee, know\nthat we will not forsake thee, albeit thou forsake us.' And do\nthou fall to throwing dinars and dirhams amongst them; whereupon\nthe Kazi will question thee, and do thou answer him, saying, My\nfather was an ape-dancer and this is our original condition; but\nour Lord opened on us the gate of fortune and we have gotten us a\nname amongst the merchants and with their provost.' Upon this he\nwill say to thee, 'Then thou art an ape-leader of the tribe of\nthe mountebanks?' and do thou rejoin, 'I may in nowise deny my\norigin, for the sake of thy daughter and in her honour.' The Kazi\nwill say, 'It may not be that thou shalt be given the daughter of\na Shaykh who sitteth upon the carpet of the Law and whose descent\nis traceable by genealogy to the loins of the Apostle of\nAllah,[FN#273] nor is it meet that his daughter be in the power\nof a man who is an ape-dancer, a minstrel.' Then do thou reply,\n'Nay, O Efendi, she is my lawful wife, and every hair of her is\nworth a thousand lives, and I will not put her away though I be\ngiven the kingship of the world.' At last be thou persuaded to\nspeak the word of divorce and so shall the marriage be voided and\nye be saved each from other.\" Quoth Ala al-Din, \"Right is thy\nrede,\" and locking up his shop, betook himself to the place --And\nShahrazad perceived the dawn of day and ceased saying her\npermitted say. Whereupon cried Dunyazad, her sister, \"O sister\nmine, how goodly is thy story and how sweet!\" She replied,\nsaying, \"And where is this compared with that which I will\nrecount to thee next night, Inshallah!\"\n\n The Hundred and Ninety-ninth Night.\n\nAnd whenas came the night, quoth Dunyazad to her sister, \"O\nsister mine, an thou incline not unto sleep, pray finish thy tale\nwhich shall beguile our watching through the dark hours.\" She\nreplied:--With love and gladness! It hath reached me, O generous\nKing, that the young merchant betook himself to the place before\nthe citadel, where he foregathered with the dancers, the drummers\nand pipers and instructed them how they should do, promising them\na mighty fine reward. They received his word with \"Hearing and\nobeying;\" and he betook himself on the morrow, after the morning\nprayer, to the presence of the Judge, who received him with\nhumble courtesy and seated him by his side. Then he addressed him\nand began questioning him of matters of selling and buying and of\nthe price current of the various commodities which were carried\nto Baghdad from all quarters, whilst his son-in-law replied to\nall whereof he was questioned. As they were thus conversing,\nbehold, up came the dancers and drummers with their drums and\npipers with their pipes, whilst one of their number preceded\nthem, with a long pennon-like banner in his hand, and played all\nmanner antics with voice and limbs. When they came to the Court-house, the Kazi cried, \"I seek refuge with Allah from yonder\nSatans!\" and the young merchant laughed but said naught. Then\nthey entered and saluting his worship the Kazi, kissed Ala\nal-Din's hands and said, \"A blessing on thee, O son of our uncle!\nIndeed, thou coolest our eyes in whatso thou doest, and we\nbeseech Allah for the enduring greatness of our lord the Kazi,\nwho hath honoured us by admitting thee to his connection and hath\nallotted to us a portion in his high rank and degree.\" When the\nJudge heard this talk, it bewildered his wit and he was dazed and\nhis face flushed with rage, and quoth he to his son-in-law, \"What\nwords are these?\" Quoth the merchant, \"Knowest thou not, O my\nlord, that I am of this tribe? Indeed this man is the son of my\nmaternal uncle and that other the son of my paternal uncle, and\nif I be reckoned of the merchants, 'tis but by courtesy!\" When\nthe Kazi heard these words his colour changed--And Shahrazad\nperceived the dawn of day, whereupon cried Dunyazad her sister,\n\"O sister mine, how delectable is thy story and how desirable!\"\nShe replied, saying, \"And where is its first compared with its\nlast? But I will forthwith relate it to you an I be spared and\nsuffered to live by the King, whom may Allah the Most High keep!\"\nQuoth the King within himself, \"By the Almighty, I will not slay\nher until I hear the end of her tale!\"\n\n The Two Hundredth Night.\n\nNow whenas came the night, quoth Dunyazad to her sister, \"O\nsister mine, an thou incline not unto sleep, prithee finish thy\ntale which shall beguile our watching through the dark hours.\"\nShe replied:--With love and gladness! It hath reached me, O\nauspicious king, that the Kazi's colour changed and he was\ntroubled and waxed wroth with exceeding wrath and was like to\nburst for stress of rage. Then said he to the young merchant,\n\"Allah forfend that this should last! How shall it be permitted\nthat the daughter of the Kazi of the Moslems cohabit with a man\nof the dancers and vile of origin? By Allah, unless thou\nrepudiate her forthright, I will bid beat thee and cast thee into\nprison and there confine thee till thou die. Had I foreknown that\nthou wast of them, I had not suffered thee near me, but had spat\nin thy face, for that thou art more ill-omened than a dog or a\nhog.\"[FN#274] Then he kicked him down from his place and\ncommanded him to divorce; but he said, \"Be ruthful to me, O\nEfendi, for that Allah is ruthful, and hasten not: I will not\ndivorce my wife, though thou give me the kingdom of Al-Irak.\" The\njudge was perplexed and knew that compulsion was not permitted of\nHoly Law;[FN#275] so he bespake the young merchant fair and said\nto him, \"Veil me,[FN#276] so may Allah veil thee. An thou divorce\nher not, this dishonour shall cleave to me till the end of time.\"\nThen his fury gat the better of his wit and he cried, \"An thou\ndivorce her not of thine own will, I will forthright bid strike\noff thy head and slay myself; Hell-flame but not shame.\"[FN#277]\nThe merchant bethought himself awhile, then divorced her with a\nmanifest divorce and a public[FN#278] and on this wise he won\nfree from that unwelcome worry. Then he returned to his shop and\npresently sought in marriage of her father her who had done with\nhim what she did[FN#279] and who was the daughter of the Shaykh\nof the guild of the blacksmiths. So he took her to wife and they\nabode each with other and lived the pleasantest of lives and the\nmost delightsome, till the day of death: and praise be to Allah\nthe Lord of the Three Worlds.\n\n\n\n\n NUR AL-DIN ALI OF DAMASCUS AND THE DAMSEL\n SITT AL-MILAH.[FN#280]\n\n\n\nThere was once, in days of yore and in ages and times long gone\nbefore, a merchant of the merchants of Damascus, by name Abu\nal-Hasan, who had money and means, slave-blacks and slave-girls,\nlands and gardens, houses and Hammams in that city; but he was\nnot blessed with boon of child and indeed his age waxed great. So\nhe addressed himself to supplicate[FN#281] Allah Almighty in\nprivate and in public and in his bows and his prostrations and at\nthe season of prayer-call, beseeching Him to vouchsafe him,\nbefore his decease, a son who should inherit his wealth and\npossessions. The Lord answered his prayer; his wife conceived and\nthe days of her pregnancy were accomplished and her months and\nher nights; and the travail-pangs came upon her and she gave\nbirth to a boy, as he were a slice of Luna. He had not his match\nfor beauty and he put to shame the sun and the resplendent moon;\nfor he had a beaming face and black eyes of B\u00e1bil\u00ed\nwitchery[FN#282] and aquiline nose and carnelian lips; in fine,\nhe was perfect of attributes, the loveliest of folk of his time,\nsans dubitation or gainsaying. His father joyed in him with\nexceeding joy and his heart was solaced and he was at last happy:\nhe made banquets to the folk and he clad the poor and the widows.\nPresently he named the boy S\u00edd\u00ed Nur al-Din Ali and reared him in\nfondness and delight among the hand-maids and thralls. When he\nhad passed his seventh year, his father put him to school, where\nhe learned the sublime Koran and the arts of writing and\nreckoning; and when he reached his tenth year, he was taught\nhorsemanship and archery and to occupy himself with arts and\nsciences of all kinds, part and parts.[FN#283] He grew up\npleasant and polite, winsome and lovesome; a ravishment to all\nwho saw him, and he inclined to companying with brethren and\ncomrades and mixing with merchants and travelled men. From these\nhe heard tell of that which they had witnessed of the wonders of\nthe cities in their wayfare and heard them say, \"Whoso journeyeth\nnot enjoyeth naught;[FN#284] especially of the city of Baghdad.\"\nSo he was concerned with exceeding concern for his lack of travel\nand disclosed this to his sire, who said to him, \"O my son, why\ndo I see thee chagrined?\" Quoth he, \"I would fain travel;\" and\nquoth Abu al-Hasan, \"O my son, none travelleth save those whose\nneed is urgent and those who are compelled thereto by want. As\nfor thee, O my son, thou enjoyest ample means; so do thou content\nthyself with that which Allah hath given thee and be bounteous to\nothers, even as He hath been bountiful to thee; and afflict not\nthyself with the toil and tribulation of travel, for indeed it is\nsaid that travel is a piece of Hell-torment.\"[FN#285] But the\nyouth said, \"Needs must I journey to Baghdad, the House of\nPeace.\" When his father saw the strength of his resolve to travel\nhe fell in with his wishes and fitted him out with five thousand\ndinars in cash and the like in merchandise and sent with him two\nserving-men. So the youth fared forth, on the blessing of Allah\nAlmighty;[FN#286] and his parent went out with him, to take leave\nof him, and returned to Damascus. As for Nur al-Din Ali, he\nceased not travelling days and nights till he entered Baghdad\ncity, and laying up his loads in the Wak\u00e1lah,[FN#287] made for\nthe Hammam-bath, where he did away that which was upon him of the\nsoil of the road and doffing his travelling clothes, donned a\ncostly suit of Yaman\u00ed stuff, worth an hundred dinars. Then he\nloaded his sleeve with a thousand miskals of gold and sallied\nforth a-walking and swaying gracefully as he paced along. His\ngait confounded all those who gazed upon him, as he shamed the\nbranches with his shape and belittled the rose with the redness\nof his cheeks and his black eyes of Babil\u00ed witchcraft: thou\nwouldst deem that whoso looked on him would surely be preserved\nfrom bane and bale;[FN#288] for he was even as saith of him one\nof his describers in these couplets:--\n\n\"Thy haters and enviers say for jeer * A true say that profits\n what ears will hear;\n'No boast is his whom the gear adorns; * The boast be his who\n adorns the gear!'\"\n\nSo Sidi Nur al-Din went walking in the highways of the city and\nviewing its edifices and its bazars and thoroughfares and gazing\non its folk. Presently, Ab\u00fa Now\u00e1s met him. (Now he was of those\nof whom it is said, \"They love fair lads,\" and indeed there is\nsaid what is said concerning him.)[FN#289] When he saw Nur al-Din\nAli, he stared at him in amazement and exclaimed, \"Say, I take\nrefuge with the Lord of the Daybreak!\" Then he accosted the youth\nand saluting him, asked him, \"Why do I see my lord lone and lorn?\nMeseemeth thou art a stranger and knowest not this country; so,\nwith leave of my lord, I will put myself at his service and\nacquaint him with the streets, for that I know this city.\" Nur\nal-Din answered, \"This will be of thy favour, O nuncle.\" Abu\nNowas rejoiced at this and fared on with him, showing him the\nstreets and bazars, till they came to the house of a\nslave-dealer, where he stopped and said to the youth, \"From what\ncity art thou?\" \"From Damascus,\" replied Nur al-Din; and Abu\nNowas said, \"By Allah, thou art from a blessed city, even as\nsaith of it the poet in these couplets,\n\n'Now is Damascus a garth adorned * For her seekers, the Houris\n and Paradise-boys.'\"\n\nSidi Nur al-Din thanked him and the twain entered the mansion of\nthe slave-merchant. When the people of the house saw Abu Nowas,\nthey rose to do him reverence, for that which they knew of his\nrank with the Commander of the Faithful; and the slave-dealer\nhimself came up to them with two chairs whereon they seated\nthemselves. Then the slave-merchant went inside and returning\nwith a slave-girl, as she were a branch of Ban or a rattan-cane,\nclad in a vest of damask silk and tired with a black and white\nheaddress whose ends fell down over her face, seated her on a\nchair of ebony; after which he cried to those who were present,\n\"I will discover to you a favour as it were a full moon breaking\nforth from under a cloud-bank.\" They replied, \"Do so;\" whereupon\nhe unveiled the damsel's face and behold, she was like the\nshining sun, with shapely shape and dawn-bright cheeks and\nthready waist and heavy hips; brief, she was endowed with an\nelegance, whose description is unfound, and was even as saith of\nher the poet,[FN#290]\n\n\"A fair one, to idolaters if she herself should show, They'd\n leave their idols and her face for only Lord would know;\nAnd if into the briny sea one day she chanced to spit, Assuredly\n the salt sea's floods straight fresh and sweet would grow.\"\n\nThe dealer stood at the hand-maid's head and one of the merchants\nsaid, \"I bid a thousand dinars for her.\" Quoth another, \"I bid\none thousand one hundred dinars;\" and a third, \"I bid twelve\nhundred.\" Then said a fourth merchant, \"Be she mine for fourteen\nhundred ducats.\" And the biddings standing still at that sum, her\nowner said, \"I will not sell her save with her consent: an if she\ndesire to be sold, I will sell her to whom she willeth.\" The\nslave-dealer asked him, \"What is her name?\" Answered the other,\n\"Her name is Sitt al-Mil\u00e1h;\"[FN#291] whereupon the dealer said to\nher, \"With thy leave, I will sell thee to yonder merchant for\nthis price of fourteen hundred dinars.\" Quoth she, \"Come hither\nto me.\" So the man-vendor came up to her and when he drew near, she\ngave him a kick with her foot and cast him to the ground, saying,\n\"I will not have that oldster.\" The slave-dealer arose, shaking\nthe dust from his dress and head, and cried, \"Who biddeth more of\nus? Who is desirous?\"[FN#292] Said one of the merchants, \"I,\" and\nthe dealer said to her, \"O Sitt al-Milah, shall I sell thee to\nthis merchant?\" She replied, \"Come hither to me;\" but he\nrejoined, \"Nay; speak and I will hear thee from my place, for I\nwill not trust myself to thee nor hold myself safe when near\nthee.\" So she cried, \"Indeed I will not have him.\" Then the\nslave-dealer looked at her and seeing her fix eyes on the young\nDamascene, for that in very deed he had fascinated her with his\nbeauty and loveliness, went up to him and said to him, \"O my\nlord, art thou a looker-on or a buyer? Tell me.\" Quoth Nur\nal-Din, \"I am both looker-on and buyer. Wilt thou sell me yonder\nslave-girl for sixteen hundred ducats?\" And he pulled out the\npurse of gold. Hereupon the dealer returned, dancing and clapping\nhis hands and saying, \"So be it, so be it, or not at all!\" Then\nhe came to the damsel and said to her, \"O Sitt al-Milah, shall I\nsell thee to yonder young Damascene for sixteen hundred dinars?\"\nBut she answered, \"No,\" of bashfulness before her master and the\nbystanders; whereupon the people of the bazar and the\nslave-merchant departed, and Abu Nowas and Ali Nur al-Din arose\nand went each his own way, whilst the damsel returned to her\nowner's house, full of love for the young Damascene. When the\nnight darkened on her, she called him to mind and her heart hung\nto him and sleep visited her not; and on this wise she abode days\nand nights, till she sickened and abstained from food. So her\nlord went in to her and asked her, \"O Sitt al-Milah, how findest\nthou thyself?\" Answered she, \"O my lord, dead without chance of\ndeliverance and I beseech thee to bring me my shroud, so I may\nlook upon it ere I die.\" Therewith he went out from her, sore\nconcerned for her, and betaking himself to the bazar, found a\nfriend of his, a draper, who had been present on the day when the\ndamsel was cried for sale. Quoth his friend to him, \"Why do I see\nthee troubled?\" and quoth he, \"Sitt al-Milah is at the point of\ndeath and for three days she hath neither eaten nor drunken. I\nquestioned her to-day of her case and she said, 'O my lord, buy\nme a shroud so I may look upon it ere I die.'\" The draper\nreplied, \"Methinks naught aileth her but that she is in love with\nthe young Damascene, and I counsel thee to mention his name to\nher and declare to her that he hath foregathered with thee on her\naccount and is desirous of coming to thy quarters, so he may hear\nsomewhat of her singing. An she say, 'I reck not of him, for\nthere is that to do with me which distracteth me from the\nDamascene and from other than he,' know that she saith sooth\nconcerning her sickness; but, an she say thee other than this,\nacquaint me therewith.\" So the man returned to his lodging and\ngoing in to his slave-girl said to her, \"O Sitt al-Milah, I went\nout for thy need and there met me the young man of Damascus, and\nhe saluted me with the salam and saluteth thee; he seeketh to win\nthy favour and prayed me to admit him as a guest in our dwelling,\nso thou mayst let him hear somewhat of thy singing.\" When she\nheard speak of the young Damascene, she gave a sob, that her soul\nwas like to leave her body, and answered, \"He knoweth my plight\nand how these three days past I have not eaten nor drunken, and I\nbeseech thee, O my lord, by Allah of All-Might, to do thy duty by\nthe stranger and bring him to my lodging and make excuse to him\nfor me.\" When her master heard this, his reason fled for joy, and\nhe went to his familiar the draper and said to him, \"Thou wast\nright in the matter of the damsel, for that she is in love with\nthe young Damascene; so how shall I manage?\" Said the other, \"Go\nto the bazar and when thou seest him, salute him, and say to him,\n'Thy departure the other day, without winning thy wish, was\ngrievous to me; so, an thou be still minded to buy the maid, I\nwill abate thee of that which thou badest for her an hundred\nsequins by way of gaining thy favour; seeing thou be a stranger\nin our land.' If he say to thee, 'I have no desire for her,' and\nhold off from thee, be assured that he will not buy; in which\ncase, let me know, so I may devise thee another device; and if he\nsay to thee other than this, conceal not from me aught.\" So the\ngirl's owner betook himself to the bazar, where he found the\nyouth seated at the upper end of the place where the merchants\nmostly do meet, selling and buying and taking and giving, as he\nwere the moon on the night of its full, and saluted him. The\nyoung man returned his salam and he said to him, \"O my lord, be\nnot offended at the damsel's speech the other day, for her price\nshall be lowered to the intent that I may secure thy favour. An\nthou desire her for naught, I will send her to thee or an thou\nwouldst have me abate to thee her price, I will well, for I\ndesire nothing save what shall content thee; seeing thou art a\nstranger in our land and it behoveth us to treat thee hospitably\nand have consideration for thee.\" The youth replied, \"By Allah, I\nwill not take her from thee but at an advance on that which I\nbade thee for her afore; so wilt thou now sell her to me for one\nthousand and seven hundred dinars?\" And the other rejoined, \"O my\nlord, I sell her to thee, may Allah bless thee in her!\" Thereupon\nthe young man went to his quarters and fetching a purse, sent for\nthe girl's owner and weighed out to him the price aforesaid,\nwhilst the draper was between the twain. Then said he, \"Bring her\nforth;\" but the other replied, \"She cannot come forth at this\npresent; but be thou my guest the rest of this day and night, and\non the morrow thou shalt take thy slave-girl and go in the ward\nof Allah.\" The youth agreed with him on this and he carried him\nto his house, where, after a little, he bade meat and wine be\nbrought, and they ate and drank. Then said Nur al-Din to the\ngirl's owner, \"I would have thee bring me the damsel, because I\nbought her not but for the like of this time.\" So he arose and\ngoing in to the girl, said to her, \"O Sitt al-Milah, the young\nman hath paid down thy price and we have bidden him hither; so he\nhath come to our quarters and we have entertained him, and he\nwould fain have thee be present with him.\" Therewith the damsel\nrose deftly and doffing her dress, bathed and donned sumptuous\napparel and perfumed herself and went out to him, as she were a\nbranch of Ban or a cane of rattan, followed by a black\nslave-girl, bearing the lute. When she came to the young man, she\nsaluted him and sat down by his side. Then she took the lute from\nthe slave-girl and screwing up its pegs,[FN#293] smote thereon in\nfour-and-twenty modes, after which she returned to the first and\nsang these couplets,\n\n\"My joy in this world is to see and sit near thee. * Thy love's\n my religion; thy Union my pleasure.\nAttest it these tears when in memory I speer thee, * And\n unchecked down my cheeks pours the flood without measure.\nBy Allah, no rival in love hast to fear thee; * I'm thy slave as\n I sware, and this troth is my treasure.\nBe not this our last meeting: by Allah I swear thee * Thy\n severance to me were most bitter displeasure!\"\n\nThe young man was moved to delight and cried, \"By Allah, thou\nsayest well, O Sitt al-Milah! Let me hear more.\" Then he\nlargessed her with fifty gold pieces and they drank and the cups\nmade circuit among them; and her seller said to her, \"O Sitt\nal-Milah, this is the season of farewelling; so let us hear\nsomewhat thereon.\" Accordingly she struck the lute and touching\nupon that which was in her heart, improvised these couplets,\n\n\"I thole longing, remembrance and sad repine, * Nor my heart can\n brook woes in so lengthened line.\nO my lords think not I forget your love; * My case is sure case\n and cure shows no sign.\nIf creature could swim in the flood of his tears, * I were first\n to swim in these floods of brine:\nO Cup-boy withhold cup and bowl from a wretch * Who ne'er ceaseth\n to drink of her tears for wine!\nHad I known that parting would do me die, * I had shirked to\n part, but--'twas Fate's design.\"\n\nNow whilst they were thus enjoying whatso is most delicious of\nease and delight, and indeed the wine was to them sweet and the\ntalk a treat, behold, there came a knocking at the door. So the\nhouse-master went out, that he might see what might be the\nmatter, and found ten head of the Caliph's eunuchs at the\nentrance. When he saw this, he was startled and said, \"What is to\ndo?\" \"The Commander of the Faithful saluteth thee and requireth\nof thee the slave-girl whom thou hast exposed for sale and whose\nname is Sitt al-Milah.\" \"By Allah, I have sold her.\" \"Swear by\nthe head of the Commander of the Faithful that she is not in thy\nquarters.\" The slaver made oath that he had sold her and that she\nwas no longer at his disposal: yet they paid no heed to his word\nand forcing their way into the house, found the damsel and the\nyoung Damascene in the sitting-chamber. So they laid hands upon\nher, and the youth said, \"This is my slave-girl, whom I have\nbought with my money;\" but they hearkened not to his speech and\ntaking her, carried her off to the Prince of True Believers.\nTherewith Nur al-Din's pleasure was troubled: he arose and donned\nhis dress, and his host said, \"Whither away this night, O my\nlord?\" Said he, \"I purpose going to my quarters, and to-morrow I\nwill betake myself to the palace of the Commander of the Faithful\nand demand my slave-girl.\" The other replied, \"Sleep till the\nmorning, and fare not forth at the like of this hour.\" But he\nrejoined, \"Needs must I go;\" and the host said to him, \"Go in\nAllah his safeguard.\" So the youth went forth and, drunkenness\nhaving got the mastery of his wits, he threw himself down on a\nbench before one of the shops. Now the watchmen were at that hour\nmaking their rounds and they smelt the sweet scent of essences\nand wine that reeked from him; so they made for it and suddenly\nbeheld the youth lying on the bench, without sign of recovering.\nThey poured water upon him, and he awoke, whereupon they carried\nhim off to the office of the Chief of Police and he questioned\nhim of his case. He replied \"O my lord, I am an alien in this\ntown and have been with one of my friends: I came forth from his\nhouse and drunkenness overcame me.\" The Wali bade carry him to\nhis lodging; but one of those in attendance upon him, Al-Mur\u00e1di\nhight, said to him, \"What wilt thou do? This man is robed in rich\nraiment and on his finger is a golden ring, whose bezel is a ruby\nof great price; so we will carry him away and slay him and take\nthat which is upon him of clothes and bring to thee all we get;\nfor that thou wilt not often see profit the like thereof,\nespecially as this fellow is a foreigner and there is none to ask\nafter him.\"[FN#294] Quoth the Chief, \"This wight is a thief and\nthat which he saith is leasing.\" Nur al-Din said, \"Allah forfend\nthat I should be a thief!\" but the Wali answered, \"Thou liest.\"\nSo they stripped him of his clothes and taking the seal-ring from\nhis finger, beat him with a grievous beating, what while he cried\nout for succour, but none succoured him, and besought protection,\nbut none protected him. Then said he to them, \"O folk, ye are\nquit[FN#295] of that which ye have taken from me; but now restore\nme to my lodging.\" They replied, \"Leave this knavery, O rascal!\nthine intent is to sue us for thy clothes on the morrow.\" The\nyouth cried, \"By the truth of the One, the Eternal One, I will\nnot sue any for them!\" but they said, \"We find no way to this.\"\nAnd the Prefect bade them bear him to the Tigris and there slay\nhim and cast him into the stream. So they dragged him away, while\nhe wept and said the words which shall nowise shame the sayer:\n\"There is no Majesty and there is no Might save in Allah, the\nGlorious, the Great!\" When they came to the Tigris, one of them\ndrew the sword upon him and Al-Muradi said to the sworder, \"Smite\noff his head;\" but one of them, hight Ahmad, cried, \"O folk, deal\nsoftly with this poor wretch and slay him not unjustly and\nwickedly, for I stand in fear of Allah Almighty, lest He burn me\nwith his fire.\" Quoth Al-Muradi, \"A truce to this talk!\" and\nquoth the Ahmad aforesaid, \"An ye do with him aught, I will\nacquaint the Commander of the Faithful.\" They asked, \"How, then,\nshall we do with him?\" and he answered, \"Let us deposit him in\nprison and I will be answerable to you for his provision; so\nshall we be quit of his blood, for indeed he is a wronged man.\"\nAccordingly they agreed to this and taking him up cast him into\nthe Prison of Blood,[FN#296] and then went their ways. So far as\nregards them; but returning to the damsel, they carried her to\nthe Commander of the Faithful and she pleased him; so he assigned\nher a chamber of the chambers of choice. She tarried in the\npalace, neither eating nor drinking, and weeping sans surcease\nnight and day, till, one night, the Caliph sent for her to his\nsitting-hall and said to her, \"O Sitt al-Milah, be of good cheer\nand keep thine eyes cool of tear, for I will make thy rank higher\nthan any of the concubines and thou shalt see that which shall\nrejoice thee.\" She kissed ground and wept; whereupon the Prince\nof True Believers called for her lute and bade her sing: so in\naccordance with that which was in her heart, she sang these\nimprovised couplets,\n\n\"By the sheen of thy soul and the sheen of thy smile,[FN#297] *\n Say, moan'st thou for doubt or is't ring-dove's moan?\nHow many have died who by love were slain! * Fails my patience\n but blaming my blamers wone.\"\n\nNow when she had made an end of her song, she threw the lute from\nher hand and wept till she fainted away, whereupon the Caliph\nbade carry her to her chamber. But he was fascinated by her and\nloved her with exceeding love; so, after a while, he again\ncommanded to bring her in to the presence, and when she came, he\nordered her to sing. Accordingly, she took the lute and chanted\nto it that which was in her heart and improvised these couplets,\n\n\"Have I patience and strength to support this despair? * Ah, how\n couldst thou purpose afar to fare?\nThou art swayed by the spy to my cark and care: * No marvel an\n branchlet sway here and there![FN#298]\nWith unbearable load thou wouldst load me, still * Thou loadest\n with love which I theewards bear.\"\n\nThen she cast the lute from her hand and fainted away; so she was\ncarried to her sleeping-chamber and indeed passion grew upon her.\nAfter a long while the Prince of True Believers sent for her a\nthird time and commanded her to sing. So she took the lute and\nchanted these couplets,\n\n\"O of piebald wild ye dunes sandy and drear, * Shall the teenful\n lover 'scape teen and tear?\nShall ye see me joined with a lover, who * Still flies or shall\n meet we in joyful cheer?\nO hail to the fawn with the Houri eye, * Like sun or moon on\n horizon clear!\nHe saith to lovers, 'What look ye on?' * And to stony hearts,\n 'Say, what love ye dear?'[FN#299]\nI pray to Him who departed us * With severance-doom, 'Be our\n union near!'\"\n\nWhen she had made an end of her verse, the Commander of the\nFaithful said to her, \"O damsel, thou art in love.\" She replied,\n\"Yes;\" and he asked, \"With whom?\" Answered she, \"With my lord and\nsovran of my tenderness, for whom my love is as the love of the\nearth for rain, or as the desire of the female for the male; and\nindeed the love of him is mingled with my flesh and my blood and\nhath entered into the channels of my bones. O Prince of True\nBelievers, whenever I call him to mind my vitals are consumed,\nfor that I have not yet won my wish of him, and but that I fear\nto die, without seeing him, I had assuredly slain myself.\"\nThereupon quoth he, \"Art thou in my presence and durst bespeak me\nwith the like of these words? Forsure I will gar thee forget thy\nlord.\" Then he bade take her away; so she was carried to her\npavilion and he sent her a concubine, with a casket wherein were\nthree thousand ducats and a collar of gold set with seed-pearls\nand great unions, and jewels, worth other three thousand, saying\nto her, \"The slave-girl and that which is with her are a gift\nfrom me to thee.\" When she heard this, she cried, \"Allah forfend\nthat I be consoled for the love of my lord and my master, though\nwith an earth-full of gold!\" And she improvised and recited these\ncouplets,\n\n\"By his life I swear, by his life I pray; * For him fire I'd\n enter unful dismay!\n'Console thee (cry they) with another fere * Thou lovest!' and I,\n 'By 's life, nay, NAY!'\nHe's moon whom beauty and grace array; * From whose cheeks and\n brow shineth light of day.\"\n\nThen the Commander of the Faithful summoned her to his presence a\nfourth time and said, \"O Sitt al-Milah, sing.\" So she recited and\nsang these couplets,\n\n\"The lover's heart by his beloved is oft dishearten\u00e8d * And by\n the hand of sickness eke his sprite dispirit\u00e8d,\nOne asked, 'What is the taste of love?\"[FN#300] and I to him\n replied, * 'Love is a sweet at first but oft in fine\n unsweetened.'\nI am the thrall of Love who keeps the troth of love to\n them[FN#301] * But oft they proved themselves 'Urk\u00fab[FN#302]\n in pact with me they made.\nWhat in their camp remains? They bound their loads and fared\n away; * To other feres the veil\u00e8d Fairs in curtained litters\n sped;\nAt every station the beloved showed all of Joseph's charms: * The\n lover wone with Jacob's woe in every shift of stead.\"\n\nWhen she had made an end of her song, she threw the lute from her\nhand and wept herself a-swoon. So they sprinkled on her\nmusk-mingled rose-water and willow-flower water; and when she\ncame to her senses, Al-Rashid said to her, \"O Sitt al-Milah, this\nis not just dealing in thee. We love thee and thou lovest\nanother.\" She replied, \"O Commander of the Faithful, there is no\nhelp for it.\" Thereupon he was wroth with her and cried, \"By the\nvirtue of Hamzah[FN#303] and 'Ak\u00edl[FN#304] and Mohammed, Prince\nof the Apostles, an thou name in my presence one other than I, I\nwill assuredly order strike off thy head!\" Then he bade return\nher to her chamber, whilst she wept and recited these couplets,\n\n'Oh brave!' I'd cry an I my death could view; * My death were\n better than these griefs to rue,\nDid sabre hew me limb by limb; this were * Naught to affright a\n lover leal-true.\"\n\nThen the Caliph went in to the Lady Zubaydah, complexion-altered\nwith anger, and she noted this in him and said to him, \"How\ncometh it that I see the Commander of the Faithful changed of\ncolour?\" He replied, \"O daughter of my uncle, I have a beautiful\nslave-girl, who reciteth verses by rote and telleth various\ntales, and she hath taken my whole heart; but she loveth other\nthan myself and declareth that she affecteth her former lord; so\nI have sworn a great oath that, if she come again to my sitting-\nhall and sing for other than for me, I will assuredly shorten her\nhighest part by a span.\"[FN#305] Quoth Zubaydah, \"Let the\nCommander of the Faithful favour me by presenting her, so I may\nlook on her and hear her singing.\" Accordingly he bade fetch her\nand she came, upon which the Lady Zubaydah withdrew behind the\ncurtain,[FN#306] where the damsel saw her not, and Al-Rashid said\nto her, \"Sing to us.\" So she took the lute and tuning it, recited\nthese couplets,\n\n\"O my lord! since the day when I lost your sight, * My life was\n ungladdened, my heart full of teen;\nThe memory of you kills me every night; * And by all the worlds\n is my trace unseen;\nAll for love of a Fawn who hath snared my sprite * By his love\n and his brow as the morning sheen.\nLike a left hand parted from brother right * I became by parting\n thro' Fortune's spleen.\nOn the brow of him Beauty deigned indite * 'Blest be Allah, whom\n best of Creators I ween!'\nAnd Him I pray, who could disunite * To re-unite us. Then cry\n 'Ameen!'\"[FN#307]\n\nWhen Al-Rashid heard the end of this, he waxed exceeding wroth\nand said, \"May Allah not reunite you twain in gladness!\" Then he\nsummoned the headsman, and when he presented himself, he said to\nhim, \"Strike off the head of this accursed slave-girl.\" So Masrur\ntook her by the hand and led her away; but, when she came to the\ndoor, she turned and said to the Caliph, \"O Commander of the\nFaithful, I conjure thee, by thy fathers and forefathers, behead\nme not until thou give ear to that I shall say!\" Then she\nimprovised and recited these couplets,\n\n\"Emir of Justice, be to lieges kind * For Justice ever guides thy\n generous mind;\nAnd, oh, who blamest love to him inclining! * Are lovers blamed\n for l\u00e2ches undesigned?\nBy Him who gave thee rule, deign spare my life * For rule on\n earth He hath to thee assigned.\"\n\nThen Masrur carried her to the other end of the sitting-hall and\nbound her eyes and making her sit, stood awaiting a second order:\nwhereupon quoth the Lady Zubaydah, \"O Prince of True Believers,\nwith thy permission, wilt thou not vouchsafe this damsel a\nportion of thy clemency? An thou slay her, 'twere injustice.\"\nQuoth he, \"What is to be done with her?\" and quoth she, \"Forbear\nto slay her and send for her lord. If he be as she describeth him\nin beauty and loveliness, she is excused, and if he be not on\nthis wise then kill her, and this shall be thy plea against\nher.\"[FN#308] Al-Rashid replied, \"No harm in this rede;\" and\ncaused return the damsel to her chamber, saying to her, \"The Lady\nZubaydah saith thus and thus.\" She rejoined, \"God requite her for\nme with good! Indeed, thou dealest equitably, O Commander of the\nFaithful, in this judgment.\" And he retorted, \"Go now to thy\nplace, and tomorrow we will bid them bring thy lord.\" So she\nkissed ground and recited these couplets,\n\n\"I indeed will well for whom love I will: * Let chider chide and\n let blamer blame:\nAll lives must die at fixt tide and term * But I must die ere my\n life-term came:\nThen Oh whose love hath afflicted me * Well I will but thy\n presence in haste I claim.\"\n\nThen she arose and returned to her chamber. Now on the morrow,\nthe Commander of the Faithful sat in his hall of audience and his\nWazir Ja'afar bin Yahya the Barmecide came in to him; whereupon\nhe called to him, saying, \"I would have thee bring me a youth who\nis lately come to Baghdad, hight Sidi Nur al-Din Ali the\nDamascene.\" Quoth Ja'afar, \"Hearing and obeying,\" and going forth\nin quest of the youth, sent to the bazars and Wakalahs and Khans\nfor three successive days, but discovered no trace of him,\nneither happened upon the place of him. So on the fourth day he\npresented himself before the Caliph and said to him, \"O our lord,\nI have sought him these three days, but have not found him.\" Said\nAl-Rashid, \"Make ready letters to Damascus. Peradventure he hath\nreturned to his own land.\" Accordingly Ja'afar wrote a letter and\ndespatched it by a dromedary-courier to the Damascus-city; and\nthey sought him there and found him not. Meanwhile, news was\nbrought that Khorasan had been conquered;[FN#309] whereupon\nAl-Rashid rejoiced and bade decorate Baghdad and release all in\nthe gaol, giving each of them a ducat and a dress. So Ja'afar\napplied himself to the adornment of the city and bade his brother\nAl-Fazl ride to the prison and robe and set free the prisoners.\nAl-Fazl did as his brother commanded and released all save the\nyoung Damascene, who abode still in the Prison of Blood, saying,\n\"There is no Majesty, and there is no Might save in Allah, the\nGlorious, the Great! Verily, we are God's and to Him are we\nreturning.\" Then quoth Al-Fazl to the gaoler, \"Is there any left\nin the prison?\" Quoth he, \"No,\" and Al-Fazl was about to depart,\nwhen Nur al-Din called out to him from within the prison, saying,\n\"O our lord, tarry awhile, for there remaineth none in the prison\nother than I and indeed I am wronged. This is a day of pardon and\nthere is no disputing concerning it.\" Al-Fazl bade release him;\nso they set him free and he gave him a dress and a ducat.\nThereupon the young man went out, bewildered and unknowing\nwhither he should wend, for that he had sojourned in the gaol a\nyear or so and indeed his condition was changed and his favour\nfouled, and he abode walking and turning round, lest Al-Muradi\ncome upon him and cast him into another calamity. When Al-Muradi\nlearnt his release, he betook himself to the Wali and said, \"O\nour lord, we are not assured of our lives from that youth,\nbecause he hath been freed from prison and we fear lest he\ncomplain of us.\" Quoth the Chief, \"How shall we do?\" and quoth\nAl-Muradi, \"I will cast him into a calamity for thee.\" Then he\nceased not to follow the Damascene from place to place till he\ncame up with him in a narrow stead and cul-de-sac; whereupon he\naccosted him and casting a cord about his neck, cried out, \"A\nthief!\" The folk flocked to him from all sides and fell to\nbeating and abusing Nur al-Din,[FN#310] whilst he cried out for\naidance but none aided him, and Al-Muradi kept saying to him,\n\"But yesterday the Commander of the Faithful released thee and\nto-day thou robbest!\" So the hearts of the mob were hardened\nagainst him and again Al-Muradi carried him to the Chief of\nPolice, who bade hew off his hand. Accordingly, the hangman took\nhim and bringing out the knife, proceeded to cut off his hand,\nwhile Al-Muradi said to him, \"Cut and sever the bone and\nfry[FN#311] not in oil the stump for him, so he may lose all his\nblood and we be at rest from him.\" But Ahmad, he who had before\nbeen the cause of his deliverance, sprang up to him and cried, \"O\nfolk, fear Allah in your action with this youth, for that I know\nhis affair, first and last, and he is clear of offence and\nguiltless: he is of the lords of houses,[FN#312] and unless ye\ndesist from him, I will go up to the Commander of the Faithful\nand acquaint him with the case from beginning to end and that the\nyouth is innocent of sin or crime.\" Quoth Al-Muradi, \"Indeed, we\nare not assured from his mischief;\" and quoth Ahmad, \"Set him\nfree and commit him to me and I will warrant you against his\ndoings, for ye shall never see him again after this.\" So they\ndelivered Nur al-Din to him and he took him from their hands and\nsaid to him, \"O youth, have ruth on thyself, for indeed thou hast\nfallen into the hands of these folk twice and if they prevail\nover thee a third time, they will make an end of thee; and I in\ndoing thus with thee, aim at reward for thee and recompense in\nHeaven and answer of prayer.\"[FN#313] So Nur al-Din fell to\nkissing his hand and blessing him said, \"Know that I am a\nstranger in this your city and the completion of kindness is\nbetter than its commencement; wherefore I pray thee of thy favour\nthat thou make perfect to me thy good offices and generosity and\nbring me to the city-gate. So will thy beneficence be\naccomplished unto me and may God Almighty requite thee for me\nwith good!\" Ahmad replied, \"No harm shall betide thee: go; I will\nbear thee company till thou come to thy place of safety.\" And he\nleft him not till he brought him to the city-gate and said to\nhim, \"O youth, go in Allah's guard and return not to the city,\nfor, an they fall in with thee again, they will make an end of\nthee.\" Nur al-Din kissed his hand and going forth the city, gave\nnot over walking, till he came to a mosque that stood in one of\nthe suburbs of Baghdad and entered therein with the night. Now he\nhad with him naught wherewith he might cover himself; so he\nwrapped himself up in one of the mats of the mosque and thus\nabode till dawn, when the Muezzins came and finding him seated in\nsuch case, said to him, \"O youth, what is this plight?\" Said he,\n\"I cast myself on your protection, imploring your defence from a\ncompany of folk who seek to slay me unjustly and wrongously,\nwithout cause.\" And one of the Muezzins said, \"I will protect\nthee; so be of good cheer and keep thine eyes cool of tear.\" Then\nhe brought him old clothes and covered him therewith; he also set\nbefore him somewhat of victual and seeing upon him signs of fine\nbreeding, said to him, \"O my son, I grow old and desiring help\nfrom thee, I will do away thy necessity.\" Nur al-Din replied, \"To\nhear is to obey;\" and abode with the old man, who rested and took\nhis ease, while the youth did his service in the mosque,\ncelebrating the praises of Allah and calling the Faithful to\nprayer and lighting the lamps and filling the spout-pots[FN#314]\nand sweeping and cleaning out the place of worship. On this-wise\nit befel the young Damascene; but as regards Sitt al-Milah, the\nLady Zubaydah, the wife of the Commander of the Faithful, made a\nbanquet in her palace and assembled her slave-girls. And the\ndamsel came, weeping-eyed and heavy-hearted, and those present\nblamed her for this, whereupon she recited these couplets,\n\n\"Ye blame the mourner who weeps his woe; * Needs must the mourner\n sing, weeping sore;\nAn I see not some happy day I'll weep * Brine-tears till followed\n by gouts of gore.\"\n\nWhen she had made an end of her verses, the Lady Zubaydah bade\neach damsel sing a song, till the turn came round to Sitt\nal-Milah, whereupon she took the lute and tuning it, carolled\nthereto four-and-twenty carols in four-and-twenty modes; then she\nreturned to the first and sang these couplets,\n\n\"The World hath shot me with all her shafts * Departing friends\n parting-grief t' aby:\nSo in heart the burn of all hearts I bear * And in eyes the\n tear-drops of every eye.\"\n\nWhen she had made an end of her song, she wept till she garred\nthe bystanders weep and the Lady Zubaydah condoled with her and\nsaid to her, \"Allah upon thee, O Sitt al-Milah, sing us somewhat, so we may hearken to thee.\" The damsel replied, \"Hearing\nand obeying,\" and sang these couplets,\n\n\"People of passion, assemble ye! * This day be the day of our\n agony:\nThe Raven o' severance croaks at our doors; * Our raven which\n nigh to us aye see we.\nThe friends we love have appointed us * The grievousest\n parting-dule to dree.\nRise, by your lives, and let all at once * Fare to seek our\n friends where their sight we see.\"\n\nThen she threw the lute from her hand and shed tears till she\ndrew tears from the Lady Zubaydah who said to her, \"O Sitt\nal-Milah, he whom thou lovest methinks is not in this world, for\nthe Commander of the Faithful hath sought him in every place, but\nhath not found him.\" Whereupon the damsel arose and kissing the\nPrincess's hands, said to her, \"O my lady, an thou wouldst have\nhim found, I have this night a request to make whereby thou mayst\nwin my need with the Caliph.\" Quoth the Lady, \"And what is it?\"\nand quoth Sitt al-Milah, \"'Tis that thou get me leave to fare\nforth by myself and go round about in quest of him three days,\nfor the adage saith, Whoso keeneth for herself is not like whoso\nis hired to keen![FN#315] An if I find him, I will bring him\nbefore the Commander of the Faithful, so he may do with us what\nhe will, and if I find him not, I shall be cut off from hope of\nhim and the heat of that which is with me will be cooled.\" Quoth\nthe Lady Zubaydah, \"I will not get thee leave from him but for a\nwhole month; so be of good cheer and eyes cool and clear.\"\nWhereat Sitt al-Milah rejoiced and rising, kissed ground before\nher once more and went away to her own place, and right glad was\nshe. As for Zubaydah, she went in to the Caliph and talked with\nhim awhile; then she fell to kissing him between the eyes and on\nhis hand and asked him for that which she had promised to Sitt\nal-Milah, saying, \"O Commander of the Faithful, I doubt me her\nlord is not found in this world; but, an she go about seeking him\nand find him not, her hopes will be cut off and her mind will be\nset at rest and she will sport and laugh; and indeed while she\nnourisheth hope, she will never take the right direction.\" And\nshe ceased not cajoling him till he gave Sitt al-Milah leave to\nfare forth and make search for her lord a month's space and\nordered a riding-mule and an eunuch to attend her and bade the\nprivy purse give her all she needed, were it a thousand dirhams a\nday or even more. So the Lady Zubaydah arose and returning to her\npalace bade summon Sitt al-Milah and, as soon as she came,\nacquainted her with that which had passed; whereupon she kissed\nher hand and thanked her and called down blessings on her. Then\nshe took leave of the Princess and veiling her face with a\nmask,[FN#316] disguised herself;[FN#317] after which she mounted\nthe she-mule and sallying forth, went round about seeking her\nlord in the highways of Baghdad three days' space, but happed on\nno tidings of him; and on the fourth day, she rode forth without\nthe city. Now it was the noon-hour and fierce was the heat, and\nshe was aweary and thirst came upon her. Presently, she reached\nthe mosque of the Shaykh who had lodged the young Damascene, and\ndismounting at the door, said to the old Muezzin, \"O Shaykh, hast\nthou a draught of cold water? Verily, I am overcome with heat and\nthirst.\" Said he, \"'Tis with me in my house.\" So he carried her\nup into his lodging and spreading her a carpet, seated her; after\nwhich he brought her cold water and she drank and said to the\neunuch, \"Go thy ways with the mule and to-morrow come back to me\nhere.\" Accordingly he went away and she slept and rested herself.\nWhen she awoke, she asked the old man, \"O Shaykh, hast thou aught\nof food?\" and he answered, \"O my lady, I have bread and olives.\"\nQuoth she, \"That be food which befitteth only the like of thee.\nAs for me, I will have naught save roast lamb and soups and\nreddened fowls right fat and ducks farcis with all manner\nstuffing of pistachio-nuts and sugar.\" Quoth the Muezzin, \"O my\nlady, I have never heard of this chapter[FN#318] in the Koran,\nnor was it revealed to our lord Mohammed, whom Allah save and\nassain!\"[FN#319] She laughed and said, \"O Shaykh, the matter is\neven as thou sayest; but bring me pen-case and paper.\" So he\nbrought her what she sought and she wrote a note and gave it to\nhim, together with a seal-ring from her finger, saying, \"Go into\nthe city and enquire for Such-an-one the Shroff and give him this\nmy note.\" Accordingly the oldster betook himself to the city, as\nshe bade him, and asked for the money-changer, to whom they\ndirected him. So he gave him ring and writ, seeing which, he\nkissed the letter and breaking it open, read it and apprehended\nits contents. Then he repaired to the bazar and buying all that\nshe bade him, laid it in a porter's crate and made him go with\nthe Shaykh. The old man took the Hamm\u00e1l and went with him to the\nmosque, where he relieved him of his burden and carried the rich\nviands in to Sitt al-Milah. She seated him by her side and they\nate, he and she, of those dainty cates, till they were satisfied,\nwhen the Shaykh rose and removed the food from before her. She\npassed that night in his lodging and when she got up in the\nmorning, she said to him, \"O elder, may I not lack thy kind\noffices for the breakfast! Go to the Shroff and fetch me from him\nthe like of yesterday's food.\" So he arose and betaking himself\nto the money-changer, acquainted him with that which she had\nbidden him. The Shroff brought him all she required and set it on\nthe heads of Hammals; and the Shaykh took them and returned with\nthem to the damsel, when she sat down with him and they ate their\nsufficiency, after which he removed the rest of the meats. Then\nshe took the fruits and the flowers and setting them over against\nherself, wrought them into rings and knots and writs, whilst the\nShaykh looked on at a thing whose like he had never in his life\nseen and rejoiced in the sight. Presently said she to him \"O\nelder, I would fain drink.\" So he arose and brought her a gugglet\nof water; but she cried to him, \"Who said to thee, Fetch that?\"\nQuoth he, \"Saidst thou not to me, I would fain drink?\" and quoth\nshe, \"'I want not this; nay, I want wine, the solace of the soul,\nso haply, O Shaykh, I may refresh myself therewith.\" Exclaimed\nthe old man, \"Allah forfend that strong drink be drunk in my\nhouse, and I a stranger in the land and a Muezzin and an Imam,\nwho leadeth the True Believers in prayer, and a servant of the\nHouse of the Lord of the three Worlds!\" \"Why wilt thou forbid me\nto drink thereof in thy house?\" \"Because 'tis unlawful.\" \"O\nelder, Allah hath forbidden only the eating of blood and\ncarrion[FN#320] and hog's flesh: tell me, are grapes and honey\nlawful or unlawful?\" \"They are lawful.\" \"This is the juice of\ngrapes and the water of honey.\" \"Leave this thy talk, for thou\nshalt never drink wine in my house.\" \"O Shaykh, people eat and\ndrink and enjoy themselves and we are of the number of the folk\nand Allah is indulgent and merciful.\"[FN#321] \"This is a thing\nthat may not be.\" \"Hast thou not heard what the poet saith?\" And\nshe recited these couplets,\n\n\"Cease thou to hear, O Sim'\u00e1n-son,[FN#322] aught save the say of\n me; * How bitter 'twas to quit the monks and fly the\n monast'ry!\nWhen, on the F\u00eate of Palms there stood, amid the hallowed\n fane,[FN#323] * A pretty Fawn whose lovely pride garred me\n sore wrong to dree.\nMay Allah bless the night we spent when he to us was third, *\n While Moslem, Jew, and Nazarene all sported fain and free.\nQuoth he, from out whose locks appeared the gleaming of the morn,\n * 'Sweet is the wine and sweet the flowers that joy us\n comrades three.\nThe garden of the garths of Khuld where roll and rail amain, *\n Rivulets 'neath the myrtle shade and B\u00e1n's fair branchery;\nAnd birds make carol on the boughs and sing in blithest lay, *\n Yea, this indeed is life, but, ah! how soon it fades away.'\"\n\nShe then asked him, \"O Shaykh, an Moslems and Jews and Nazarenes\ndrink wine, who are we that we should reject it?\" Answered he,\n\"By Allah, O my lady, spare thy pains, for this be a thing\nwhereto I will not hearken.\" When she knew that he would not\nconsent to her desire, she said to him, \"O Shaykh, I am of the\nslave-girls of the Commander of the Faithful and the food waxeth\nheavy on me and if I drink not, I shall die of indigestion, nor\nwilt thou be assured against the issue of my case.[FN#324] As for\nme, I acquit myself of blame towards thee, for that I have bidden\nthee beware of the wrath of the Commander of the Faithful, after\nmaking myself known to thee.\" When the Shaykh heard her words and\nthat wherewith she threatened him, he sprang up and went out,\nperplexed and unknowing what he should do, and there met him a\nJewish man, which was his neighbour, and said to him, \"How cometh\nit that I see thee, O Shaykh, strait of breast? Eke, I hear in\nthy house a noise of talk, such as I am unwont to hear with\nthee.\" Quoth the Muezzin, \"'Tis of a damsel who declareth that\nshe is of the slave-girls of the Commander of the Faithful, Harun\nal-Rashid; and she hath eaten meat and now would drink wine in my\nhouse, but I forbade her. However she asserteth that unless she\ndrink thereof, she will die, and indeed I am bewildered\nconcerning my case.\" Answered the Jew, \"Know, O my neighbour,\nthat the slave-girls of the Commander of the Faithful are used\nto drink wine, and when they eat and drink not, they die; and I\nfear lest happen some mishap to her, when thou wouldst not be\nsafe from the Caliph's fury.\" The Shaykh asked, \"What is to be\ndone?\" and the Jew answered, \"I have old wine that will suit\nher.\" Quoth the Shaykh, \"By the right of neighbourship, deliver\nme from this descent[FN#325] of calamity and let me have that\nwhich is with thee!\" Quoth the Jew, \"Bismillah, in the name of\nAllah,\" and passing to his quarters, brought out a glass flask of\nwine, wherewith the Shaykh returned to Sitt al-Milah. This\npleased her and she cried to him, \"Whence hadst thou this?\" He\nreplied, \"I got it from the Jew, my neighbour: I set forth to him\nmy case with thee and he gave me this.\" Thereupon Sitt al-Milah\nfilled a cup and emptied it; after which she drank a second and a\nthird. Then she crowned the cup a fourth time and handed it to\nthe Shaykh, but he would not accept it from her. However, she\nconjured him, by her own head and that of the Prince of True\nBelievers, that he take the cup from her, till he received it\nfrom her hand and kissed it and would have set it down; but she\nsware him by her life to smell it. Accordingly he smelt it and\nshe said to him, \"How deemest thou?\" Said he, \"I find its smell\nis sweet;\" and she conjured him by the Caliph's life to taste\nthereof. So he put it to his mouth and she rose to him and made\nhim drink; whereupon quoth be, \"O Princess of the Fair,[FN#326]\nthis is none other than good.\" Quoth she, \"So deem I: hath not\nour Lord promised us wine in Paradise?\" He answered, \"Yes! The\nMost High saith, 'And rivers of wine, delicious to the\ndrinkers.'[FN#327] And we will drink it in this world and in the\nnext world.\" She laughed and emptying the cup, gave him to drink,\nand he said, \"O Princess of the Fair, indeed thou art excusable\nin thy love for this.\" Then he hent in hand from her another and\nanother, till he became drunken and his talk waxed great and his\nprattle. The folk of the quarter heard him and assembled under\nthe window; and when the Shaykh was ware of them, he opened the\nwindow and said to them, \"Are ye not ashamed, O pimps? Every one\nin his own house doth whatso he willeth and none hindereth him;\nbut we drink one single day and ye assemble and come, panders\nthat ye are! To-day, wine, and to-morrow business;[FN#328] and\nfrom hour to hour cometh relief.\" So they laughed together and\ndispersed. Then the girl drank till she was drunken, when she\ncalled to mind her lord and wept, and the Shaykh said to her,\n\"What maketh thee weep, O my lady?\" Said she, \"O elder, I am a\nlover and a separated.\" He cried, \"O my lady, what is this love?\"\nCried she, \"And thou, hast thou never been in love?\" He replied,\n\"By Allah, O my lady, never in all my life heard I of this thing,\nnor have I ever known it! Is it of the sons of Adam or of the\nJinn?\" She laughed and said, \"Verily, thou art even as those of\nwhom the poet speaketh, in these couplets,\n\n\"How oft shall they admonish and ye shun this nourishment; * When\n e'en the shepherd's bidding is obey\u00e8d by his flocks?\nI see you like in shape and form to creatures whom we term *\n Mankind, but in your acts and deeds you are a sort of\n ox\"[FN#329]\n\nThe Shaykh laughed at her speech and her verses pleased him. Then\ncried she to him, \"I desire of thee a lute.\" So he arose and\nbrought her a bit of fuel.[FN#330] Quoth she, \"What is that?\" and\nquoth he \"Didst thou not say: Bring me fuel?\" Said she, \"I do not\nwant this,\" and said he, \"What then is it that is hight fuel,\nother than this?\" She laughed and replied, \"The lute is an\ninstrument of music, whereunto I sing.\" Asked he, \"Where is this\nthing found and of whom shall I get it for thee?\" and answered\nshe, \"Of him who gave thee the wine.\" So he arose and betaking\nhimself to his neighbour the Jew, said to him, \"Thou favouredst\nus before with the wine; so now complete thy favours and look me\nout a thing hight lute, which be an instrument for singing; for\nshe seeketh this of me and I know it not.\" Replied the Jew,\n\"Hearkening and obedience,\" and going into his house, brought him\na lute. The old man carried it to Sitt al-Milah, whilst the Jew\ntook his drink and sat by a window adjoining the Shaykh's house,\nso he might hear the singing. The damsel rejoiced, when the old\nman returned to her with the lute, and taking it from him, tuned\nits strings and sang these couplets,\n\n\"Remains not, after you are gone, or trace of you or sign, * But\n hope to see this parting end and break its lengthy line:\nYou went and by your wending made the whole world desolate; * And\n none may stand this day in stead to fill the yearning eyne.\nIndeed, you've burdened weakling me, by strength and force of you\n * With load no hill hath power t'upheave nor yet the plain\n low li'en:\nAnd I, whenever fain I scent the breeze your land o'erbreathes, *\n Lose all my wits as though they were bemused with heady\n wine.\nO folk no light affair is Love for lover woe to dree * Nor easy\n 'tis to satisfy its sorrow and repine.\nI've wandered East and West to hap upon your trace, and when *\n Spring-camps I find the dwellers cry, 'They've marched,\n those friends o' thine!'\nNever accustomed me to part these intimates I love; * Nay, when I\n left them all were wont new meetings to design.\"\n\nNow when she had ended her song, she wept with sore weeping, till\npresently sleep overcame her and she slept. On the morrow, she\nsaid to the Shaykh, \"Get thee to the Shroff and fetch me the\nordinary;\" so he repaired to the money-changer and delivered him\nthe message, whereupon he made ready meat and drink, according to\nhis custom, with which the old man returned to the damsel and\nthey ate their sufficiency. When she had eaten, she sought of him\nwine and he went to the Jew and fetched it. Then the twain sat\ndown and drank; and when she waxed drunken, she took the lute and\nsmiting it, fell a-singing and chanted these couplets,\n\n\"How long ask I the heart, the heart drowned, and eke * Refrain\n my complaint while I my tear-floods speak?\nThey forbid e'en the phantom to visit me, * (O marvel!) her\n phantom my couch to seek.\"[FN#331]\n\nAnd when she had made an end of her song, she wept with sore\nweeping. All this time, the young Damascene was listening, and\nnow he likened her voice to the voice of his slave-girl and then\nhe put away from him this thought, and the damsel had no\nknowledge whatever of his presence. Then she broke out again into\nsong and chanted these couplets,\n\n\"Quoth they, 'Forget him! What is he?' To them I cried, * 'Allah\n forget me when forget I mine adored!'\nNow in this world shall I forget the love o' you? * Heaven grant\n the thrall may ne'er forget to love his lord!\nI pray that Allah pardon all except thy love * Which, when I meet\n Him may my bestest plea afford.\"\n\nAfter ending this song she drank three cups and filling the old\nman other three, improvised these couplets,\n\n\"His love he hid which tell-tale tears betrayed; * For burn of\n coal that 'neath his ribs was laid:\nGiv'n that he seek his joy in spring and flowers * Some day, his\n spring's the face of dear-loved maid.\nO ye who blame me for who baulks my love! * What sweeter thing\n than boon to man denayed?\nA sun, yet scorcheth he my very heart! * A moon, but riseth he\n from breasts a-shade!\"\n\nWhen she had made an end of her song, she threw the lute from her\nhand and wept, whilst the Shaykh wept for her weeping. Then she\nfell down in a fainting fit and presently recovering, crowned the\ncup and drinking it off, gave the elder to drink, after which she\ntook the lute and breaking out into song, chanted these couplets,\n\n\"Thy parting is bestest of woes to my heart, * And changed my\n case till all sleep it eschewed:\nThe world to my being is desolate; * Then Oh grief! and O\n lingering solitude!\nMaybe The Ruthful incline thee to me * And join us despite what\n our foes have sued!\"\n\nThen she wept till her voice rose high and her wailing was\ndiscovered to those without; after which she again began to drink\nand plying the Shaykh with wine, sang these couplets,\n\n\"An they hid thy person from eyen-sight, * They hid not thy name\n fro' my mindful sprite:\nOr meet me; thy ransom for meeting I'll be[FN#332] * Or fly me;\n and ransom I'll be for thy flight!\nMine outer speaks for mine inner case, * And mine inner speaks\n for mine outer plight.\"\n\nWhen she had made an end of her verses, she threw the lute from\nher hand and wept and wailed. Then she slept awhile and presently\nawaking, said, \"O Shaykh, say me, hast thou what we may eat?\" He\nreplied, \"O my lady, I have the rest of the food;\" but she cried,\n\"I will not eat of the orts I have left. Go down to the bazar and\nfetch us what we may eat.\" He rejoined, \"Excuse me, O my lady, I\ncannot rise to my feet, because I am bemused with wine; but with\nme is the servant of the mosque, who is a sharp youth and an\nintelligent. I will call him, so he may buy thee whatso thou\nwantest.\" Asked she, \"Whence hast thou this servant?\" and he\nanswered, \"He is of the people of Damascus.\" When she heard him\nsay \"of the people of Damascus,\" she sobbed such a sob that she\nswooned away; and when she came to herself, she said, \"Woe is me\nfor the people of Damascus and for those who are therein! Call\nhim, O Shaykh, that he may do our need.\" Accordingly, the old man\nput his head forth of the window and called the youth, who came\nto him from the mosque and sought leave to enter. The Muezzin\nbade him come in, and when he appeared before the damsel, he knew\nher and she knew him; whereupon he turned back in bewilderment\nand would have fled at hap-hazard; but she sprang up to him and\nheld him fast, and they embraced and wept together, till they\nfell to the floor in a fainting fit. When the Shaykh saw them in\nthis condition, he feared for himself and fared forth in fright,\nseeing not the way for drunkenness. His neighbour the Jew met him\nand asked him, \"How is it that I behold thee astounded?\" Answered\nthe old man, \"How should I not be astounded, seeing that the\ndamsel who is with me is fallen in love with the mosque servant\nand they have embraced and slipped down in a swoon? Indeed, I\nfear lest the Caliph come to know of this and be wroth with me;\nso tell me thou what is thy device for that wherewith I am\nafflicted in the matter of this damsel.\" Quoth the Jew, \"For the\npresent, take this casting-bottle of rose-water and go forthright\nand sprinkle them therewith: an they be aswoon for this their\nunion and embrace, they will recover, and if otherwise, then take\nto flight.\" The Shaykh snatched the casting-bottle from the Jew\nand going up to the twain, sprinkled their faces, whereupon they\ncame to themselves and fell to relating each to other that which\nthey had suffered, since both had been parted, for the pangs of\nseverance. Nur al-Din also acquainted Sitt al-Milah with that\nwhich he had endured from the folk who would have killed[FN#333]\nhim and utterly annihilated him; and she said to him, \"O my lord,\nlet us for the nonce leave this talk and praise Allah for reunion\nof loves, and all this shall cease from us.\" Then she gave him\nthe cup and he said, \"By Allah, I will on no wise drink it,\nwhilst I am in this case!\" So she drank it off before him and\ntaking the lute, swept the strings and sang these couplets,\n\n\"O absent fro' me and yet present in place, * Thou art far from\n mine eyes and yet ever nigh!\nThy farness bequeathed me all sorrow and care * And my troublous\n life can no joy espy:\nLone, forlorn, weeping-eyelidded, miserablest, * I abide for thy\n sake as though banisht I:\nThen (ah grief o' me!) far thou hast fared from sight * Yet canst\n no more depart me than apple of eye!\"\n\nWhen she had made an end of her verse, she wept and the young man\nof Damascus, Nur al-Din, wept also. Then she took the lute and\nimprovised these couplets,\n\n\"Well Allah wots I never nam\u00e8d you * But tears o'erbrimming eyes\n in floods outburst;\nAnd passion raged and pine would do me die, * Yet my heart rested\n wi' the thought it nurst;\nO eye-light mine, O wish and O my hope! * Your face can never\n quench mine eyes' hot thirst.\"\n\nWhen Nur al-Din heard these his slave-girl's verses, he fell\na-weeping, while she strained him to her bosom and wiped away his\ntears with her sleeve and questioned him and comforted his mind.\nThen she took the lute and sweeping its strings, played thereon\nwith such performing as would move the staidest to delight and\nsang these couplets,\n\n\"Indeed, what day brings not your sight to me, * That day I\n rem'mber not as dight to me!\nAnd, when I vainly long on you to look, * My life is lost, Oh\n life and light o' me!\"\n\nAfter this fashion they fared till the morning, tasting not the\nnourishment of sleep;[FN#334] and when the day lightened, behold\nthe eunuch came with the she-mule and said to Sitt al-Milah, \"The\nCommander of the Faithful calleth for thee.\" So she arose and\ntaking by the hand her lord, committed him to the Shaykh, saying,\n\"This is the deposit of Allah, then thy deposit,[FN#335] till\nthis eunuch cometh to thee; and indeed, O elder, my due to thee\nis the white hand of favour such as filleth the interval betwixt\nheaven and earth.\" Then she mounted the mule and repairing to the\npalace of the Commander of the Faithful, went in to him and\nkissed ground before him. Quoth he to her, as who should make\nmock of her, \"I doubt not but thou hast found thy lord;\" and\nquoth she, \"By thy felicity and the length of thy continuance on\nlife, I have indeed found him!\" Now Al-Rashid was leaning back;\nbut, when he heard this, he sat upright and said to her \"By my\nlife, true?\" She replied, \"Ay, by thy life!\" He said, \"Bring him\ninto my presence, so I may see him;\" but she said, \"O my lord,\nthere have happened to him many hardships and his charms are\nchanged and his favour faded; and indeed the Prince of True\nBelievers vouchsafed me a month; wherefore I will tend him the\nrest of the month and then bring him to do his service to the\nCommander of the Faithful.\" Quoth Al-Rashid, \"Sooth thou sayest:\nthe condition certainly was for a month; but tell me what hath\nbetided him.\" Quoth she, \"O my lord (Allah prolong thy\ncontinuance and make Paradise thy place of returning and thine\nasylum and the fire the abiding-place of thy foes!), when he\npresenteth himself to serve thee, he will assuredly expound to\nthee his case and will name to thee his wrongdoers; and indeed\nthis is an arrear that is due to the Prince of True Believers, by\nwhom may Allah fortify the Faith and vouchsafe him the victory\nover rebel and froward wretch!\" Thereupon he ordered her a fine\nhouse and bade furnish it with carpets and vessels of choice and\ncommanded them to give all she needed. This was done during the\nrest of the day, and when the night came, she sent the eunuch\nwith a suit of clothes and the mule, to fetch Nur al-Din from the\nMuezzin's lodging. So the young man donned the dress and\nmounting, rode to the house, where he abode in comfort and luxury\na full-told month, while she solaced him with four things, the\neating of fowls and the drinking of wine and the sleeping upon\nbrocade and the entering the bath after horizontal\nrefreshment.[FN#336] Furthermore, she brought him six suits of\nlinen stuffs and took to changing his clothes day by day; nor was\nthe appointed time of delay accomplished ere his beauty and\nloveliness returned to him; nay, his favour waxed tenfold fairer\nand he became a seduction to all who looked upon him. One day of\nthe days Al-Rashid bade bring him to the presence; so his\nslave-girl changed his clothes and robing him in sumptuous\nraiment, mounted him on the she-mule. Then he rode to the palace\nand presenting himself before the Caliph, saluted him with the\ngoodliest of salutations and bespake him with Truchman's[FN#337]\nspeech eloquent and deep-thoughted. When Al-Rashid saw him, he\nmarvelled at the seemliness of his semblance and his loquence and\neloquence and asking of him, was told that he was Sitt al-Milah's\nlord; whereupon quoth he, \"Indeed, she is excusable in her love\nfor him, and if we had put her to death wrongfully, as we were\nminded to do, her blood would have been upon our heads.\" Then he\naccosted the young man and entering into discourse with him,\nfound him well-bred, intelligent, clever, quick-witted, generous,\npleasant, elegant, excellent. So he loved him with exceeding love\nand questioned him of his native city and of his sire and of the\ncause of his journey to Baghdad. Nur al-Din acquainted him with\nthat which he would know in the goodliest words and concisest\nphrases; and the Caliph asked him, \"And where hast thou been\nabsent all this while? Verily, we sent after thee to Damascus and\nMosul and all other cities, but happened on no tidings of thee.\"\nAnswered the young man, \"O my lord, there betided thy slave in\nthy capital that which never yet betided any.\" Then he acquainted\nhim with his case, first and last, and told him that which had\nbefallen him of evil from Al-Muradi and the Chief of Police. Now\nwhen Al-Rashid heard this, he was chagrined with sore chagrin and\nwaxed wroth with exceeding wrath and cried, \"Shall this thing\nhappen in a city wherein I am?\" And the H\u00e1shim\u00ed vein [FN#338]\nstarted out between his eyes. Then he bade fetch Ja'afar, and\nwhen he came between his hands, he acquainted him with the\nadventure and said to him, \"Shall this thing come to pass in my\ncity and I have no news of it?\" Thereupon he bade Ja'afar fetch\nall whom the young Damascene had named,and when they came, he\nbade smite their necks: he also summoned him whom they called\nAhmad and who had been the means of the young man's deliverance a\nfirst time and a second, and thanked him and showed him favour\nand bestowed on him a costly robe of honour and made him Chief of\nPolice in his city.[FN#339] Then he sent for the Shaykh, the\nMuezzin, and when the messenger came to him and told him that the\nCommander of the Faithfull summoned him, he feared the\ndenunciation of the damsel and walked with him to the palace,\nfarting for fear as he went, whilst all who passed him by laughed\nat him. When he came into the presence of the Commander of the\nFaithful, he fell a-trembling and his tongue was tied,[FN#340] so\nthat he could not speak. The Caliph smiled at him and said, \"O\nShaykh, thou hast done no offence; so why fearest thou?\" Answered\nthe old man (and indeed he was in the sorest of that which may be\nof fear), \"O my lord, by the virtue of thy pure forefathers,\nindeed I have done naught, and do thou enquire of my manners and\nmorals.\" The Caliph laughed at him and ordering him a thousand\ndinars, bestowed on him a costly robe of honour and made him\nheadman of the Muezzins in his mosque. Then he called Sitt\nal-Milah and said to her, \"The house wherein thou lodgest with\nall it containeth is a largesse to thy lord: so do thou take him\nand depart with him in the safeguard of Allah Almighty; but\nabsent not yourselves from our presence.\" Accordingly she went\nforth with the young Damascene and when she came to the house,\nshe found that the Prince of True Believers had sent them gifts\ngalore and good things in store. As for Nur al-Din, he sent for\nhis father and mother and appointed for himself agents in the\ncity of Damascus, to receive the rent of the houses and gardens\nand Wakalahs and Hammams; and they occupied themseves with\ncollecting that which accrued to him and sending it to him every\nyear. Meanwhile, his father and mother came to him, with that\nwhich they had of monies and merchandise of price and,\nforegathering with their son, found that he was become of the\nchief officers and familiars of the Commander of the Faithful and\nof the number of his sitting-companions and nightly entertainers,\nwherefore they rejoiced in reunion with him and he also rejoiced\nin them. The Caliph assigned them solde and allowances; and as\nfor Nur al-Din, his father brought him those riches and his\nwealth waxed and his estate was stablished, till he became the\nrichest of the folk of his time in Baghdad and left not the\npresence of the Commander of the Faithful or by night or by day.\nHe was vouchsafed issue by Sitt al-Milah, and he ceased not to\nlive the goodliest of lives, he and she and his father and his\nmother, a while of time, till Abu al-Hasan sickened of a sore\nsickness and departed to the mercy of Allah Almighty. Presently,\nhis mother also died and he carried them forth and shrouded them\nand buried and made them expiations and funeral\nceremonies.[FN#341] In due course his children grew up and became\nlike moons, and he reared them in splendour and affection, while\nhis wealth waxed and his case never waned. He ceased not to pay\nfrequent visits to the Commander of the Faithful, he and his\nchildren and his slave-girl Sitt al-Milah, and they abode in all\nsolace of life and prosperity till there came to them the\nDestroyer of delights and the Sunderer of societies; and laud to\nthe Abiding, the Eternal! This is all that hath come down to us\nof their story.\n\n\n\n\n TALE OF KING INS BIN KAYS AND HIS DAUGHTER\n WITH THE SON OF KING AL-'ABBAS.[FN#342]\n\n\n\nThere was once, in days of yore and in ages and times long gone\nbefore, in the city of Baghdad, the House of Peace, a king mighty\nof estate, lord of understanding and beneficence and generosity\nand munificence, and he was strong of sultanate and endowed with\nmight and majesty and magnificence. His name was Ins bin Kays bin\nRab\u00ed' al-Shayb\u00e1n\u00ed,[FN#343] and when he took horse, there rode\nabout him riders from the farthest parts of the two\nIraks.[FN#344] Almighty Allah decreed that he should take to wife\na woman hight 'Af\u00edfah, daughter of Asad al-Sund\u00fasi, who was\nendowed with beauty and loveliness and brightness and perfect\ngrace and symmetry of shape and stature; her face was like the\ncrescent moon and she had eyes as they were gazelle's eyes and an\naquiline nose like Luna's cymb. She had learned cavalarice and\nthe use of arms and had mastered the sciences of the Arabs; eke\nshe had gotten by heart all the dragomanish[FN#345] tongues and\nindeed she was a ravishment to mankind. She abode with Ins bin\nKays twelve years, during which time he was not blessed with\nchildren by her; so his breast was straitened by reason of the\nfailure of lineage, and he besought his Lord to vouchsafe him a\nson. Accordingly the queen conceived, by permission of Allah\nAlmighty; and when the days of her pregnancy were accomplished,\nshe gave birth to a maid-child, than whom never saw eyes fairer,\nfor that her face was as it were a pearl pure-bright or a lamp\nraying light or a candle gilt with gold or a full moon breaking\ncloudy fold, extolled be He who her from vile water dight and\nmade her to the beholders a delight! When her father saw her in\nthis fashion of loveliness, his reason fled for joy, and when she\ngrew up, he taught her writing and belles-lettres and philosophy\nand all manner of tongues. So she excelled the folk of her time\nand surpassed her peers; and the sons of the kings heard of her\nand all of them longed to look upon her. The first who sought her\nto wife was King Nabh\u00e1n[FN#346] of Mosul, who came to her with a\ngreat company, bringing an hundred she-camels, laden with musk\nand lign-aloes and ambergris and five score loaded with camphor\nand jewels and other hundred laden with silver monies and yet\nother hundred loaded with raiment of silken stuffs, sendal and\nbrocade, besides an hundred slave-girls and a century of choice\nsteeds of swift and generous breeds, completely housed and\naccoutred, as they were brides; and all this he had laid before\nher father, demanding her of him in wedlock. Now King Ins bin\nKays had bound himself by an oath that he would not marry his\ndaughter save to him whom she should choose; so, when King Nabhan\nsought her in marriage, her father went in to her and consulted\nher concerning his affair. She consented not and he repeated to\nNabhan that which she said, whereupon he departed from him. After\nthis came King Bahr\u00e1m, lord of the White Island, with treasures\nricher than the first; but she accepted not of him and he\nreturned disappointed; nor did the kings cease coming to her\nsire, on her account, one after other, from the farthest of the\nlands and the climes, each glorying in bringing more than those\nwho forewent him; but she heeded not any one of them. Presently,\nAl-'Abb\u00e1s, son of King Al-'Az\u00edz, lord of the land of Al-Yaman and\nZab\u00edd\u00fan[FN#347] and Meccah (which Allah increase in honour and\nbrightness and beauty!) heard of her; and he was of the great\nones of Meccah and Al-Hij\u00e1z,[FN#348] and was a youth without hair\non his side-face. So he presented himself one day in his sire's\nassembly, whereupon the folk made way for him and the king seated\nhim on a chair of red gold, crusted with pearls and gems. The\nPrince sat, with his head bowed ground-wards, and spake not to\nany: whereby his father knew that his breast was straitened and\nbade the cup-companions and men of wit relate marvellous\nhistories, such as beseem the sessions of kings; nor was there\none of them but spoke forth the goodliest of that which was with\nhim; but Al-'Abb\u00e1s still abode with his head bowed down. Then the\nking bade his sitting-companions withdraw, and when the chamber\nwas private, he looked at his son and said to him, \"By Allah,\nthou cheerest me with thy coming in to me and chagrinest me for\nthat thou payest no heed to any of the familiars nor of the\ncup-companions. What is the cause of this?\" Answered the Prince,\n\"O my papa, I have heard tell that in the land of Al-Ir\u00e1k is a\nwoman of the daughters of the kings, and her father is called\nKing Ins bin Kays, lord of Baghdad; she is famed for beauty and\nloveliness and brightness and perfect grace, and indeed many of\nthe kings have sought her in marriage; but her soul consented not\nunto any one of them. Wherefore my thought prompteth me to travel\nherwards, for that my heart cleaveth to her, and I beseech thee\nsuffer me to go to her.\" His sire replied, \"O my son, thou\nknowest that I have none other than thyself of children and thou\nart the coolth of mine eyes and the fruit of my vitals; nay, I\ncannot brook to be parted from thee a single hour and I purpose\nto seat thee on the throne of the kingship and espouse thee to\none of the daughters of the kings, who shall be fairer than she.\"\nAl-Abbas gave ear to his father's word and dared not gainsay him;\nwherefore he abode with him awhile, whilst the love-fire raged in\nhis vitals. Then the king took rede with himself to build his son\na Hammam and adorn it with various paintings, so he might display\nit to him and divert him with the sight thereof, to the intent\nthat his body might be solaced thereby and that the accident of\ntravel might cease from him and he be turned from his purpose of\nremoval from his parents. Presently he addressed himself to the\nbuilding of the bath and assembling architects and artisans from\nall his cities and citadels and islands, assigned them a\nfoundation-site and marked out its boundaries. Then the workmen\noccupied themselves with the building of the Hammam and the\nordinance and adornment of its cabinets and roofs. They used\npaints and precious minerals of all kinds, according to the\ncontrast of their colours, red and green and blue and yellow and\nwhat not else of all manner tincts; and each artisan wrought at\nhis craft and each painter at his art, whilst the rest of the\nfolk busied themselves with transporting thither vari-\nstones. One day, as the Master-painter wrought at his work, there\ncame in to him a poor man, who looked long upon him and observed\nhis mystery; whereupon quoth the artist to him, \"Knowest thou\naught of painting?\" Quoth the stranger, \"Yes;\" so he gave him\ntools and paints and said to him, \"Limn for us a rare semblance.\"\nAccordingly the pauper stranger entered one of the bath-chambers\nand drew on its walls a double border, which he adorned on both\nsides, after a fashion than which eyes never saw a fairer.\nMoreover, amiddlemost the chamber he limned a picture to which\nthere lacked but the breath,[FN#349] and it was the portraiture\nof Mariyah, daughter to the king of Baghdad. Then, when he had\nfinished the portrait, he went his way and told none of what he\nhad done, nor knew any wight the chambers and doors of the bath\nand the adornment and ordinance thereof. Presently the chief\nartisan came to the palace and sought audience of the king who\nbade admit him. So he entered and kissing the earth, saluted him\nwith a salam beseeming Sultans and said, \"O king of the time and\nlord of the age and the tide, may prosperity endure to thee and\nacceptance and eke thy degree over all the kings both morning and\nevening[FN#350] exalted be! The work of the bath is accomplished,\nby the king's fair fortune and the purity of his purpose, and\nindeed, we have done all that behoved us and there remaineth but\nthat which behoveth the king.\" Al-Aziz ordered him a costly robe\nof honour and expended monies galore, giving unto each who had\nwroughten after the measure of his work. Then he assembled in the\nHammam all the Lords of his realm, Emirs and Wazirs and\nChamberlains and Nabobs, and the chief officers of his kingdom\nand household, and sending for his son Al-Abbas, said to him, \"O\nmy son, I have builded thee a bath, wherein thou mayst take thy\npleasance; so enter that thou mayst see it and divert thyself by\ngazing upon it and viewing the beauty of its ordinance and\ndecoration.\" \"With love and gladness,\" replied the Prince and\nentered the bath, he and the king and the folk about them, so\nthey might divert themselves with viewing that which the\nworkmen's hands had worked. Al-Abbas went in and passed from\nplace to place and chamber to chamber, till he came to the room\naforesaid and espied the portrait of Mariyah, whereupon he fell\ndown in a fainting-fit and the workmen went to his father and\nsaid to him, \"Thy son Al-Abbas hath swooned away.\" So the king\ncame and finding his son cast down, seated himself at his head\nand bathed his face with rose-water. After awhile he revived and\nthe king said to him, \"I seek refuge with Allah for thee, O my\nson! What accident hath befallen thee?\" The Prince replied, \"O my\nfather, I did but look on yonder picture and it bequeathed me a\nthousand qualms and there befel me that which thou beholdest.\"\nTherewith the king bade fetch the Master-painter, and when he\nstood before him, he said to him, \"Tell me of yonder portrait and\nwhat girl is this of the daughters of the kings; else I will take\nthy head.\" Said the painter, \"By Allah, O king, I limned it not,\nneither know I who she is; but there came to me a poor man and\nlooked hard at me. So I asked him, Knowest thou the art of\npainting? and he answered, Yes. Whereupon I gave him the gear and\nsaid to him, Limn for us a rare semblance. Accordingly he painted\nyonder portrait and went away and I wot him not neither have I\never set eyes on him save that day.\" Hearing this, the king\nordered all his officers to go round about in the thoroughfares\nand colleges and to bring before him all strangers they found\nthere. So they went forth and brought him much people, amongst\nwhom was the pauper who had painted the portrait. When they came\ninto the presence, the Sultan bade the crier make public\nproclamation that whoso wrought the portrait should discover\nhimself and have whatso he wished. Thereupon the poor man came\nforward and kissing the ground before the king, said to him, \"O\nking of the age, I am he who limned yonder likeness.\" Quoth\nAl-Aziz, \"And knowest thou who she is?\" and quoth the other,\n\"Yes, this is the portrait of Mariyah, daughter of the king of\nBaghdad.\" The king ordered him a robe of honour and a slave-girl\nand he went his way. Then said Al-Abbas, \"O my papa, give me\nleave to seek her, so I may look upon her: else shall I farewell\nthe world, withouten fail.\" The king his father wept and\nanswered, \"O my son, I builded thee a Hammam, that it might turn\nthee from leaving me, and behold, it hath been the cause of thy\ngoing forth; but the behest of Allah is a determinate\ndecree.\"[FN#351] Then he wept again and Al-Abbas said to him,\n\"Fear not for me, for thou knowest my prowess and puissance in\nreturning answers in the assemblies of the land and my good\nbreeding and accomplishments together with my skill in rhetoric;\nand indeed for him whose father thou art and whom thou hast\nreared and bred and in whom thou hast united praiseworthy\nqualities, the repute whereof hath traversed the East and the\nWest, thou needest not fear aught, more especially as I purpose\nbut to seek pleasuring and return to thee, an it be the will of\nAllah Almighty.\" Quoth the king, \"Whom wilt thou take with thee\nof attendants and what of monies?\" Replied Al-Abbas, \"O my papa,\nI have no need of horses or camels or weapons, for I purpose not\nwarfare, and I will have none go forth with me save my page 'Amir\nand no more.\" Now as he and his father were thus engaged in talk,\nin came his mother and caught hold of him; and he said to her,\n\"Allah upon thee, let me gang my gait and strive not to divert me\nfrom what purpose I have purposed, for needs must I go.\" She\nreplied, \"O my son, if it must be so and there be no help for it,\nswear to me that thou wilt not be absent from me more than a\nyear.\" And he sware to her. Then he entered his father's\ntreasuries and took therefrom what he would of jewels and\njacinths and everything weighty of worth and light of load: he\nalso bade his servant Amir saddle him two steeds and the like for\nhimself, and whenas the night beset his back,[FN#352] he rose\nfrom his couch and mounting his horse, set out for Baghdad, he\nand Amir, whilst the page knew not whither he intended.[FN#353]\nHe gave not over going and the journey was joyous to him, till\nthey came to a goodly land, abounding in birds and wild beasts,\nwhereupon Al-Abbas started a gazelle and shot it with a shaft.\nThen he dismounted and cutting its throat, said to his servant,\n\"Alight thou and skin it and carry it to the water.\" Amir\nanswered him with \"Hearkening and obedience\" and going down to\nthe water, built a fire and broiled the gazelle's flesh. Then\nthey ate their fill and drank of the water, after which they\nmounted again and fared on with diligent faring, and Amir still\nunknowing whither Al-Abbas was minded to wend. So he said to him,\n\"O my lord, I conjure thee by Allah of All-might, wilt thou not\ntell me whither thou intendest?\" Al-Abbas looked at him and in\nreply improvised these couplets,\n\n\"In my vitals are fires of desire and repine; * And naught I\n reply when they flare on high:\nBaghdad-wards I hie me on life-and-death work, * Loving one who\n distorts my right judgment awry:\nA swift camel under me shortcuts the wold * And deem it a cloud\n all who nearhand espy:\nO '\u00c1mir make haste after model of her * Who would heal mine ill\n and Love's cup drain dry:\nFor the leven of love burns the vitals of me; * So with me seek\n my tribe and stint all reply.\"\n\nWhen Amir heard his lord's verses, he knew that he was a slave of\nlove and that she whom he loved abode in Baghdad. Then they fared\non night and day, traversing plain and stony way, till they\nsighted Baghdad and lighted down in its environs[FN#354] and\nthere lay their night. When they arose in the morning, they\nremoved to the bank of the Tigris where they encamped and\nsojourned a second day and a third. As they abode thus on the\nfourth day, behold, a company of folk giving their beasts the\nrein and crying aloud and saying, \"Quick! Quick! Haste to our\nrescue, Ho thou the King!\" Therewith the King's chamberlains and\nofficers accosted them and said, \"What is behind you and what\nhath betided you?\" Quoth they, \"Bring us before the King.\" So\nthey carried them to Ins bin Kays; and when they saw him, they\nsaid to him, \"O king, unless thou succour us, we are dead men;\nfor that we are a folk of the Ban\u00fa Shayb\u00e1n,[FN#355] who have\ntaken up our abode in the parts of Bassorah, and Hodhayfah the\nwild Arab hath come down on us with his steeds and his men and\nhath slain our horsemen and carried off our women and children;\nnor was one saved of the tribe but he who fled; wherefore we\ncrave help first by Allah Almighty, then by thy life.\" When the\nking heard their speech, he bade the crier proclaim in the\nhighways of the city that the troops should busk them to march\nand that the horsemen should mount and the footmen fare forth;\nnor was it but the twinkling of the eye ere the kettle-drums beat\nand the trumpets blared; and scarce was the forenoon of the day\npassed when the city was blocked with horse and foot. Presently,\nthe king reviewed them and behold, they were four-and-twenty\nthousand in number, cavalry and infantry. He bade them go forth\nto the enemy and gave the command of them to Sa'ad ibn al-W\u00e1kid\u00ed,\na doughty cavalier and a dauntless champion; so the horsemen set\nout and fared on along the Tigris-bank. Al-Abbas, son of King\nAl-Aziz, looked at them and saw the flags flaunting and the\nstandards stirring and heard the kettle-drums beating; so he bade\nhis page saddle him a blood-steed and look to the surcingles and\nbring him his harness of war, for indeed horsemanship[FN#356] was\nrooted in his heart. Quoth Amir, \"And indeed I saw Al-Abbas his\neyes waxed red and the hair of his hands on end.\" So he mounted\nhis charger, whilst Amir also bestrode a destrier, and they went\nforth with the commando and fared on two days. On the third day,\nafter the hour of the mid-afternoon prayer, they came in sight of\nthe foe and the two armies met and the two ranks joined in fight.\nThe strife raged amain and sore was the strain, whilst the dust\nrose in clouds and hung in vaulted shrouds, so that all eyes were\nblinded; and they ceased not from the battle till the night\novertook them,[FN#357] when the two hosts drew off from the\nmellay and passed the night, perplexed concerning themselves.\nWhen Allah caused the morning to morrow, the two hosts were\naligned in line and their thousands fixed their eyne and the\ntroops stood looking one at other. Then sallied forth Al-H\u00e1ris\nibn Sa'ad between the two lines and played with his lance and\ncried out and improvised these couplets,\n\n\"You are in every way this day our prey; * And ever we pray\u00e8d\n your sight to see:\nThe Ruthful drave you Hodhayfah-wards * To the Brave, the Lion\n who sways the free:\nSay, amid you's a man who would heal his ills, * With whose lust\n of battle shrewd blows agree?\nThen by Allah meet me who come to you * And whoso is wronged\n shall the wronger be.\"[FN#358]\n\nThereupon there sallied forth to him Zuhayr bin Hab\u00edb, and they\nwheeled about and wiled a while, then they exchanged strokes.\nAl-Haris forewent his foe in smiting and stretched him weltering\nin his gore; whereupon Hodhayfah cried out to him, \"Gifted of\nAllah[FN#359] art thou, O Haris! Call out another of them.\" So he\ncried aloud, \"I say, who be a champion?\" But they of Baghdad held\nback from him; and when it appeared to Al-Haris that\nconsternation was amongst them, he charged down upon them and\noverrolled the first of them upon the last of them and slew of\nthem twelve men. Then the evening caught him and the Baghdadis\nbegan addressing themselves to flight. No sooner had the morning\nmorrowed than they found themselves reduced to a fourth part of\ntheir number and there was not one of them had dismounted from\nhis horse. Wherefore they made sure of destruction and Hodhayfah\nrushed out between the two lines (now he was reckoned good for a\nthousand knights) and cried out, \"Harkye, my masters of Baghdad!\nLet none come forth to me but your Emir, so I may talk with him\nand he with me; and he shall meet me in combat singular and I\nwill meet him, and may he who is clear of offence come off safe.\"\nThen he repeated his words and said, \"How is it I see your Emir\nrefuse me a reply?\" But Sa'ad, the Emir of the army of Baghdad,\nanswered him not, and indeed his teeth chattered in his mouth,\nwhen he heard him summon him to the duello. Now when Al-Abbas\nheard Hodhayfah's challenge and saw Sa'ad in this case, he came\nup to the Emir and asked him, \"Wilt thou suffer me to answer him\nand I will be thy substitute in replying him and in monomachy\nwith him and will make my life thy sacrifice?\" Sa'ad looked at\nhim and seeing knighthood shining from between his eyes, said to\nhim, \"O youth, by the virtue of Mustaf\u00e0 the Chosen Prophet (whom\nAllah save and assain), tell me who thou art and whence thou\ncomest to bring us victory.\"[FN#360] Quoth the Prince, \"This is\nno place for questioning;\" and quoth Sa'ad to him, \"O Knight, up\nand at Hodhayfah! Yet, if his Satan prove too strong for thee,\nafflict not thyself on thy youth.\"[FN#361] Al-Abbas cried, \"Allah\nis He of whom help is to be sought;\"[FN#362] and, taking his\narms, fortified his purpose and went down into the field, as he\nwere a fort of the forts or a mountain's contrefort. Thereupon\nHodhayfah cried out to him, saying, \"Haste thee not, O youth! Who\nart thou of the folk?\" He replied, \"I am Sa'ad ibn al-Wakidi,\ncommander of the host of King Ins, and but for thy pride in\nchallenging me, I had not come forth to thee; for thou art no\npeer for me to front nor as mine equal dost thou count nor canst\nthou bear my brunt. Wherefore get thee ready for the last\nmarch[FN#363] seeing that there abideth but a little of thy\nlife.\" When Hodhayfah heard this speech, he threw himself\nbackwards,[FN#364] as if in mockery of him, whereat Al-Abbas was\nwroth and called out to him, saying, \"O Hodhayfah, guard thyself\nagainst me.\" Then he rushed upon him, as he were a swooper of the\nJinn,[FN#365] and Hodhayfah met him and they wheeled about a long\nwhile. Presently, Al-Abbas cried out at Hodhayfah a cry which\nastounded him and struck him a stroke, saying, \"Take this from\nthe hand of a brave who feareth not the like of thee.\" Hodhayfah\nmet the sabre-sway with his shield, thinking to ward it off from\nhim; but the blade shore the target in sunder and descending upon\nhis shoulder, came forth gleaming from the tendons of his throat\nand severed his arm at the armpit; whereupon he fell down,\nwallowing in his blood, and Al-Abbas turned upon his host; not\nhad the sun departed the dome of the welkin ere Hodhayfah's army\nwas in full flight before Al-Abbas and the saddles were empty of\nmen. Quoth Sa'ad, \"By the virtue of Mustafa the Chosen Prophet,\nwhom Allah save and assain, I saw Al-Abbas with the blood upon\nhis saddle-pads, in clots like camels' livers, smiting with the\nsword right and left, till he scattered them abroad in every\ngorge and wold; and when he hied him back to the camp, the men of\nBaghdad were fearful of him.\" But as soon as they saw this\nvictory which had betided them over their foes, they turned back\nand gathering together the weapons and treasures and horses of\nthose they had slain, returned to Baghdad, victorious, and all by\nthe knightly valour of Al-Abbas. As for Sa'ad, he foregathered\nwith his lord, and they fared on in company till they came to the\nplace where Al-Abbas had taken horse, whereupon the Prince\ndismounted from his charger and Sa'ad said to him, \"O youth,\nwherefore alightest thou in other than thy place? Indeed, thy\nrights be incumbent upon us and upon our Sultan; so go thou with\nus to the dwellings, that we may ransom thee with our souls.\"\nReplied Al-Abbas, \"O Emir Sa'ad, from this place I took horse\nwith thee and herein is my lodging. So, Allah upon thee, mention\nnot me to the king, but make as if thou hadst never seen me\nbecause I am a stranger in the land.\" So saying, he turned away\nfrom him and Sa'ad fared on to his palace, where he found all the\ncourtiers in attendance on the king and recounting to him that\nwhich had betided them with Al-Abbas. Quoth the king, \"Where is\nhe?\" and quoth they, \"He is with the Emir Sa'ad.\" So, when the\nEmir entered, the king looked, but found none with him; and\nSa'ad, seeing at a glance that he longed to look upon the youth,\ncried out to him, saying, \"Allah prolong the king's days! Indeed,\nhe refuseth to present himself before thee, without order or\nleave.\" Asked the king, \"O Sa'ad, whence cometh this man?\" and\nthe Emir answered, \"O my lord, I know not; but he is a youth fair\nof favour, amiable of aspect, accomplished in address, ready of\nrepartee, and valour shineth from between his eyes.\" Quoth the\nking, \"O Sa'ad, fetch him to me, for indeed thou describest to me\nat full length a mighty matter.\"[FN#366] And he answered, saying,\n\"By Allah, O my lord, hadst thou but seen our case with\nHodhayfah, when he challenged me to the field of fight and the\nstead of cut-and-thrust and I held back from doing battle with\nhim! Then, as I thought to go forth to him, behold, a knight gave\nloose to his bridle-rein and called out to me, saying, 'O Sa'ad,\nwilt thou suffer me to be thy substitute in waging war with him\nand I will ransom thee with myself?' and quoth I, 'By Allah, O\nyouth, whence comest thou?' and quoth he, 'This be no time for\nthy questions, while Hodhayfah standeth awaiting thee.'\"\nThereupon he repeated to the king all that had passed between\nhimself and Al-Abbas from first to last; whereat cried Ins bin\nKays, \"Bring him to me in haste, so we may learn his tidings and\nquestion him of his case.\" \"'Tis well,\" replied Sa'ad, and going\nforth of the king's presence, repaired to his own house, where he\ndoffed his war-harness and took rest for himself. On this wise\nfared it with the Emir Sa'ad, but as regards Al-Abbas, when he\ndismounted from his destrier, he doffed his war-gear and reposed\nhimself awhile; after which he brought out a body-dress of\nVenetian[FN#367] silk and a gown of green damask and donning\nthem, bound about his head a turband of Damietta stuff and zoned\nhis waist with a kerchief. Then he went out a-walking in the\nhighways of Baghdad and fared on till he came to the bazar of the\ntraders. There he found a merchant, with chess before him; so the\nPrince stood watching him, and presently the other looked up at\nhim and asked him, \"O youth, what wilt thou bet upon the game?\"\nHe answered, \"Be it thine to decide.\" Said the merchant, \"Then be\nit an hundred dinars,\" and Al-Abbas consented to him; whereupon\nquoth he, \"Produce the money, O youth, so the game may be fairly\nstablished.\" Accordingly Al-Abbas brought out a satin purse,\nwherein were a thousand dinars, and laid down an hundred dinars\ntherefrom on the edge of the carpet, whilst the merchant produced\nthe like, and indeed his reason fled for joy when he saw the gold\nin possession of Al-Abbas. The folk flocked about them, to divert\nthemselves with watching the play, and they called the bystanders\nto witness the wager and after the stakes were duly staked, the\ntwain fell a-playing. Al-Abbas forebore the merchant, so he might\nlead him on, and dallied with him a full hour; and the merchant\nwon and took of him the hundred dinars. Then said the Prince,\n\"Wilt thou play another partie?\" and the other said, \"O youth, I\nwill not play again, save for a thousand dinars.\" Quoth the\nyouth, 'Whatsoever thou stakest, I will match thy stake with its\nlike.\" So the merchant brought out a thousand dinars and the\nPrince covered them with other thousand. Then the game began, but\nAl-Abbas was not long with him ere he beat him in the house of\nthe elephant[FN#368] nor did he cease to do thus till he had\nbeaten him four times and won of him four thousand dinars. This\nwas all the merchant had of money; so he said, \"O youth, I will\nplay thee another game for the shop.\" Now the value of the shop\nwas four thousand dinars; so they played and Al-Ahbas beat him\nand won his shop, with whatso was therein; upon which the other\narose, shaking his clothes,[FN#369] and said to him, \"Up, O\nyouth, and take thy shop.\" Accordingly Al-Abbas arose and\nrepairing to the shop, took possession thereof, after which he\nreturned to the place where he had left his servant 'Amir, and\nfound there the Emir Sa'ad, who was come to bid him to the\npresence of the king. The Prince consented to this and\naccompanied him till they came before King Ins bin Kays,\nwhereupon he kissed the ground and saluted him and\nexaggerated[FN#370] the salutation. So the king asked him,\n\"Whence comest thou, O youth, and whither goest thou?\" and he\nanswered, \"I come from Al-Yaman.\" Then said the king, \"Hast thou\na need we may fulfil to thee; for indeed thou hast strong claims\nto our favour after that which thou didst in the matter of\nHodhayfah and his folk.\" And he commanded to cast over him a\nmantle of Egyptian satin, worth an hundred dinars. He also bade\nhis treasurer give him a thousand dinars and said to him, \"O\nyouth, take this in part of that which thou deservest of us; and\nif thou prolong thy sojourn with us, we will give thee slaves and\nservants.\" Al-Abbas kissed ground and said, \"O king, Allah grant\nthee abiding weal, I deserve not all this.\" Then he put his hand\nto his pouch and pulling out two caskets of gold, in each of\nwhich were rubies whose value none could estimate, gave them to\nthe king, saying, \"O king, Allah cause thy welfare to endure, I\nconjure thee by that which the Almighty hath vouchsafed thee,\nheal my heart by accepting these two caskets, even as I have\naccepted thy present.\" So the king accepted the two caskets and\nAl-Abbas took his leave and went away to the bazar. Now when the\nmerchants saw him, they accosted him and said, \"O youth, wilt\nthou not open thy shop?\" As they were addressing him, up came a\nwoman, having with her a boy bare of head, and stood looking at\nAl-Abbas, till he turned to her, when she said to him, \"O youth,\nI conjure thee by Allah, look at this boy and have ruth on him,\nfor that his father hath forgotten his skull-cap in the shop he\nlost to thee; so, an thou see fit to give it him, thy reward be\nwith Allah! For indeed the child maketh our hearts ache with his\nexcessive weeping, and the Lord be witness for us that, had they\nleft us aught wherewith to buy him a cap in its stead, we had not\nsought it of thee.\" Replied Al-Abbas, \"O adornment of\nwomankind,[FN#371] indeed, thou bespeakest me with thy fair\nspeech and supplicatest me with thy goodly words! But bring me\nthy husband.\" So she went and fetched the merchant, whilst a\ncrowd collected to see what Al-Abbas would do. When the man came,\nhe returned him the gold he had won of him, art and part, and\ndelivered him the keys of the shop, saying, \"Requite us with thy\npious prayers.\" Therewith the woman came up to him and kissed his\nfeet, and in like fashion did the merchant her husband: and all\nwho were present blessed him, and there was no talk but of\nAl-Abbas. Thus fared it with him; but as for the merchant, he\nbought him a head of sheep[FN#372] and slaughtering it, roasted\nit and dressed birds and other meats of various kinds and colours\nand purchased dessert and sweetmeats and fresh fruits; then he\nrepaired to Al-Abbas and conjured him to accept of his\nhospitality and visit his home and eat of his provaunt. The\nPrince consented to his wishes and went with him till they came\nto his house, when the merchant bade him enter: so Al-Abbas went\nin and saw a goodly house, wherein was a handsome saloon, with a\nvaulted ceiling. When he entered the saloon, he found that the\nmerchant had made ready food and dessert and perfumes, such as\nmay not be described; and indeed he had adorned the table with\nsweet-scented flowers and sprinkled musk and rose-water upon the\nfood; and he had smeared the saloon walls with ambergris and had\nburned aloes-wood therein and Nadd. Presently, Al-Abbas looked\nout of the window of the saloon and saw by its side a house of\ngoodly ordinance, tall of base and wide of space, with rooms\nmanifold and two upper stories crowning the whole; but therein\nwas no sign of inhabitants. So he said to the merchant, \"Verily,\nthou exaggeratest in doing us honour; but, by Allah, I will not\neat of thy meat until thou tell me what hath caused the voidance\nof yonder house.\" Said he, \"O my lord, that was Al-Ghitrif's\nhouse and he passed away to the mercy of the Almighty and left no\nheir save myself; whereupon the mansion became mine, and by\nAllah, an thou have a mind to sojourn in Baghdad, take up thine\nabode in this house, whereby thou mayst be in my neighbourhood;\nfor that verily my heart inclineth unto thee with affection and I\nwould have thee never absent from mine eyes, so I may still have\nmy fill of thee and hearken to thy speech.\" Al-Abbas thanked him\nand said to him, \"By Allah, thou art indeed friendly in thy\nconverse and thou exaggeratest in thy discourse, and needs must I\nsojourn in Baghdad. As for the house, if it please thee to lodge\nme, I will abide therein; so accept of me its price.\" Therewith\nhe put hand to his pouch and bringing out from it three hundred\ndinars, gave them to the merchant, who said in himself, \"Unless I\ntake his dirhams, he will not darken my doors.\" So he pocketed\nthe monies and sold him the mansion, taking witnesses against\nhimself of the sale. Then he arose and set food before Al-Abbas\nand they sat down to his good things; after which he brought him\ndessert and sweetmeats whereof they ate their sufficiency, and\nwhen the tables were removed they washed their hands with musked\nrose-water and willow-water. Then the merchant brought Al-Abbas a\nnapkin scented with the smoke of aloes-wood, on which he wiped\nhis right hand, and said to him, \"O my lord, the house is become\nthy house; so bid thy page transport thither the horses and arms\nand stuffs.\" The Prince did this and the merchant rejoiced in his\nneighbourhood and left him not night nor day,[FN#373] so that\nAl-Abbas said to him, \"By the Lord, we distract thee from thy\nlivelihood.\" He replied, \"Allah upon thee, O my lord, name not to\nme aught of this, or thou wilt break my heart, for the best of\ntraffic art thou and the best of livelihood.\" So there befel\nstraight friendship between them and all ceremony was laid aside.\nMeanwhile[FN#374] the king said to his Wazir, \"How shall we do in\nthe matter of yonder youth, the Yam\u00e1ni, on whom we thought to\nconfer gifts, but he hath gifted us with tenfold our largesse and\nmore, and we know not an he be a sojourner with us or not?\" Then\nhe went into the Harim and gave the rubies to his wife Afifah,\nwho asked him, \"What is the worth of these with thee and with\nother of the kings?\" Quoth he, \"They are not to be found save\nwith the greatest of sovrans nor can any price them with monies.\"\nQuoth she, \"Whence gottest thou them?\" So he recounted to her the\nstory of Al-Abbas from beginning to end, and she said, \"By Allah,\nthe claims of honour are imperative on us and the King hath\nfallen short of his devoir; for that we have not seen him bid the\nyouth to his assembly, nor hath he seated him on his left hand.\"\nWhen the king heard his wife's words, it was as if he had been\nasleep and awoke; so he went forth the Harim and bade kill\npoultry and dress meats of every kind and colour. Moreover, he\nassembled all his courtiers and let bring sweetmeats and dessert\nand all that beseemeth the tables of kings. Then he adorned his\npalace and despatched after Al-Abbas a man of the chief officers\nof his household, who found him coming forth of the Hammam, clad\nin a jerkin[FN#375] of fine goats' hair and over it a Baghd\u00e1di\nscarf; his waist was girt with a Rustaki[FN#376] kerchief and on\nhis head he wore a light turband of Damietta[FN#377] stuff. The\nmessenger wished him joy of the bath and exaggerated in doing him\nhonour: then he said to him, \"The king biddeth thee in\nweal.\"[FN#378] \"To hear is to obey,\" quoth Al-Abbas and\naccompanied the officer to the king's palace. Now Afifah and her\ndaughter Mariyah were behind the curtain, both looking at him;\nand when he came before the sovran he saluted him and greeted him\nwith the greeting of kings, whilst all present gazed at him and\nat his beauty and loveliness and perfect grace. The king seated\nhim at the head of the table; and when Afifah saw him and\nconsidered him straitly, she said, \"By the virtue of Mohammed,\nprince of the Apostles, this youth is of the sons of the kings\nand cometh not to these parts save for some noble purpose!\" Then\nshe looked at Mariyah and saw that her favour was changed, and\nindeed her eye-balls were as dead in her face and she turned not\nher gaze from Al-Abbas a twinkling of the eyes, for that the love\nof him had sunk deep into her heart. When the queen saw what had\nbefallen her daughter, she feared for her from reproach\nconcerning Al-Abbas; so she shut the casement-wicket that the\nPrincess might not look upon him any more. Now there was a\npavilion set apart for Mariyah, and therein were boudoirs and\nbowers, balconies and lattices, and she had with her a nurse, who\nserved her as is the fashion with the daughters of the Kings.\nWhen the banquet was ended and the folk had dispersed, the King\nsaid to Al-Abbas, \"I would fain have thee abide with me and I\nwill buy thee a mansion, so haply we may requite thee for thy\nhigh services; and indeed imperative upon us is thy due and\nmagnified in our eyes is thy work; and soothly we have fallen\nshort of thy deserts in the matter of distance.\"[FN#379] When the\nyouth heard the king's speech, he rose and sat down[FN#380] and\nkissing ground, returned thanks for his bounty and said, \"I am\nthe King's thrall, wheresoever I may be, and under his eye.\" Then\nhe told him the tale of the merchant and the manner of the buying\nof the house, and the king said, \"In very truth I would fain have\nhad thee in my neighbourhood and by side of me.\" Presently\nAl-Abbas took leave of the king and went away to his own house.\nNow it chanced that he passed under the palace of Mariyah, the\nking's daughter, and she was sitting at a casement. He happened\nto look round and his eyes met those of the Princess, whereupon\nhis wit departed and he was ready to swoon away, whilst his\ncolour changed, and he said, \"Verily, we are Allah's and unto Him\nare we returning!\" But he feared for himself lest severance\nbetide him; so he concealed his secret and discovered not his\ncase to any of the creatures of Allah Almighty. When he reached\nhis quarters, his page Amir said to him, \"I seek refuge for thee\nwith Allah, O my lord, from change of colour! Hath there betided\nthee a pain from the Lord of All-might or aught of vexation? In\ngood sooth, sickness hath an end and patience doeth away\ntrouble.\" But the Prince returned him no answer. Then he brought\nout ink-case[FN#381] and paper and wrote these couplets:\n\nI cry (and mine's a frame that pines alw\u00e0y), * A mind which fires\n of passion e'er waylay;\nAnd eyeballs never tasting sweets of sleep; * Yet Fortune spare\n its cause I ever pray!\nWhile from world-perfidy and parting I * Like Bishram with\n Hind,[FN#382] that well-loved may;--\nYea, grown a bye-word 'mid the folk but aye * Spend life\n unwinning wish or night or day.\n\"Ah say, wots she my love when her I spied * At the high lattice\n shedding sunlike ray?\"\nHer glances, keener than the brand when bared * Cleave soul of\n man nor ever 'scapes her prey:\nI looked on her in lattice pierced aloft * When bare her cheat of\n veil that slipped away;\nAnd shot me thence a shaft my liver pierced * When thrall to care\n and dire despair I lay\nKnowst thou, O Fawn o' the palace, how for thee * I fared from\n farness o'er the lands astray?\nThen read my writ, dear friends, and show some ruth * To wight\n who wones black-faced, distraught, sans stay!\n\nAnd when he ended inditing, he folded up the letter. Now the\nmerchant's wife aforesaid, who was the nurse of the king's\ndaughter, was watching him from a window, unknown of him, and\nwhen she saw him writing and reciting, she knew that some rare\ntale attached to him; so she went in to him and said, \"Peace be\nwith thee, O afflicted wight, who acquaintest not leach with thy\nplight! Verily, thou exposest thy life to grievous blight. I\nconjure thee by the virtue of Him who hath afflicted thee and\nwith the constraint of love-liking hath stricken thee, that thou\nacquaint me with thine affair and disclose to me the truth of thy\nsecret; for that indeed I have heard from thee verses which\ntrouble the mind and melt the body.\" Accordingly he acquainted\nher with his case and enjoined her to secrecy, whereof she\nconsented, saying, \"What shall be the recompense of whoso goeth\nwith thy letter and bringeth thee its reply?\" He bowed his head\nfor shame before her and was silent; and she said to him, \"Raise\nthy head and give me thy writ\": so he gave her the letter and she\nhent it and carrying it to the Princess, said to her, \"Take this\nepistle and give me its answer.\" Now the dearest of all things to\nMariyah was the recitation of poesy and verses and linked rhymes\nand the twanging of lute-strings, and she was versed in all\ntongues; wherefore she took the writ and opening it, read that\nwhich was therein and understood its purport. Then she threw it\nto the ground and cried, \"O nurse, I have no answer to make to\nthis letter.\" Quoth the nurse, \"Indeed, this is weakness in thee\nand a reproach to thee, for that the people of the world have\nheard of thee and commend thee for keenness of wit and\nunderstanding; so do thou return him an answer, such as shall\ntrick his heart and tire his soul.\" Quoth she, \"O nurse, who may\nbe the man who presumeth upon me with this correspondence? Haply\n'tis the stranger youth who gave my father the rubies.\" The woman\nsaid, \"It is himself,\" and Mariyah said, \"I will answer his\nletter in such fashion that thou shalt not bring me other than\nit.\" Cried the nurse, \"So be it.\"[FN#383] Thereupon the Princess\ncalled for ink-case and paper and wrote these couplets:--\n\nThou art bold in the copy thou sentest! May be * 'Twill increase\n the dule foreign wight must dree!\nThou hast spied me with glance that bequeaths thee woe * Ah! far\n is thy hope, a mere foreigner's plea!\nWho art thou, poor freke, that wouldst win my love * Wi' thy\n verse? What seeks thine insanity?\nAn thou hope for my favours and greed therefor; * Where find thee\n a leach for such foolish gree?\nThen rhyme-linking leave and fool-like be not * Hanged to Cross\n at the doorway of ignomy!\nDeem not that to thee I incline, O youth! * 'Mid the Sons of the\n Path[FN#384] is no place for me.\nThou art homeless waif in the wide wide world; * So return thee\n home where they keen for thee:[FN#385]\nLeave verse-spouting, O thou who a-wold dost wone, * Or minstrel\n shall name thee in lay and glee:\nHow many a friend who would meet his love * Is baulked when the\n goal is right clear to see!\nSo begone and ne'er grieve for what canst not win * Albe time be\n near, yet thy grasp 'twill flee.\nNow such is my say and the tale I'd tell; * So master my meaning\n and--fare thee well!\n\n\nWhen Mariyah had made an end of her verses, she folded the letter\nand delivered it to the nurse, who hent it and went with it to\nAl-Abbas. When she gave it to him, he took it and breaking it\nopen, read it and comprehended its contents; and when he reached\nthe end of it, he swooned away. After awhile, he came to himself\nand cried, \"Praise be to Allah who hath caused her return a reply\nto my writ! Canst thou carry her another missive, and with Allah\nAlmighty be thy requital?\" Said she, \"And what shall letters\nprofit thee, seeing that such is her reply;\" but he said,\n\"Peradventure, she may yet be softened.\" Then he took ink-case\nand paper and wrote these couplets:--\n\nReached me the writ and what therein didst write, * Whence grew\n my pain and bane and blight:\nI read the marvel-lines made wax my love * And wore my body out\n till slightest slight.[FN#386]\nWould Heaven ye wot the whole I bear for love * Of you, with\n vitals clean for you undight!\nAnd all I do t' outdrive you from my thought * 'Vails naught and\n 'gainst th' obsession loses might:\nCouldst for thy lover feel 'twould ease his soul; * E'en thy dear\n Phantom would his sprite delight!\nThen on my weakness lay not coyness-load * Nor in such breach of\n troth be traitor-wight:\nAnd, weet ye well, for this your land I fared * Hoping to 'joy\n the union-boon forthright:\nHow many a stony wold for this I spanned; * How oft I waked when\n men kept watch o'night!\nTo fare fro' another land for sight of you * Love bade, while\n length of way forbade my sprite:\nSo by His name[FN#387] who molt my frame, have ruth, * And quench\n the flames thy love in me did light:\nThou fillest, arrayed with glory's robes and rays, * Heaven's\n stars with joy and Luna with despight.\nThen who dare chide or blame me for my love * Of one that can all\n Beauty's boons unite?\n\nWhen Al-Abbas had made an end of his verses, he folded the letter\nand delivering it to the nurse, charged her keep the secret. So\nshe took it and carrying it to Mariyah, gave it to her. The\nPrincess broke it open and read it and apprehended its purport;\nthen cried she, \"By Allah, O nurse, my heart is chagrined with\nexceeding chagrin, never knew I a sorer, because of this\ncorrespondence and of these verses.\" And the nurse made answer to\nher, \"O my lady, thou art in thy dwelling and thy palace and thy\nheart is void of care; so return to him a reply and reck not.\"\nAccordingly, the Princess called for ink-case and paper and wrote\nthese couplets:--\n\nHo thou who wouldst vaunt thee of cark and care; * How many\n love-molten, tryst-craving be there?\nAn hast wandered the wold in the murks of night * Bound afar and\n anear on the tracks to fare,\nAnd to eyne hast forbidden the sweets of sleep, * Borne by Devils\n and Marids to dangerous lair;\nAnd beggest my boons, O in tribe-land[FN#388] homed * And to urge\n thy wish and desire wouldst dare;\nNow, woo Patience fair, an thou bear in mind * What The Ruthful\n promised to patient prayer![FN#389]\nHow many a king for my sake hath vied, * Craving love and in\n marriage with me to pair.\nAl-Nabhan sent, when a-wooing me, * Camels baled with musk and\n Nadd scenting air.\nThey brought camphor in boxes and like thereof * Of pearls and\n rubies that countless were;\nBrought pregnant lasses and -lads, * Blood steeds and arms\n and gear rich and rare;\nBrought us raiment of silk and of sendal sheen, * And came\n courting us but no bride he bare:\nNor could win his wish, for I 'bode content * To part with far\n parting and love forswear;\nSo for me greed not, O thou stranger wight * Lest thou come to\n ruin and dire despair!\n\nWhen she had made an end of her verses, she folded the letter and\ndelivered it to the nurse, who took it and carried it to\nAl-Abbas. He broke it open and read it and comprehended its\ncontents; then took ink-case and paper and wrote these improvised\ncouplets:--\n\nThou hast told me the tale of the Kings, and of them * Each was\n rending lion, a furious foe:\nAnd thou stolest the wits of me, all of them * And shotst me with\n shaft of thy magic bow:\nThou hast boasted of slaves and of steeds and wealth; * And of\n beauteous lasses ne'er man did know;\nHow presents in mighty store didst spurn, * And disdainedst\n lovers both high and low:\nThen I followed their tracks in desire for thee, * With naught\n save my scymitar keen of blow;\nNor slaves nor camels that run have I; * Nor slave-girls the\n litters enveil, ah, no!\nBut grant me union and soon shalt sight * My trenchant blade with\n the foeman's woe;\nShalt see the horsemen engird Baghdad * Like clouds that wall the\n whole world below,\nObeying behests which to them I deal * And hearing the words to\n the foes I throw.\nAn of chattels ten thousand head * Wouldst have, or Kings\n who be proud and prow\nOr chargers led for thee day by day * And virgin girls high of\n bosom, lo!\nAl-Yaman land my command doth bear * And my biting blade to my\n foes I show.\nI have left this all for the sake of thee, * Left Aziz and my\n kinsmen for ever-mo'e;\nAnd made Al-Ir\u00e1k making way to thee * Under nightly murks over\n rocks arow;\nWhen the couriers brought me account of thee * Thy beauty,\n perfection, and sunny glow,\nThen I sent thee verses whose very sound * Burns the heart of\n shame with a fiery throe;\nYet the world with falsehood hath fals\u00e8d me, * Though Fortune was\n never so false as thou,\nWho dubbest me stranger and homeless one * A witless fool and a\n slave-girl's son!\n\nThen he folded the letter and committed it to the nurse and gave\nher five hundred dinars, saying, \"Accept this from me, for by\nAllah thou hast indeed wearied thyself between us.\" She replied,\n\"By Allah, O my lord, my aim is to bring about forgathering\nbetween you, though I lose that which my right hand possesseth.\"\nAnd he said, \"May the Lord of All-might requite thee with good!\"\nThen she carried the letter to Mariyah and said to her, \"Take\nthis letter; haply it may be the end of the correspondence.\" So\nshe took it and breaking it open, read it, and when she had made\nan end of it, she turned to the nurse and said to her, \"This one\nfoisteth lies upon me and asserteth unto me that he hath cities\nand horsemen and footmen at his command and submitting to his\nallegiance; and he wisheth of me that which he shall not win; for\nthou knowest, O nurse, that kings' sons have sought me in\nmarriage, with presents and rarities; but I have paid no heed\nunto aught of this; how, then, shall I accept of this fellow, who\nis the ignoramus of his time and possesseth naught save two\ncaskets of rubies, which he gave to my sire, and indeed he hath\ntaken up his abode in the house of Al-Ghitrif and abideth without\nsilver or gold? Wherefore, Allah upon thee, O nurse, return to\nhim and cut off his hope of me.\" Accordingly the nurse rejoined\nAl-Abbas, without letter or answer; and when she came in to him,\nhe looked at her and saw that she was troubled, and he noted the\nmarks of anger on her face; so he said to her, \"What is this\nplight?\" Quoth she, \"I cannot set forth to thee that which\nMariyah said; for indeed she charged me return to thee without\nwrit or reply.\" Quoth he, \"O nurse of kings, I would have thee\ncarry her this letter and return not to her without it.\" Then he\ntook ink-case and paper and wrote these couplets:--\n\nMy secret now to men is known though hidden well and true * By\n me: enough is that I have of love and love of you:\nI left familiars, friends, and kin to weep the loss of me * With\n floods of tears which like the tide aye flowed and flowed\n anew:\nThen, left my home myself I bore to Baghdad-town one day, * When\n parting drave me there his pride and cruelty to rue:\nI have indeed drained all the bowl whose draught\n repression[FN#390] was * Handed by friend who bitter\n gourd[FN#391] therein for drinking threw.\nAnd, oft as strove I to enjoin the ways of troth and faith, * So\n often on refusal's path he left my soul to sue.\nIndeed my body molten is with care I'm doom\u00e8d dree; * And yet I\n hoped relenting and to win some grace, my due.\nBut wrong and rigour waxed on me and changed to worse my case; *\n And love hath left me weeping-eyed for woes that aye pursue.\nHow long must I keep watch for you throughout the nightly gloom?\n * How many a path of pining pace and garb of grief endue?\nAnd you, what while you joy your sleep, your restful pleasant\n sleep, * Reck naught of sorrow and of shame that to your\n friend accrue:\nFor wakefulness I watched the stars before the peep o' day, *\n Praying that union with my dear in bliss my soul imbrue;\nIndeed the throes of long desire laid waste my frame and I * Rise\n every morn in weaker plight with hopes e'er fewer few:\n\"Be not\" (I say) \"so hard of heart!\" for did you only deign * In\n phantom guise to visit me 'twere joy enough to view.\nBut when ye saw my writ ye grudged to me the smallest boon * And\n cast adown the flag of faith though well my troth ye knew;\nNor aught of answer you vouchsafe, albe you wot full well * The\n words therein address the heart and pierce the spirit\n through.\nYou deemed yourself all too secure for changes of the days * And\n of the far and near alike you ever careless grew.\nHadst thou (dear maid) been doomed like me to woes, forsure hadst\n felt * The lowe of love and Laza-hell which parting doth\n enmew;\nYet soon shalt suffer torments such as those from thee I bear *\n And storm of palpitation-pangs in vitals thine shall brew:\nYea, thou shalt taste the bitter smack of charges false and foul,\n * And public make the privacy best hid from meddling crew;\nAnd he thou lovest shall approve him hard of heart and soul * And\n heedless of the shifts of Time thy very life undo.\nThen hear the fond Salam I send and wish thee every day * While\n swayeth spray and sparkleth star all good thy life ensue!\n\nWhen Al-Abbas had made an end of his verses, he folded the scroll\nand gave it to the nurse, who took it and carried it to Mariyah.\nWhen she came into the Princess's presence, she saluted her; but\nMariyah returned not her salutation and she said, \"O my lady, how\nhard is thy heart that thou grudgest to return the salam! Accept\nthis letter, because 'tis the last that shall come to thee from\nhim.\" Quoth Mariyah, \"Take my warning and never again enter my\npalace, or 'twill be the cause of thy destruction; for I am\ncertified that thou purposest my disgrace. So get thee gone from\nme.\" And she bade beat the nurse who went forth fleeing from her\npresence, changed of colour and 'wildered of wits, and gave not\nover going till she came to the house of Al-Abbas. When the\nPrince saw her in this plight, he became like a sleeper awakened\nand cried to her, \"What hath befallen thee? Acquaint me with thy\ncase.\" She replied, \"Allah upon thee, nevermore send me to\nMariyah, and do thou protect me, so the Lord protect thee from\nthe fires of Gehenna!\" Then she related to him that which had\nbetided her with Mariyah which when Al-Abbas heard, there took\nhim the pride and high spirit of the generous and this was\ngrievous to him. The love of Mariyah fled forth of his heart and\nhe said to the nurse, \"How much hadst thou of Mariyah every\nmonth?\" Quoth she, \"Ten dinars\" and quoth he, \"Be not concerned.\"\nThen he put hand to pouch and bringing out two hundred ducats,\ngave them to her and said,\"Take this wage for a whole year and\nturn not again to serve anyone of the folk. When the twelvemonth\nshall have passed away, I will give thee a two years' wage, for\nthat thou hast wearied thyself with us and on account of the\ncutting off the tie which bound thee to Mariyah.\" Also he gifted\nher with a complete suit of clothes and raising his head to her,\nsaid, \"When thou toldest me that which Mariyah had done with\nthee, Allah uprooted the love of her from out my heart, and never\nagain will she occur to my thought; so extolled be He who turneth\nhearts and eyes! 'Twas she who was the cause of my coming out\nfrom Al-Yaman, and now the time is past for which I engaged with\nmy folk and I fear lest my father levy his forces and ride forth\nin quest of me, for that he hath no child other than myself nor\ncan he brook to be parted from me; and in like way 'tis with my\nmother.\" When the nurse heard his words, she asked him, \"O my\nlord, and which of the kings is thy sire?\" He answered, saying,\n\"My father is Al-Aziz, lord of Al-Yaman, and Nubia and the\nIslands[FN#392] of the Banu Kaht\u00e1n, and the Two\nSanctuaries[FN#393] (Allah of All-might have them in His\nkeeping!), and whenever he taketh horse, there ride with him an\nhundred and twenty and four thousand horsemen, each and every\nsmiters with the sword, besides attendants and servants and\nfollowers, all of whom give ear to my word and obey my bidding.\"\nAsked the nurse, \"Why, then, O my lord, didst thou conceal the\nsecret of thy rank and lineage and passedst thyself off for a\nforeigner and a wayfarer? Alas for our disgrace before thee by\nreason of our shortcoming in rendering thee thy due! What shall\nbe our excuse with thee, and thou of the sons of the kings?\" But\nhe rejoined, \"By Allah, thou hast not fallen short! Indeed, 'tis\nincumbent on me to requite thee, what while I live, though from\nthee I be far distant.\" Then he called his man Amir and said to\nhim, \"Saddle the steeds.\" When the nurse heard his words and\nindeed she saw that Amir brought him the horses and they were\nresolved upon departure, the tears ran down upon her cheeks and\nshe said to him, \"By Allah, thy separation is saddening to me, O\ncoolth of the eye!\" Then quoth she, \"Where is the goal of thine\nintent, so we may know thy news and solace ourselves with thy\nreport?\" Quoth he, \"I go hence to visit 'Ak\u00edl, the son of my\npaternal uncle, for that he hath his sojourn in the camp of\nKundah bin Hish\u00e1m, and these twenty years have I not seen him nor\nhath he seen me; so I purpose to repair to him and discover his\nnews and return. Then will I go hence to Al-Yaman, Inshallah!\" So\nsaying, he took leave of the nurse and her husband and set out,\nintending for 'Akil, the son of his father's brother. Now there\nwas between Baghdad and 'Ak\u00edl's abiding-place forty days'\njourney; so Al-Abbas settled himself on the back of his steed and\nhis servant Amir mounted also and they fared forth on their way.\nPresently, Al-Abbas turned right and left and recited these\ncouplets,\n\n\"I'm the singular knight and my peers I slay! * I lay low the foe\n and his whole array:\nI fare me to visit my friend Al-Ak\u00edl, * And in safety and\n Allah-lauds,[FN#394] shorten the way;\nAnd roll up the width of the wold while still * Hears 'Amir my\n word or in earnest or play.[FN#395]\nI spring with the spring of a lynx or a pard * Upon whoso dareth\n our course to stay;\nO'erthrow him in ruin and abject shame, * Make him drain the\n death-cup in fatal fray.\nMy lance is long with its steely blade; * A brand keen-grided,\n thin-edged I sway:\nWith a stroke an it fell on a towering hill * Of the hardest\n stone, this would cleave in tway:\nI lead no troops, nor seek aid save God's, * The creating Lord\n (to whom laud alw\u00e0y!)\nOn Whom I rely in adventures all * And Who pardoneth l\u00e2ches of\n freeman and thrall.\"\n\nThen they fell a-faring night and day, and as they went, behold,\nthey sighted a camp of the camps of the Arabs. So Al-Abbas\nenquired thereof and was told that it was the camp of the Banu\nZohrah. Now there were around them herds and flocks, such as\nfilled the earth, and they were enemies to Al-Akil, the cousin of\nAl-Abbas, upon whom they made daily raids and took his cattle,\nwherefore he used to pay them tribute every year because he\nlacked power to cope wth them. When Al-Abbas came to the skirts\nof the camp, he dismounted from his destrier and his servant Amir\nalso dismounted; and they set down the provaunt and ate their\nsufficiency and rested an hour of the day. Then said the Prince\nto his page, \"Fetch water from the well and give the horses to\ndrink and draw up a supply for us in thy bag,[FN#396] by way of\nprovision for the road.\" So Amir took the water-skin and made for\nthe well; but, when he came there, behold, two young men slaves\nwere leading gazelles, and when they saw him, they said to him,\n\"Whither wendest thou, O youth, and of which of the Arabs art\nthou?\" Quoth he, \"Harkye, lads, fill me my water-skin, for that I\nam a stranger astray and a farer of the way, and I have a comrade\nwho awaiteth me.\" Quoth the thralls, \"Thou art no wayfarer, but a\nspy from Al-Ak\u00edl's camp.\" Then they took him and carried him to\ntheir king Zuhayr bin Shabib; and when he came before him, he\nsaid to him, \"Of which of the Arabs art thou?\" Quoth Amir, \"I am\na wayfarer.\" So Zuhayr said, \"Whence comest thou and whither\nwendest thou?\" and Amir replied, \"I am on my way to Al-Ak\u00edl.\"\nWhen he named Al-Ak\u00edl, those who were present were excited; but\nZuhayr signed to them with his eyes and asked him, \"What is thine\nerrand with Al-Ak\u00edl?\" and he answered, \"We would fain see him, my\nfriend and I.\" As soon as Zuhayr heard his words, he bade smite\nhis neck;[FN#397] but his Wazir said to him, \"Slay him not, till his\nfriend be present.\" So he commanded the two slaves to fetch his\nfriend; whereupon they repaired to Al-Abbas and called to him,\nsaying, \"O youth, answer the summons of King Zuhayr.\" He\nenquired, \"What would the king with me?\" and they replied, \"We\nknow not.\" Quoth he, \"Who gave the king news of me?\" and quoth\nthey, \"We went to draw water, and found a man by the well. So we\nquestioned him of his case, but he would not acquaint us\ntherewith, wherefore we carried him willy-nilly to King Zuhayr,\nwho asked him of his adventure and he told him that he was going\nto Al-Ak\u00edl. Now Al-Ak\u00edl is the king's enemy and he intendeth to\nbetake himself to his camp and make prize of his offspring, and\ncut off his traces.\" Said Al-Abbas, \"And what hath Al-Ak\u00edl done\nwith King Zuhayr?\" They replied. \"He engaged for himself that he\nwould bring the King every year a thousand dinars and a thousand\nshe-camels, besides a thousand head of thoroughbred steeds and\ntwo hundred black slaves and fifty hand-maids; but it hath\nreached the king that Al-Ak\u00edl purposeth to give naught of this;\nwherefore he is minded to go to him. So hasten thou with us, ere\nthe King be wroth with thee and with us.\" Then said Al-Abbas to\nthem, \"O youths, sit by my weapons and my stallion till I\nreturn.\" But they said, \"By Allah, thou prolongest discourse with\nthat which beseemeth not of words! Make haste, or we will go with\nthy head, for indeed the King purposeth to slay thee and to slay\nthy comrade and take that which is with you.\" When the Prince\nheard this, his skin bristled with rage and he cried out at them\nwith a cry which made them tremble. Then he sprang upon his horse\nand settling himself in the saddle, galloped till he came to the\nKing's assembly, when he shouted at the top of his voice, saying,\n\"To horse, O horsemen!\" and couched his spear at the pavilion\nwherein was Zuhayr. Now there were about the King a thousand\nsmiters with the sword; but Al-Abbas charged home upon them and\ndispersed them from around him; and there abode none in the tent\nsave Zuhayr and his Wazir. Then Al-Abbas came up to the door of\nthe tent wherein were four-and-twenty golden doves; so he took\nthem, after he had tumbled them down with the end of his lance.\nThen he called out saying, \"Ho, Zuhayr! Doth it not suffice thee\nthat thou hast abated Al-Akil's repute, but thou art minded to\nabate that of those who sojourn round about him? Knowest thou not\nthat he is of the lieutenants of Kundah bin Hisham of the Banu\nShayban, a man renowned for prowess? Indeed, greed of his gain\nhath entered into thee and envy of him hath gotten the mastery of\nthee. Doth it not suffice thee that thou hast orphaned his\nchildren[FN#398] and slain his men? By the virtue of Mustafa, the\nChosen Prophet, I will make thee drain the cup of death!\" So\nsaying. he bared his brand and smiting Zuhayr on his\nshoulder-blade caused the steel issue gleaming from his throat\ntendons; then he smote the Wazir and clove his crown asunder. As\nhe was thus, behold, Amir called out to him and said, \"O my lord,\ncome help me, or I be a dead man!\" So Al-Abbas went up to him\nguided by his voice, and found him cast down on his back and\nchained with four chains to four pickets of iron.[FN#399] He\nloosed his bonds and said to him, \"Go in front of me, O Amir.\" So\nhe fared on before him a little, and presently they looked, and,\nbehold, horsemen were making to Zuhayr's succour, and they\nnumbered twelve thousand riders led by Sahl bin Ka'ab bestriding\na coal-black steed. He charged upon Amir, who fled from him, then\nupon Al-Abbas, who said, \"O Amir, hold fast to my horse and guard\nmy back.\" The page did as he bade him, whereupon Al-Abbas cried\nout at the folk and falling upon them, overthrew their braves and\nslew of them some two thousand riders, whilst not one of them\nknew what was to do nor with whom he fought. Then said one of\nthem to other, \"Verily, the King is slain; so with whom do we\nwage war? Indeed ye flee from him; but 'twere better ye enter\nunder his banners, or not one of you will be saved.\" Thereupon\nall dismounted and doffing that which was upon them of war-gear,\ncame before Al-Abbas and proffered him allegiance and sued for\nhis protection. So he withheld his brand from them and bade them\ngather together the spoils. Then he took the riches and the\nslaves and the camels, and they all became his lieges and his\nretainers, to the number (according to that which is reported) of\nfifty thousand horses. Furthermore, the folk heard of him and\nflocked to him from all sides; whereupon he divided the loot\namongst them and gave largesse and dwelt thus three days, and\nthere came gifts to him. After this he bade march for Al-Akil's\nabiding place; so they fared on six days and on the seventh they\nsighted the camp. Al-Abbas bade his man Amir precede him and give\nAl-Akil the good news of his cousin's coming; so he rode on to\nthe camp and, going in to Al-Akil, acquainted him with the glad\ntidings of Zuhayr's slaughter and the conquest of his\nclan.[FN#400] Al-Akil rejoiced in the coming of Al-Abbas and the\nslaughter of his enemy and all in his camp rejoiced also and cast\nrobes of honour upon Amir; while Al-Akil bade go forth to meet\nAl-Abbas, and commanded that none, great or small, freeman or\nslave, should tarry behind. So they did his bidding and going\nforth all, met Al-Abbas at three parasangs' distance from\nthe camp; and when they met him, they dismounted from their\nhorses and Al-Akil and he embraced and clapped palm to\npalm.[FN#401] Then rejoicing in the coming of Al-Abbas and the\nkilling of their foeman, they returned to the camp, where tents\nwere pitched for the new-comers and skin-rugs spread and game\nslain and beasts slaughtered and royal guest-meals spread; and\nafter this fashion they abode twenty days in the enjoyment of all\ndelight of life. On this wise fared it with Al-Abbas and his\ncousin Al-Akil; but as regards King Al-Aziz, when his son left\nhim, he was desolated for him with exceeding desolation, both he\nand his mother; and when tidings of him tarried long and the\ntryst-time passed without his returning, the king caused public\nproclamation to be made, commanding all his troops to get ready\nto mount and ride forth in quest of his son Al-Abbas, at the end\nof three days, after which no cause of hindrance or excuse would\nbe admitted to any. So on the fourth day, the king bade muster\nthe troops who numbered four-and-twenty thousand horse, besides\nservants and followers. Accordingly, they reared the standards\nand the kettle-drums beat the general and the king set out with\nhis power intending for Baghdad; nor did he cease to press\nforward with all diligence, till he came within half a day's\njourney of the city, when he bade his army encamp on the Green\nMeadow. There they pitched the tents, till the lowland was\nstraitened with them, and set up for the king a pavilion of green\nbrocade, purfled with pearls and precious stones. When Al-Aziz\nhad sat awhile, he summoned the Mamelukes of his son Al-Abbas,\nand they were five-and-twenty in number besides ten slave-girls,\nas they were moons, five of whom the king had brought with him\nand other five he had left with the prince's mother. When the\nMamelukes came before him, he cast over each and every of them a\nmantle of green brocade and bade them mount similar horses of one\nand the same fashion and enter Baghdad and ask after their lord\nAl-Abbas. So they rode into the city and passed through the\nmarket-streets and there remained in Baghdad nor old man nor boy\nbut came forth to gaze on them and divert himself with the sight\nof their beauty and loveliness and the seemliness of their\nsemblance and the goodliness of their garments and horses, for\nall were even as moons. They gave not over going till they came\nto the palace,[FN#402] where they halted, and the king looked at\nthem and seeing their beauty and the brilliancy of their apparel\nand the brightness of their faces, said, \"Would Heaven I knew of\nwhich of the tribes these are!\" And he bade the Eunuch bring him\nnews of them. The castrato went out to them and questioned them\nof their case, whereto they replied, \"Return to thy lord and\nenquire of him concerning Prince Al-Abbas, an he have come unto\nhim, for that he left his sire King Al-Aziz a full-told year ago,\nand indeed longing for him troubleth the King and he hath levied\na division of his army and his guards and is come forth in quest\nof his son, so haply he may light upon tidings of him.\" Quoth the\nEunuch, \"Is there amongst you a brother of his or a son?\" and\nquoth they, \"Nay, by Allah, but we are all his Mamelukes and the\npurchased of his money, and his sire Al-Aziz hath sent us to make\nenquiry of him. Do thou go to thy lord and question him of the\nPrince and return to us with that which he shall answer thee.\"\nAsked the Eunuch, \"And where is King Al-Aziz?\" and they answered,\n\"He is encamped in the Green Meadow.\"[FN#403] The Eunuch returned\nand told the king, who said, \"Indeed we have been unduly\nnegligent with regard to Al-Abbas. What shall be our excuse with\nthe King? By Allah, my soul suggested to me that the youth was of\nthe sons of the kings!\" His wife, the Lady Afifah saw him\nlamenting for his neglect of Al-Abbas, and said to him, \"O King,\nwhat is it thou regrettest with this mighty regret?\" Quoth he,\n\"Thou knowest the stranger youth, who gifted us with the rubies?\"\nQuoth she, \"Assuredly;\" and he, \"Yonder youths, who have halted\nin the palace court, are his Mamelukes, and his father, King\nAl-Aziz, lord of Al-Yaman, hath pitched his camp on the Green\nMeadow; for he is come with his army to seek him, and the number\nof his troops is four-and-twenty thousand horsemen.\" Then he went\nout from her, and when she heard his words, she wept sore for him\nand had compassion on his case and sent after him, counselling\nhim to summon the Mamelukes and lodge them in the palace and\nentertain them. The king hearkened to her rede and despatching\nthe Eunuch for the Mamelukes, assigned unto them a lodging and\nsaid to them, \"Have patience, till the King give you tidings of\nyour lord Al-Abbas.\" When they heard his words, their eyes ran\nover with a rush of tears, of their mighty longing for the sight\nof their lord. Then the King bade the Queen enter the private\nchamber opening upon the throne-room and let down the curtain\nbefore the door, so she might see and not be seen. She did this\nand he summoned them to his presence; and, when they stood before\nhim, they kissed ground to do him honour, and showed forth their\ncourtly breeding and magnified his dignity. He ordered them to\nsit, but they refused, till he conjured them by their lord\nAl-Abbas: accordingly they sat down and he bade set before them\nfood of various kinds and fruits and sweetmeats. Now within the\nLady Afifah's palace was a souterrain communicating with the\npavilion of the Princess Mariyah: so the Queen sent after her and\nshe came to her, whereupon she made her stand behind the curtain\nand gave her to know that Al-Abbas was son to the King of\nAl-Yaman and that these were his Mamelukes: she also told her\nthat the Prince's father had levied his troops and was come with\nhis army in quest of him and that he had pitched his camp on the\nGreen Meadow and had despatched these Mamelukes to make enquiry\nof their lord. Then Mariyah abode looking upon them and upon\ntheir beauty and loveliness and the goodliness of their raiment,\ntill they had eaten their fill of food and the tables were\nremoved; whereupon the King recounted to them the story of\nAl-Abbas and they took leave of him and went their ways. So\nfortuned it with the Mamelukes; but as for the Princess Mariyah,\nwhen she returned to her palace, she bethought herself concerning\nthe affair of Al-Abbas, repenting her of what she had done; and\nthe love of him took root in her heart. And, when the night\ndarkened upon her, she dismissed all her women and bringing out\nthe letters, to wit, those which Al-Abbas had written her, fell\nto reading them and weeping. She left not weeping her night long,\nand when she arose in the morning, she called a damsel of her\nslave-girls, Shaf\u00edkah by name, and said to her, \"O damsel, I\npurpose to discover to thee mine affair and I charge thee keep my\nsecret, which is that thou betake thyself to the house of the\nnurse, who used to serve me, and fetch her to me, for that I have\ngrave need of her.\" Accordingly, Shafikah went out and repairing\nto the nurse's house, entered and found her clad in clothing\nother and richer than what she had whilome been wont to wear. So\nshe saluted her and asked her, \"Whence hadst thou this dress,\nthan which there is no goodlier?\" Answered the nurse, \"O\nShafikah, thou deemest that I have seen no good save of thy\nmistress; but, by Allah, had I endeavoured for her destruction, I\nhad acted righteously, seeing that she did with me what she did\nand bade the Eunuch beat me, without offence by me offered: so\ntell her that he, on whose behalf I bestirred myself with her,\nhath made me independent of her and her humours, for he hath\nhabited me in this habit and given me two hundred and fifty\ndinars and promised me the like every year and charged me to\nserve none of the folk.\" Quoth Shafikah, \"My mistress hath a need\nfor thee; so come thou with me and I will engage to restore thee\nto thy dwelling in safety and satisfaction.\" But quoth the nurse,\n\"Indeed her palace is become unlawful and forbidden to me[FN#404]\nand never again will I enter therein, for that Allah (extolled\nand exalted be He!) of His favour and bounty hath rendered me\nindependent of her.\" Presently Shafikah returned to her mistress\nand acquainted her with the nurse's words and that wherein she\nwas of prosperity; whereupon Mariyah confessed her unmannerly\ndealing with her and repented when repentance profited her not;\nand she abode in that her case days and nights, whilst the fire\nof longing flamed in her heart. On this wise happened it to her;\nbut as regards Al-Abbas, he tarried with his cousin Al-Akil\ntwenty days, after which he made ready for the journey to Baghdad\nand bidding bring the booty he had taken from King Zuhayr,\ndivided it between himself and his cousin. Then he sent out\na-marching Baghdad-wards and when he came within two days'\njourney of the city, he summoned his servant Amir and said to\nhim, \"Mount thy charger and forego me with the caravan and the\ncattle.\" So Amir took horse and fared on till he came to Baghdad,\nand the season of his entering was the first of the day; nor was\nthere in the city little child or old greybeard but came forth to\ndivert himself with gazing on those flocks and herds and upon the\nbeauty of those slave-girls; and their wits were wildered at what\nthey saw. Soon afterwards the news reached the king that the\nyoung man Al-Abbas, who had gone forth from him, was come back\nwith booty and rarities and black slaves and a conquering host\nand had taken up his sojourn without the city, whilst his servant\nAmir was presently come to Baghdad, so he might get ready for his\nlord dwelling-places wherein he should take up his abode. When\nthe King heard these tidings of Amir, he sent for him and caused\nbring him before him; and when he entered his presence, he kissed\nthe ground and saluted with the salam and showed his fine\nbreeding and greeted him with the goodliest of greetings. The\nKing bade him raise his head and, this done, questioned him of\nhis lord Al-Abbas; whereupon he acquainted him with his\nadventures and told him that which had betided him with King\nZuhayr and of the army that was become at his command and of the\nspoil he had secured. He also gave him to know that Al-Abbas was\nto arrive on the morrow, and with him more than fifty thousand\ncavatiers, obedient to his orders. When the king heard his words,\nhe bade decorate Baghdad and commanded the citizens to equip\nthemselves with the richest of their apparel, in honour of the\ncoming of Al-Abbas. Furthermore, he sent to give King Al-Aziz the\nglad tidings of his son's return and informed him of all which he\nhad heard from the Prince's servant. When the news reached King\nAl-Aziz, he joyed with exceeding joy in the approach of his son\nand straightway took horse, he and all his host, while the\ntrumpets blared and the musicians played, so that the earth\nquaked and Baghdad also trembled, and it was a notable day. When\nMariyah beheld all this, she repented in all possible penitence\nof that which she had done against Al-Abbas and the fires of\ndesire raged in her vitals. Meanwhile, the troops[FN#405] sallied\nforth of Baghdad and went out to meet those of Al-Abbas, who had\nhalted in a garth called the Green Island. When he espied the\napproaching host, he strained his sight and, seeing horsemen\ncoming and troops and footmen he knew not, said to those about\nhim, \"Among yonder troops are flags and banners of various kinds;\nbut, as for the great green standard that ye see, 'tis the\nstandard of my sire, the which is reserved to him and never\ndisplayed save over his head, and thus I know that he himself is\ncome out in quest of me.\" And he was certified of this, he and\nhis troops. So he fared on towards them and when he drew near\nthem, he knew them and they knew him; whereupon they lighted down\nfrom their horses and saluting him, gave him joy of his safety\nand the folk flocked to him. When he came to his father, they\nembraced and each greeted other a long time, whilst neither of\nthem could utter a word, for the greatness of that which betided\nthem of joy in reunion. Then Al-Abbas bade the folk take horse;\nso they mounted and his Mamelukes surrounded him and they entered\nBaghdad on the most splendid wise and in the highest honour and\nglory. Now the wife of the shopkeeper, that is, the nurse, came\nout, with the rest of those who flocked forth, to divert herself\nwith gazing upon the show, and when she saw Al-Abbas and beheld\nhis beauty and the beauty of his host and that which he had\nbrought back with him of herds and slave-girls, Mamelukes and\ns, she improvised and recited these couplets,\n\n\"Al-Abb\u00e1s from the side of Ak\u00edl is come; * Caravans and steeds he\n hath plunder\u00e8d:\nYea; horses he brought of pure blood, whose necks * Ring with\n collars like anklets wher'er they are led.\nWith dom\u00e8d hoofs they pour torrent-like, * As they prance through\n dust on the level stead:\nAnd bestriding their saddles come men of war, * Whose fingers\n play on the kettle-drum's head:\nAnd couched are their lances that bear the points * Keen grided,\n which fill every soul with dread:\nWho wi' them would fence draweth down his death * For one deadly\n lunge soon shall do him dead:\nCharge, comrades, charge ye and give me joy, * Saying, 'Welcome\n to thee, O our dear comr\u00e0de!'\nAnd who joys at his meeting shall 'joy delight * Of large gifts\n when he from his steed shall 'light.\"\n\nWhen the troops entered Baghdad, each of them alighted in his\ntent, whilst Al-Abbas encamped apart on a place near the Tigris\nand issued orders to slaughter for the soldiers, each day, that\nwhich should suffice them of oxen and sheep and to bake them\nbread and spread the tables: so the folk ceased not to come to\nhim and eat of his banquet. Furthermore, all the country-people\nflocked to him with presents and rarities and he requited them\nmany times the like of their gifts, so that the lands were filled\nwith his renown and the fame of him was bruited abroad among the\nhabitants of wold and town. Then, as soon as he rode to the house\nhe had bought, the shopkeeper and his wife came to him and gave\nhim joy of his safety; whereupon he ordered them three head of\nswift steeds and thoroughbred and ten dromedaries and an hundred\nhead of sheep and clad them both in costly robes of honour.\nPresently he chose out ten slave-girls and ten slaves and\nfifty mares and the like number of she-camels and three hundred\nof sheep, together with twenty ounces of musk and as many of\ncamphor, and sent all this to the King of Baghdad. When the\npresent came to Ins bin Kays, his wit fled for joy and he was\nperplexed wherewith to requite him. Al-Abbas also gave gifts and\nlargesse and bestowed robes of honour upon noble and simple, each\nafter the measure of his degree, save only Mariyah; for to her\nindeed he sent nothing. This was grievous to the Princess and it\nirked her sore that he should not remember her; so she called her\nslave-girl Shafikah and said to her, \"Hie thee to Al-Abbas and\nsalute him and say to him, 'What hindereth thee from sending my\nlady Mariyah her part of thy booty?'\" So Shafikah betook herself\nto him and when she came to his door, the chamberlains refused\nher admission, until they should have got for her leave and\npermission. When she entered, Al-Abbas knew her and knew that she\nhad somewhat of speech with him; so he dismissed his Mamelukes\nand asked her, \"What is thine errand, O hand-maid of good?\"\nAnswered she, \"O my lord, I am a slave-girl of the Princess\nMariyah, who kisseth thy hands and offereth her salutation to\nthee. Indeed, she rejoiceth in thy safety and blameth thee for\nthat thou breakest her heart, alone of all the folk, because thy\nlargesse embraceth great and small, yet hast thou not remembered\nher with anything of thy plunder, as if thou hadst hardened thy\nheart against her.\" Quoth he, \"Extolled be He who turneth hearts!\nBy Allah, my vitals were consumed with the love of her; and, of\nmy longing after her I came forth to her from my mother-land and\nleft my people and my home and my wealth, and it was with her\nthat began the hardheartedness and the cruelty. Natheless, for\nall this, I bear her no malice and there is no help but that I\nsend her somewhat whereby she may remember me; for that I sojourn\nin her country but a few days, after which I set out for the land\nof Al-Yaman.\" Then he called for a chest and thence bringing out\na necklace of Greek workmanship, worth a thousand dinars, wrapped\nit in a mantle of Greek silk, set with pearls and gems and\npurfled with red gold, and joined thereto a couple of caskets\ncontaining musk and amber-gris. He also put off upon the girl a\nmantle of Greek silk, striped with gold, wherein were divers\nfigures and portraitures depictured, never saw eyes its like.\nTherewithal the girl's wit fled for joy and she went forth from\nhis presence and returned to her mistress. When she came in to\nher, she acquainted her with that which she had seen of Al-Abbas\nand that which was with him of servants and attendants and set\nout to her the loftiness of his station and gave her that which\nwas with her. Mariyah opened the mantle, and when she saw that\nnecklace (and indeed the place was illumined with the lustre\nthereof), she looked at her slave-girl and said to her, \"By\nAllah, O Shafikah, one look at him were dearer to me than all\nthat my hand possesseth! Oh, would Heaven I knew what I shall do,\nwhen Baghdad is empty of him and I hear of him no news!\" Then she\nwept and calling for ink-case and paper and pen of brass, wrote\nthese couplets:\n\nLongsome my sorrows are; my liver's fired with ecstasy; * And\n severance-shaft hath shot me through whence sorest pangs I\n dree:\nAnd howso could my soul forget the love I bear to you? *\n You-wards my will perforce returns nor passion sets me free:\nI 'prison all desires I feel for fear of spies thereon * Yet\n tears that streak my cheek betray for every eye to see.\nNo place of rest or joy I find to bring me life-delight; * No\n wine tastes well, nor viands please however savoury:\nAh me! to whom shall I complain of case and seek its cure * Save\n unto thee whose Phantom deigns to show me sight of thee?\nThen name me not or chide for aught I did in passion-stress, *\n With vitals gone and frame consumed by yearning-malady!\nSecret I keep the fire of love which aye for severance burns; *\n Sworn slave[FN#406] to Love who robs my rest and wakes me\n cruelly:\nAnd ceaseth not my thought to gaze upon your ghost by night, *\n Which falsing comes and he I love still, still unloveth me.\nWould Heaven ye wist the blight that I for you are doomed to bear\n * For love of you, which tortures me with parting agony!\nThen read between the lines I wrote, and mark and learn their\n sense * For such my tale, and Destiny made me an outcast be:\nLearn eke the circumstance of Love and lover's woe nor deign *\n Divulge its mysteries to men nor grudge its secrecy.\n\nThen she folded the scroll and givng it to her slave-girl, bade\nher bear it to Al-Abbas and bring back his reply. So Shafikah\ntook the letter and carried it to the Prince, after the\ndoorkeeper had sought leave of him to admit her. When she came in\nto him, she found with him five damsels, as they were moons, clad\nin rich raiment and ornaments; and when he saw her, he said to\nher, \"What is thy need, O hand-maid of good?\" Presently she put\nout her hand to him with the writ, after she had kissed it, and\nhe bade one of his slave-girls receive it from her.[FN#407] Then\nhe took it from the girl and breaking the seal, read it and\ncomprehended its contents; whereupon he cried, \"Verily, we be\nAllah's and unto Him we shall return!\" and calling for ink-case\nand paper, wrote these improvised couplets:--\n\nI wonder seeing how thy love to me * Inclined, while I in heart\n from love declined:\nEke wast thou wont to say in verseful writ, * \"Son of the\n Road[FN#408] no road to me shall find!\nHow oft kings flocked to me with mighty men * And bales on back\n of Bukhti[FN#409] beast they bind:\nAnd noble steeds of purest blood and all * They bore of choicest\n boons to me consigned;\nYet won no favour!\" Then came I to woo * And the long tale o'\n love I had designed,\nI fain set forth in writ of mine, with words * Like strings of\n pearls in goodly line aligned:--\nSet forth my sev'rance, griefs, tyrannic wrongs, * And ill device\n ill-suiting lover-kind.\nHow oft love-claimant, craving secrecy, * How oft have lovers\n 'plained as sore they pined,\nHow many a brimming bitter cup I've quaffed, * And wept my woes\n when speech was vain as wind!\nAnd thou:--\"Be patient, 'tis thy bestest course * And choicest\n medicine for mortal mind!\"\nThen unto patience worthy praise cleave thou; * Easy of issue and\n be lief resigned:\nNor hope thou aught of me lest ill alloy * Or aught of dross\n affect my blood refined:\nSuch is my speech. Read, mark, and learn my say! * To what thou\n deemest ne'er I'll tread the way.\n\nThen he folded the scroll and sealing it, entrusted it to the\ndamsel, who took it and bore it to her mistress. When the\nPrincess read the letter and mastered its meaning, she said,\n\"Meseemeth he recalleth bygones to me.\" Then she called for pens,\nink, and paper, and wrote these couplets:\n\nLove thou didst show me till I learnt its woe * Then to the\n growth of grief didst severance show:\nI banisht joys of slumber after you * And e'en my pillow garred\n my wake to grow.\nHow long in parting shall I pine with pain * While\n severance-spies[FN#410] through night watch every throe?\nI've left my kingly couch and self withdrew * Therefrom, and\n taught mine eyelids sleep t'unknow:\n'Twas thou didst teach me what I ne'er can bear: * Then didst\n thou waste my frame with parting-blow.\nBy oath I swear thee, blame and chide me not: * Be kind to\n mourner Love hath stricken low!\nFor parting-rigours drive him nearer still * To narrow home, ere\n clad in shroud for clo':\nHave ruth on me, since Love laid waste my frame, * 'Mid thralls\n enrolled me and lit fires that flame.\n\nMariyah rolled up the letter and gave it to Shafikah, bidding her\nbear it to Al-Abbas. Accordingly she took it and going with it to\nhis door, proceeded to enter; but the chamberlains and\nserving-men forbade her, till they had obtained her leave from\nthe Prince. When she went into him, she found him sitting in the\nmidst of the five damsels before mentioned, whom his father had\nbrought for him; so she gave him the letter and he tare it open\nand read it. Then he bade one of the damsels, whose name was\nKhafifah and who came from the land of China, tune her lute and\nsing anent separation. Thereupon she came forward and tuning her\nlute, played thereon in four-and-twenty modes: after which she\nreturned to the first and sang these couplets,\n\n\"Our friends, when leaving us on parting-day, * Drave us in wolds\n of severance-grief to stray:\nWhen bound the camels' litters bearing them, * And cries of\n drivers urged them on the way,\nOutrusht my tears, despair gat hold of me * And sleep betrayed\n mine eyes to wake a prey.\nThe day they went I wept, but showed no ruth * The severance-spy\n and flared the flames alw\u00e0y:\nAlas for lowe o' Love that fires me still! * Alack for pine that\n melts my heart away!\nTo whom shall I complain of care, when thou * Art gone, nor fain\n a-pillow head I lay?\nAnd day by day Love's ardours grow on me, * And far's the tent\n that holds my fondest may:\nO Breeze o' Heaven, bear for me a charge * (Nor traitor-like my\n troth in love betray!),\nWhene'er thou breathest o'er the loved one's land * Greet him\n with choice salam fro' me, I pray:\nDust him with musk and powdered ambergris * While time endures!\n Such is my wish for aye.\"\n\nWhen the damsel had made an end of her song, Al-Abbas swooned\naway and they sprinkled on him musked rose-water, till he\nrecovered from his fainting-fit, when he called another damsel\n(now there was on her of linen and raiment and ornaments that\nwhich undoeth description, and she was a model of beauty and\nbrightness and loveliness and symmetry and perfect grace, such as\nshamed the crescent moon, and she was a Turkish girl from the\nland of the Roum and her name was H\u00e1fizah) and said to her, \"O\nHafizah, close thine eyes and tune thy lute and sing to us upon\nthe days of severance.\" She answered him, \"To hear is to obey\"\nand taking the lute, tightened its strings and cried out from her\nhead,[FN#411] in a plaintive voice, and sang these couplets,\n\n\"My friends! tears flow in painful mockery, * And sick my heart\n from parting agony:\nMy frame is wasted and my vitals wrung * And love-fires grow and\n eyes set tear-floods free:\nAnd when the fire burns high beneath my ribs * With tears I\n quench it as sad day I see.\nLove left me wasted, baffled, pain-begone, * Sore frighted, butt\n to spying enemy:\nWhen I recal sweet union wi' their loves * I chase dear sleep\n from the sick frame o' me.\nLong as our parting lasts the rival joys * And spies with fearful\n prudence gain their gree.\nI fear me for my sickly, langourous frame * Lest dread of parting\n slay me incontinently.\"\n\nWhen Hafizah had ended her song, Al-Abbas cried to her, \"Brava!\nVerily, thou quickenest hearts from griefs.\" Then he called\nanother maiden of the daughters of Daylam by name Marj\u00e1nah, and\nsaid to her, \"O Marjanah, sing to me upon the days of parting.\"\nShe said, \"Hearing and obeying,\" and recited these couplets,\n\n\"'Cleave to fair Patience! Patience 'gendereth weal': * Such is\n the rede to us all sages deal:\nHow oft I plained the lowe of grief and love * Mid passions cast\n my soul in sore unheal.\nHow oft I waked and drained the bitter cup * And watched the\n stars, nor sleep mine eyes would seal!\nEnough it were an deal you grace to me * In writ a-morn and\n garred no hope to feel.\nBut Thoughts which probed its depths would sear my heart * And\n start from eye-brows streams that ever steal:\nNor cease I suffering baleful doom and nights * Wakeful, and\n heart by sorrows rent piece-meal:\nBut Allah purged my soul from love of you * When all knew secrets\n cared I not reveal.\nI march to-morrow from your country and * Haply you'll speed me\n nor fear aught unweal;\nAnd, when in person you be far from us, * Would heaven we knew\n who shall your news reveal.\nWho kens if home will e'er us two contain * In dearest life with\n union naught can stain!\"\n\nWhen Marjanah had made an end of her song, the Prince said to\nher, \"Brava, O damsel! Indeed, thou sayest a thing which had\noccurred to my mind and my tongue was near to speaking it.\" Then\nhe signed to the fourth damsel, who was a Cairene, by name Sitt\nal-Husn, and bade her tune her lute and sing to him upon the same\ntheme. So the Lady of Beauty tuned her lute and sang these\ncouplets,\n\n\"Patience is blest for weal comes after woe * And all things\n stated time and ordinance show;\nHaps the Sultan, hight Fortune, prove unjust * Shifting the\n times, and man excuse shall know:\nBitter ensueth sweet in law of change * And after crookedness\n things straightest grow.\nThen guard thine honour, nor to any save * The noble knowledge of\n the hid bestow:\nThese be vicissitudes the Lord commands * Poor men endure, the\n sinner and the low.\"\n\nWhen Al-Abbas heard her make an end of her verses, they pleased\nhim and he said to her, \"Brava, O Sitt al-Husn! Indeed, thou hast\ndone away with anxiety from my heart and hast banished the things\nwhich had occurred to my thought.\" Then he sighed and signing to\nthe fifth damsel, who was from the land of the Persians and whose\nname was Marz\u00edyah (now she was the fairest of them all and the\nsweetest of speech and she was like unto a lustrous star, a model\nof beauty and loveliness and perfection and brightness and\njustness of shape and symmetric grace and had a face like the new\nmoon and eyes as they were gazelle's eyes) and said to her, \"O\nMarziyah, come forward and tune thy lute and sing to us on the\nsame theme, for indeed we are resolved upon faring to the land of\nAl-Yaman.\" Now this maiden had met many of the monarchs and had\nforegathered with the great; so she tuned her lute and sang these\ncouplets,\n\n\"Friend of my heart why leave thou lone and desolate these eyne?\n * Fair union of our lots ne'er failed this sitting-stead of\n mine!\nAnd ah! who dwellest singly in the heart and sprite of me, * (Be\n I thy ransom!) desolate for loss of friend I pine!\nBy Allah! O thou richest form in charms and loveliness, * Give\n alms to lover who can show of patience ne'er a sign!\nAlms of what past between us tway (which ne'er will I divulge) *\n Of privacy between us tway that man shall ne'er divine:\nGrant me approval of my lord whereby t' o'erwhelm the foe * And\n let my straitness pass away and doubtful thoughts malign:\nApproof of thee (an gained the meed) for me high rank shall gain\n * And show me robed in richest weed to eyes of envy fain.\"\n\nWhen she had ended her song, all who were in the assembly wept\nfor the daintiness of her delivery and the sweetness of her\nspeech and Al-Abbas said to her, \"Brava, O Marz\u00edyah! Indeed, thou\nbewilderest the wits with the beauty of thy verse and the polish\nof thy speech.\"[FN#412] All this while Shafikah abode gazing\nupon her, and when she beheld the slave-girls of Al-Abbas and\nconsidered the charms of their clothing and the subtlety of their\nsenses and the delicacy of their delivery her reason flew from\nher head. Then she sought leave of Al-Abbas and returning to her\nmistress Mariyah, sans letter or reply, acquainted her with what\nshe had espied of the damsels and described to her the condition\nwherein he was of honour and delight, majesty, venerance and\nloftiness of rank. Lastly, she enlarged upon what she had seen of\nthe slave-girls and their case and that which they had said and\nhow they had incited Al-Abbas anent returning to his own country\nby the recitation of songs to the sound of the strings. When the\nPrincess heard this her slave-girl's report, she wept and wailed\nand was like to leave the world. Then she took to her pillow and\nsaid, \"O Shafikah, I will inform thee of a something which is not\nhidden from Allah the Most High, and 'tis that thou watch over me\ntill the Almighty decree the accomplishment of His destiny, and\nwhen my days are ended, take thou the necklace and the mantle\nwith which Al-Abbas gifted me and return them to him. I deem not\nhe will survive me, and if the Lord of All-might determine\nagainst him and his days come to an end, do thou give one charge\nto shroud us and entomb us both in one tomb.\" Then her case\nchanged and her colour waxed wan; and when Shafikah saw her\nmistress in this plight, she repaired to her mother and told her\nthat the lady Mariyah refused meat and drink. Asked the Queen,\n\"Since when hath this befallen her?\" and Shafikah answered,\n\"Since yesterday's date;\" whereat the mother was confounded and\nbetaking herself to her daughter, that she might inquire into her\ncase, lo and behold! found her as one dying. So she sat down at\nher head and Mariyah opened her eyes and seeing her mother\nsitting by her, sat up for shame before her. The Queen questioned\nher of her case and she said, \"I entered the Hammam and it\nstupefied me and prostrated me and left in my head an exceeding\npain; but I trust in Allah Al-mighty that it will cease.\" When\nher mother went out from her, Mariyah took to chiding the damsel\nfor that which she had done and said to her, \"Verily, death were\ndearer to me than this; so discover thou not my affair to any and\nI charge thee return not to the like of this fashion.\" Then she\nfainted and lay swooning for a whole hour, and when she came to\nherself, she saw Shafikah weeping over her; whereupon she pluckt\nthe necklace from her neck and the mantle from her body and said\nto the damsel, \"Lay them in a damask napkin and bear them to\nAl-Abbas and acquaint him with that wherein I am for the stress\nof severance and the strain of forbiddance.\" So Shafikah took\nthem and carried them to Al-Abbas, whom she found in readiness to\ndepart, being about to take horse for Al-Yaman. She went in to\nhim and gave him the napkin and that which was therein, and when\nhe opened it and saw what it contained, namely, the mantle and\nthe necklace, his chagrin was excessive and his eyes turned in\nhis head[FN#413] and his rage shot out of them. When Shafikah saw\nthat which betided him, she came forward and said to him, \"O\nbountiful lord, verily my mistress returneth not the mantle and\nthe necklace for despite; but she is about to quit the world and\nthou hast the best right to them.\" Asked he, \"And what is the\ncause of this?\" and Shafikah answered, \"Thou knowest. By Allah,\nnever among the Arabs nor the Ajams nor among the sons of the\nkings saw I a harder of heart than thou! Can it be a slight\nmatter to thee that thou troublest Mariyah's life and causest her\nto mourn for herself and quit the world for the sake of thy\nyouth?[FN#414] Thou wast the cause of her acquaintance with thee\nand now she departeth this life on thine account, she whose like\nAllah Almighty hath not created among the daughters of the\nkings.\" When Al-Abbas heard from the damsel these words, his\nheart burned for Mariyah and her case was not light to him, so he\nsaid to Shafikah, \"Canst thou bring me in company with her; so\nhaply I may discover her concern and allay whatso aileth her?\"\nSaid she, \"Yes, I can do that, and thine will be the bounty and\nthe favour.\" So he arose and followed her, and she preceded him,\ntill they came to the palace. Then she opened and locked behind\nthem four-and-twenty doors and made them fast with padlocks; and\nwhen he came to Mariyah, he found her as she were the downing\nsun, strown upon a T\u00e1if rug of perfumed leather,[FN#415]\nsurrounded by cushions stuffed with ostrich down, and not a limb\nof her quivered. When her maid saw her in this state, she offered\nto cry out; but Al-Abbas said to her, \"Do it not, but have\npatience till we discover her affair; and if Allah (be He\nextolled and exalted!) have decreed her death, wait till thou\nhave opened the doors to me and I have gone forth. Then do what\nseemeth good to thee.\" So saying, he went up to the Princess and\nlaying his hand upon her bosom, found her heart fluttering like a\ndoveling and the life yet hanging to her breast.[FN#416] So he\nplaced his hand on her cheek, whereat she opened her eyes and\nbeckoning to her maid, said to her by signs, \"Who is this that\ntreadeth my carpet and transgresseth against me?\"[FN#417] \"O my\nlady,\" cried Shafikah, \"this is Prince Al-Abbas, for whose sake\nthou forsakest the world.\" When Mariyah heard speak of Al-Abbas,\nshe raised her hand from under the coverlet and laying it upon\nhis neck, inhaled awhile his scent. Then she sat up and her\ncomplexion returned to her and they abode talking till a third\npart of the night was past. Presently, the Princess turned to her\nhandmaid and bade her fetch them somewhat of food, sweetmeats,\nand fruits, fresh and dry. So Shafikah brought what she desired\nand they ate and drank and abode on this wise without lewdness,\ntill night went and light came. Then said Al-Abbas, \"Indeed, the\nmorn breaketh. Shall I hie to my sire and bid him go to thy\nfather and seek thee of him in wedlock for me, in accordance with\nthe book of Allah Almighty and the practice of His Apostle (whom\nmay He save and assain!) so we may not enter into transgression?\"\nAnd Mariyah answered, saying, \"By Allah, 'tis well counselled of\nthee!\" So he went away to his lodging and naught befel between\nthem; and when the day lightened, she recited these couplets,\n\n\"O friends, morn-breeze with Morn draws on amain: * A\n Voice[FN#418] bespeaks us, gladding us with 'plain.\nUp to the convent where our friend we'll sight * And wine more\n subtile than the dust[FN#419] we'll drain;\nWhereon our friend spent all the coin he owned * And made the\n nursling in his cloak contain;[FN#420]\nAnd, when we oped the jar, light opalline * Struck down the\n singers in its search waylain.\nFrom all sides flocking came the convent-monks * Crying at top o'\n voices, 'Welcome fain!'\nAnd we carousing sat, and cups went round, * Till rose the\n Venus-star o'er Eastern plain.\nNo shame in drinking wine, which means good cheer * And love and\n promise of prophetic strain![FN#421]\nHo thou, the Morn, our union sundering, * These joyous hours to\n fine thou dost constrain.\nShow grace to us until our pleasures end, * And latest drop of\n joy fro' friends we gain:\nYou have affection candid and sincere * And Love and Joy are best\n of Faiths for men.\"\n\nSuch was the case with Mariyah; but as regards Al-Abbas, he\nbetook himself to his father's camp, which was pitched on the\nGreen Meadow, by the Tigris-side, and none might thread his way\nbetween the tents, for the dense network of the tent ropes. When\nthe Prince reached the first of the pavilions, the guards and\nservants came out to meet him from all sides and walked in his\nservice till he drew near the sitting-place of his sire, who knew\nof his approach. So he issued forth his marquee and coming to\nmeet his son, kissed him and made much of him. Then they returned\ntogether to the royal pavilion and when they had seated\nthemselves therein and the guards had taken up their station in\nattendance on them, the King said to Al-Abbas, \"O my son, get\nready thine affair, so we may go to our own land, for that the\nlieges in our absence are become as they were sheep lacking\nshepherd.\" Al-Abbas looked at his father and wept till he\nfainted, and when he recovered from his fit, he improvised and\nrecited these couplets,\n\n\"I embraced him,[FN#422] and straight I waxt drunk wi' the smell\n * Of a fresh young branch wont in wealth to dwell.\nYea, drunken, but not by the wine; nay, 'twas * By draughts from\n his lips that like wine-cups well:\nFor Beauty wrote on his cheek's fair page * 'Oh, his charms! take\n refuge fro' danger fell!'[FN#423]\nMine eyes, be easy, since him ye saw; * Nor mote nor blearness\n with you shall mell:\nIn him Beauty showeth fro' first to fine * And bindeth on hearts\n bonds unfrangible:\nAn thou kohl thyself with his cheek of light * Thou'll find but\n jasper and or in stelle:[FN#424]\nThe chiders came to reproach me when * For him longing and pining\n my heart befel:\nBut I fear not, I end not, I turn me not * From his life, let\n tell-tale his tale e'en tell:\nBy Allah, forgetting ne'er crossed my thought * While by life-tie\n bound, or when ends my spell:\nAn I live I will live in his love, an I die * Of love and\n longing, I'll cry, ''Tis well!'\"\n\nNow when Al-Abbas had ended his verses, his father said to him,\n\"I seek refuge for thee with Allah, O my son! Hast thou any want\nthou art powerless to win, so I may endeavour for thee therein\nand lavish my treasures in its quest.\" Cried Al-Abbas, \"O my\npapa, I have, indeed, an urgent need, on whose account I came\nforth of my mother-land and left my people and my home and\naffronted perils and horrors and became an exile, and I trust in\nAllah that it may be accomplished by thy magnanimous endeavour.\"\nQuoth the King, \"And what is thy want?\" and quoth Al-Abbas, \"I\nwould have thee go and ask for me to wife Mariyah, daughter of\nthe King of Baghdad, for that my heart is distracted with love of\nher.\" Then he recounted to his father his adventure from first to\nlast. When the King heard this from his son, he rose to his feet\nand calling for his charger of parade, took horse with\nfour-and-twenty Emirs of the chief officers of his empire. Then\nhe betook himself to the palace of the King of Baghdad who, when\nhe saw him coming, bade his chamberlains open the doors to them\nand going down himself to meet them, received him with all honour\nand hospitality and carried him and his into the palace; then\ncausing make ready for them carpets and cushions, sat down upon\nhis golden throne and seated the guest by his side upon a chair\nof gold, framed in juniper-wood set with pearls and jewels.\nPresently he bade bring sweetmeats and confections and scents and\ncommanded to slaughter four and-twenty head of sheep and the like\nof oxen and make ready geese and chickens and pigeons stuffed and\nboiled, and spread the tables; nor was it long before the meats\nwere served up in vessels of gold and silver. So they ate their\nsufficiency and when they had eaten their fill, the tables were\nremoved and the wine-service set on and the cups and flagons\nranged in ranks, whilst the Mamelukes and the fair slave-girls\nsat down, with zones of gold about their waists, studded with all\nmanner pearls, diamonds, emeralds, rubies and other jewels.\nMoreover, the king bade fetch the musicians; so there presented\nthemselves before him twenty damsels with lutes and\npsalteries[FN#425] and viols, and smote upon instruments of music\nplaying and performing on such wise that they moved the assembly\nto delight. Then said Al-Aziz to the King of Baghdad, \"I would\nfain speak a word to thee; but do thou not exclude from us those\nwho are present. An thou consent unto my wish thine is ours and\non thee shall be whatso is on us;[FN#426] and we will be to thee\na mighty forearm against all unfriends and foes.\" Quoth Ins bin\nKays, \"Say what thou wilt, O King, for indeed thou excellest in\nspeech and in whatso thou sayest dost hit the mark.\" So Al-Aziz\nsaid to him, \"I desire that thou marry thy daughter Mariyah to my\nson Al-Abbas, for thou knowest what he hath of beauty and\nloveliness, brightness and perfect grace and his frequentation of\nthe valiant and his constancy in the stead of cut-and-thrust.\"\nSaid Ins bin Kays, \"By Allah, O King, of my love for Mariyah, I\nhave appointed her mistress of her own hand; accordingly,\nwhomsoever she chooseth of the folk, to him will I wed her.\" Then\nhe arose to his feet and going in to his daughter, found her\nmother with her; so he set out to them the case and Mariyah said,\n\"O my papa, my wish followeth thy word and my will ensueth thy\nwill; so whatsoever thou chooseth, I am obedient to thee and\nunder thy dominion.\" Therewith the King knew that Mariyah\ninclined to Al-Abbas; he therefore returned forthright to King\nAl-Aziz and said to him, \"May Allah amend the King! Verily, the\nwish is won and there is no opposition to that thou commandest.\"\nQuoth Al-Aziz, \"By Allah's leave are wishes won. How deemest\nthou, O King, of fetching Al-Abbas and documenting the\nmarriage-contract between Mariyah and him?\" and quoth Ins bin\nKays, \"Thine be the rede.\" So Al-Aziz sent after his son and\nacquainted him with that which had passed; whereupon Al-Abbas\ncalled for four-and-twenty mules and ten horses and as many\ncamels and loaded the mules with fathom-long pieces of silk and\nrugs of leather and boxes of camphor and musk and the camels and\nhorses with chests of gold and silver. Eke, he took the richest\nof the stuffs and wrapping them in wrappers of gold-purfled\nsilk, laid them on the heads of porters,[FN#427] and they fared\non with the treasures till they reached the King of Baghdad's\npalace, whereupon all who were present dismounted in honour of\nAl-Abbas and escorting him in a body to the presence of Ins bin\nKays, displayed to the King all that they had with them of things\nof price. The King bade carry all this into the store rooms of\nthe Harim and sent for the Kazis and the witnesses, who wrote out\nthe contract and married Mariyah to Al-Abbas, whereupon the\nPrince commanded slaughter one thousand head of sheep and five\nhundred buffaloes. So they spread the bride-feast and bade\nthereto all the tribes of the Arabs, men of tents and men of\ntowns, and the banquet continued for the space of ten days. Then\nAl-Abbas went into Mariyah in a commendable and auspicious hour\nand lay with her and found her a pearl unthridden and a goodly\nfilly no rider had ridden;[FN#428] wherefore he rejoiced and was\nglad and made merry, and care and sorrow ceased from him and his\nlife was pleasant and trouble departed and he ceased not abiding\nwith her in most joyful case and in the most easeful of life,\ntill seven days were past, when King Al-Aziz resolved to set out\nand return to his realm and bade his son seek leave of his\nfather-in-law to depart with his wife to his own country. So\nAl-Abbas spoke of this to King Ins, who granted him the\npermission he sought; whereupon he chose out a red\ncamel,[FN#429] taller and more valuable than the rest of the\ncamels, and loading it with apparel and ornaments, mounted\nMariyah in a litter thereon. Then they spread the ensigns and the\nstandards, whilst kettle-drums beat and the trumpets blared, and\nset out upon the homewards way. The King of Baghdad rode forth\nwith them and companied them three days' journey on their route,\nafter which he farewelled them and returned with his troops to\nBaghdad. As for King Al-Aziz and his son, they fared on night and\nday and gave not over going till there remained but three days'\njourney between them and Al-Yaman, when they despatched three men\nof the couriers to the Prince's mother to report that they were\nbringing with them Mariyah, the King's daughter of Baghdad, and\nreturning safe and laden with spoil. When the Oueen-mother heard\nthis, her wit took wings for joy and she adorned the slave-girls\nof Al-Abbas after the finest fashion. Now he had ten hand-maids,\nas they were moons, whereof his father had carried five with him\nto Baghdad, as hath erst been set forth, and the remaining five\nabode with his mother. When the dromedary-posts[FN#430] came,\nthey were certified of the approach of Al-Abbas, and when the sun\neasted and their flags were seen flaunting, the Prince's mother\ncame out to meet her son; nor on that day was there great or\nsmall, boy or grey-beard, but went forth to greet the king. Then\nthe kettle-drums of glad tidings beat and they entered in the\nutmost of pomp and the extreme of magnificence; so that the\ntribes and the townspeople heard of them and brought them the\nrichest of gifts and the rarest of presents and the Prince's\nmother rejoiced with joy exceeding. They butchered beasts and\nspread mighty bride-feasts for the people and kindled\nfires,[FN#431] that it might be visible afar to townsman and\ntribesman that this was the house of hospitality and the stead of\nthe wedding-festival, to the intent that, if any passed them by,\nit should be of his own sin against himself. So the folk came to\nthem from all districts and quarters and in this way they abode\ndays and months. Presently the Prince's mother bade fetch the\nfive slave-girls to that assembly; whereupon they came and the\nten damsels met. The queen seated five of them on her son's right\nhand and the other five on his left and the folk gathered about\nthem. Then she bade the five who had remained with her speak\nforth somewhat of poesy, so they might entertain therewith the\nseance and that Al-Abbas might rejoice thereat. Now she had clad\nthem in the costliest of clothes and adorned them with trinkets\nand ornaments and moulded work of gold and silver and collars of\ngold, wrought with pearls and gems. So they paced forward, with\nharps and lutes and zithers and recorders and other instruments\nof music before them, and one of them, a damsel who came from the\nland of China and whose name was B\u00e1'\u00fathah, advanced and screwed\nup the strings of her lute. Then she cried out from the top of\nher head and recited these couplets,\n\n\"Indeed your land returned, when you returned, * To whilom light\n which overgrew its gloom:\nGreen grew the land that was afore dust-brown. * And fruits that\n failed again showed riping bloom:\nAnd clouds rained treasures after rain had lacked, * And plenty\n poured from earth's re-opening womb.\nThen ceased the woes, my lords, that garred us weep, * With tears\n like dragons' blood, our severance-doom,\nWhose length, by Allah, made me yeam and pine, * Would Heaven, O\n lady mine, I were thy groom!\"\n\nWhen she had ended her song, all who were present were delighted\nand Al-Abbas rejoiced in this. Then he bade the second damsel\nsing somewhat on the same theme. So she came forward and\ntightening the strings of her harp, which was of balass\nruby,[FN#432] raised her voice in a plaintive air and improvised\nthese couplets,\n\n\"Brought the Courier glad news of our absentees,[FN#433] * To\n please us through those who had wrought us unease:\nCried I, 'My life ransom thee, messenger man, * Thou hast kept\n thy faith and thy boons are these.'\nAn the nightlets of union in you we joyed * When fared you naught\n would our grief appease;\nYou sware that folk would to folk be true, * And you kept your\n oaths as good faith decrees.\nTo you made I oath true lover am I * Heaven guard me when sworn\n from all perjuries:\nI fared to meet you and loud I cried, * 'Aha, fair welcome when\n come you please!\"\nAnd I joyed to meet you and when you came, * Deckt all the\n dwelling with tapestries,\nAnd death in your absence to us was dight, * But your presence\n bringeth us life and light.\"\n\nWhen she had made an end of her verse, Al-Abbas bade the third\ndamsel (who came from Samarkand of Ajam-land and whose name was\nRumm\u00e1nah) sing, and she answered, \"To hear is to obey.\" Then she\ntook the zither and crying out from the midst of her head,\nrecited and sang these couplets,[FN#434]\n\n\"My watering mouth declares thy myrtle-cheek my food to be * And\n cull my lips thy side-face rose, who lily art to me!\nAnd twixt the dune and down there shows the fairest flower that\n blooms * Whose fruitage is granado's fruit with all\n granado's blee.[FN#435]\nForget my lids of eyne their sleep for magic eyes of him; *\n Naught since he fared but drowsy charms and languorous air I\n see.[FN#436]\nHe shot me down with shaft of glance from bow of eyebrow sped: *\n What Chamberlain[FN#437] betwixt his eyes garred all my\n pleasure flee?\nHaply shall heart of me seduce his heart by weakness' force *\n E'en as his own seductive grace garred me love-ailment dree.\nFor an by him forgotten be our pact and covenant * I have a King\n who never will forget my memory.\nHis sides bemock the bending charms of waving Tamarisk,[FN#438] *\n And in his beauty-pride he walks as drunk with coquetry:\nHis feet and legs be feather-light whene'er he deigns to run *\n And say, did any ride the wind except 'twere\n Solomon?\"[FN#439]\n\nTherewith Al-Abbas smiled and her verses pleased him. Then he\nbade the fourth damsel come forward and sing (now she was from\nthe Sundown-land[FN#440] and her name was Balakhsh\u00e1); so she came\nforward and taking the lute and the zither, tuned the strings and\nsmote them in many modes; then she returned to the first and\nimprovising, sang these couplets,\n\n\"When to the s\u00e9ance all for pleasure hied * Thy lamping eyes\n illumined its every side;\n While playing round us o'er the wine-full bowl * Those\n necklace-pearls old wine with pleasure plied,[FN#441]\nTill wits the wisest drunken by her grace * Betrayed for joyance\n secrets sages hide;\nAnd, seen the cup, we bade it circle round * While sun and moon\n spread radiance side and wide.\nWe raised for lover veil of love perforce * And came glad tidings\n which new joys applied:\nLoud sang the camel-guide; won was our wish * Nor was the secret\n by the spy espied:\nAnd, when my days were blest by union-bliss * And to all-parting\n Time was aid denied,\nEach 'bode with other, clear of meddling spy * Nor feared we hate\n of foe or neighbour-pride.\nThe sky was bright, friends came and severance fared * And\n Love-in-union rained boons multiplied:\nSaying 'Fulfil fair union, all are gone * Rivals and fears lest\n shaming foe deride:'\nFriends now conjoin\u00e8d are: wrong passed away * And meeting-cup\n goes round and joys abide:\nOn you be Allah's Peace with every boon * Till end the dooming\n years and time and tide.\"\n\nWhen Balakhsha had ended her verse, all present were moved to\ndelight and Al-Abbas said to her, \"Brava, O damsel!\" Then he bade\nthe fifth damsel come forward and sing (now she was from the land\nof Syria and her name was Rayh\u00e1nah; she was passing of voice and\nwhen she appeared in an assembly, all eyes were fixed upon her),\nso she came forward and taking the viol (for she was used to play\nupon all instruments) recited and sang these couplets,\n\n\"Your me-wards coming I hail to sight; * Your look is a joy\n driving woe from sprite:\nWith you love is blest, pure and white of soul; * Life's sweet\n and my planet grows green and bright:\nBy Allah, you-wards my pine ne'er ceased * And your like is rare\n and right worthy hight.\nAsk my eyes an e'er since the day ye went * They tasted sleep,\n looked on lover-wight:\nMy heart by the parting-day was broke * And my wasted body\n betrays my plight:\nCould my blamers see in what grief am I, * They had wept in\n wonder my loss, my blight!\nThey had joined me in shedding torrential tears * And like me\n a-morn had shown thin and slight:\nHow long for your love shall your lover bear * This weight o'er\n much for the hill's strong height?\nBy Allah what then for your sake was doomed * To my heart, a\n heart by its woes turned white!\nAn showed I the fires that aye flare in me, * They had 'flamed\n Eastern world and earth's Western site.\nBut after this is my love fulfilled * With joy and gladness and\n mere delight;\nAnd the Lord who scattered hath brought us back * For who doeth\n good shall of good ne'er lack.\"\n\nWhen King Al-Aziz heard the damsel's song, both words and verses\npleased him and he said to Al-Abbas, \"O my son, verily long\nversifying hath tired these damsels, and indeed they make us\nyearn after the houses and the homesteads with the beauty of\ntheir songs. These five have adorned our meeting with the charm\nof their melodies and have done well in that which they have said\nbefore those who are present; so we counsel thee to free them for\nthe love of Allah Almighty.\" Quoth Al-Abbas, \"There is no command\nbut thy command;\" and he enfranchised the ten damsels in the\nassembly; whereupon they kissed the hands of the King and his son\nand prostrated themselves in thanksgiving to the Lord of\nAll-might. Then they put off that which was upon them of\nornaments and laying aside the lutes and other instruments of\nmusic, kept to their houses like modest women and veiled, and\nfared not forth.[FN#442] As for King Al-Aziz, he lived after this\nseven years and was removed to the mercy of Almighty Allah; when\nhis son Al-Abbas bore him forth to burial as beseemeth kings and\nlet make for him perlections and professional recitations of the\nKoran. He kept up the mourning for his father during four\nsuccessive weeks, and when a full-told month had elapsed he sat\ndown on the throne of the kingship and judged and did justice and\ndistributed silver and gold. He also loosed all who were in the\njails and abolished grievances and customs dues and righted the\noppressed of the oppressor; so the lieges prayed for him and\nloved him and invoked on him endurance of glory and continuance\nof kingship and length of life and eternity of prosperity and\nhappiness. The troops submitted to him, and the hosts from all\nparts of the kingdom, and there came to him presents from each\nand every land: the kings obeyed him and many were his warriors\nand his grandees, and his subjects lived with him the most\neaseful of lives and the most delightsome. Meanwhile, he ceased\nnot, he and his beloved, Queen Mariyah, in the most enjoyable of\nlife and the pleasantest, and he was vouchsafed by her children;\nand indeed there befel friendship and affection between them and\nthe longer their companionship was prolonged, the more their love\nwaxed, so that they became unable to endure each from other a\nsingle hour, save the time of his going forth to the Divan, when\nhe would return to her in the liveliest that might be of longing.\nAnd after this fashion they abode in all solace of life and\nsatisfaction till there came to them the Destroyer of delights\nand the Severer of societies. So extolled be the Eternal whose\nsway endureth for ever and aye, who never unheedeth neither dieth\nnor sleepeth! This is all that hath come down to us of their\ntale, and so the Peace!\n\n\n\n\n SHAHRAZAD AND SHAHRYAR.[FN#443]\n\n\n\nKing Shahryar marveled at this history[FN#444] and said, \"By\nAllah, verily, injustice slayeth its folk!\"[FN#445] And he was\nedified by that, wherewith Shahrazad bespoke him and sought help\nof Allah the Most High. Then said he to her, \"Tell me another of\nthy tales, O Shahrazad; supply me with a pleasant story and this\nshall be the completion of the story-telling.\"Shahrazad replied,\n\"With love and gladness! It hath reached me, O\nauspicious King, that a man once declared to his mates, 'I will\nset forth to you a means of security against annoy.' A friend of\nmine once related to me and said, \"We attained to security\nagainst annoy, and the origin of it was other than this; that is,\nit was the following'\"[FN#446]\n\n\n\n\n TALE OF THE TWO KINGS AND THE WAZIR'S\n DAUGHTERS.[FN#447]\n\n\n\nI overtravelled whilome lands and climes and towns and visited\nthe cities of high renown and traversed the ways of dangers and\nhardships. Towards the last of my life, I entered a city of the\ncities of China,[FN#448] wherein was a king of the Chosro\u00ebs and\nthe Tobbas[FN#449] and the C\u00e6sars.[FN#450] Now that city had\nbeen peopled with its inhabitants by means of justice and equity;\nbut its then king was a tyrant dire who despoiled lives and souls\nat his desire; in fine, there was no warming oneself at his fire,\n[FN#451] for that indeed he oppressed the believing band and\nwasted the land. Now he had a younger brother, who was king in\nSamarkand of the Persians, and the two kings sojourned a while\nof time, each in his own city and stead, till they yearned unto\neach other and the elder king despatched his Wazir to fetch his\nyounger brother. When the Minister came to the King of Samarkand\nand acquainted him with his errand, he submitted himself to the\nbidding of his brother and answered, \"To hear is to obey.\" Then\nhe equipped himself and made ready for wayfare and brought forth\nhis tents and pavilions. A while after midnight, he went in to\nhis wife, that he might farewell her, and found her with a\nstrange man, lying by her in one bed. So he slew them both and\ndragging them out by the feet, cast them away and set forth on\nhis march. When he came to his brother's court, the elder king\nrejoiced in him with joy exceeding and lodged him in the pavilion\nof hospitality beside his own palace. Now this pavilion\noverlooked a flower-garden belonging to the elder brother and\nthere the younger abode with him some days. Then he called to\nmind that which his wife had done with him and remembered her\nslaughter and bethought him how he was a king, yet was not exempt\nfrom the shifts of Time; and this affected him with exceeding affect,\nso that it drave him to abstain from meat and drink, or, if he\nate anything, it profited him naught. When his brother saw him\non such wise, he deemed that this had betided him by reason of\nseverance from his folk and family, and said to him, \"Come, let\nus fare forth a-coursing and a-hunting.\" But he refused to go\nwith him; so the elder brother went to the chase, while the\nyounger abode in the pavilion aforesaid. Now, as he was\ndiverting himself by looking out upon the flower-garden from the\nlatticed window of the palace, behold, he saw his brother's wife\nand with her ten black slaves and ten slave-girls. Each slave\nlaid hold of a damsel and another slave came forth and did the\nlike with the queen; and when they had their wills one of other\nthey all returned whence they came. Hereat there betided the\nKing of Samarkand exceeding surprise and solace and he was made\nwhole of his malady, little by little. After a few days, his\nbrother returned, and finding him cured of his complaint, said to\nhim, \"Tell me, O my brother, what was the cause of thy sickness\nand thy pallor, and what is the reason of the return of health to\nthee and of rosiness to thy face after this?\" So he acquainted\nhim with the whole case and this was grievous to him; but they\nhid their affair and agreed to leave the kingship and fare forth\na-pilgrimaging and adventuring at hap-hazard, for they deemed\nthat there had befallen none the like of what had befallen them.\nAccordingly, they went forth and as they journeyed, they saw by\nthe way a woman imprisoned in seven chests, whereon were five\npadlocks, and sunken deep in the midst of the salt sea, under the\nguardianship of an Ifrit; yet for all this that woman issued out\nof the ocean and opened those padlocks and coming forth of those\nchests, did what she would with the two brothers, after she had\npractised upon the Ifrit. When the two kings saw that woman's\nfashion and how she circumvented the Ifrit, who had lodged her in\nthe abyss of the main, they turned back to their kingdoms and the\nyounger betook himself to Samarkand, whilst the elder returned to\nChina and contrived for himself a custom in the slaughter of\ndamsels, which was, his Wazir used to bring him every night a\ngirl, with whom he lay that night, and when he arose in the\nmorning, he gave her to the Minister and bade him do her die.\nAfter this fashion he abode a long time, whilst the folk murmured and God's creatures were destroyed and the commons cried\nout by reason of that grievous affair into which they were fallen\nand feared the wrath of Allah Almighty, dreading lest He destroy\nthem by means of this. Still the king persisted in that practice\nand in his blameworthy intent of the killing of damsels and the\ndespoilment of maidens concealed by veils,[FN#452] wherefore the\ngirls sought succour of the Lord of All-might, and complained to\nHim of the tyranny of the king and of his oppression. Now the\nking's Wazir had two daughters, sisters german, the elder of whom\nhad read the books and made herself mistress of the sciences and\nstudied the writings of the sages and the stories of the cup-\ncompanions,[FN#453] and she was a maiden of abundant lore and\nknowledge galore and wit than which naught can be more. She\nheard that which the folk suffered from that king in his misuage\nof their children; whereupon ruth for them gat hold of her and\njealousy and she besought Allah Almighty that He would bring the\nking to renounce that his new and accursed custom,[FN#454] and the\nLord answered her prayer. Then she consulted her younger sister\nand said to her, \"I mean to devise a device for freeing the\nchildren of folk; to wit, I will go up to the king and offer\nmyself to marry him, and when I come to his presence, I will send\nto fetch thee. When thou comest in to me and the king had his\ncarnal will of me, do thou say to me, 'O my sister, let me hear a\nstory of thy goodly stories, wherewith we may beguile the waking\nhours of our night, till the dawn, when we take leave of each\nother; and let the king hear it likewise!'\" The other replied,\n\"'Tis well; forsure this contrivance will deter the king from\nthis innovation he practiseth and thou shalt be requited with\nfavour exceeding and recompense abounding in the world to come,\nfor that indeed thou perilest thy life and wilt either perish or\nwin to thy wish.\" So she did this and Fortune favoured her and\nthe Divine direction was vouchsafed to her and she discovered her\ndesign to her sire, the Wazir, who thereupon forbade her, fearing\nher slaughter. However, she repeated her words to him a second\ntime and a third, but he consented not. Then he cited to her a\nparable, which should deter her, and she cited to him a parable\nof import contrary to his, and the debate was prolonged between\nthem and the adducing of instances, till her father saw that he\nwas powerless to turn her from her purpose and she said to him,\n\"There is no help but that I marry the King, so haply I may be a\nsacrifice for the children of the Moslems: either I shall turn\nhim from this his heresy or I shall die.\" When the Minister\ndespaired of dissuading her, he went up to the king and\nacquainted him with the case, saying, \"I have a maiden daughter\nand she desireth to give herself in free gift to the King.\"\nQuoth the King, \"How can thy soul consent to this, seeing that\nthou knowest I abide but a single night with a girl and when I\narise on the morrow, I do her dead, and 'tis thou who slayest\nher, and again and again thou hast done this?\" Quoth the Wazir,\n\"Know, O king, that I have set forth all this to her, yet\nconsented she not to aught, but needs must she have thy company\nand she chooseth to come to thee and present herself before thee,\nalbeit I have cited to her the sayings of the sages; but she hath\nanswered me with more than that which I said to her and\ncontrariwise.\" Then quoth the king, \"Suffer her visit me this\nnight and to-morrow morning come thou and take her and kill her;\nand by Allah, an thou slay her not, I will slay thee and her\nalso!\" The Minister obeyed the king's bidding and going out from\nthe presence returned home. When it was night, he took his elder\ndaughter and carried her up to the king; and when she came before\nhim she wept;[FN#455] whereupon he asked her, \"What causeth thee\nto weep? Indeed, 'twas thou who willedst this.\" She answered, \"I\nweep not but of longing after my little sister; for that, since\nwe grew up, I and she, I have never been parted from her till\nthis day; so, an it please the King to send for her, that I may\nlook on her, and listen to her speech and take my fill of her\ntill the morning, this were a boon and an act of kindness of the\nKing.\" So he bade fetch the damsel and she came. Then there\nbefel that which befel of his union with the elder\nsister,[FN#456] and when he went up to his couch, that he might\nsleep, the younger sister said to her elder, \"Allah upon thee, O\nmy sister, an thou be not asleep, tell us a tale of thy goodly\ntales, wherewith me may beguile the watches of our night, ere day\ndawn and parting.\" Said she, \"With love and gladness;\" and fell\nto relating to her, whilst the king listened. Her story was\ngoodly and delectable, and whilst she was in the midst of\ntelling it, the dawn brake. Now the king's heart clave to the\nhearing of the rest of the story; so he respited her till the\nmorrow; and, when it was the next night, she told him a tale\nconcerning the marvels of the land and the wonders of Allah's\ncreatures which was yet stranger and rarer than the first. In\nthe midst of the recital, appeared the day and she was silent\nfrom the permitted say. So he let her live till the following\nnight, that he might hear the end of the history and after that\nslay her. On this wise it fortuned with her; but as regards the\npeople of the city, they rejoiced and were glad and blessed the\nWazir's daughters, marvelling for that three days had passed and\nthat the king had not put his bride to death and exulting in that\nhe had returned to the ways of righteousness and would never\nagain burthen himself with blood-guilt against any of the maidens\nof the city. Then, on the fourth night, she related to him a\nstill more extraordinary adventure, and on the fifth night she\ntold him anecdotes of Kings and Wazirs and Notables. Brief, she\nceased not to entertain him many days and nights, while the king still\nsaid to himself, \"Whenas I shall have heard the end of the tale,\nI will do her die,\" and the people redoubled their marvel and\nadmiration. Also, the folk of the circuits and cities heard of\nthis thing, to wit, that the king had turned from his custom and\nfrom that which he had imposed upon himself and had renounced his\nheresy, wherefor they rejoiced and the lieges returned to the\ncapital and took up there abode therein, after they had departed\nthence; and they were constant in prayer to Allah Almighty that\nHe would stablish the king in his present stead.\" \"And this,\" said\nShahrazad, \"is the end of that which my friend related to me.\"\nQuoth Shahryar,[FN#457] \"O Shahrazad, finish for us the tale thy\nfriend told thee, inasmuch as it resembleth the story of a King\nwhom I knew; but fain would I hear that which betided the people\nof this city and what they said of the affair of the King, so I\nmay return from the case wherein I was.\" She replied, \"With love\nand gladness!\" Know, O auspicious king and lord of right rede\nand praiseworthy meed and prowest of deed, that, when the folk\nheard how the king had put away from him his malpractice and\nreturned from his unrighteous wont, they rejoiced in this with\njoy exceeding and offered up prayers for him. Then they talked\none with other of the cause of the slaughter of the maidens, and\nthe wise said, \"Women are not all alike, nor are the fingers of\nthe hand alike.\" Now when King Shahryar heard this story he came\nto himself and awakening from his drunkenness,[FN#458] said, \"By\nAllah, this story is my story and this case is my case, for that\nindeed I was in reprobation and danger of judgment till thou\nturnedst me back from this into the right way, extolled be the\nCauser of causes and the Liberator of necks!\" presently adding,\n\"Indeed, O Shahrazad, thou hast awakened me to many things and\nhast aroused me from mine ignorance of the right.\" Then said she\nto him, \"O chief of the kings, the wise say, 'The kingship is a\nbuilding, whereof the troops are the base, and when the\nfoundation is strong, the building endureth;' wherefore it\nbehoveth the king to strengthen the foundation, for that they\nsay, 'Whenas the base is weak, the building falleth.' In like\nfashion it befitteth the king to care for his troops and do\njustice among his lieges, even as the owner of the garden careth\nfor his trees and cutteth away the weeds that have no profit in\nthem; and so it befitteth the king to look into the affairs of\nhis Ryots and fend off oppression from them. As for thee, O\nking, it behoveth thee that thy Wazir be virtuous and experienced\nin the requirements of the people and the peasantry; and indeed\nAllah the Most High hath named his name[FN#459] in the history of\nMus\u00e0 (on whom be the Peace!) when he saith, 'And make me a Wazir\nof my people, Aaron.' Now could a Wazir have been dispensed\nwithal, Moses son of Imr\u00e1n had been worthier than any to do\nwithout a Minister. As for the Wazir, the Sultan discovereth\nunto him his affairs, private and public; and know, O king, that\nthe likeness of thee with the people is that of the leach with\nthe sick man; and the essential condition of the Minister is that\nhe be soothfast in his sayings, reliable in all his relations,\nrich in ruth for the folk and in tenderness of transacting with\nthem. Verily, it is said, O king, that good troops be like the\ndruggist; if his perfumes reach thee not, thou still smellest the\nfragrance of them; and bad entourage be like the blacksmith; if\nhis sparks burn thee not, thou smellest his evil smell. So it\nbefitteth thee to take to thyself a virtuous Wazir, a veracious\ncounsellor, even as thou takest unto thee a wife displayed before\nthy face, because thou needest the man's righteousness for thine\nown right directing, seeing that, if thou do righteously, the\ncommons will do right, and if thou do wrongously, they will also\ndo wrong.\" When the King heard this, drowsiness overcame him and\nhe slept and presently awaking, called for the candles; so they\nwere lighted and he sat down on his couch and seating Shahrazad\nby him, smiled in her face. She kissed the ground before him and\nsaid, \"O king of the age and lord of the time and the years,\nextolled be the Forgiving, the Bountiful, who hath sent me to\nthee, of His grace and good favour, so I have incited thee to\nlonging after Paradise; for verily this which thou wast wont do\nwas never done of any of the kings before thee. Then laud be to\nthe Lord who hath directed thee into the right way, and who from\nthe paths of frowardness hath diverted thee! As for women, Allah\nAlmighty maketh mention of them also when He saith in His Holy\nBook, 'Truly, the men who resign themselves to Allah[FN#460] and\nthe women who resign themselves, and the true-believing men and\nthe true-believing women and the devout men and the devout women\nand truthful men and truthful women, and long-suffering men and\nlong-suffering women, and the humble men and the humble women,\nand charitable men and charitable women, and the men who fast and\nthe women who fast, and men who guard their privities and women\nwho guard their privities, and men who are constantly mindful of\nAllah and women who are constantly mindful, for them Allah hath\nprepared forgiveness and a rich reward.'[FN#461] As for that\nwhich hath befallen thee, verily, it hath befallen many kings\nbefore thee and their women have falsed them, for all they were\nmore majestical of puissance than thou, and mightier of kingship\nand had troops more manifold. If I would, I could relate unto\nthee, O king, concerning the wiles of women, that whereof I\nshould not make an end all my life long; and indeed, in all these\nmy nights that I have passed before thee, I have told thee many\ntales of the wheedling of women and of their craft; but soothly\nthe things abound on me;[FN#462] so, an thou please, O king, I\nwill relate to thee somewhat of that which befel olden kings of\nperfidy from their women and of the calamities which overtook\nthem by reason of these deceivers.\"\" Asked the king, \"How so?\nTell on;\" and she answered, \"Hearkening and obedience. It hath\nbeen told me, O king, that a man once related to a company the\nfollowing tale of\n\n\n\n\n THE CONCUBINE AND THE CALIPH.\"[FN#463]\n\n\n\nOne day of the days, as I stood at the door of my house, and the\nheat was excessive, behold, I saw a fair woman approaching, and\nwith her a slave-girl carrying a parcel. They gave not over\ngoing till they came up to me, when the woman stopped and asked\nme, \"Hast thou a draught of water?\" answered I, \"Yes, enter the\nvestibule, O my lady, so thou mayst drink.\" Accordingly she\ncame in and I went up into the house and fetched two gugglets of\nearthenware, smoked with musk[FN#464] and full of cold water.\nShe took one of them and discovered her face, the better to\ndrink; whereupon I saw that she was as the rising moon or the\nresplendent sun and said to her, \"O my lady, wilt thou not come\nup into the house, so thou mayst rest thyself till the air cool\nand afterwards fare thee to thine own place?\" quoth she, \"Is\nthere none with thee?\" and quoth I, \"Indeed I am a bachelor and\nhave none belonging to me, nor is there a wight in the\nsite;[FN#465] whereupon she said, \"An thou be a stranger, thou\nart he in quest of whom I was going about.\" So she went up into\nthe house and doffed her walking dress and I found her as she\nwere the full moon. I brought her what I had by me of food and\ndrink and said to her, \"O my lady, excuse me: this is all that is\nready;\" and said she, \"This is right good[FN#466] and indeed 'tis\nwhat I sought.\" Then she ate and gave the slave-girl that which\nwas left; after which I brought her a casting-bottle of musked\nrose-water, and she washed her hands and abode with me till the\nseason of mid-afternoon prayer, when she brought out of the\nparcel she had with her a shirt and trousers and an upper\ngarment[FN#467] and a gold-worked kerchief and gave them to me;\nsaying, \"Know that I am one of the concubines of the Caliph, and\nwe be forty concubines, each of whom hath a cicisbeo who cometh\nto her as often as she would have him; and none is without a\nlover save myself, wherefore I came forth this day to get me a\ngallant and now I have found thee. Thou must know that the\nCaliph lieth each night with one of us, whilst the other nine-\nand-thirty concubines take their ease with the nine-and-thirty\nmasculines, and I would have thee company with me on such a day, when do\nthou come up to the palace of the Caliph and sit awaiting me in\nsuch a place, till a little eunuch come out to thee and say to\nthee a certain watch-word which is, 'Art thou Sandal?' Answer\n'Yes,' and wend thee with him.\" Then she took leave of me and I\nof her, after I had strained her to my bosom and thrown my arms\nround her neck and we had exchanged kisses awhile. So she fared\nforth and I abode patiently expecting the appointed day, till it\ncame, when I arose and went out, intending for the trysting-place; but a friend of mine met me by the way and made me go home\nwith him. I accompanied him and when I came up into his sitting-\nchamber he locked the door on me and walked out to fetch what we\nmight eat and drink. He was absent until midday, then till the\nhour of mid-afternoon prayer, whereat I was chagrined with sore\nconcern. Then he was missing until sundown, and I was like to\ndie of vexation and impatience; and indeed he returned not and I\npassed my night on wake, nigh upon death, for the door was locked\non me, and my soul was like to depart my body on account of the\nassignation. At daybreak, my friend returned and opening the\ndoor, came in, bringing with him meat-pudding[FN#468] and\nfritters and bees' honey, and said to me, \"By Allah, thou must\nneeds excuse me, for that I was with a company and they locked\nthe door on me and have let me go but this very moment.\" I\nreturned him no reply; however, he set before me that which was\nwith him and I ate a single mouthful and went out running at\nspeed so haply I might overtake the rendezvous which had escaped\nme. When I came to the palace, I saw over against it eight-and-\nthirty gibbets set up, whereon were eight-and-thirty men\ncrucified, and under them eight-and-thirty[FN#469] concubines as\nthey were moons. So I asked the cause of the crucifixion of the\nmen and concerning the women in question, and it was said unto\nme, \"The men thou seest crucified the Caliph found with yonder\ndamsels, who be his bed-fellows.\" When I heard this, I\nprostrated myself in thanksgiving to Allah and said, \"The\nAlmighty require thee with all good, O my friend!\" For had he\nnot invited me and locked me up in his house that night, I had\nbeen crucified with these men, wherefore Alhamdolillah--laud to\nthe Lord! \"On this wise\" (continued Shahrazad), \"none is safe\nfrom the calamities of the world and the vicissitudes of Time,\nand in proof of this, I will relate unto thee yet another story\nstill rarer and stranger than this. Know, O king, that one said\nto me: A friend of mine, a merchant, told me the following tale of\n\n\n\n\n THE CONCUBINE OF AL-MAAMUN[FN#470]\n\n\n\nAs I sat one day in my shop, there came up to me a fair woman, as\nshe were the moon at its rising, and with her a hand-maid. Now I\nwas a handsome man in my time; so that lady sat down on my\nshop[FN#471] and buying stuffs of me, paid the price and went her\nways. I asked the girl anent her and she answered, \"I know not\nher name.\" Quoth I, \"Where is her abode?\" Quoth she, \"In\nheaven;\" and I, \"She is presently on the earth; so when doth she\nascend to heaven and where is the ladder by which she goeth\nup?\"[FN#472] The girl retorted, \"She hath her lodging in a\npalace between two rivers,[FN#473] that is, in the palace of Al-\nMaam\u00fan al-H\u00e1kim bi-Amri 'llah.\"[FN#474] Then said I, \"I am a\ndead man, without a doubt;\" but she replied, \"Have patience, for\nneeds must she return to thee and buy other stuffs of thee.\" I\nasked, \"And how cometh it that the Commander of the Faithful\ntrusteth her to go out?\" and she answered, \"He loveth her with\nexceeding love and is wrapped up in her and crosseth her not.\"\nThen the slave-girl went away, running after her mistress;\nwhereupon I left the shop and followed them, so I might see her\nabiding-place. I kept them in view all the way, till she\ndisappeared from mine eyes, when I returned to my place, with\nheart a-fire. Some days after, she came to me again and bought\nstuffs of me: I refused to take the price and she cried, \"We\nhave no need of thy goods.\" Quoth I, \"O my lady, accept them\nfrom me as a gift;\" but quoth she, \"Wait till I try thee and make\nproof of thee.\" Then she brought out of her pocket a purse and\ngave me therefrom a thousand dinars, saying, \"Trade with this\ntill I return to thee.\" So I took the purse and she went away\nand returned not till six months had passed. Meanwhile, I traded\nwith the money and sold and bought and made other thousand dinars\nprofit on it. At last she came to me again and I said to her,\n\"Here is thy money and I have gained with it other thousand\nducats;\" and she, \"Let it lie by thee and take these other\nthousand dinars. As soon as I have departed from thee, go thou\nto Al-Rauzah, the Garden-holm, and build there a goodly pavilion,\nand when the edifice is accomplished, give me to know thereof. So saying, she left me and went away.\nAs soon as she was gone, I betook myself to Al-Rauzah and fell to\nbuilding the pavilion, and when it was finished, I furnished it\nwith the finest of furniture and sent to tell her that I had made\nan end to the edifice; whereupon she sent back to me, saying,\n\"Let him meet me to-morrow about day-break at the Zuwaylah gate\nand bring with him a strong ass.\" I did as she bade and,\nbetaking myself to the Zuwaylah gate, at the appointed time,\nfound there a young man on horseback, awaiting her, even as I\nawaited her. As we stood, behold, up she came, and with her a\nslave-girl. When she saw that young man, she asked him, \"Art\nthou here?\" and he answered, \"Yes, O my lady.\" Quoth she, \"To-\nday I am invited by this man: wilt thou wend with us?\" and quoth\nhe, \"Yes.\" Then said she, \"Thou hast brought me hither against\nmy will and parforce. Wilt thou go with us in any case?\"[FN#475]\nHe cried, \"Yes, yes,\" and we fared on, all three, till we came\nto Al-Rauzah and entered the pavilion. The dame diverted herself\nawhile with viewing its ordinance and furniture, after which she\ndoffed her walking-dress and sat down with the young man in the\ngoodliest and chiefest place. Then I fared forth and brought\nthem what they should eat at the first of the day; presently I\nagain went out and fetched them what they should eat at the end\nof the day and brought for the twain wine and dessert and fruits\nand flowers. After this fashion I abode in their service,\nstanding on my feet, and she said not unto me, \"Sit,\" nor \"Take,\neat\" nor \"Take, drink,\" while she and the young man sat toying\nand laughing, and he feel to kissing her and pinching her and\nhopping over the ground[FN#476] and laughing. They remained thus\nawhile and presently she said, \"Hitherto we have not become\ndrunken; let me pour out.\" So she took the cup, and crowning it,\ngave him to drink and plied him with wine, till he lost his wits,\nwhen she took him up and carried him into a closet. Then she\ncame out, with the head of that youth in her hand, while I stood\nsilent, fixing not mine eyes on her eyes neither questioning her\nof the case; and she asked me, \"What be this?\" \"I wot not,\" answered I; and she said, \"Take it and throw it in the\nriver.\" I accepted her commandment and she arose and stripping\nherself of her clothes, took a knife and cut the dead man's body\nin pieces, which she laid in three baskets, and said to me,\n\"Throw them into the river.\" I did her bidding and when I\nreturned, she said to me, \"Sit, so I may relate to thee yonder\nfellow's case, lest thou be affrighted at what accident hath\nbefallen him. Thou must know that I am the Caliph's favourite\nconcubine, nor is there any higher in honour with him than I; and\nI am allowed six nights in each month, wherein I go down into the\ncity and tarry with my whilome mistress who reared me; and when I\ngo down thus, I dispose of myself as I will. Now this young man\nwas the son of certain neighbours of my mistress, when I was a\nvirgin girl. One day, my mistress was sitting with the chief\nofficers of the palace and I was alone in the house, and as the\nnight came on, I went up to the terrace-roof in order to sleep\nthere, but ere I was ware, this youth came up from the street and\nfalling upon me knelt on my breast. He was armed with a dagger\nand I could not get free of him till he had taken my maidenhead\nby force; and this sufficed him not, but he must needs disgrace\nme with all the folk for, as often as I came down from the\npalace, he would stand in wait for me by the way and futtered me\nagainst my will and follow me whithersoever I went. This, then, is\nmy story, and as for thee, thou pleasest me and thy patience\npleaseth me and thy good faith and loyal service, and there\nabideth with me none dearer than thou.\" Then I lay with her that\nnight and there befel what befel between us till the morning,\nwhen she gave me abundant wealth and took to meeting me at the\npavilion six days in every month. After this wise we passed a\nwhole year, at the end of which she cut herself off from me a\nmonth's space, wherefore fire raged in my heart on her account.\nWhen it was the next month, behold , a little eunuch presented\nhimself to me and said, \"I am a messenger to thee from Such-an-\none, who giveth thee to know that the Commander of the Faithful\nhath ordered her to be drowned, her and those who are with her, six-\nand-twenty slave-girls, on such a day at Dayr al-Tin,[FN#477] for\nthat they have confessed of lewdness, one against other and she\nsayeth to thee, 'Look how thou mayst do with me and how thou\nmayst contrive to deliver me, even an thou gather together all\nmy money and spend it upon me, for that this be the time of\nmanhood.'\"[FN#478] Quoth I, \"I know not this woman; belike it is\nother than I to whom this message is sent; so beware, O Eunuch,\nlest thou cast me into a cleft.\" Quoth he, \"Behold, I have told\nthee that I had to say,\" and went away, leaving me in sore\nconcern on her account. Now when the appointed day came, I\narose and changing my clothes and favour, donned sailor's\napparel; then I took with me a purse full of gold and buying a\nright good breakfast, accosted a boatman at Dayr al-Tin and sat\ndown and ate with him; after which I asked him, \"Wilt thou hire\nme thy boat?\" Answered he, \"The Commander of the Faithful hath\ncommanded me to be here;\" and he told me the tale of the\nconcubines and how the Caliph purposed to drown them that day.\nWhen I heard this from him, I brought out to him ten gold pieces\nand discovered to him my case, whereupon he said to me, \"O my\nbrother, get thee empty gourds, and when thy mistress cometh,\ngive me to know of her and I will contrive the trick.\" So I\nkissed his hand and thanked him and, as I was walking about,\nwaiting, up came the guards and eunuchs escorting the women, who\nwere weeping and shrieking and farewelling one another. The\nCastratos cried out to us, whereupon we came with the boat, and\nthey said to the sailor, \"Who be this?\" Said he, \"This be my mate\nwhom I have brought to help me, so one of us may keep the boat,\nwhilst another doth your service.\" Then they brought out to us\nthe women, one by one, saying \"Throw them in by the Island;\" and\nwe replied, \"'Tis well.\" Now each of them was shackled and they\nhad made fast about her neck a jar of sand. We did as the\nneutrals bade us and ceased not to take the women, one after\nother, and cast them in, till they gave us my mistress and I\nwinked to my mate. So we took her and carried her out into mid-stream, where I threw to her the empty\ngourds[FN#479] and said to her, \"Wait for me at the mouth of the\nCanal.\"[FN#480] Then we cast her in alongside the boat, after we had loosed the jar of sand from her legs[FN#480a] and done off her shackles, and returned.\nNow there remained one woman after her: so we\ntook her and drowned her and the eunuchs went away, whilst we\ndropped down the river with the craft till we came to the mouth of Khalij, where I saw my mistress\nawaiting me. We haled her into the canoe and returned to our\npavilion on Al-Rauzah. Then I rewarded the sailor and he took his boat and\nwent away; whereupon quoth she to me, \"Thou art indeed the friend\never faithful found for the shifts of Fortune.\"[FN#481] and I\nsojourned with her some days; but the shock wrought upon her so\nthat she sickened and fell to wasting away and redoubled in langour and\nweakness till she died. I mourned for her with exceeding mourning and buried her; after\nwhich I removed all that was in the pavilion and abandoned the\nbuilding. Now she had brought to that pavilion a little coffer\nof copper and laid it in a place whereof I knew not; so, when the\nInspector of Inheritances[FN#482] came, he rummaged the house and\nfound the coffer, with the key in the lock. Presently he opened it and seeing it full of jewels and jacinths and earrings and seal-rings and precious stones (and 'twas a matter such as is not found save with kings and sultans), took it, and me with it, and he and his men ceased not to\nput me to the question with beating and torment till I confessed to them the whole affair, from beginning to end. Thereupon they carried me to the Caliph and I told him all that had passed between me and her; and he said to\nme, \"O man, depart this city, for I release thee on account of\nthy courage and because of thy constancy in keeping thy secret\nand thy daring in exposing thyself to death.\" So I arose\nforthwith and fared from his city; and this is what befel me.\n\n\n\n\n Variants and Analogues\n of\n Some of the Tales\n in\n Volumes XI. and XII.\n\n By. W. A. Clouston.\n\n Author of \"Popular Tales and Fictions: Their Migrations\n and Transformations,\" Etc.\n\n\n\n Appendix\n\n\n\n Variants and Analogues of Some of the Tales\n in Volumes XI and XII\n\n By W. A. Clouston.\n\n\n\n\n\n THE SLEEPER AND THE WAKER--Vol. XI. p. 1.\n\n\n\nFew if the stories in the \"Arabian Nights\" which charmed our\nmarvelling boyhood were greater favourites than this one, under\nthe title of \"Abou Hassan; or, the Sleeper Awakened.\" What\nrecked we in those days whence it was derived?--the story--the\nstory was the thing! As Sir R. F. Burton observes in his first\nnote, this is \"the only one of the eleven added by Galland, whose\noriginal has been discovered in Arabic;\"[FN#483] and it is\nprobable that Galland heard it recited in a coffee-house during\nhis residence in Constantinople. The plot of the Induction to\nShakspeare's comedy of \"The Taming of the Shrew\" is similar to\nthe adventure of Ab\u00fa al-Hasan the Wag, and is generally believed\nto have been adapted from a story entitled \"The Waking Man's\nFortune\" in Edward's collection of comic tales, 1570, which were\nretold somewhat differently in Goulart's \"Admirable and Memorable\nHistories,\" 1607; both versions are reprinted in Mr. Hazlitt's\n\"Shakspeare Library,\" vol. iv., part I, pp. 403-414. In Percy's\n\"Reliques of Ancient English Poetry\" we find the adventure told\nin a ballad entitled \"The Frolicksome Duke; or, the Tinker's Good\nFortune,\" from the Pepys collection: \"whether it may be thought\nto have suggested the hint to Shakspeare or is not rather of\nlatter date,\" says Percy, \"the reader must determine:\"\n\nNow as fame does report, a young duke keeps a court,\nOne that pleases his fancy with frolicksome sport:\nBut amongst all the rest, here is one, I protest,\nWhich will make you to smile when you hear the true jest:\nA poor tinker he found lying drunk on the ground,\nAs secure in a sleep as if laid in a swownd.\n\nThe duke said to his men, William, Richard, and Ben,\nTake him home to my palace, we'll sport with him then.\nO'er a horse he was laid, and with care soon convey'd\nTo the palace, altho' he was poorly arrai'd;\nThen they stript off his cloaths, both his shirt, shoes, and\nhose,\nAnd they put him in bed for to take his repose.\n\nHaving pull'd off his shirt, which was all over durt,\nThey did give him clean holland, this was no great hurt:\nOn a bed of soft down, like a lord of renown,\nThey did lay him to sleep the drink out of his crown.\nIn the morning when day, then admiring[FN#484] he lay,\nFor to see the rich chamber both gaudy and gay.\n\nNow he lay something late, in his rich bed of state,\nTill at last knights and squires they on him did wait;\nAnd the chamberling bare, then did likewise declare,\nHe desired to know what apparel he'd ware:\nThe poor tinker amaz'd, on the gentleman gaz'd,\nAnd admired how he to this honour was rais'd.\n\nTho' he seem'd something mute, yet he chose a rich suit,\nWhich he straitways put on without longer dispute;\nWith a star on his side, which the tinker offt ey'd,\nAnd it seem'd for to swell him no little with pride;\nFor he said to himself, Where is Joan my sweet wife?\nSure she never did see me so fine in her life.\n\nFrom a convenient place, the right duke his good grace\nDid observe his behavior in every case.\nTo a garden of state, on the tinker they wait,\nTrumpets sounding before him: thought he this is great:\nWhere an hour or two, pleasant walks he did view,\nWith commanders and squires in scarlet and blew.\n\nA find dinner was drest, both for him and his guests,\nHe was placed at the table above all the rest,\nIn a rich chair, or bed, lin'd with fine crimson red,\nWith a rich golden canopy over his head:\nAs he sat at his meat, the musick play'd sweet,\nWith the choicest of singing his joys to compleat.\n\nWhile the tinker did dine, he had plenty of wine.\nRich canary with sherry and tent superfine,\nLike a right honest soul, faith, he took off his bowl,\nTill at last he began for to tumble and roul\nFrom his chair to the floor, where he sleeping did snore,\nBeing seven times drunker than ever before.\n\nThen the duke did ordain, they should strip him amain,\nAnd restore him his old leather garments again:\n'Twas a point next the worst, yet perform it they must,\nAnd they carry'd him strait, where they found him at first;\nThen he slept all the night, as indeed well he might,\nBut when he did waken, his joys took their flight.\n\nFor his glory to him so pleasant did seem,\nThat he thought it to be but a meer golden dream;\nTill at length he was brought to the duke, where he sought\nFor a pardon as fearing he had set him at nought;\nBut his highness he said, Thou'rt a jolly bold blade,\nSuch a frolick before I think never was plaid.\n\nThen his highness bespoke him a new suit and cloak,\nWhich he gave for the sake of this frolicksome joak;\nNay, and five hundred pound, with ten acres of ground\nThou shalt never, said he, range the counteries round,\nCrying old brass to mend, for I'll be thy good friend,\nNay, and Joan thy sweet wife shall my duchess attend.\n\nThen the tinker reply'd, What! must Joan my sweet bride\nBe a lady in chariots of pleasure to ride?\nMust we have gold and land ev'ry day at command?\nThen I shall be a squire I well understand:\nWell I thank your good grace, and your love I embrace,\nI was never before in so happy a case.\n\nThe same story is also cited in the \"Anatomy of Melancholy,\" part\n2, sec. 2, memb. 4, from Ludovicus Vives in Epist.[FN#485] and Pont.\nHeuter in Rerum Burgund., as follows:\n\n\"It is reported of Philippus Bonus, that good Duke of Burgundy,\nthat the said duke, at the marriage of Eleonora, sister to the\nKing of Portugal, at Bruges in Flanders, which was solemnized in\nthe deep of winter, when as by reason of the unseasonable (!)\nweather he could neither hawk nor hunt, and was now tyred with\ncards, dice, &c., and such other domestical sports, or to see\nladies dance, with some of his courtiers, he would in the evening\nwalk disguised all about the town. It so fortuned as he was\nwalking late one night, he found a country fellow dead drunk,\nsnorting on a bulk; he caused his followers to bring him to his\npalace, and there stripping him of his old clothes, and attiring\nhim after the court fashion, when he waked, he and they were all\nready to attend upon his excellency, persuading him that he was\nsome great duke. The poor fellow, admiring how he came there,\nwas served in state all the day long; after supper he saw them\ndance, heard musick, and the rest of those court-like pleasures;\nbut late at night, when he was well tipled, and again fast asleep\nthey put on his old robes, and so conveyed him to the place where\nthey first found him. Now the fellow had not made them so good\nsport the day before, as he did when he returned to himself; all\nthe jest was to see how he looked upon it. In conclusion, after\nsome little admiration, the poor man told his friends he had seen\na vision, constantly beleeved it, would not otherwise be\nperswaded; and so the jest ended.\"\n\nI do not think that this is a story imported from the East: the\nadventure is just as likely to have happened in Bruges as in\nBaghd\u00e1d; but the exquisite humor of the Arabian tale is wanting-\n-even Shakspeare's Christopher Sly is not to be compared with\nhonest Ab\u00fa al-Hasan the Wag.\n\nThis story of the Sleeper and the Waker recalls the similar\ndevice practised by the Chief of the Assassins--that formidable,\nmurderous association, the terror of the Crusades--on promising\nnovices. Von Hammer, in his \"History of the Assassins,\" end of\nBook iv., gives a graphic description of the charming gardens\ninto which the novices were carried while insensible from\nhashish:\n\nIn the center of the Persian as well as the Assyrian territory of\nthe Assassins, that is to say, both at Alamut and Massiat, were\nsituated, in a space surrounded by walls, splendid gardens--true\nEastern paradises. There were flower-beds and thickets of\nfruit-trees, intersected by canals, shady walks, and verdant\nglades, where the sparkling stream bubbled at every step; bowers\nof roses and vineyards; luxurious halls and porcelain kiosks,\nadorned with Persian carpets and Grecian stuffs, where\ndrinking-vessels of gold, silver, and crystal glittered on trays\nof the same costly materials; charming maidens and handsome boys\nof Muhammed's Paradise, soft as the cushions on which they\nreposed, and intoxicating as the wine which they presented. The\nmusic of the harp was mingled with the songs of birds, and the\nmelodious tones of the songstress harmonized with the murmur of\nthe brooks. Everything breathed pleasure, rapture, and\nsensuality. A youth, who was deemed worthy by his strength and\nresolution to be initiated into the Assassin service, was invited\nto the table and conversation of the grand master, or grand\nprior, he was then intoxicated with hashish and carried into the\ngarden, which on awaking he believed to be Paradise; everything\naround him, the houris in particular, contributing to confirm the\ndelusion. After he had experienced as much of the pleasures of\nParadise, which the Prophet has promised to the faithful, as his\nstrength would admit; after quaffing enervating delight from the\neyes of the houris and intoxicating wine from the glittering\ngoblets; he sank into the lethargy produced by debility and the\nopiate, on awakening from which, after a few hours, he again\nfound himself by the side of his superior. The latter endeavoured\nto convince him that corporeally he had not left his side, but\nthat spiritually he had been wrapped into Paradise and had there\nenjoyed a foretaste of the bliss which awaits the faithful who\ndevote their lives to the service of the faith and the obedience\nof their chiefs.\n\n\n\n\n THE TEN WAZIRS; OR, THE HISTORY OF KING \u00c1Z\u00c1DBAKHT AND HIS SON\n Vol. XI. p. 55.\n\n\n\nThe precise date of the Persian original of this romance\n(\"Bakhty\u00e1r N\u00e1ma\") has not been ascertained, but it was probably\ncomposed before the beginning of the fifteenth century, since\nthere exists in the Bodleian Library a unique Turk\u00ed version, in\nthe Uygur language and characters, which was written in 1434.\nOnly three of the tales have hitherto been found in other Asiatic\nstorybooks. The Turk\u00ed version, according to M. Jaubert, who\ngives an account of the MS. and a translation of one of the tales\nin the Journal Asiatique, tome x. 1827, is characterised by\n\"great sobriety of ornament and extreme simplicity of style, and\nthe evident intention on the part of the translator to suppress\nall that may not have appeared to him sufficiently probable, and\nall that might justly be taxed with exaggeration;\" and he adds\nthat \"apart from the interest which the writing and phraseology\nof the work may possess for those who study the history of\nlanguages, it is rather curious to see how a T\u00e1t\u00e1r translator\nsets to work to bring within the range of his readers stories\nembellished in the original with descriptions and images\nfamiliar, doubtless, to a learned and refined nation like the\nPersians, but foreign to shepherds.\"\n\nAt least three different versions are known to the Malays-\n-different in the frame, or leading story, if not in the\nsubordinate tales. One of those is described in the second\nvolume of Newbold's work on Malacca, the frame of which is\nsimilar to the Persian original and its Arabian derivative,\nexcepting that the name of the king is Z\u00e1dbokhtin and that of the\nminister's daughter (who is nameless in the Persian) is Mahrwat.\nTwo others are described in Van den Berg's account of Malay,\nArabic, Javanese and other MSS. published at Batavia, 1877: p.\n21, No. 132 is entitled \"The History of Ghul\u00e1m, son of\nZ\u00e1dbukht\u00e1n, King of Ad\u00e1n, in Persia,\" and the frame also\ncorresponds with our version, with the important difference that\nthe robber-chief who had brought up Ghul\u00e1m, \"learning that he had\nbecome a person of consequence, came to his residence to visit\nhim, but finding him imprisoned, he was much concerned, and asked\nthe king's pardon on his behalf, telling him at the same time how\nhe had formerly found Ghul\u00e1m in the jungle; from which the king\nknew that Ghul\u00e1m was his son.\" The second version noticed by Van\nden Berg (p. 32, No. 179), though similar in title to the Persian\noriginal, \"History of Prince Bakhty\u00e1r,\" differs very materially\nin the leading story, the outline of which is as follows: This\nprince, when his father was put to flight by a younger brother,\nwho wished to dethrone him, was born in a jungle, and abandoned\nby his parents. A merchant named Idr\u00eds took charge of him and\nbrought him up. Later on he became one of the officers of state\nwith his own father, who had in the meanwhile found another\nkingdom, and decided with fairness, the cases brought before him.\nHe was, however, put in prison on account of a supposed attempt\non the king's life, and would have been put to death had he not\nstayed the execution by telling various beautiful stories. Even\nthe king came repeatedly to listen to him. At one of these\nvisits Bakhty\u00e1r's foster-father Idr\u00eds was present, and related to\nhis adopted son how he had found him in the jungle. The king, on\nhearing this, perceived that it was his son who had been brought\nup by Idr\u00eds, recognised Bakhty\u00e1r as such, and made over to him the\nkingdom.\"--I have little doubt that this romance is of Indian\nextraction.\n\n\n\n\n STORY OF KING DADBIN AND HIS WAZIRS.--Vol. XI. p. 94.\n\n\n\nThis agrees pretty closely with the Turk\u00ed version of the same\nstory (rendered into French by M. Jaubert), though in the latter\nthe names of the characters are the same as in the Persian, King\nD\u00e1d\u00edn and the Waz\u00edrs K\u00e1mg\u00e1r and K\u00e1rd\u00e1r. In the Persian story,\nthe damsel is tied hands and feet and placed upon a camel, which\nis then turned into a dreary wilderness. \"Here she suffered from\nthe intense heat and from thirst; but she resigned herself to the\nwill of Providence, conscious of her own innocence. Just then\nthe camel lay down, and on the spot a fountain of delicious water\nsuddenly sprang forth; the cords which bound her hands and feet\ndropped off; she refreshed herself by a draught of the water, and\nfervently returned thanks to Heaven for this blessing and her\nwonderful preservation.\" This two-fold miracle does not appear\nin the Turk\u00ed and Arabian versions. It is not the cameleer of the\nKing of Persia, but of King D\u00e1d\u00edn, who meets with the pious\ndamsel in the wilderness. He takes her to his own house and one\nday relates his adventure to King D\u00e1d\u00edn, who expresses a wish to\nsee such a prodigy of sanctity. The conclusion of the Persian\nstory is quite dramatic: The cameleer, having consented, returned\nat once to his house, accompanied by the king, who waited at the\ndoor of the apartment where the daughter of K\u00e1mg\u00e1r was engaged in\nprayer. When she had concluded he approached, and with\nastonishment recognised her. Having tenderly embraced her, he\nwept, and entreated her forgiveness. This she readily granted,\nbut begged that he would conceal himself in the apartment while\nshe should converse with K\u00e1rd\u00e1r, whom she sent for. When he\narrived, and beheld her with a thousand expressions of fondness,\nhe inquired how she had escaped, and told her that on the day the\nking had banished her into the wilderness, he had sent people to\nseek her and bring her to him. \"How much better would it have\nbeen,\" he added, \"had you followed my advice, and agreed to my\nproposal of poisoning the king, who, I said, would one day\ndestroy you as he had done your father! But you rejected my\nadvice, and declared yourself ready to submit to whatever\nProvidence should decree. Hereafter you will pay more attention\nto my words. But now let us not think of what is past. I am\nyour slave, and you are dearer to me than my own eyes.\" So\nsaying, he attempted to clasp the daughter of K\u00e1mg\u00e1r in his arms,\nwhen the king, who was concealed behind the hangings, rushed\nfuriously on him and put him to death. After this he conducted\nthe damsel to his palace, and constantly lamented his\nprecipitancy in having killed her father.--This tale seems to\nhave been taken from the Persian \"T\u00fat\u00ed N\u00e1ma,\" or Parrot-book,\ncomposed by Nahkshab\u00ed about the year 1306;[FN#486] it occurs in\nthe 51st Night of the India Office MS. 2573, under the title of\n\"Story of the Daughter of the Vaz\u00edr Kh\u00e1ssa, and how she found\nsafety through the blessing of her piety:\" the name of the king\nis Bahram, and the Waz\u00edrs are called Kh\u00e1ssa and Khal\u00e1ssa.\n\n\n\n\n STORY OF AYLAN SHAH AND AB\u00da TAMM\u00c1M--Vol. XI p. 112.\n\n\n\nThe catastrophe of this story forms the subject of the Lady's\n37th tale in the text of the Turkish \"Forty Vez\u00edrs,\" translated\nby Mr. E. J. W. Gibb. This is how it goes:\n\nIn the palace of the world there was a king, and that king had\nthree vez\u00edrs, but there was rivalry between them. Two of them\nday and night incited the king against the third, saying, \"He is\na traitor.\" But the king believed them not. At length they\npromised two pages much gold, and instructed them thus: \"When the\nking has lain down, ere he yet fall asleep, do ye feign to think\nhim asleep, and while talking with each other, say at a fitting\ntime, 'I have heard from such a one that yon vez\u00edr says this and\nthat concerning the king, and that he hates him; many people say\nthat vez\u00edr is an enemy to our king.'\" So they did this, and when\nthe king heard this, he said in his heart, \"What those vez\u00edrs\nsaid is then true; when the very pages have heard somewhat it\nmust indeed have some foundation. Till now, I believed not those\nvez\u00edrs, but it is then true.\" And the king executed that vez\u00edr.\nThe other vez\u00edrs were glad and gave the pages the gold they had\npromised. So they took it and went to a private place, and while\nthey were dividing it one of them said, \"I spake first; I want\nmore.\" The other said, \"If I had not said he was an enemy to our\nking, the king would not have killed him; I shall take more.\"\nAnd while they were quarrelling with one another the king passed\nby there, and he listened attentively to their words, and when he\nlearned of the matter, he said, \"Dost thou see, they have by a\ntrick made us kill that hapless vez\u00edr.\" And he was repentant.\n\n\n\n\n STORY OF KING SULAYMAN SHAH AND HIS NIECE.--Vol. XI. p. 131.\n\n\n\nThe Persian original has been very considerably amplified by the\nArabian translator. In the \"Bakhty\u00e1r N\u00e1ma\" there is not a word\nabout the two brothers and their fair cousin, the attempted\nmurder of the infant, and the adventures of the fugitive young\nprince. This story has also been taken from the \"T\u00fat\u00ed N\u00e1ma\" of\nNakhshab\u00ed, Night the 50th of the India Office MS. 2573, where,\nunder the title of \"Story of the Daughter of the Kaysar of Roum,\nand her trouble by reason of her son,\" it is told somewhat as\nfollows:\n\nIn former times there was a great king, whose army was numerous\nand whose treasury was full to overflowing; but, having no enemy\nto contend with, he neglected to pay his soldiers, in consequence\nof which they were in a state of destitution and discontent. At\nlength one day the soldiers went to the prime minister and made\ntheir condition known to him. The vaz\u00edr promised that he would\nspeedily devise a plan by which they should have employment and\nmoney. Next morning he presented himself before the king, and\nsaid that it was widely reported the Kaysar of Roum had a\ndaughter unsurpassed for beauty--one who was fit only for such a\ngreat monarch as his Majesty; and suggested that it would be\nadvantageous if an alliance were formed between two such great\npotentates. The notion pleased the king well, and he forthwith\ndespatched to Roum an ambassador with rich gifts, and requested\nthe Kaysar to grant him his daughter in marriage. But the Kaysar\nwaxed wroth at this, and refused to give his daughter to the\nking. When the ambassador returned thus unsuccessful, the king,\nenraged at being made of no account, resolved to make war upon\nthe Kaysar; so, opening the doors of his treasury, he distributed\nmuch money among his troops, and then, \"with a woe-bringing host,\nand a blood-drinking army, he trampled Roum and the folk of Roum\nin the dust.\" And when the Kaysar was become powerless, he sent\nhis daughter to the king, who married her according to the law of\nIslam.\n\nNow that princess had a son by a former husband, and the Kaysar\nhad said to her before she departed, \"Beware that thou mention\nnot thy son, for my love for his society is great, and I cannot\npart with him.\"[FN#487] But the princess was sick at heart for\nthe absence of her son, and she was ever pondering how she should\nspeak to the king about him, and in what manner she might\ncontrive to bring him to her. It happened one day the king gave\nher a string of pearls and a casket of jewels. She said, \"With\nmy father is a slave who is well skilled in the science of\njewels.\" The king replied, \"If I should ask that slave of thy\nfather, would he give him to me?\" \"Nay,\" said she, \"for he holds\nhim in the place of a son. But if the king desire him, I will\nsend a merchant to Roum, and I myself will give him a token, and\nwith pleasant wiles and fair speeches will bring him hither.\"\nThen the king sent for a clever merchant who knew Arabic\neloquently and the language of Roum, and gave him goods for\ntrading and sent him to Roum with the object of procuring the\nslave. But the daughter of the Kaysar said privily to the\nmerchant, \"That slave is my son; I have, for a good reason, said\nto the king that he is a slave; so thou must bring him as a\nslave, and let it be thy duty to take care of him.\" In due\ncourse the merchant brought the youth to the king's service; and\nwhen the king saw his fair face, and discovered in him many\npleasing and varied accomplishments, he treated him with\ndistinction and favour, and conferred on the merchant a robe of\nhonour and gifts. His mother saw him from afar, and was pleased\nwith receiving a secret salutation from him.\n\nOne day the king had gone to the chase, and the palace remained\nvoid of rivals; so the mother called in her son, kissed his fair\nface, and told him the tale of her great sorrow. A chamberlain\nbecame aware of the secret, and another suspicion fell upon him,\nand he said to himself, \"The harem of the king is the sanctuary\nof security and the palace of protection. If I speak not of\nthis, I shall be guilty of treachery and shall have wrought\nunfaithfulness.\" When the king returned from the chase, the\nchamberlain related to him what he had seen, and the eking was\nangry and said, \"This woman hath deceived me with words and\ndeeds, and has brought hither her desire by craft and cunning.\nThis conjecture must be true, else why did she play such a trick?\nAnd why did she hatch such a plot? And why did she send the\nmerchant?\" Then the king, enraged, went into the harem, and the\nqueen saw from his countenance that the occurrence of the night\nbefore had become known to him, and she said, \"Be it not that I\nsee the king angry?\" He said, \"How should I not be angry? Thou,\nby craft and trickery, and intrigue, and plotting, hast brought\nthy desire from Roum--what wantonness is this that thou hast\ndone?\" And then he thought to slay her, but he forbore, because\nof his great love for her. But he ordered the chamberlain to\ncarry the youth to some obscure place, and straightway sever his\nhead from his body. When the poor mother saw this, she well-nigh\nfell on her face, and her soul was near leaving her body. But\nshe knew that sorrow would not avail, and so she restrained\nherself.\n\nAnd when the chamberlain took the youth into his own house, he\nsaid to him, \"O youth, knowest thou not that the harem of the\nking is the sanctuary of security? What great treachery is this\nthat thou hast perpetrated?\" The youth replied, \"That queen is\nmy mother, and I am her true son. Because of her natural\ndelicacy, she said not to the king that she had a son by another\nhusband. And when yearning came over her, she contrived to bring\nme here from Roum; and while the king was engaged in the chase,\nmaternal love stirred in her, and she called me to her and\nembraced me.\" On hearing this, the chamberlain said to himself,\n\"What is passing in his mother's breast? What I have not done I\ncan yet do, and it were better that I preserve this youth some\ndays, for such a rose may not be wounded through idle words, and\nsuch a bough may not be broken by a breath. For some day the\ntruth of this matter will be disclosed, and it will become known\nto the king when repentance may be of no avail.\" So he went\nbefore the king and said, \"That which was commanded have I\nfulfilled.\" On hearing this the king's wrath was to some extent\nremoved, but his trust in the Kaysar's daughter was departed;\nwhile she, poor creature, was grieved and dazed at the loss of\nher son.\n\nNow in the palace-harem there was an old woman, who said to the\nqueen, \"How is it that I find thee sorrowful?\" And the queen\ntold the whole story, concealing nothing. This old woman was a\nheroine in the field of craft, and she answered, \"Keep thy mind\nat ease; I will devise a stratagem by which the heart of the king\nwill be pleased with thee, and every grief he has will vanish\nfrom his heart.\" The queen said that, if she did so, she should\nbe amply rewarded. One day the old woman, seeing the king alone,\nsaid to him, \"Why is thy former aspect altered? And why are\nthere traces of care and anxiety visible on thy countenance?\"\nThe king then told her all. Then said the old woman, \"I have an\namulet of the charms of Sulayman, in the Syriac language, and in\nthe writing of the jinn (genii). When the queen is asleep, do\nthou place it on her breast, and whatever it may be, she will\ntell the truth of it. But take care, fall not asleep, but listen\nwell to what she says.\" The king wondered at this and said,\n\"Give me that amulet, that the truth of this matter may be\nlearned.\" So the old woman gave him the amulet, and then went to\nthe queen and explained what she had done, and said, \"Do thou\nfeign to be asleep, and relate the whole of thy story\nfaithfully.\"\n\nWhen a watch of the night was past, the king laid the amulet upon\nhis wife's breast, and she thus began: \"By a former husband I had\na son, and when my father gave me to this king, I was ashamed to\nsay I had a tall son. When my yearning passed all bounds, I\nbrought him here by an artifice. One day that the king was gone\nto the chase I called him into the house, when, after the way of\nmothers, I took him in my arms and kissed him. This reached the\nking's ears; he unwittingly gave it another construction, and cut\noff the head of that innocent boy, and withdrew from me his own\nheart. Alike is my son lost to me and the king angry.\" When the\nking heard these words he kissed her and exclaimed, \"O my life,\nwhat an error is this thou hast committed! Thou hast brought\ncalumny upon thyself, and hast given such a son to the winds, and\nhast made me ashamed!\" Straightway he called the chamberlain,\nand said, \"That boy whom thou hast killed is the son of my\nbeloved and the darling of my beauty! Where is his grave, that we\nmay make there a guest-house?\" The chamberlain said, \"That youth\nis yet alive. When the king commanded his death, I was about to\nkill him, but he said, 'That queen is my mother. Through modesty\nbefore the king, she revealed not the secret that she has a tall\nson. Kill me not; it may be that some day the truth will become\nknown, and repentance profiteth not, and regret is useless.\" The\nking commanded them to bring the youth; so they brought him\nforthwith. And when the mother saw the face of her son, she\nthanked God and praised the Most High, and became one of the\nMuslims, and from the sect of unbelievers came into the faith of\nIslam. And the king favoured the chamberlain in the highest\ndegree, and they passed the rest of their lives in comfort and\nease.\n\n\n\n\n FIRUZ AND HIS WIFE.--Vol. XI. p. 185.\n\n\n\nThis tale, as Sir R. F. Burton remarks, is a rechauff\u00e9 of that of\nthe King and the Wazir's Wife in the \"Malice of Women,\" or the\nSeven Waz\u00edrs (vol. vi. 129); and at p. 308 we have yet another\nvariant.[FN#488] It occurs in all the Eastern texts of the Book\nof Sindib\u00e1d, and it is commonly termed by students of that cycle\nof stories \"The Lion's Track,\" from the parabolical manner in\nwhich the husband justifies his conduct before the king. I have\ncited some versions in the Appendix to my edition of the Book of\nSindib\u00e1d (p. 256 ff.), and to these may be added the following\nVenetian variant, from Crane's \"Italian Popular Tales,\" as an\nexample of how a story becomes garbled in passing orally from one\ngeneration unto another generation:\n\nA king, averse from marriage, commanded his steward to remain\nsingle. The latter, however, one day saw a beautiful girl named\nVigna and married her secretly. Although he kept her closely\nconfined in her chamber, the king became suspicious, and sent the\nsteward on an embassy. After his departure the king entered the\napartment occupied by him, and saw his wife asleep. He did not\ndisturb her, but in leaving the room accidentally dropped one of\nhis gloves on the bed. When the husband returned he found the\nglove, but kept a discreet silence, ceasing, however, all\ndemonstration of affection, believing his wife had been\nunfaithful. The king, desirous to see again the beautiful woman,\nmade a feast and ordered the steward to bring his wife. He\ndenied that he had one, but brought her at last, and while every\none else was talking gaily at the feast she was silent. The king\nobserved it and asked the cause of her silence, and she answered\nwith a pun on her own name, \"Vineyard I was, and Vineyard I am.\nI was loved and no longer am. I know not for what reason the\nVineyard has lost its season.\" Her husband, who heard this,\nreplied, \"Vineyard thou wast, and Vineyard thou art: the Vineyard\nlost its season, for the lion's claw.\" The king, who understood\nwhat he meant, answered, \"I entered the Vineyard; I touched the\nleaves; but I swear by my crown that I have not tasted the\nfruit.\" Then the steward understood that his wife was innocent,\nand the two made peace, and always after lived happy and\ncontented.\n\nSo far as I am aware, this tale of \"The Lion's Track\" is not\npopularly known in any European country besides Italy; and it is\nnot found in any of the Western versions of the Book of Sindib\u00e1d,\ngenerally known under the title of the \"History of the Seven Wise\nMasters,\" how, then, did it reach Venice, and become among the\npeople \"familiar in their mouths as household words?\" I answer,\nthat the intimate commercial relations which long existed between\nthe Venetian Republic and Egypt and Syria are amply sufficient to\naccount for the currency of this and scores of other Eastern\ntales in Italy. This is not one of those fictions introduced\ninto the south of Europe through the Ottomans, since Boccaccio\nhas made use of the first part of it in his \"Decameron,\" Day I.\nnov. 5; and it is curious to observe that the garbled Venetian\npopular version has preserved the chief characteristic of the\nEastern story--the allegorical reference to the king as a lion\nand his assuring the husband that the lion had done no injury to\nhis \"Vineyard.\"\n\n\n\n\n KING SHAH BAKHT AND HIS WAZIR AL-RAHWAN.--Vol. XI. p. 127.\n\n\n\nWhile the frame-story of this interesting group is similar to\nthat of the Ten Waz\u00edrs (vol. i. p. 55), insomuch as in both a\nking's favourite is sentenced to death in consequence of the\nfalse accusations of his enemies, and obtains a respite from day\nto day by relating stories to the king, there is yet a very\nimportant difference: Like those of the renowned Shahrazad, the\nstories which Al-Rahwan tells have no particular, at least no\nuniform, \"purpose,\" his sole object being to prolong his life by\ntelling the king an entertaining story, promising, when he has\nended his recital, to relate one still \"stranger\" the next night,\nif the king will spare his life another day. On the other hand,\nBakhty\u00e1r, while actuated by the same motive, appeals to the\nking's reason, by relating stories distinctly designed to exhibit\nthe evils of hasty judgements and precipitate conduct--in fact,\nto illustrate the maxim,\n\n Each order given by a reigning king,\n Should after long reflection be expressed;\n For it may be that endless woe will spring\n From a command he paused not to digest.\n\nAnd in this respect they are consistent with the circumstances of\nthe case, like the tales of the Book of Sindib\u00e1d, from which the\nframe of the Ten Waz\u00edrs was imitated, and in which the Waz\u00edrs\nrelate stories showing the depravity and profligacy of women and\nthat no reliance should be placed on their unsupported\nassertions, and to these the lady opposes equally cogent stories\nsetting forth the wickedness and perfidy of men. Closely\nresembling the frame-story of the Ten Waz\u00edrs, however, is that of\na Tamil romance entitled, \"Alakeswara Kath\u00e1,\" a copy of which,\nwritten on palm leaves, was in the celebrated Mackenzie\ncollection, of which Dr. H. H. Wilson published a descriptive\ncatalogue; it is \"a story of the R\u00e1j\u00e1 of Alakepura and his four\nministers, who, being falsely accused of violating the sanctity\nof the inner apartments, vindicate their innocence and disarm the\nking's wrath by relating a number of stories.\" Judging by the\nspecimen given by Wilson, the well-known tale of the Lost Camel,\nit seems probable that the ministers' stories, like those of\nBakhty\u00e1r, are suited to their own case and illustrate the truth\nof the adage that \"appearances are often deceptive.\" Whether in\nthe Siamese collection \"Nonthuk Pakkaranam\" (referred to in vol.\ni. p. 191) the stories related by the Princess Kankras to the\nKing of Pataliput (Palibothra), to save her father's life, are\nsimilarly designed, does not appear from Benfey's notice of the\nwork in his paper in \"Orient and Occident,\" iii. 171 ff. He says\nthat the title of the book, \"Nonthuk Pakkaranam,\" is taken from\nthe name of a wise ox, Nonthuk, that plays the principal part in\nthe longest of the tales, which are all apparently translated\nfrom the Sanskrit, in which language the title would be Nandaka\nPrakaranam, the History of Nandaka.\n\nMost of the tales related by the wazir Al-Rahwan are not only in\nthemselves entertaining, but are of very considerable importance\nfrom the story-comparer's point of view, since in this group\noccur Eastern forms of tales which were known in Italy in the\n14th century, and some had spread over Europe even earlier. The\nreader will have seen from Sir R. F. Burton's notes that not a\nfew of the stories have their parallels or analogues in countries\nfar apart, and it is interesting to find four of them which\nproperly belong to the Eastern texts of the Book of Sindibad,\nwith the frame-story of which that of this group has so close an\naffinity.\n\n\n\n\n THE ART OF ENLARGING PEARLS.--Vol. XI. p.197.\n\n\n\n\"Quoth she, I have a bangle; sell it and buy seed pearls with the\n price; then round them\n and fashion them into great pearls.\"\n\nFor want of a more suitable place, I shall here reproduce an\naccount of the \"Method of making false pearls\" (nothing else\nbeing meant in the above passage), cited, from Postl. Com. Dict.,\nin vol. xxvi. of Rees' Cyclop\u00e6dia,\" London, 1819:\n\n\"Take of thrice distilled vinegar two pounds, Venice turpentine\none pound, mix them together into a mass and put them into a\ncucurbit, fit a head and receiver to it, and after you have luted\nthe joints set it when dry on a sand furnace, to distil the\nvinegar from it; do not give it too much heat, lest the stuff\nswell up. After this put the vinegar into another glass cucurbit\nin which there is a quantity of seed pearls wrapped in a piece of\nthin silk, but so as not to touch the vinegar; put a cover or\nhead upon the cucurbit, lute it well and put it in bal. Mari\u00e6,\nwhere you may let it remain a fortnight. The heat of the balneum\nwill raise the fumes of the vinegar, and they will soften the\npearls in the silk and bring them to the consistence of a paste,\nwhich being done, take them out and mould them to what bigness,\nform, and shape you please. Your mould must be of fine silver,\nthe inside gilt; you must also refrain from touching the paste\nwith your fingers, but use silver-gilt utensils, with which fill\nyour moulds. When they are moulded, bore them through with a\nhog's bristle or gold wire, and then tread them again on gold\nwire, and put them into a glass, close it up, and set them in the\nsun to dry. After they are thoroughly dry, put them in a glass\nmatrass into a stream of running water and leave them there\ntwenty days; by that time they will contract the natural hardness\nand solidity of pearls. Then take them out of the matrass and\nhang them in mercurial water, where they will moisten, swell, and\nassume their Oriental beauty; after which shift them into a\nmatrass hermitically closed to prevent any water coming to them,\nand let it down into a well, to continue there about eight days.\nThen draw the matrass up, and in opening it you will find pearls\nexactly resembling Oriental ones.\" (Here follows a recipe for\nmaking the mercurial water used in the process, with which I need\nnot occupy more space.)\n\nA similar formula, \"To make of small pearls a necklace of large\nones,\" is given in the \"Lady's Magazine\" for 1831, vol. iv., p.\n119, which is said to be extracted from a scarce old book. Thus,\nwhatever mystery may surround the art is Asiatic countries there\nis evidently none about it in Europe. The process appears to be\nsomewhat tedious and complicated, but is doubtless profitable.\n\nIn Philostratus' Life of Appolonius there is a curious passage\nabout pearl-making which has been generally considered as a mere\n\"traveller's tale\": Apollonious relates that the inhabitants of\nthe shores of the Red Sea, after having calmed the water by means\nof oil, dived after the shell-fish, enticed them with some bait\nto open their shells, and having pricked the animals with a\nsharp-pointed instrument, received the liquor that flowed from\nthem in small holes made in an iron vessel, in which it hardened\ninto real pearls.--It is stated by several reputable writers that\nthe Chinese do likewise at the present day. And Sir R. F. Burton\ninforms me that when he was on the coast of Midian he found the\nArabs were in the habit of \"growing\" pearls by inserting a grain\nof sand into the shells.\n\n\n\n\n THE SINGER AND THE DRUGGIST.--Vol. XI. p. 203.\n\n\n\nThe diverting adventures related in the first part of this tale\nshould be of peculiar interest to the student of Shakspeare as\nwell as to those engaged in tracing the genealogy of popular\nfiction. Jonathan Scott has given--for reasons of his own--a\nmeagre abstract of a similar tale which occurs in the \"Bah\u00e1r-i-\nD\u00e1nish\" (vol. iii. App., p. 291), as follows:\n\n\n PERSIAN VERSION\n\nA young man, being upon business in a certain city, goes on a\nhunting excursion, and, fatigued with the chase, stops at a\ncountry house to ask refreshment. The lady of the mansion\nreceives him kindly, and admits him as her lover. In the midst\nof their dalliance the husband comes home, and the young man had\nno recourse to escape discovery but to jump into a basin which\nwas in the court of the house, and stand with head in a hollow\ngourd that happened to be in the water. The husband, surprised\nto see the gourd stationary in the water, which was itself\nagitated by the wind, throws a stone at it, when the lover slips\nfrom beneath it and holds his breath till almost suffocated.\nFortunately, the husband presently retires with his wife into an\ninner room of the house, and thus the young man was enabled to\nmake good his escape.\n\nThe next day he relates his adventure before a large company at a\ncoffee-house. The husband happens to be one of the audience,\nand, meditating revenge, pretends to admire the gallantry of the\nyoung man and invites him to his house. The lover accompanies\nhim, and on seeing his residence is overwhelmed with confusion;\nbut, recovering himself, resolves to abide all hazards, in hopes\nof escaping by some lucky stratagem. His host introduces him to\nhis wife, and begs him to relate his merry adventure before her,\nhaving resolved, when he should finish, to put them both to\ndeath. The young man complies, but with an artful presence of\nmind exclaims at the conclusion, \"Glad was I when I awoke from so\nalarming a dream.\" The husband upon this, after some questions,\nis satisfied that he had only told his dream, and, having\nentertained him nobly, dismisses him kindly.\n\nThe story is told in an elaborate form by Ser Giovanni\nFiorentino, in \"Il Pecorone\" (The Big Sheep, or, as Dunlop has\nit, The Dunce), which was begun in 1378 but not published till\n1554 (at Milan). It is the second novel of the First Day and has\nbeen thus translated by Roscoe:\n\n\n SER GIOVANNI'S VERSION\n\nThere were once two very intimate friends, both of the family of\nSaveli, in Rome; the name of one of whom was Bucciolo; that of\nthe other Pietro Paolo, both of good birth and easy\ncircumstances. Expressing a mutual wish to study for a while\ntogether at Bologna they took leave of their relatives and set\nout. One of them attached himself to the study of the civil law,\nthe other to that of the canon law, and thus they continued to\napply themselves for some length of time. But the subject of\nDecretals takes a much narrower range than is embraced by the\ncommon law, so Bucciolo, who pursued the former, made greater\nprogress than did Pietro Paolo, and, having taken a licentiate's\ndegree, he began to think of returning to Rome. \"You see, my\ndear fellow student,\" he observed to his friend Paolo, \"I am now\na licentiate, and it is time for me to think of moving\nhomewards.\" \"Nay, not so,\" replied his companion; \"I have to\nentreat you will not think of leaving me here this winter. Stay\nfor me till spring, and we can return together. In the meantime\nyou may pursue some other study, so that you need not lose any\ntime;\" and to this Bucciolo at length consented, promising to\nawait his relative's own good time.\n\nHaving thus resolved, he had immediate recourse to his former\ntutor, informing him of his determination to bear his friend\ncompany a little longer, and entreating to be employed in some\npleasant study to beguile the period during which he had to\nremain. The professor begged him to suggest something he should\nlike, as he should be very happy to assist him in its attainment.\n\"My worthy tutor,\" replied Bucciolo, \"I think I should like to\nlearn the way in which one falls in love, and the best manner to\nbegin.\" \"O very good!\" cried the tutor, laughing. \"You could\nnot have hit upon anything better, for you must know that, if\nsuch be your object I am a complete adept in the art. To lose\nno time, in the first place go next Sunday to the church of the\nFrati Minori (Friars Minor of St. Francis), where all the ladies\nwill be clustered together, and pay proper attention during\nservice in order to discover if any one of them in particular\nhappens to please you. When you have done this, keep your eye\nupon her after service, to see the way she takes to her\nresidence, and then come back to me. And let this be the first\nlesson--the first part--of that in which it is my intention to\ninstruct you.\" Bucciolo went accordingly, and taking his station\nthe next Sunday in the church, as he had been directed, his eyes,\nwandering in every direction, were fixed upon all the pretty\nwomen in the place, and upon one in particular, who pleased him\nabove all the rest. She was by far the most beautiful and\nattractive lady he could discover, and on leaving church he took\ncare to obey his master and follow her until he had made himself\nacquainted with her residence. Nor was it long before the young\nlady began to perceive that the student was smitten with her;\nupon which Bucciolo returned to his master and informed him of\nwhat he had done. \"I have,\" said he, \"learned as much as you\nordered me, and have found somebody I like very well.\" \"So far,\ngood,\" cried the professor, not a little amused at the sort of\nscience to which his pupil had thus seriously devoted himself--\n\"so far, good! And now observe what I have next to say to you:\nTake care to walk two or three times a day very respectfully\nbefore her house, casting your eyes about you in such a way that\nno one may catch you staring in her face; look in a modest and\nbecoming manner, so that she cannot fail to notice and be struck\nwith it. And then return to me; and this, sir, will be the\nsecond lesson in this gay science.\"\n\nSo the scholar went and promenaded with great discretion before\nthe lady's door, who observed that he appeared to be passing to\nand fro out of respect to one of the inhabitants. This attracted\nher attention, for which Bucciolo very discreetly expressed his\ngratitude by looks and bows, which being as often returned, the\nscholar began to be aware that the lady liked him. He\nimmediately went and told the professor all that had passed, who\nreplied, \"Come, you have done very well. I am hitherto quite\nsatisfied. It is now time for you to find some way of speaking\nto her, which you may easily do by means of those gipsies who\nhaunt the streets of Bologna, crying ladies' veils, purses and\nother articles for sale. Send word by her that you are the\nlady's most faithful, devoted servant, and that there is no one\nin the world you so much wish to please. In short, let her urge\nyour suit, and take care to bring the answer to me as soon as you\nhave received it. I will then tell you how you are to proceed.\"\n\nDeparting in all haste, he soon found a little old pedlar woman,\nquite perfect in the trade, to whom he said he should take it as\na particular favour if she would do one thing, for which he would\nreward her handsomely. Upon this she declared her readiness to\nserve him in anything he pleased. \"For you know,\" she added, \"it\nis my business to get money in every way I can.\" Bucciolo gave\nher two florins, saying, \"I wish you to go for me to-day as far\nas the Via Maccarella, where resides a young lady of the name of\nGiovanna, for whom I have the very highest regard. Pray tell her\nso, and recommend me to her most affectionately, so as to obtain\nfor me her good graces by every means in your power. I entreat\nyou to have my interest at heart, and to say such pretty things\nas she cannot refuse to hear.\" \"O leave that to me, sir,\" said\nthe little old woman, \"I will not fail to say a good word for you\nat the proper time.\" \"Delay not,\" said Bucciolo, \"but go now,\nand I will wait for you here;\" and she set off at once, taking\nher basket of trinkets under her arm. On approaching the place,\nshe saw the lady before the door, enjoying the air, and curtseying\nto her very low, \"Do I happen to have anything here you would\nfancy?\" she said, displaying her wares. \"Pray, take something,\nmadam--whatever pleases you best.\" Veils, stays, purses, and\nmirrors were now spread in the most tempting way before the\nlady's eyes. Out of all these things her attention seemed to be\nmost attracted by a beautiful purse, which, she observed, if she\ncould afford, she should like to purchase. \"Nay, madam,\"\nexclaimed the crone, \"do not think anything about the price--take\nanything yo please, since they are all paid for already, I assure\nyou.\" Surprised at hearing this, and perceiving the very\nrespectful manner of the speaker, the lady rejoined, \"Do you know\nwhat you are saying? What do you mean by that?\" The old woman,\npretending now to be much affected, said, \"Well, madam, if it\nmust be so, I shall tell you. It is very true that a young\ngentleman of the name of Bucciolo sent me hither; one who loves\nyou better than all the world besides. There is nothing he would\nnot do to please you, and indeed he appears to very wretched\nbecause he cannot speak to you, and he is so very good, that it\nis quite a pity. I think it will be the death of him, and then\nhe is such a fine--such an elegant--young man, the more is the\npity!\" on hearing this, the lady, blushing deeply, turned\nsharply round upon the little old woman, exclaiming, \"O you\nwicked creature! were it not for the sake of my own reputation, I\nwould give you such a lesson that you should remember it to the\nlatest day of your life! A pretty story to come before decent\npeople with! Are you not ashamed of yourself to let such words\ncome out of your mouth?\" Then seizing an iron bar that lay\nacross the doorway, \"Ill betide you, little wretch!\" she cried,\nas she brandished it. \"If you ever come this way again, depend\non it, you will never go back alive!\" The trembling old trot,\nquickly bundling up her wares, scampered off, in dread of feeling\nthat cruel weapon on her shoulders, nor did she think of stopping\ntill she had reached the place where Bucciolo stood waiting her\nreturn. Eagerly inquiring the news and how she succeeded, \"O\nvery badly--very badly,\" answered the crone. \"I was never in\nsuch a fright in all my life. Why, she will neither see nor\nlisten to you, and if I had not run away, I should have felt the\nweight of a great iron bar upon my shoulders. For my own part, I\nshall go there no more; and I advise you, signor, to look to\nyourself how you proceed in such affairs in future.\"\n\nPoor Bucciolo became quite disconsolate, and returned in all\nhaste to acquaint the professor with this unlucky result. But\nthe professor, not a whit cast down, consoled him, saying, \"Do\nnot despair; a tree is not levelled at a single stroke, you know.\nI think you must have a repetition of your lesson to-night. So\ngo and walk before her door as usual; notice how she eyes you,\nand whether she appears angry or not, and then come back again to\nme.\" Bucciolo accordingly proceeded without delay to the lady's\nhouse. The moment she perceived him she called her maid and said\nto her, \"Quick, quick--hasten after the young man--that is he,\nand tell him from me that he must come and speak with me this\nevening without fail--without fail.\" The girl soon came up with\nBucciolo, and thus addressed him: \"My lady, signor, my lady,\nGiovanna, would be glad of your company this evening, she would\nbe very glad to speak with you.\" Greatly surprised at this,\nBucciolo replied, \"Tell your lady I shall be most happy to wait\nupon her,\" so saying, he set off once more to the professor, and\nreported the progress of the affair. But this time the master\nlooked a little more serious; for, from some trivial\ncircumstances put together, he began to entertain suspicions that\nthe lady was (as it really turned out) no other than his own\nwife. So he rather anxiously inquired of Bucciolo whether he\nintended to accept the invitation. \"To be sure I do,\" replied\nhis pupil. \"Then,\" said the professor, \"promise that you will\ncome here before you set off.\" \"Certainly I will,\" answered\nBucciolo readily, and took his leave.\n\nNow Bucciolo was far from suspecting that the lady bore so near a\nrelationship to his respected tutor, although the latter began to\nbe rather uneasy as to the result, feeling some twinges of\njealousy which were by no means pleasant. For he passed most of\nhis winter evenings at the college where he gave lectures, and\nnot unfrequently remained there for the night. \"I should be\nsorry,\" said he to himself, \"if this young gentleman were\nlearning these things at my expense, and I must therefore know\nthe real state of the case.\" In the evening his pupil called\naccording to promise, saying, \"Worthy master, I am now ready to\ngo.\" \"Well, go,\" replied the professor; \"but be wise, Signor\nBucciolo--be wise and think more than once what you are about.\"\n\"Trust me for that,\" said the scholar, a little piqued: \"I shall\ngo well provided, and not walk into the mouth of danger unarmed.\"\nAnd away he went, furnished with a good cuirass, a rapier, and a\nstiletto in his belt. He was no sooner on his way than the\nprofessor slipped out quietly after him, dogging his steps\nclosely, until, trembling with rage, he saw him stop at his own\nhouse-door, which, on a smart tap being given, was quickly opened\nby the lady herself and the pupil admitted. When the professor\nsaw that it was indeed his own wife, he was quite overwhelmed and\nthought, \"Alas, I fear this young fellow has learned more than he\nconfesses at my expense;\" and vowing to be revenged, he ran back\nto the college, where arming himself with sword and dagger, he\nthen hastened to his house in a terrible passion. Arriving at his\nown door, he knocked loudly, and the lady, sitting before the\nfire with Bucciolo, instantly knew it was her husband, so taking\nhold of Bucciolo, she concealed him hurriedly under a heap of\ndamp clothes lying on a table near the window for ironing, which\ndone, she ran to the door and inquired who was there. \"Open\nquickly,\" exclaimed the professor. \"You vile woman, you shall\nsoon know who is here!\" On opening the door, she beheld him with\na drawn sword, and cried in well-affected alarm, \"O my dearest\nlife, what means this?\" \"You know very well what it means,\" said\nhe. \"The villain is now in the house.\" \"Good Heaven! what is\nthat you say?\" exclaimed the lady. \"Are you gone out of your\nwits? Come and search the house, and if you find anybody, I will\ngive you leave to kill me on the spot. What! do you think I\nshould now begin to misconduct myself as I never before did \u2013 as\nnone of my family ever did before? Beware lest the Evil One\nshould be tempting you, and, suddenly depriving you of your\nsenses, draw you to perdition!\" But the professor, calling for\ncandles, began to search the house from the cellar upwards--among\nthe tubs and casks--in every place but the right place--running\nhis sword through the beds and under the beds, and into every\ninch of the bedding--leaving no corner or crevice of the whole\nhouse untouched. The lady accompanied him with a candle in her\nhand, frequently interrupting him with, \"Say your beads--say your\nbeads, good signor; it is certain that the Evil One is dealing\nwith you, for were I half so bad as you esteem me, I would kill\nmyself with my own hands. But I entreat you not to give way to\nthis evil suggestion: oppose the adversary while you can.\"\nHearing these virtuous observations of his wife, and not being\nable to discover any one after the strictest search, the\nprofessor began to think that he must, after all, be possessed,\nand presently extinguished the lights and returned to the\ncollege. The lady, on shutting the door after him, called out to\nBucciolo to come from his hiding place, and then, stirring the\nfire, began to prepare a fine capon for supper, with some\ndelicious wines and fruits. And thus they regaled themselves,\nhighly entertained with each other, nor was it their least\nsatisfaction that the professor had just left them, apparently\nconvinced that they had learned nothing at his expense.\n\nProceeding to the college the next morning, Bucciolo, without the\nleast suspicion of the truth, informed his master that he had\nsomething for his ear which he was sure would make him laugh.\n\"How so?\" demanded the professor. \"Why,\" said his pupil, \"you\nmust know that last night, just as I had entered the lady's\nhouse, who should come in but her husband, and in such a rage!\nHe searched the whole house from top to bottom, without being\nable to find me. I lay under a heap of newly-washed clothes,\nwhich were not half dry. In short, the lady played her part so\nwell that the poor gentleman forthwith took his leave, and we\nafterwards ate a fine capon for supper and drank such wines--and\nwith such zest! It was really one of the pleasantest evenings I\never spent in my life. But I think I'll go and take a nap, for I\npromised to return this evening about the same hour.\" \"Then be\nsure before you go,\" said the professor, trembling with\nsuppressed rage, \"be sure to come and tell me when you set out.\"\n\"O certainly,\" responded Bucciolo, and away he went. Such was\nnow the unhappy tutor's condition as to render him incapable of\ndelivering a single lecture during the whole day, and such was\nhis extreme vexation and eagerness for evening, that he spent his\ntime in arming himself with sword and dagger and cuirass,\nmeditating only upon deeds of blood. At the appointed time came\nBucciolo, with the utmost innocence, saying, \"My dear master, I\nam going now.\" \"Yes, go,\" replied the professor, \"and come back\nto-morrow morning, if you can, and tell me how you have fared.\"\n\"I intend doing so,\" said Bucciolo, and departed at a brisk pace\nfor the house of the lady.\n\nArmed cap-\u00e0-pie, the professor ran out after him, keeping pretty\nclose to his heels, with the intention of catching him just as he\nentered. But the lady, being on the watch, opened the door\nsuddenly for the pupil and shut it in her husband's face. The\nprofessor began to knock and to call out with a furious noise.\nExtinguishing the light in a moment, the lady placed Bucciolo\nbehind the door, and throwing her arms round her husband's neck\nas he entered, motioned to her lover while thus she held his\nenemy to make his escape, and he, upon the husband's rushing\nforward, slipped out from behind the door unperceived. She then\nbegan to scream as loud as she could, \"Help! Help! The professor\nhas gone mad! Will nobody help me?\" for he was in an ungovernable\nrage, and she clung faster to him than before. The neighbours\nrunning to her assistance and seeing the peaceable professor\narmed with deadly weapons, and his wife crying out, \"Help, for\nthe love of Heaven!--too much study hath driven him mad!\"{ they\nreadily believed such to be the fact. \"Come, good signor,\" they\nsaid, \"what is all this about? Try to compose yourself--nay, do\nnot struggle so hard, but let us help you to your couch.\" \"How\ncan I rest, think you,\" he replied, \"while this wicked woman\nharbours paramours in my house? I saw him come in with my own\neyes.\" \"Wretch that I am!\" cried his wife. \"inquire of all my\nfriends and neighbours whether any one of them ever saw anything\nthe least unbecoming in my conduct.\" The whole party with one voice entreated\nthe professor to lay such thoughts aside, for there was not a\nbetter lady breathing, or one who set a higher value upon her\nreputation. \"But how can that be,\" said he, \"when I saw him\nenter the house, and he is in it now?\" In the meanwhile the\nlady's two brothers arrived, when she began to weep bitterly,\nexclaiming, \"O my dear brothers, my poor husband has gone mad,\nquite mad--and he even says there is a man in the house. I\nbelieve he would kill me if he could; but you know me too well to\nlisten for a moment to such a story,\" and she continued to weep.\n\nThe brothers then accosted the professor in no gentle terms: \"We\nare surprised, signor--we are shocked to find that you dare\nbestow such epithets on our sister. What can have led you, after\nliving so amicably together, to bring these charges against her\nnow?\" \"I can only tell you,\" answered the professor, \"that there\nis a man in the house. I saw him enter.\" \"Then come, and let us\nfind him. Show him to us,\" retorted the incensed brothers, \"for\nwe will sift this matter to the bottom. Show us the man, and we\nwill then punish her in such a way as will satisfy you.\" One of\nthe brothers, taking his sister aside, said, \"First tell me, have\nyou really got any one hidden in the house? Tell the truth.\"\n\"Heavens!\" cried his sister, \"I tell you, I would rather suffer\ndeath. Should I be the first to bring a scandal on our house? I\nwonder you are not ashamed to mention such a thing.\" Rejoiced to\nhear this, the brothers, directed by the professor, at once\ncommenced a search. Half frantic, he led them at once to the\ngreat bundle of linen, which he pierced through and through with\nhis sword, firmly believing that he was killing Bucciolo, all the\nwhile taunting him at every blow. \"There! I told you,\" cried his\nwife, \"that he was mad. To think of destroying your own property\nthus! It is plain he did not help to get them up,\" she\ncontinued, whimpering--\"all my best clothes!\"\n\nHaving now sought everywhere in vain, one of the brothers\nobserved, \"He is indeed mad,\" to which the other agreed, while he\nagain attacked the professor in the bitterest terms: \"You have\ncarried matters too far, signor; your conduct to our sister is\nshameful, and nothing but insanity can excuse it.\" Vexed enough\nbefore, the professor upon this flew into a violent passion, and\nbrandished his naked sword in such a way that the others were\nobliged to use their sticks, which they did so very effectively\nthat, after breaking them over his head, they chained him down\nlike a maniac upon the floor, declaring he had lost his wits by\nexcessive study, and taking possession of his house, they\nremained with their sister all night. Next morning they sent for\na physician, who ordered a couch to be placed as near as possible\nto the fire, that no one should be allowed to speak or reply to\nthe patient, and that he should be strictly dieted until he\nrecovered his wits; and this regimen was diligently\nenforced.[FN#489]\n\nA report immediately spread through Bologna that the good\nprofessor had become insane, which caused very general regret,\nhis friends observing to each other, \"It is indeed a bad\nbusiness; but I suspected yesterday how it was--he could scarcely\nget a word out as he was delivering his lecture, did you not\nperceive?\" \"Yes,\" said another, \"I saw him change colour, poor\nfellow.\" And by everybody, everywhere, it was decided that the\nprofessor was mad. In this situation numbers of his scholars\nwent to see him, and among the rest Bucciolo, knowing nothing of\nwhat had happened, agreed to accompany them to the college,\ndesirous of acquainting his master with last night's adventure.\nWhat was his surprise to learn that he had actually taken leave\nof his senses, and being directed on leaving the college to the\nprofessor's house, he was almost panic-struck on approaching the\nplace, beginning to comprehend the whole affair. Yet, in order\nthat no one might be led to suspect the truth, he walked into the\nhouse along with the rest, and on reaching a certain apartment\nwhich he knew, he beheld his poor tutor almost beaten to a mummy,\nand chained down upon his bed, close to the fire. His pupils\nwere standing round condoling with him and lamenting his piteous\ncase. At length it came to Bucciolo's turn to say something to\nhim, which he did as follows: \"My dear master, I am as truly\nconcerned for you as if you were my own father, and if there is\nanything in which I can be of service to you, command me as your\nown son.\" To this the poor professor only replied, \"No,\nBucciolo, depart in peace, my pupil; depart, for you have learned\nmuch, very much, at my expense.\" Here his wife interrupted him:\n\"You see how he wanders--heed not what he says--pay no attention\nto him, signor.\" Bucciolo, however, prepared to depart, and\ntaking a hasty leave of the professor, he proceeded to the\nlodging of his friend Pietro Paolo, and said to him, \"Fare you\nwell. God bless you, my friend. I must away; and I have lately\nlearned so much at other people's expense that I am going home.\"\nSo saying, he hurried away, and in due course arrived in safety\nin Rome.\n\nThe affliction of the professor of Giovanni's sprightly tale will\nprobably be considered by most readers as well-merited\npunishment; the young gallant proved an apt scholar in the art of\nlove, and here was the inciter to evil repaid with the same coin!\n\nStraparola also tells the story, but in a different form, in his\n\"Pleasant Nights\" (Piacevoli Notti), First Day, second novella;\nand his version is taken into a small collection entitled\n\"Tarlton's Newes out of Purgatorie,\" first published in or before\n1590--a catchpenny tract in which, of course, Dick Tarlton had\nnever a hand, any more than he had in the collection of jests\nwhich goes under his name.\n\n\n STRAPAROLA'S VERSION[FN#490]\n\nIn Pisa, a famous cittie of Italye, there lived a gentleman of good\nlinage and landes, feared as well for his wealth, as honoured\nfor his vertue, but indeed well thought on for both; yet the\nbetter for his riches. This gentleman had one onelye daughter,\ncalled Margaret, who for her beauty was liked of all, and desired\nof many. But neither might their sutes nor her owne prevaile\nabout her father's resolution, who was determyned not to marrye\nher, but to such a man as should be able in abundance to maintain\nthe excellency of her beauty. Divers yong gentlemen proffered\nlarge feoffments, but in vaine, a maide shee must bee still: till\nat last an olde doctor in the towne, that professed phisicke,\nbecame a sutor to her, who was a welcome man to her father, in\nthat he was one of the welthiest men in all Pisa; a tall\nstripling he was and a proper youth, his age about foure score,\nhis heade as white as milke, wherein for offence sake there was\nleft never a tooth. But it is no matter, what he wanted in\nperson he had in the purse, which the poore gentlewoman little\nregarded, wishing rather to tie herself to one that might fit her\ncontent, though they lived meanely, then to him with all the\nwealth in Italye. But shee was yong, and forcst to follow her\nfather's direction, who, upon large covenants, was content his\ndaughter should marry with the doctor, and whether she likte him\nor no, the match was made up, and in short time she was married.\nThe poore wench was bound to the stake, and had not onely an olde\nimpotent man, but one that was so jealous, as none might enter\ninto his house without suspition, nor shee doo any thing without\nblame; the least glance, the smallest countenance, any smile was\na manifest instance to him that she thought of others better than\nhimselfe. Thus he himselfe lived in a hell, and tormented his\nwife in as ill perplexitie.\n\nAt last it chaunced that a young gentleman of the citie, comming\nby her house, and seeing her looke out at her window, noting her\nrare and excellent proportion, fell in love with her, and that so\nextreamelye, as his passions had no meanes till her favour might\nmittigate his heart sicke discontent. The yong man that was\nignorant in amorous matters, and had never beene used to courte\nanye gentlewoman, thought to reveale his passions to some one\nfreend that might given him counsaile for the winning of her\nlove, and thinking experience was the surest maister, on a daye\nseeing the olde doctor walkinge in the churche that was\nMargaret's husband, little knowing who he was, he thought this\nthe fittest man to whom he might discover his passions, for that\nhee was olde and knew much, and was a phisition that with his\ndrugges might helpe him forward in his purposes, so that seeing\nthe olde man walke solitary, he joinde unto him, and after a\ncurteous salute, tolde him that he was to impart a matter of\ngreat import to him, wherein, if hee would not onely be secrete,\nbut indevour to pleasure him, his pains should bee every way to\nthe full considered. You must imagine, gentleman, quoth Mutio,\nfor so was the doctor's name, that men of our profession are no\nblabs, but hold their secrets in their hearts bottome, and\ntherefore reveale what you please, it shall not onely be\nconcealed, but cured, if either my art or counsaile may doo it.\nUpon this, Lyonell, so was the young gentleman called, told and\ndiscourst unto him from point to point, how he was falne in love\nwith a gentlewoman that was married to one of his profession,\ndiscovered her dwelling and the house, and for that he was\nunacquainted with the woman, and a man little experienced in love\nmatters, he required his favour to further him with his advice.\nMutio at this motion was stung to the hart, knowing it was his\nwife hee was fallen in love withall, yet to conceale the matter,\nand to experience his wive's chastity, and that if she plaide\nfalse, he might be revenged on them both, he dissembled the\nmatter, and answered that he knewe the woman very well, and\ncommended her highly: but said she had a churle to her husband,\nand therefore he thought shee would bee the more tractable: Trye\nher, man, quoth hee, fainte harte never wonne faire lady, and if\nshee will not be brought to the bent of your bowe, I will provide\nsuch a potion as shall dispatch all to your owne content: and to\ngive you further instructions for oportunitie, knowe that her\nhusband is foorth every after-noone from three till sixe. Thus\nfarre I have advised you, because I pitty your passions, as my\nselfe being once a lover, but now I charge thee reveale it to\nnone whomsoever, least it doo disparage my credit to meddle in\namorous matters.\n\nThe yong gentleman not onely promised all carefull secrecy, but\ngave him harty thanks for his good counsell, promising to meete\nhim there the next day, and tell him what newes. Then hee left\nthe old man, who was almost mad for feare his wife any way should\nplay false; he saw by experience brave men came to besiege the\ncastle, and seeing it was in a woman's custodie, and had so weeke a\ngovernor as himselfe, he doubted it would in time be delivered\nup: which feare made him almost franticke, yet he drivde of the\ntime great torment, till he might heare from his rival. Lionello\nhe hastes him home and sutes him in his braverye, and goes downe\ntoward the house of Mutio, where he sees her at the windowe, whome\nhe courted with a passionate looke, with such humble salute as\nshee might perceive how the gentleman was affectionate.\nMargaretta, looking earnestlye upon him, and noting the\nperfection of his proportion, accounted him in her eye the flower\nof all Pisa, thinkte herselfe fortunate if shee might have him\nfor her freend, to supply the defaultes that she found in Mutio.\nSundry times that afternoone he past by her window, and he cast\nnot up more loving lookes, then he received gratious favours,\nwhich did so incourage him that the next daye betweene three and\nsixe hee went to her house, and knocking at the doore, desired to\nspeake with the mistris of the house, who hearing by her maid's\ndescription what he was, commaunded him to come in, where she\nintertained him with all courtesie.\n\nThe youth that never before had given the attempt to court a\nladye, began his exordium with a blushe; and yet went forward so\nwell, that hee discourst unto her howe hee loved her, and that if\nit might please her to accept of his service, as of a freende\never vowde in all dutye to bee at her commaunde, the care of her\nhonour should bee deerer to him than his life, and hee would be\nready to prise her discontent with his bloud at all times. The\ngentlewoman was a little coye, but, before they part, they\nconcluded that the next daye at foure of the clock hee should\ncome thither and eate a pound of cherries, which was resolved on\nwith a succado des labras, and so with a loath to depart they\ntooke their leaves. Lionello as joyfull a man as might be, hyed\nhim to the church to meete his olde doctor, where he found him in\nhis olde walke: What newes, syr, quoth Mutio, how have you sped?\nEven as I can wishe, quoth Lionello, for I have been with my\nmistrisse, and have found her so tractable, that I hope to make\nthe olde peasant, her husband, looke broadheaded by a paire of\nbrowantlers. How deepe this strooke into Mutio's hart, let them\nimagine that can conjecture what jelousie is; insomuch that the\nolde doctor askte when should be the time. Marry, quoth\nLionello, tomorrow, at foure of the clocke in the afternoone, and then\nMaister Doctor, quoth hee, will I dub the old squire knight of\nthe forked order.\n\nThus they past on in that, till it grew late, and then Lyonello\nwent home to his lodging and Mutio to his house, covering all his\nsorrows with a merrye countenance, with full resolution to\nrevenge them both the next daye with extremitie. He past the\nnight as patiently as he could, and the next daye, after dinner,\nawaye hee went, watching when it should bee foure of the clocke.\nAt the hour justly came Lyonello and was intertained with all\ncurtesie; but scarce had they kist, ere the maide cryed out to her\nmistresse that her maister was at the doore; for he hasted,\nknowing that a horne was but a litle while in grafting.\nMargaret, at this alarum, was amazed, and yet for a shift chopt\nLionello into a great driefatte[FN#491] full of feathers,[FN#492]\nand sat her downe close to her woorke. By that came Mutio in\nblowing, and as though hee came to looke somewhat in haste,\ncalled for the keyes of his chamber, and looked in everye place,\nsearching so narrowlye in everye corner of the house, that he\nleft not the very privie unsearcht. Seeing he could not finde\nhim, hee said nothing, but fayning himselfe not well at ease,\nstaide at home; so that poor Lionello was faine to staye in the\ndrifatte till the olde churle was in bed with his wife; and then\nthe maide let him out at a backe doore, who went home with a flea\nin his eare to his lodging.\n\nWell, the next day he went againe to meete his doctor, whome he\nfounde in his wonted walke. What newes? Quoth Mutio, how have\nyou sped? A poxe of the olde slave, quoth Lyonello; I was no\nsooner in and had given my mistresse one kisse, but the jelous\nasse was at the doore; the maide spied him, and cryed her\nmaister; so that the poore gentlewoman, for very shifte, was\nfaine to put me in a driefatte of feathers that stoode in an olde\nchamber, and there I was faine to tarry while[FN#493] he was in\nbed and a-sleepe, and then the maide let me out, and I departed.\nBut it is no matter; 'twas but a chaunce, and I hope to crye\nquittance with him ere it be long. As how? Quoth Mutio. Marry,\nthus, quoth Lionello: shee sent me woord by her maide this daye\nthat upon Thursday next the olde churle suppeth with a patient of\nhis a mile out of Pisa, and then I feare not but to\nquitte[FN#494] him for all. It is well, quoth Mutio; fortune bee\nyour frende. I thanke you, quoth Lionello: and so, after a\nlittle more prattle, they departed.\n\nTo bee shorte, Thursdaye came, and about sixe of the clocke,\nfoorth goes Mutio no further than a freendes house of his, from\nwhence he might descrye who went into his house; straight hee saw\nLionello enter in, and after goes hee, insomuche that hee was\nscarcelye sitten downe, before the mayde cryed out againe, my\nmaister comes. The goodwife, that before had provided for after-\nclaps,[FN#495] had found out a privie place between two seelings\nof a plauncher,[FN#496] and there she thrust Lionello, and her\nhusband came sweting. What news, quoth shee, drives you home\nagaine so soone, husband? Marry, sweete wife, quoth he, a\nfearfull dream that I had this night, which came to my\nremembrance, and that was this: me thought there was a villaine\nthat came secretlye into my house, with a naked poinard in his\nhand, and hid himselfe, but I could not finde the place; with\nthat mine nose bled, and I came backe; and, by the grace of God, I\nwill seeke every corner in the house for the quiet of my minde.\nMarry, I pray you doo, husband, quoth she. With that he lockt in\nall the doors, and began to search every chamber, every hole,\nevery chest, every tub, the very well; he stabd every feather bed\nthrough, and made havocke like a mad man, which made him thinke\nall was in vaine; and hee began to blame his eies that thought\nthey saw that which they did not. Upon this he rest halfe\nlunaticke, and all night he was very wakefull, that towards the\nmorning he fell into a dead sleepe, and then was Lionello\nconveighed away.\n\nIn the morning when Mutio wakened, hee thought how by no meanes\nhee should be able to take Lionello tardy: yet he laid in his\nhead a most dangerous plot; and that was this: Wife, quoth he, I\nmust the next Monday ride to Vycensa, to visit an olde patient of\nmine; till my returne, which will be some ten dayes, I will have\nthee staye at our little graunge house in the countrey. Marry,\nvery well content, quoth she. With that he kist her, and was\nverye pleasant, as though he had suspected nothing, and away hee\nflings to the church, where he meetes Lionello. What, sir, quoth\nhe, what news? is your mistresse yours in possession? No, a\nplague of the olde slave, quoth hee. I think he is either a\nwitch or els woorkes by magick; for I can no sooner enter into\nthe doores, but he is at my backe, and so he was againe\nyesternight; for I was not warm in my seate before the maide\ncryed, my maister comes; and then was the poore soule faine to\nconveigh me betweene two seelings of a chamber, in a fit place\nfor the purpose, wher I laught hartely to myself too see how he\nsought every corner, ransakt every tub, and stabd every feather\nbed, but in vaine; I was safe enough until the morning, and then,\nwhen he was fast asleepe, I lept out. Fortune frownes on you,\nquoth Mutio. I,[FN#497] but I hope, quoth Lionello, this is the\nlast time, and now shee will begin to smile; for on Monday next\nhe rides to Vicensa, and his wife lyes at the grange house a\nlittle (out) of the towne, and there in his absence I will\nrevenge all forepast misfortunes. God sent it be so, quoth\nMutio; and so took his leave.\n\nThese two lovers longd for Monday, and at last it came. Early in\nthe morning Mutio horst himselfe and his wife, his maide and a\nman, and no more, and away he rides to his grange house, wher,\nafter he had brok his fast, he took his leave, and away towards\nVicensa. He rode not far ere, by a false way, he returned into\na thicket, and there, with a company of cuntry peasants, lay in\nan ambuscade to take the young gentleman. In the afternoon comes\nLionello galloping, and as soon as he came within sight of the\nhouse, he sent back his horse by his boy, and went easily afoot,\nand there, at the very entry, was entertained by Margaret, who\nled him up the staires, and convaid him into her bedchamber,\nsaying he was welcome into so mean a cottage. But, quoth she,\nnow I hope fortun shall not envy the purity of our loves. Alas!\nalas! mistris, cried the maid, heer is my maister, and 100 men\nwith him, with bils and staves. We are betraid, quoth Lionel,\nand I am but a dead man. Feare not, quoth she, but follow me:\nand straight she carried him downe into a low parlor, where\nstoode an olde rotten chest full of writinges; she put him into\nthat, and covered him with olde papers and evidences, and went to\nthe gate to meet her husband.\n\nWhy, Signor Mutio, what meanes this hurly burly? quoth she. Vile\nand shameless strumpet as thou art, thou shalt know by and by,\nquoth he. Where is thy love? All we have watcht him and seen\nhim enter in. Now, quoth he, shall neither thy tub of feathers\nor thy seeling serve, for perish he shall with fire, or els fall\ninto my handes. Doo thy worst, jealous foole, quoth she, I ask\nthee no favour. With that, in a rage, he beset the house round,\nand then set fire on it. Oh, in what perplexitie was poore\nLionello in that he was shut in a chest, and the fire about his\neares! and how was Margaret passionat, that knew her lover was in\nsuch danger! Yet she made light of the matter, and, as one in a\nrage, called her maid to her and said: Come on, wench, seeing thy\nmaister, mad with jelousie, hath set the house and al my living\non fire, I will be revengd on him: help me heer to lift this old\nchest where all his writings and deeds are; let that burne first,\nand as soon as I see that on fire I will walke towards my\nfreends, for the olde foole will be beggard, and I will refuse\nhim. Mutio, that knew al his obligations and statutes lay there,\npuld her back and bad two of his men carry the chest into the\nfield, and see it were safe, himselfe standing by and seeing his\nhouse burned downe sticke and stone. Then, quieted in his mind,\nhe went home with his wife and began to flatter her, thinking\nassuredly that he had burnt her paramour, causing his chest to be\ncarried in a cart to his house in Pisa. Margaret, impatient,\nwent to her mother's and complained to her and her brethren of\nthe jealousie of her husband, who maintaned her it to be true,\nand desired but a daies respite to proove it.\n\nWel, hee was bidden to supper the next night at her mother's, she\nthinking to make her daughter and him freends againe. In the\nmeane time he to his woonted walk in the church, and there,\npr\u00e6ter expectationem, he found Lionello walking. Wondring at\nthis, he straight enquires what newes. What newes, Maister\nDoctor, quoth he, and he fell in a great laughing; in faith\nyesterday, I scapt a scouring, for syrrha, I went to the grange-\nhouse, where I was appointed to come, and I was no sooner gotten\nup the chamber, but the magicall villeine, her husband, beset\nthe house with bils and staves, and that he might be sure no\nseeling nor corner should shrowde me, he set the house on fire,\nand so burnt it downe to the ground. Why, quoth Mutio, and how\ndid you escape? Alas, quoth he, wel fare a woman's wit; she\nconveighed me into an old chest full of writings, which she knew\nher husband durst not burne, and so I was saved and brought to\nPisa, and yesternight, by her maide, let home to my lodging.\nThis, quoth he, is the pleasantest jest that ever I heard; and\nupon this I have a sute to you: I am this night bidden foorth to\nsupper, you shall be my guest, onely I will crave so much favour,\nas after supper for a pleasant sporte, to make relation what\nsuccesse you have had in your loves. For that I will not sticke,\nquoth he, and so he conveyed Lionello to his mother-in-law's\nhouse with him, and discovered to his wive's brethren who he was,\nand how at supper he would disclose the whole matter; For, quoth\nhe, he knowes not that I am Margaret's husband. At this all the\nbrethren bad him welcome, and so did the mother to, and Margaret,\nshe was kept out of sight. Supper time being come they fell to\ntheir victals, and Lionello was carrowst unto by Mutio, who was\nvery pleasant, to drawe him into a merry humour, that he might to\nthe ful discourse the effect and fortunes of his love. Supper\nbeing ended, Mutio requested him to tel to the gentlemen what had\nhapned between him and his mistresse. Lionello, with a smiling\ncountenance, began to describe his mistresse, the house and\nstreet where she dwelt, how he fell in love with her, and how he\nused the councell of this doctor, who in all his affaires was his\nsecretarye. Margaret heard all this with a great feare, and when\nhe came to the last point, she caused a cup of wine to be given\nhim by one of her sisters, wherein was a ring that he had given\nMargaret. As he had told how he had escapt burning, and was\nready to confirme all for a troth, the gentlewoman drunke to him,\nwho taking the cup and seeing the ring, having a quick wit and a\nreaching head, spide the fetch, and perceived that all this while\nthis was his lover's husband to whome hee had revealed these\nescapes; at this drinking the wine and swallowing the ring into\nhis mouth he went forward. Gentlemen, quoth he, how like you of\nmy loves and my fortunes? Wel, quoth the gentlemen; I pray you\nis it true? As true, quoth he, as if I would be so simple as to\nreveal what I did to Margaret's husband; for, know you,\ngentlemen, that I knew this Mutio to be her husband whom I\nnotified to be my lover; and for that he was generally known\nthroughout Pisa to be a jealous fool, therefore, with these tales\nI brought him into paradice, which are follies of mine owne\nbraine; for, trust me, by the faith of a gentleman, I never spake\nto the woman, was never in her companye, neyther doo I know her\nif I see her. At this they all fell in a laughing at Mutio, who\nwas ashamde that Lionello had so scoft him. But all was well;\nthey were made friends, but the jest went so to his hart that he\nshortly after died, and Lionello enjoyed the ladye.\n\nSer Giovanni's story, Roscoe observes, is \"curious as having\nthrough the medium of translation suggested the idea of those\namusing scenes in which the renowned Falstaff acquaints Master\nFord, disguised under the name of Brooke, with his progress in\nthe good graces of Mrs. Ford. The contrivances likewise by which\nhe eludes the vengeance of the jealous husband are similar to\nthose recounted in the novel, with the addition of throwing the\nunweildy knight into the river. Dunlop says that the same story\nhas been translated is a collection entitled 'The Fortunate,\nDeceived, and Unfortunate Lovers,' and that Shakspeare may\nprobably also have seen it in 'Tarlton's Newes out of\nPurgatorie,' where the incidents related in the Lovers of Pisa\nare given according to Straparola's story. Moli\u00e8re made a happy\nuse of it in his 'Ecole des Femmes,' where the humour of the\npiece turns upon a young gentleman confiding his progress in the\naffections of a lady to the ear of her guardian, who believed he\nwas on the point of espousing her himself.\" Two other French\nplays were based upon the story, one of which was written by La\nFontaine under the title of \"Le Ma\u00eetre en Droit.\" Readers of\n\"Gil Blas\" will also recollect how Don Raphael confides to\nBalthazar the progress of his amour with his wife, and expresses\nhis vexation at the husband's unexpected return.\n\nIt is much to be regretted that nothing is known as to the date\nand place of the composition of the Breslau edition of The\nNights, which alone contains this and several other tales found\nin the collections of the early Italian novelists.\n\n\n\n\nTHE KING WHO KENNED THE QUINTESSENCE OF THINGS.--Vol. XI. p. 212.\n\n\n\nAlthough we may find, as already stated, the direct source of\nthis tale in the forty-sixth chapter of Al-Mas'\u00fadi's \"Meadows of\nGold and Mines of Gems,\" which was written about A.D. 943, yet\nthere exists a much older version--if not the original form--in a\nSanskrit collection entitled, \"Vet\u00e1lapanchavinsat\u00ed,\" or Twenty-\nfive Tales of a Vampyre. This ancient work is incorporated with\nthe \"Kath\u00e1 Sarit S\u00e1gara,\" or Ocean of the Streams of Story,\ncomposed in Sanskrit verse by Somadeva in the 11th century, after\na similar work, now apparently lost, entitled \"Vrihat Kath\u00e1,\" or\nGreat Story, written by Gunadhya, in the 6th century.[FN#498] In\nthe opinion of Benfey all the Vampyre Tales are of Buddhist\nextraction (some are unquestionably so), and they probably date\nfrom before our era. As a separate work they exist, more or less\nmodified, in many of the Indian vernaculars; in Hind\u00ed, under the\ntitle of \"Baital Pach\u00eds\u00ed\"; in Tamil, \"Vedala Kadai\"; and there\nare also versions in Telegu, Mahratta, and Canarese. The\nfollowing is from Professor C. H. Tawney's complete translation\nof the \"Kath\u00e1 Sarit S\u00e1gara\" (it is the 8th recital of the\nVet\u00e1la):\n\n\n INDIAN VERSION\n\nThere is a great tract of land assigned to Br\u00e1hmans in the\ncountry of Anga, called Vrikshaghata. In it there lived a rich\nsacrificing Br\u00e1hman named Vishnusv\u00e1min. And he had a wife equal\nto himself in birth. And by her he had three sons born to him,\nwho were distinguished for preternatural acuteness. In course of\ntime they grew up to be young men. One day, when he had begun a\nsacrifice, he sent those three brothers to the sea to fetch a\nturtle. So off they went, and when they had found a turtle, the\neldest said to his two brothers, \"Let one of you take the turtle\nfor our father's sacrifice; I cannot take it, as it is all\nslippery with slime.\" When the eldest said this, the two younger\nones answered him, \"If you hesitate about taking it, why should\nnot we?\" When the eldest heard that, he said, \"You two must take\nthe turtle; if you do not, you will have obstructed your father's\nsacrifice, and then you will certainly sink down to hell.\" When\nhe told the younger brothers this, they laughed and said to him,\n\"If you see our duty so clearly, why do you not see that your own\nis the same?\" Then the eldest said, \"What, do you not know how\nfastidious I am? I am very fastidious about eating, and I cannot\nbe expected to touch what is repulsive.\" The middle brother,\nwhen he heard this speech of his, said to his brother, \"Then I am\na more fastidious person than you, for I am a most fastidious\nconnoisseur of the fair sex.\" When the middle one said this, the\neldest went on to say, \"Then let the younger of you two take the\nturtle.\" Then the youngest brother frowned, and in his turn said\nto the two elder, \"You fools, I am very fastidious about beds; so\nI am the most fastidious of the lot.\"\n\nSo the three brothers fell to quarrelling with one another, and\nbeing completely under the dominion of conceit, they left that\nturtle and went off immediately to the court of the king of that\ncountry, whose name was Prasenajit, and who lived in a city named\nVitankapura, in order to have the dispute decided. There they\nhad themselves announced by the warder, and went in, and gave the\nking a circumstantial account of their case. The king said,\n\"Wait here, and I will put you all in turn to the proof;\" so they\nagreed and remained there. And at the time that the king took\nhis meal, he had them conducted to a seat of honour, and given\ndelicious food fit for a king, possessing all the six flavours.\nAnd while all were feasting around him, the Br\u00e1hman who was\nfastidious about eating along of the company did not eat, but sat\nthere with his face puckered up with disgust. The king himself\nasked the Br\u00e1hman why he did not eat his food, though it was\nsweet and fragrant, and he slowly answered him, \"I perceive in\nthis food an evil smell of the reek from corpses, so I cannot\nbring myself to eat it, however delicious it may be.\" When he\nsaid this before the assembled multitude, they all smelled it by\nthe king's orders, and said, \"This food is prepared from white\nrice and is good and fragrant.\" But the Br\u00e1hman who was so\nfastidious about eating would not touch it, but stopped his nose.\nThen the king reflected, and proceeded to inquire into the\nmatter, and found out from his officers that the food had been\nmade from rice which had been grown in a field near the burning\ngh\u00e1t of a certain village. Then the king was much astonished,\nand, being pleased, he said to him, \"In truth you are very\nparticular as to what you eat; so eat of some other dish.\"\n\nAnd after they had finished their dinner, the king dismissed the\nBr\u00e1hmans to their apartments and sent for the loveliest lady of\nhis court. And in the evening he sent that fair one, all whose\nlimbs were of faultless beauty, splendidly adorned, to the second\nBr\u00e1hman, who was so squeamish about the fair sex. And that\nmatchless kindler of Cupid's flame, with a face like the full\nmoon of midnight, went, escorted by the king's servants, to the\nchamber of the Br\u00e1hman. But when she entered, lighting up the\nchamber with her brightness, that gentleman who was so fastidious\nabout the fair sex felt quite faint, and stopping his nose with\nhis left hand, said to the king's servants, \"Take her away; if\nyou do not, I am a dead man: a smell comes from her like that of\na goat.\" When the king's servants heard this, they took the\nbewildered fair one to their sovereign, and told him what had\ntaken place. And the king immediately had the squeamish\ngentleman sent for, and said to him, \"How can this lovely woman,\nwho has perfumed herself with sandal-wood, camphor, black aloes,\nand other splendid scents, so that she diffuses exquisite\nfragrance through the world, smell like a goat?\" But though the\nking used this argument to the squeamish gentleman he stuck to\nhis point; and then the king began to have his doubts on the\nsubject, and at last, by artfully framed questions, he elicited\nfrom the lady herself that, having been separated in her\nchildhood from her mother and nurse, she had been brought up on\ngoat's milk.\n\nThen the king was much astonished, and praised highly the\ndiscernment of the man who was fastidious about the fair sex, and\nimmediately had given to the third Br\u00e1hman, who was fastidious\nabout beds, in accordance with his taste, a bed composed of seven\nmattresses placed upon a bedstead. White smooth sheets and\ncoverlets were laid upon the bed, and the fastidious man slept\nupon it in a splendid room. But, before half a watch of the\nnight had passed, he rose up from that bed, with his hand pressed\nto his side, screaming in an agony of pain. And the king's\nofficers, who were there, saw a red crooked mark on his side, as\nif a hair had been pressed deep into it. And they went and told\nthe king, and the king said to them, \"Look and see if there is\nnot something under the mattress.\" So they went and examined the\nbottom of the mattresses one by one, and they found a hair in the\nmiddle of the bedstead underneath them all. And they took it and\nshowed it to the king, and they also brought the man who was\nfastidious about beds, and when the king saw the state of his\nbody, he was astonished. And he spent the whole night in\nwondering how a hair could make so deep an impression on his skin\nthrough seven mattresses.[FN#499]\n\nAnd the next morning the king gave three hundred thousand gold\npieces to those fastidious men, because they were persons of\nwonderful discernment and refinement. And they remained in great\ncomfort in the king's court, forgetting all about the turtle, and\nlittle did they reck of the fact that they had incurred sin by\nobstructing their father's sacrifice.[FN#500]\n\nThe story of the brothers who were so very \"knowing\" is common to\nmost countries, with occasional local modifications. It is not\noften we find the knowledge of the \"quintessence of things\"\nconcentrated in a single individual, as in the case of the ex-\nking of our tale, but we have his exact counterpart--and the\ncircumstance is significant--in No. 2 of the \"Cento Novelle\nAntiche,\" the first Italian collection of short stories, made in\nthe 13th century, where a prisoner informs the king of Greece\nthat a certain horse has been suckled by a she-ass, that a jewel\ncontains a flaw, and that the king himself is a baker. Mr.\nTawney, in a note on the Vet\u00e1la story, as above, refers also to\nthe decisions of Hamlet in Saxo Grammaticus, 1839, p. 138, in\nSimrock's \"Quellen des Shakespeare,\" I, 81-85; 5, 170; he lays\ndown that some bread tastes of blood (the corn was grown on a\nbattlefield); that some liquor tastes of iron (the malt was mixed\nwith water taken from a well in which some rusty swords had\nlain); that some bacon tastes of corpses (the pig had eaten a\ncorpse); lastly, that the king is a servant and his wife a\nserving-maid. But in most versions of the story three brothers\nare the gifted heroes.\n\nIn \"M\u00e9lusine\"[FN#501] for 5 Nov. 1885, M. Ren\u00e9 Basset cites an\ninteresting variant (in which, as is often the case, the \"Lost\nCamel\" plays a part, but we are not concerned about it at present)\nfrom Radloff's \"Proben der Volksliteratur der t\u00fcrkischen St\u00e4mme\nS\u00fcd-Sibiriens,\" as follows:\n\n\n SIBERIAN VERSION\n\nMeat and bread were set before the three brothers, and the prince\nwent out. The eldest said, \"The prince is a slave;\" the second,\n\"This is dog's flesh;\" the youngest, \"This bread has grown over\nthe legs of a dead body.\" The prince heard them. He took a\nknife and ran to find his mother. \"Tell me the truth,\" cried he-\n-\"were you unfaithful to my father during his absence? A man who\nis here has called me a slave.\" \"My son,\" replied she, \"If I\ndon't tell the truth, I shall die; if I tell it, I shall die.\nWhen thy father was absent, I gave myself up to a slave.\" The\nprince left his mother and ran to the house of the shepherd:\n\"The meat which you have cooked to-day--what is it? Tell the\ntruth, otherwise I'll cut your head off.\" \"Master, if I tell it,\nI shall die; if I don't, I shall die. I will be truthful. It was\na lamb whose mother had no milk; on the day of its birth, it was\nsuckled by a bitch: that is to-day's ewe.\" The prince left the\nshepherd and ran to the house of the husbandman: \"Tell the truth,\nor else I'll cut off your head. Three young men have come to my\nhouse. I have placed bread before them, and they say that the\ngrain has grown over the limbs of a dead man.\" \"I will be frank\nwith you. I ploughed with my plough in a place where were\n(buried) the limbs of a man; without knowing it, I sowed some\nwheat, which grew up.\" The prince quitted his slave and returned\nto his house, where were seated the strangers. He said to the\nfirst, \"Young man, how do you know that I am a slave?\" \"Because\nyou went out as soon as the repast was brought in.\" He asked the\nsecond, \"How do you know that the meat which was served was that\nof a dog?\" \"Because it has a disagreeable taste like the flesh of\na dog.\" Then to the third: \"How come you to know that this bread\nwas grown over the limbs of a dead person?\" \"What shall I say?\nIt smells of the limbs of a dead body; that is why I recognised\nit. If you do not believe me, ask your slave; he will tell you\nthat what I say is true.\"\n\nIn the same paper (col. 516) M. Ren\u00e9 Basset cites a somewhat\nelaborate variant, from Stier's \"Ungarische Sagen und M\u00e4rchen,\"\nin which, once more, the knowledge of the \"quintessence of\nthings\" is concentrated in a single individual.\n\n\n HUNGARIAN VERSION\n\nA clever Magyar is introduced with his companions in disguise\ninto the camp of the king of the T\u00e1t\u00e1rs, who is menacing his\ncountry. The prince, suspicious, causes him to be carefully\nwatched by his mother, a skilful sorceress. They brought in the\nevening's repast. \"What good wine the prince has!\" said she.\n\"Yes,\" replied one, \"but it contains human blood.\" The sorceress\ntook note of the bed from whence these words proceeded, and when\nall were asleep she deftly cut a lock of hair from him who had\nspoken, crept stealthily out of the room, and brought this mark\nto her son. The strangers started up, and when our hero\ndiscovered what had been done to him, he cut a lock from all, to\nrender his detection impossible. When they came to dinner, the\nking knew not from whom the lock had been taken. The following\nnight the mother of the prince again slipped into the room, and\nsaid, \"What good bread has the prince of the T\u00e1t\u00e1rs!\" \"Very\ngood,\" replied one, \"it is made with the milk of a woman.\" When\nall were asleep, she cut a little off the moustache of him who\nwas lying in the bed from which the voice proceeded. This time\nthe Magyars were still more on the alert, and when they were\napprised of the matter, they all cut a little from their\nmoustaches, so that next morning the prince found himself again\nfoiled. The third night the old lady hid herself, and said in a\nloud voice, \"What a handsome man is the prince of the T\u00e1t\u00e1rs!\"\n\"Yes,\" replied one, \"but he is a bastard.\" When all were asleep,\nthe old lady made a mark on the visor of the helmet of the one\nfrom whence had come the words, and then acquainted her son of\nwhat she had done. In the morning the prince perceived that all\nthe helmets were similarly marked.[FN#502] At length he\nrefrained, and said, \"I see that there is among you a master\ngreater than myself; that is why I desire very earnestly to know\nhim. He may make himself known; I should like to see and know\nthis extraordinary man, who is more clever and powerful than\nmyself.\" The young man started up from his seat and said, \"I\nhave not wished to be stronger or wiser than yourself. I have\nonly wished to find out what you had preconcerted for us. I am\nthe person who has been marked three nights.\" \"It is well, young\nman. But prove now your words: How is there human blood in the\nwine?\" \"Call your butler and he will tell you.\" The butler came\nin trembling all over, and confessed that when he corked the wine\nhe had cut his finger with the knife, and a drop of blood had\nfallen into the cask. \"But how is there woman's milk in the\nbread?\" asked the king. \"Call the bakeress,\" he replied, \"and\nshe will tell it you.\" When they questioned her, she confessed\nthat she was kneading the bread and at the same time suckling her\nbaby, and that on pressing it to her breast some milk flowed and\nwas mixed with the bread. The sorceress, the mother of the king,\nwhen they came to the third revelation of the young man,\nconfessed in her turn that the king was illegitimate.\n\nMr. Tawney refers to the Chevalier de Mailly's version of the\nThree Princes of Serendip (Ceylon): The three are sitting at\ntable, and eating a leg of lamb, sent with some splendid wine\nfrom the table of the emperor Bahr\u00e1m. The eldest maintains that\nthe wine was made of grapes that grew in a cemetery; the second,\nthat the lamb was brought up on dog's milk; while the third\nasserts that the emperor had put to death the son of the waz\u00edr.\nAnd that the latter is bent on vengeance. All these statements\nturn out to be well-grounded. Mr. Tawney also refers to parallel\nstories in the Breslau edition of The Nights; namely, in Night\n458, it is similarly conjectured that the bread was baked by a\nsick woman; that the kid was suckled by a bitch, and that the\nsultan is illegitimate; and in Night 459, a gem-cutter guesses\nthat a jewel has an internal flaw, a man skilled in the pedigrees\nof horses divines that a horse is the offspring of a female\nbuffalo, and a man skilled in human pedigrees that the mother of\nthe favourite queen was a rope-dancer. Similar incidents occur\nin \"The Sultan of Yemen and his Three Sons,\" one of the\nAdditional Tales translated by Scott, from the Wortley-Montague\nMS., now in the Bodleian Library, and comprised in vol. vi. of\nhis edition of \"The Arabian Nights Entertainments,\" published at\nLondon in 1811.\n\nAn analogous tale occurs in Mr. E. J. W. Gibb's recently-\npublished translation of the \"History of the Forty Vezirs (the\nLady's Fourth Story, p. 69 ff.), the motif of which is that \"all\nthings return to their origin:\"\n\n\n TURKISH ANALOGUE.\n\nThere was in the palace of the world a king who was very desirous\nof seeing Khizr[FN#503] (peace on him!), and he would even say,\n\"If there be any one who will show me Khizr, I will give him\nwhatsoever he may wish.\" Now there was at that time a man poor\nof estate, and from the stress of his poverty he said to himself,\n\"Let me go and speak to the king, that if he provide for me\nduring three years, either I shall be dead, or the king will be\ndead, or he will forgive me my fault, or I shall on somewise win\nto escape, and in this way shall I make merry for a time.\" So he\nwent to the king and spake these words to him.[FN#504] The king\nsaid, \"An thou show him not, then I will kill thee,\" and that\npoor man consented. Then the king let give him much wealth and\nmoney, and the poor man took that wealth and money and went to\nhis house. Three years he spent in merriment and delight, and he\nrested at ease till the term was accomplished. At the end of\nthat time he fled and hid himself in a trackless place and he\nbegan to quake for fear. Of a sudden he saw a personage with\nwhite raiment and shining face, who saluted him. The poor man\nreturned the salutation, and the radiant being asked, \"Why art\nthou thus sad?\" but he gave no answer. Again the radiant being\nasked him and sware to him, saying, \"Do indeed tell to me thy\nplight, that I may find thee some remedy.\" So that hapless one\nnarrated his story from its beginning to its end, and the radiant\nbeing said, \"Come, I will go with thee to the king, and I will\nanswer for thee.\" So they arose.\n\nNow the king wanted that hapless one, and while they were going\nsome of the king's officers who were seeking met them, and they\nstraightway seized the poor man and brought him to the king.\nQuoth the king, \"Lo, the three years are accomplished; come now,\nand show me Khizr.\" The poor man said, \"My king, grace and\nbounty are the work of kings--forgive my sin.\" Quoth the king,\n\"I made a pact; till I have killed thee, I shall not have\nfulfilled it.\" And he looked to his chief vez\u00edr and said, \"How\nshould this be done?\" Quoth the vez\u00edr, \"This man should be hewn\nin many pieces and then hung up on butchers' hooks, that others\nmay see and lie not before the king.\" Said that radiant being,\n\"True spake the vez\u00edr;--all things return to their origin.\" Then\nthe king looked to the second vez\u00edr and said, \"What sayest thou?\"\nHe replied, \"This man should be boiled in a cauldron.\" Said that\nradiant being, \"True spake the vez\u00edr;--all things return to their\norigin.\" The king looked to the third vezir and said, \"What\nsayest though?\" The vez\u00edr replied, \"This man should be hewn in\nsmall pieces and baked in an oven.\" Again said that elder, \"True\nspake the vez\u00edr;--all things return to their origin.\" Then quoth\nthe king to the fourth vez\u00edr, \"Let us see what sayest thou?\" The\nvez\u00edr replied, \"O king, the wealth thou gavest this poor creature\nwas for the love of Khizr (peace on him!). he, thinking to find\nhim, accepted it; now that he has not found him he seeks pardon.\nThis were befitting, that thou set free this poor creature for\nthe love of Khizr.\" Said that elder, \"True spake the vez\u00edr;--all\nthings return to their origin.\" Then the king said to the elder,\n\"O elder, my vez\u00edrs have said different things contrary the one\nto the other, and thou hast said concerning each of them, 'True\nspake the vez\u00edr; - all things return to their origin.' What is\nthe reason thereof?\" That elder replied, \"O king, thy first\nvez\u00edr is a butcher's son; therefore did he draw to his origin.\nThy second vez\u00edr is a cook's son, and he likewise proposed a\npunishment as became his origin. Thy third vez\u00edr is a baker's\nson; he likewise proposed a punishment as became his origin.\nBut thy fourth vez\u00edr is of gentle birth; compassion therefore\nbecomes his origin, so he had compassion on that hapless one, and\nsought to do good and counselled liberation. O king, all things\nreturn to their origin.\"[FN#505] And he gave the king much\ncounsel, and at last said, \"Lo, I am Khizr,\" and\nvanished.[FN#506]\n\nThe discovery of the king's illegitimate birth, which occurs in\nso many versions, has its parallels in the story of the Nephew of\nHippocrates in the \"Seven Wise Masters,\" and the Lady's 2nd Story\nin Mr. Gibb's translation of the \"Forty Vez\u00edrs.\" The\nextraordinary sensitiveness of the third young Br\u00e1hman, in the\nVet\u00e1la story, whose side was scratched by a hair that was under\nthe seventh of the mattresses on which he lay, Rohde (says\nTawney), in his \"Griechische Novellistik,\" p. 62, compares with a\nstory told by Aelian of the Sybarite Smindyrides, who slept on a\nbed of rose-leaves and got up in the morning covered with\nblisters. He also quotes from the Chronicle of Tabari a story of\na princess who was made to bleed by a rose-leaf lying in her\nbed.[FN#507]\n\nThe eleventh recital of the Vet\u00e1la is about a king's three\nsensitive wives: As one of the queens was playfully pulling the\nhair of the king, a blue lotus leaped from her ear and fell on\nher lap; immediately a wound was produced on the front of her\nthigh by the blow, and the delicate princess exclaimed, \"Oh! oh!\"\nand fainted. At night, the second retired with the king to an\napartment on the roof of the palace exposed to the rays of the\nmoon, which fell on the body of the queen, who was sleeping by\nthe king's side, where it was exposed by her garment blowing\naside; immediately she woke up, exclaiming, \"Alas! I am burnt,\"\nand rose up from the bed rubbing her limbs. The king woke up in\na state of alarm, crying out, \"What is the meaning of this?\"\nThen he got up and saw that blisters had been produced on the\nqueen's body. In the meanwhile the king's third wife heard of it\nand left her palace to come to him. And when she got into the\nopen air, she heard distinctly, as the night was still, the sound\nof a pestle pounding in a distant house. The moment the gazelle-\neyed one heard it, she said, \"Alas! I am killed,\" and she sat\ndown on the path, shaking her hands in an agony of pain. Then\nthe girl turned back, and was conducted by her attendants to her\nown chamber, where she fell on her bed and groaned. And when her\nweeping attendants examined her, they saw that her hands were\ncovered with bruises, and looked like lotuses upon which black\nbeetles had settled.\n\nTo this piteous tale of the three very sensitive queens Tawney\nappends the following note: Rohde, in his \"Griechische\nNovellistik,\" p. 62, compares with this a story told by Tim\u00e6us,\nof a Sybarite who saw a husbandman hoeing a field, and contracted\nrupture from it. Another Sybarite, to whom he told the tale of\nhis sad mishap, got ear-ache from hearing it. Oesterley, in his\nGerman translation of the Bait\u00e1l Pach\u00eds\u00ed, points out that Grimm,\nin his \"Kinderm\u00e4rchen,\" iii. p. 238, quotes a similar incident\nfrom the travels of the Three sons of Giaffar: out of four\nprincesses, one faints because a rose-twig is thrown into her\nface among some roses; a second shuts her eyes in order not to\nsee the statue of a man; a third says, \"Go away; the hairs in\nyour fur cloak run into me;\" and the fourth covers her face,\nfearing that some of the fish in a tank may belong to the male\nsex. He also quotes a striking parallel from the \"Elites des\ncontes du Sieur d'Onville:\" Four ladies dispute as to which of\nthem is the most delicate. One has been lame for three months\nowing to a rose-leaf having fallen on her foot; another has had\nthree ribs broken by a sheet in her bed having been crumpled; a\nthird has held her head on one side for six weeks owing to one\nhalf of her head having three more hairs on it than the other; a\nfourth has broken a blood-vessel by a slight movement, and the\nrupture cannot be healed without breaking the whole limb.[Poor\nthings!]\n\n\n\n\nTHE PRINCE WHO FELL IN LOVE WITH THE PICTURE.--Vol. XI. p. 226.\n\n\n\nIn the Persian tales of \"The Thousand and One Days,\" a young\nprince entered his father's treasury one day, and saw there a\nlittle cedar chest \"set with pearls, diamonds, emeralds, and\ntopazes;\" on opening it (for the key was in the lock) he beheld\nthe picture of an exceedingly beautiful woman, with whom he\nimmediately fell in love. Ascertaining the name of the lady from\nan inscription on the back of the portrait, he set off with a\ncompanion to discover her, and having been told by an old man at\nBaghdad that her father at one time reigned in Ceylon, he continued\nhis journey thither, encountering many unheard-of adventures by\nthe way. Ultimately he is informed that the lady with whose\nportrait he had become enamoured was one of the favourites of\nKing Solomon. One should suppose that his would have effectually\ncured the love-sick prince; but no: he \"could never banish her\nsweet image from his heart.\"[FN#508]\n\nTwo instances of falling in love with the picture of a pretty\nwoman occur in the \"Kath\u00e1 Sar\u00edt S\u00e1gara.\" In Book ix., chap. 51,\na painter shows King Prithvir\u00fapa the \"counterfeit presentment\" of\nthe beauteous Princess Rapalat\u00e1, and \"as the king gazed on it his\neye was drowned in that sea of beauty her person, so that he\ncould not draw it out again. For the king, whose longing was\nexcessive, could not be satisfied with devouring her form, which\npoured forth a stream of the nectar of beauty, as the partridge\ncannot be satisfied with devouring the moonlight.\" In Book xii.,\nchap. 100, a female ascetic shows a wandering prince the portrait\nof the Princess Mand\u00e1ravat\u00ed, \"and Sundarasena when he beheld that\nmaiden, who, though she was present there only in a picture,\nseemed to be of romantic beauty and like a flowing forth of joy,\nimmediately felt as if he had been pierced with the arrows of the\ngod of the flowery bow [i.e. K\u00e1ma].\" In chapter 35 of Scott's\ntranslation of the \"Bah\u00e1r-i-D\u00e1nish,\" Prince Ferokh-Faul opens a\nvolume, \"which he had scarcely done when the fatal portrait of\nthe fair princess who, the astrologers had foretold, was to\noccasion him so many perils, presented itself to his view. He\ninstantly fainted, when the slave, alarmed, conveyed intelligence\nof his condition to the sultan, and related the unhappy cause of\nthe disorder.\" In Gomberville's romance of Polexandre, the\nAfrican prince, Abd-el-Malik, falls in love with the portrait of\nAlcidiana, and similar incidents occur in the romance of\nAgesilaus of Colchos and in the Story of the Seven Waz\u00edrs (vol.\nvi.); but why multiply instances? Nothing is more common in\nAsiatic fictions.\n\n\n\n\n THE FULLER, HIS WIFE, AND THE TROOPER.--Vol. XI. p. 231.\n\n\n\nIn addition to the versions of this amusing story referred to on\np. 231--all of which will be found in the second volume of my\nwork on \"Popular Tales and Fictions,\" pp. 212-228--there is yet\nanother in a Persian story-book, of unknown date, entitled,\n\"Shamsa \u00fa Kuhkuha,\" written by Mirza Berkhorder Turkman, of which\nan account, together with specimens, is given in a recently-\npublished little book (Quaritch), \"Persian Portraits: a sketch of\nPersian History, Literature, and Politics,\" by Mr. F. F.\nArbuthnot, author of \"Early Ideas: a Group of Hindoo Stories.\"\n\nThis version occurs in a tale of three artful wives--or, to\nemploy the story-teller's own graphic terms, \"three whales of the\nsea of fraud and deceit: three dragons of the nature of thunder\nand the quickness of lightning; three defamers of honour and\nreputation; namely, three men-deceiving, lascivious women, each\nof whom had from the chicanery of her cunning issued the diploma\nof turmoil to a hundred cities and countries, and in the arts of\nfraud they accounted Satan as an admiring spectator in the\ntheatre of their stratagems.[FN#509] One of them was sitting in\nthe court of justice of the kazi's embrace; the second was the\nprecious gem of the bazaar-master's diadem of compliance; and the\nthird was the beazle and ornament of the signet-ring of the life\nand soul of the superintendent of police. They were constantly\nentrapping the fawns of the prairie of deceit within the grasp of\ncunning, and plundered the wares of the caravans of tranquillity\nof hearts of strangers and acquaintances, by means of the edge of\nthe scimitar of fraud. One day this trefoil of roguery met at\nthe public bath, and, according to their homogeneous nature they\nintermingled as intimately as the comb with the hair; they tucked\nup their garment of amity to the waist of union, entered the tank\nof agreement, seated themselves in the hot-house of love, and\npoured from the dish of folly, by means of the key of hypocrisy,\nthe water of profusion upon the head of intercourse; they rubbed\nwith the brush of familiarity and the soap of affection the\nstains of jealousies from each other's limbs. After a while,\nwhen they had brought the pot of concord to boil by the fire of\nmutual laudation, they warmed the bath of association with the\nbreeze of kindness, and came out. In the dressing-room all three\nof them happened simultaneously to find a ring, the gem of which\nsurpassed the imagination of the jeweler of destiny, and the like\nof which he had never beheld in the storehouse of possibility.\nIn short, these worthy ladies contended with each other for\npossession of the ring, until at length the mother of the bathman\ncame forward and proposed that they should entrust the ring to\nher in the meanwhile, and it should be the prize of the one who\nmost cleverly deceived and befooled her husband, to which they\nall agreed, and then departed for their respective\ndomiciles.[FN#510]\n\nMr. Arbuthnot's limits pertained only of abstracts of the tricks\nplayed upon their husbands by the three ladies--which the story-\nteller gives at great length--and that of the kazi's wife is as\nfollows:\n\nThe kazi's wife knows that a certain carpenter, who lived close\nto her, was very much in love with her. She sends her maid to\nhim with a message to say that the flame of his love had taken\neffect upon her heart, and that he must make an underground\npassage between his house and her dwelling, so that they might\ncommunicate with each other freely by means of the mine. The\ncarpenter digs the passage, and the lady pays him a visit, and\nsays to him, \"To-morrow I shall come here, and you must bring the\nkazi to marry me to you.\" The next day the kazi goes to his\noffice; the lady goes to the carpenter's house, and sends him to\nbring her husband, the kazi, to marry them. The carpenter\nfetches him, and, as the kazi hopes for a good present, he comes\nwillingly enough, but is much surprised at the extreme likeness\nbetween the bride and his own wife. The more he looks at her,\nthe more he is in doubt; and at last, offering an excuse to fetch\nsomething, he rushes off to his own house, but is forestalled by\nhis spouse, who had gone thither by the passage, and on his\narrival is lying on her bed. The kazi makes some excuses for his\nsudden entry into her room, and, after some words, goes back to\nthe carpenter's house; but his wife had preceded him, and is\nsitting in her place. Again he begins the ceremony, but is\nattracted by a black mole on the corner of the bride's lip, which\nhe could have sworn was the same as that possessed by his wife.\nMaking more excuses, and in spite of the remonstrances of the\ncarpenter, he hurries back to his house once more; but his wife\nhad again got there before him, and he finds her reading a book,\nand much astonished at his second visit. She suggests that he is\nmad, and he admits that his conduct is curious, and returns to\nthe carpenter's house to complete the ceremony. This is again\nfrequently interrupted, but finally he marries his own wife to\nthe carpenter, and, having behaved in such an extraordinary\nmanner throughout, is sent off to a lunatic asylum.\n\nFor the tricks of the two other ladies, and for many other\nequally diverting tales, I refer the reader to Mr. Arbuthnot's\npleasing and instructive little book, which is indeed an\nadmirable epitome of the history and literature of Persia, and\none which was greatly wanted in these days, when most men, \"like\nthe dogs in Egypt for fear of the crocodiles, must drink of the\nwaters of information as they run, in dread of the old enemy\nTime.\"\n\nI have discussed the question of the genealogy of this tale\nelsewhere, but, after a somewhat more minute comparative analysis\nof the several versions, am disposed to modify the opinion which\nI then entertained. I think we must consider as the direct or\nindirect source of the versions and variants the \"Miles\nGloriosus\" of Plautus, the plot of which, it is stated in the\nprologue to the second act, was taken from a Greek play. It is,\nhowever, not very clear whether Berni adapted his story from\nPlautus or the \"Seven Wise Masters\"; probably from the former,\nsince in both the lady is represented, to the captain and the\ncuckold, as a twin sister, while in the S. W. M. the crafty\nknight pretends that she is his leman, come from Hungary with\ntidings that he may now with safety return home. On the other\nhand, in the S. W. M., as in Plautus, the lovers make their\nescape by sea, an incident which Berni has altered to a journey\nby land--no doubt, in order to introduce further adventures for\nthe development of his main plot. But then we find a point of\nresemblance between Berni and the S. W. M., in the incident of\nthe cuckold accompanying the lovers part of their way--in the\nlatter to the sea-shore; while in Plautus the deceived captain\nremains at home to prosecute an amour and get a thrashing for his\nreward (in Plautus, instead of a wife, it is the captain's slave-\ngirl). It is curious that amidst all the masquerade of the\nArabian story the cuckold's wife also personates her\nsupposititious twin-sister, as in Plautus and Berni. In Plautus\nthe houses of the lover and the captain adjoin, as is also the\ncase in the modern Italian and Sicilian versions; while in Berni,\nthe S. W. M., the Arabian, and the Persian story cited in this\nnote they are at some distance. With these resemblances and\nvariations it is not easy to say which version was derived from\nanother. Evidently the Arabian story has been deliberately\nmodified by the compiler, and he has, I think, considerably\nimproved upon the original: the ludicrous perplexity of the poor\nfuller when he awakes, to find himself apparently transformed\ninto a Turkish trooper, recalls the nursery rhyme of the little\nwoman \"who went to market her eggs for to sell,\" and falling\nasleep on the king's highway a pedlar cut off her petticoats up\nto the knees, and when she awoke and saw her condition she\nexclaimed, \"Lawk-a-mercy me, this is none of I!\" and so on. And not less diverting is the pelting the blockhead receives from his brother fullers--altogether, a capital story.\n\n\n\n\n TALE OF THE SIMPLETON HUSBAND.--Vol. XI. p. 239.\n\n\n\nThe \"curious\" reader will find European and Asiatic versions of this amusing story in \"Originals and Analogues of some of\nChaucer's Canterbury Tales,\" published for the Chaucer Society, pp. 177-188 and (in a paper contributed by me: \"The Enchanted Tree\") p. 341-364.\n\n\n\n\n TALE OF THE THREE MEN AND OUR LORD ISA.--Vol XI. p. 250.\n\n\n\nUnder the title of \"The Robbers and the Treasure-Trove\" I have\nbrought together many European and Asiatic versions of this wide-\nspread tale in \"Chaucer Analogues,\" pp. 415-436.\n\n\n\n\n THE MELANCHOLIST AND THE SHARPER. -- Vol. XI. p. 264.\n\n\n\nA similar but much shorter story is found in Gladwin's \"Persian\nMoonshee,\" and story-books in several of the Indian vernaculars\nwhich have been rendered into English:\n\nA miser said to a friend, \"I have now a thousand rupees, which I\nwill bury out of the city, and I will not tell the secret to any\none besides yourself.\" They went out of the city together, and\nburied the money under a tree. Some days after the miser went\nalone to the tree and found no signs of his money. He said to\nhimself, \"Excepting that friend, no other has taken it away; but\nif I question him he will never confess.\" He therefore went to\nhis (the friend's) house and said, \"A great deal of money is come\ninto my hands, which I want to put in the same place; if you will\ncome to-morrow, we will go together.\" The friend, by coveting\nthis large sum, replaced the former money, and the miser next day\nwent there alone and found it. He was delighted with his own\ncontrivance, and never again placed any confidence in friends.\n\nOne should suppose a miser the last person to confide the secret\nof his wealth to any one; but the Italian versions bear a closer\nresemblance to the Arabian story. From No. 74 of the \"Cento\nNovelle Antiche\" Sacchetti, who was born in 1335 and is ranked by\nCrescimbini as next to Boccaccio, adapted his 198th novella,\nwhich is a most pleasing version of the Asiatic story:\n\n\n ITALIAN VERSION.\n\nA blind man of Orvieto, of the name of Cola, hit upon a device to\nrecover a hundred florins he had been cheated of, which showed he\nwas possessed of all the eyes of Argus, though he had unluckily\nlost his own. And this he did without wasting a farthing either\nupon law or arbitration, by sheer dexterity; for he had formerly\nbeen a barber, and accustomed to shave very close, having then\nall his eyes about him, which had been now closed for about\nthirty years. Alms seemed then the only resource to which he\ncould betake himself, and such was the surprising progress he in\na short time made in his new trade that he counted a hundred\nflorins in his purse, which he secretly carried about him until\nhe could find a safer place. His gains far surpassed anything he\nhad realised with his razor and scissors; indeed, they increased\nso fast that he no longer knew where to bestow them; until one\nmorning happening to remain the last, as he believed, in the\nchurch, he thought of depositing his purse of a hundred florins\nunder a loose tile in the floor behind the door, knowing the\nsituation of the place perfectly well. After listening some time\nwithout hearing a foot stirring, he very cautiously laid it in\nthe spot; but unluckily there remained a certain Juccio\nPezzichernolo, offering his adoration before an image of San\nGiovanni Boccadoro, who happened to see Cola busily engaged\nbehind the door. He continued his adorations until he saw the\nblind man depart, when, not in the least suspecting the truth, he\napproached and searched the place. He soon found the identical\ntile, and on removing it with the help of his knife, he found the\npurse, which he very quietly put into his pocket, replacing the\ntiles just as they were, and, resolving to say nothing about it,\nhe went home.\n\nAt the end of three days the blind mendicant, desirous of\ninspecting his treasure, took a quiet time for visiting the\nplace, and removing the tile searched a long while in great\nperturbation, but all in vain, to find his beloved purse. At last,\nreplacing things just as they were, he was compelled to return in\nno very enviable state of mind to his dwelling; and there\nmeditating on his loss, the harvest of the toil of so many days,\nby dint of intense thinking a bright thought struck him (as\nfrequently happens by cogitating in the dark), how he had yet a\nkind of chance of redeeming his lost spoils. Accordingly in the\nmorning he called his young guide, a lad about nine years old,\nsaying, \"My son, lead me to church,\" and before setting out he\ntutored him how he was to behave, seating himself at his side\nbefore the entrance, and particularly remarking every person who\nshould enter into the church. \"Now, if you happen to see any one\nwho takes particular notice of me, and who either laughs or makes\nany sign, be sure you observe it and tell me.\" The boy promised\nhe would; and they proceeded accordingly and took their station\nbefore the church\n\nWhen the dinner-hour arrived, the father and son prepared to\nleave the place, the former inquiring by the way whether his son\nhad observed any one looking hard at him as he passed along.\n\"That I did,\" answered the lad, \"but only one, and he laughed as\nhe went past us. I do not know his name, but he is strongly\nmarked with the small-pox and lives somewhere near the Frati\nMinori.\" \"Do you think, my dear lad,\" said his father, \"that you\ncould take me to his shop, and tell me when you see him there?\"\n\"To be sure I could,\" said the lad. \"Then come, let us lose no\ntime,\" replied the father, \"and when we are there tell me, and\nwhile I speak to him you can step on one side and wait for me.\"\nSo the sharp little fellow led him along the way until he reached\na cheesemonger's stall, when he acquainted his father, and\nbrought him close to it. No sooner did the blind man hear him\nspeaking with his customers than he recognised him for the same\nJuccio with whom he had formerly been acquainted during his days\nof light. When the coast was a little clear, our blind hero\nentreated some moments' conversation, and Juccio, half suspecting\nthe occasion took him on one side into a little room, saying,\n\"Cola, friend, what good news?\" \"Why,\" said Cola, \"I am come to\nconsult you, in great hopes you will be of use to me. You know\nit is a long time since I lost my sight, and being in a destitute\ncondition, I was compelled to earn my subsistence by begging\nalms. Now, by the grace of God, and with the help of you and of\nother good people of Orvieto, I have saved a sum of two hundred\nflorins, one hundred of which I have deposited in a safe place,\nand the other is in the hands of my relations, which I expect to\nreceive with interest in the course of a week. Now if you would\nconsent to receive, and to employ for me to the best advantage,\nthe whole sum of two hundred florins it would be doing me a great\nkindness, for there is no one besides in all Orvieto in whom I\ndare to confide; nor do I like to be at the expense of paying a\nnotary for doing business which we can as well transact\nourselves. Only I wish you would say nothing about it, but\nreceive the two hundred florins from me to employ as you think\nbest. Say not a word about it, for there would be an end of my\ncalling were it known I had received so large a sum in alms.\"\nHere the blind mendicant stopped; and the sly Juccio, imagining\nhe might thus become master of the entire sum, said he should be\nvery happy to serve him in every way he could and would return an\nanswer the next morning as to the best way of laying out the\nmoney. Cola then took his leave, while Juccio, going directly\nfor the purse, deposited it in its old place being in full\nexpectation of soon receiving it again with the addition of the\nother hundred, as it was clear that Cola had not yet missed the\nmoney. The cunning old mendicant on his part expected that he\nwould do no less, and trusting that his plot might have\nsucceeded, he set out the very same day to the church, and had\nthe delight, on removing the tile, to find his purse really\nthere. Seizing upon it with the utmost eagerness, he concealed\nit under his clothes, and placing the tiles exactly in the same\nposition, he hastened home whistling, troubling himself very\nlittle about his appointment of the next day.\n\nThe sly thief Juccio set out accordingly the next morning to see\nhis friend Cola, and actually met him on the road. \"Whither are\nyou going?\" inquired Juccio. \"I was going,\" said Cola, \"to your\nhouse.\" The former, then taking the blind man aside, said, \"I am\nresolved to do what you ask; and since you are pleased to confide\nin me, I will tell you of a plan that I have in hand for laying\nout your money to advantage. If you will put the two hundred\nflorins into my possession, I will make a purchase in cheese and\nsalt meat, a speculation which cannot fail to turn to good\naccount.\" \"Thank you,\" quoth Cola, \"I am going to-day for the\nother hundred, which I mean to bring, and when you have got them\nboth, you can do with them what you think proper.\" Juccio said,\n\"Then let me have them soon, for I think I can secure this\nbargain; and as the soldiers are come into the town, who are fond\nof these articles, I think it cannot fail to answer; so go, and\nHeaven speed you.\" And Cola went; but with very different\nintentions from those imagined by his friend--Cola being now\nclear-sighted, and Juccio truly blind. The next day Cola called\non his friend with very downcast and melancholy looks, and when\nJuccio bade him good day, he said, \"I wish from my soul it were a\ngood, or even a middling, day for me.\" \"Why, what is the\nmatter?\" \"The matter?\" echoed Cola; \"why, it is all over with\nme: some rascal has stolen a hundred florins from the place where\nthey were hidden, and I cannot recover a penny from my relations,\nso that I may eat my fingers off or anything I have to expect.\"\nJuccio replied, \"This is like all the rest of my speculations. I\nhave invariably lost where I expected to make a good hit. What I\nshall do I know not; for if the person should choose to keep me\nto the agreement I made for you, I shall be in a pretty dilemma\nindeed.\" \"Yet,\" said Cola, \"I think my condition is still worse\nthan yours. I shall be sadly distressed and shall have to amass\na fresh capital, which will take me ever so long. And when I have\ngot it, I will take care not to conceal it in a hole in the\nfloor, or trust it, Juccio, into any friend's hands.\" \"But,\"\nsaid Juccio, \"if we could contrive to recover what is owing by\nyour relations, we might still make some pretty profit of it, I\ndoubt not.\" For he thought, if he could only get hold of the\nhundred he had returned it would still be something in his way.\n\"Why,\" said Cola, \"to tell the truth, if I were to proceed\nagainst my relations I believe I might get it; but such a thing\nwould ruin my business, my dear Juccio, for ever: the world\nwould know I was worth money, and I should get no more money from\nthe world; so I fear I shall hardly be able to profit by your\nkindness, though I shall always consider myself as much obliged\nas if I had actually cleared a large sum. Moreover, I am going\nto teach another blind man my profession, and if we have luck you\nshall see me again, and we can venture a speculation together.\"\nSo far the wily mendicant, to whom Juccio said, \"Well, go and try\nto get money soon, and bring it; you know where to find me, but\nlook sharp about you and the Lord speed you; farewell.\"\n\"Farewell,\" said Cola; \"and I am well rid of thee,\" he whispered\nto himself, and going upon his way, in a short time he doubled\nhis capital; but he no longer went near his friend Juccio to know\nhow he should invest it. He had great diversion in telling the\nstory to his companions during their feasts, always concluding,\n\"By St. Lucia! Juccio is the blinder man of the two: he thought\nit was a bold stroke to risk his hundred to double the amount.\"\n\nFor my own part, I think the blind must possess a more acute\nintellect than other people, inasmuch as the light, exhibiting\nsuch a variety of objects to view, is apt to distract the\nattention, of which many examples might be adduced. For\ninstance, two gentlemen may be conversing together on some matter\nof business, and in the middle of a sentence a fine woman happens\nto pass by, and they will suddenly stop, gazing after her; or a\nfine equipage or any other object is enough to turn the current\nof their thoughts. And then we are obliged to recollect\nourselves, saying, \"Where was I?\" \"What was it that I was\nobserving?\"--a thing which never occurs to a blind man. The\nphilosopher Democritus very properly on this account knocked his\neyes out in order to catch objects in a juster light with his\nmind's eye.\n\nIt is impossible to describe Juccio's vexation on going to church\nand finding the florins were gone. His regret was far greater\nthan if he had actually lost a hundred of his own; as is known to\nbe the case with all inveterate rogues, half of whose pleasure\nconsists in depriving others of their lawful property.\n\nThere are many analogous stories, one of which is the well-known\ntale of the merchant who, before going on a journey, deposited\nwith a dervish 1,000 sequins, which he thought it prudent to\nreserve in case of accidents. When he returned and requested his\ndeposit, the dervish flatly denied that he ever had any of his\nmoney. Upon this the merchant went and laid his case before the\nkazi, who advised him to return to the dervish and speak\npleasantly to him, which he does, but receives nothing but abuse.\nHe informed the kazi of this, and was told not to go near the\ndervish for the present, but to be at ease for he should have his\nmoney next day. The kazi then sent for the dervish, and after\nentertaining him sumptuously, told him that, for certain reasons,\nhe was desirous of removing a considerable sum of money from his\nhouse; that he knew of no person in whom he could confide so much\nas himself; and that if he would come the following evening at a\nlate hour, he should have the precious deposit. On hearing this,\nthe dervish expressed his gratification that so much confidence\nshould be placed in his integrity, and agreed to take charge of\nthe treasure. Next day the merchant returned to the kazi, who\nbade him go back to the dervish and demand his money once more,\nand should he refuse, threaten to complain to the kazi. The\nresult may be readily guessed: no sooner did the merchant mention\nthe kazi than the rascally dervish said, \"My good friend, what\nneed is there to complain to the kazi? Here is your money; it\nwas only a little joke on my part.\" But in the evening, when he\nwent to receive the kazi's pretended deposit, he experienced the\ntruth of the saw, that \"covetousness sews up the eyes of\ncunning.\"\n\nA variant of this is found in the continental \"Gesta Romanorum\" (ch.\ncxviii. of Swan's translation), in which a knight deposits ten\ntalents with a respectable old man, who when called upon to\nrefund the money denies all knowledge of it. By the advice of an\nold woman the knight has ten chests made, and employs a person to\ntake them to the old man and represent them as containing\ntreasure; and while one of them is being carried into his house\nthe knight enters and in the stranger's presence demands his\nmoney, which is at once delivered to him.\n\nIn Mr. Edward Rehatsek's translated selections from the Persian\nstory-book \"Shamsa \u00fa Kuhkuha\" (see ante, p. 329), printed at\nBombay in 1871, under the title of \"Amusing Stories,\" there is a\ntale (No. xviii.) which also bears some resemblance to that of\nthe Melancholist and the Sharper; and as Mr. Rehatsek's little\nwork is exceedingly scarce, I give it in extenso as follows:\n\nThere was in Damascus a man of the name of Zayn el-Arab, with the\nhoney of whose life the poison of hardships was always mixed.\nDay and night he hastened like the breeze from north to south in\nthe world of exertion, and he was burning brightly like straw,\nfrom his endeavours in the oven of acquisition in order to gain a\nloaf of bread and feed his family. In course of time, however,\nhe succeeded in accumulating a considerable sum of money, but as\nhe had tasted the bitter poison of destitution, and had for a\nvery long time carried the heavy load of poverty upon his back,\nand fearing to lose his property by the chameleon-like changes of\nfortune, he took up his money on a certain night, carried it out\nof the city, and buried it under a tree. After some time had\npassed be began sorely to miss the presence of his treasure, and\nbetook himself to the tree to refresh his eyes with the sight of\nit. But when he dug up the ground at the foot of the tree he\ndiscovered that his soul-exhilarating deposit was refreshing the\npalate of some one else. The morning of his prosperity was\nsuddenly changed into the evening of bitterness and\ndisappointment. He was perplexed to what friend to confide his\nsecret, and to what remedy to fly for the recovery of his\ntreasure. The lancet of grief had pierced the liver of his\npeace, and the huntsman of distress had tied up the wings and\nfeet of the bird of his serenity. One day he went on some\nbusiness to a learned and wise man of the city with whom he was\non a footing of intimacy. This man said to him, \"It is some time\nsince I perceived the glade of your circumstances to have been\ndestroyed by the burning coals of restlessness, and a sad change\nto have taken place in your health. I do not know the reason,\nnor what thorn of misfortune has pierced the foot of your heart,\nnor what hardship has dawned from the east of your mind.\" Zayn\nel-Arab wept tears of sadness and said, \"O thou standard coin\nfrom the mint of love! the treachery of misfortune has brought a\nstrange accident upon me, and the bow of destiny has let fly an\nunpropitious arrow upon my feeble target. I have a heavy heart\nand great sorrow, and were I to reveal it to you perhaps it would\nbe of no use and would plunge you also into grief.\" The learned\nman said, \"Since the hearts of intimate friends are like looking-\nglasses and are receiving the figures of mutual secrets, it is at\nall times necessary that they should communicate to each other\nany difficulties which they have fallen into, that they may\nremove them by taking in common those steps which prudence and\nforesight should recommend.\" Zayn el-Arab replied, \"Dear friend,\nI had some gold, and fearing lest it should be stolen, I carried\nit to such and such a place and buried it under a tree, and when\nI again visited the place, I perceived the garment of my beloved\nJoseph to be sprinkled with the blood of the wolf of deception.\"\nThe learned man said, \"This is a grave accident, and it will be\ndifficult to get on the track of your gold. Perhaps some one saw\nyou bury it: he who has taken it will have to give an account of\nit in the next world, for God is omniscient. Give me ten days'\ndelay, that I may study the book of expedients and stratagems,\nwhen mayhap somewhat will occur to me.\"\n\nThat knowing man sat down for ten days in the school of\nmeditation, and how much so ever he turned over the leaves of the\nvolume of his mind from the preface to the epilogue, he could hit\nupon no plan. On the tenth day they again met in the street, and\nhe said to Zayn el-Arab, \"Although the diver of my mind has\nplunged deeply and searched diligently in this deep sea, he has\nbeen unable to seize the precious pearl of a wise plan of\noperation: may God recompense you from the stores of His hidden\ntreasury!\" They were conversing in this way when a lunatic met\nthem and said, \"Well, my boys, what secret- mongering have you\ngot between you?\" The learned man said to Zayn el-Arab, \"Come,\nlet us relate our case to this crazy fellow, to see the flower of\nthe plant that may bloom from his mind.\" Zayn el-Arab replied,\n\"Dear friend, you, with all your knowledge, cannot devise\nanything during ten days: what information are we likely to gain\nfrom a poor lunatic who does not know whether it is now day or\nnight?\" The learned man said, \"There is no telling what he may\nsay to us. But you know that the most foolish as well as the most\nwise have ideas, and a sentence uttered at random has sometimes\nfurnished a clue by which the desired object may be attained.\"\nMeanwhile a little boy also came up, and perceiving the lunatic\nstopped to see his tricks. The two friends explained their case\nto the lunatic, who then seemed immersed in thought for some\ntime, after which he said, \"He who took the root of that tree for\na medicine also took the gold,\" and having thus spoken, he turned\nhis back upon them and went his way. They consulted with each\nother what indication this remark might furnish, when the little\nboy who had overheard the conversation, asked what kind of tree\nit was. Zayn el-Arab replied that it was a jujube tree. The boy\nsaid, \"This is an easy matter: you ought to inquire of all the\ndoctors of this town for whom a medicine has been prescribed of\nthe roots of this tree.\" They greatly admired the boy's\nacuteness and also of the lunatic's lucky thought.[FN#511] The\nlearned man was well acquainted with all the physicians of the\ncity and made his enquiries, till he met with one who informed\nhim that about twenty days ago he had prescribed for a merchant\nof the name of Khoja Semender, who suffered from asthma, and that\none of the remedies was the root of that jujube tree. The\nlearned man soon discovered the merchant's house, found him\nenjoying excellent health, and said to him, \"Ah, Khoja, all the\ngoods of this world ought to be surrendered to procure health.\nBy the blessing of God, you have recovered your health, and you\nought to give up what you found at the root of that tree, because\nthe owner of it is a worthy man and possesses nothing else.\" The\nhonest merchant answered, \"It is true, I have found it, and it is\nwith me. If you will describe it I will deliver it into your\nhands.\" The exact sum being stated, the merchant at once\ndelivered up the gold.\n\nIn the \"Kath\u00e1 Sarit S\u00e1gara,\" Book vi. ch. 33, we have probably\nthe original of this last story: A wealthy merchant provided a\nBr\u00e1hman with a lodging near his own house, and every day gave him\na large quantity of unhusked rice and other presents and in\ncourse of time he received like gifts from other great merchants.\nIn this way the miserly fellow gradually accumulated a thousand\nd\u00edn\u00e1rs, and going into the forest he dug a hole and buried it in\nthe ground, and he went daily to carefully examine the spot. One\nday, however, he discovered that his hoard had been stolen, and\nhe went to his friend the merchant near whose house he lived,\nand, weeping bitterly, told him of his loss, and that he had\nresolved to go to a holy bathing-place and there starve himself\nto death. The merchant tried to console him and dissuade him\nfrom his resolution, saying, \"Br\u00e1hman, why do you long to die for\nthe loss of your wealth? Wealth, like an unseasonable cloud,\nsuddenly comes and goes.\" But the Br\u00e1hman would not abandon his\nfixed determination to commit suicide, for wealth is dearer to\nthe miser than life itself. When he was about to depart for the\nholy place, the king, having heard of it, came and asked him,\n\"Br\u00e1hman, do you know of any mark by which you can distinguish\nthe place where you buried your d\u00edn\u00e1rs?\" He replied, \"There is a\nsmall tree in the wood, at the foot of which I buried that\nmoney.\" Then said the king, \"I will find the money and give it\nback to you, or I will give it you from my own treasury;--do not\ncommit suicide, Br\u00e1hman.\"\n\nWhen the king returned to his palace, he pretended to have a\nheadache, and summoned all the physicians in the city by\nproclamation with beat of drum. And he took aside every one of\nthem singly and questioned them privately, saying, \"What patients\nhave you, and what medicines have you prescribed for each?\" And\nthey thereupon, one by one, answered the king's questions. At\nlength a physician said, \"The merchant M\u00e1tridatta has been out of\nsorts, O king, and this is the second day I have prescribed for\nhim n\u00e1gabal\u00e1 (the plant Uraria Lagopodioides).\" Then the king\nsent for the merchant, and said to him, \"Tell me, who fetched you\nthe n\u00e1gabal\u00e1?\" The merchant replied, \"My servant, your highness.\"\nOn hearing this, the king at once summoned the servant and said\nto him, \"Give up that treasure belonging to a Br\u00e1hman, consisting\nof a store of d\u00edn\u00e1rs, which you found when you were digging at\nthe foot of the tree for n\u00e1gabal\u00e1.\" When the king said this to\nhim the servant was frightened, and confessed immediately; and\nbringing the money left it there. Then the king summoned the\nBr\u00e1hman and gave him, who had been fasting meanwhile, the d\u00edn\u00e1rs,\nlost and found again, like a second soul external to his body.\nThus did the king by his wisdom recover to the Br\u00e1hman his wealth\nwhich had been taken away from the root of the tree, knowing that\nthat simple grew in such spots.\n\n\n\n\nTALE OF THE DEVOUT WOMAN ACCUSED OF LEWDNESS.--Vol. XI. p. 270.\n\n\n\nThis is one of three Arabian variants of Chaucer's Man of Law's Tale (the Story of Constance), of which there are numerous versions--see my paper entitled \"The Innocent Persecuted Wife,\" pp. 365-414 of \"Originals and Analogues of some of Chaucer's Canterbury Tales.\"\n\n\n\n\nTHE WEAVER WHO BECAME A LEACH BY ORDER OF HIS WIFE.--Vol. XI. p. 282.\n\n\n\nSomewhat resembling this, but much more elaborate, is the amusing\nstory of Ahmed the Cobbler, in Sir John Malcolm's \"Sketches of\nPersia,\" ch. xx., the original of which is probably found in the\ntale of Harisarman, book vi. ch. 30, of the \"Kath\u00e1 Sarit S\u00e1gara,\"\nand it has many European variants, such as the German story of\nDoctor Allwissend, in Grimm's collection, and that of the\nCharcoal Burner in Sir George Dasent's \"Tales from the Fjeld.--\nAccording to the Persian story, Ahmed the Cobbler had a young and\npretty wife, of whom he was very fond. She was ever forming grand\nschemes of riches and splendour, and was firmly persuaded that\nshe was destined to great fortune. It happened one evening, while\nin this frame of mind, that she went to the public baths, where\nshe saw a lady retiring dressed in a magnificent robe, covered\nwith jewels, and surrounded by slaves. This was the very\ncondition she had always longed for, and she eagerly inquired the\nname of the happy person who had so many attendants and such fine\njewels. She learned it was the wife of the chief astrologer to\nthe king. With this information she returned home. Ahmed met her\nat the door, but was received with a frown, nor could all his\ncaresses obtain a smile or a word; for several hours she\ncontinued silent, and in apparent misery; at length she said,\n\"Cease your caresses, unless you are ready to give me a proof\nthat you do really and sincerely love me.\" \"What proof of love,\"\nexclaimed poor Ahmed, \"can you desire that I will not give?\"\n\"Give over cobbling, it is a vile, low trade, and never yields\nmore than ten or twelve d\u00edn\u00e1rs a day. Turn astrologer; your\nfortune will be made, and I shall have all I wish and be happy.\"\n\"Astrologer!\" cried Ahmed--\"astrologer! Have you forgotten who I\nam--a cobbler, without any learning--that you want me to engage\nin a profession which requires so much skill and knowledge?\" \"I\nneither think nor care about your qualifications,\" said the\nenraged wife; \"all I know is that if you do not turn astrologer\nimmediately, I will be divorced from you to-morrow.\" The cobbler\nremonstrated, but in vain. The figure of the astrologer's wife,\nwith her jewels and her slaves, took complete possession of her\nimagination. All night it haunted her: she dreamt of nothing\nelse, and on awakening declared that she would leave the house if\nher husband did not comply with her wishes. What could poor Ahmed\ndo? He was no astrologer; but he was dotingly fond of his wife,\nand he could not bear the idea of losing her. He promised to\nobey, and having sold his little stock, bought an astrolabe, an\nastronomical almanac, and a table of the twelve signs of the\nzodiac. Furnished with these, he went to the market-place, crying,\n\"I am an astrologer! I know the sun, and the moon, and the stars,\nand the twelve signs of the zodiac; I can calculate nativities; I\ncan foretell everything that is to happen.\" No man was better\nknown than Ahmed the Cobbler. A crowd soon gathered round him.\n\"What, friend Ahmed,\" said one, \"have you worked till your head\nis turned?\" \"Are you tired of looking down at your last,\" cried\nanother, \"that you are now looking up at the stars?\" These and a\nthousand other jokes assailed the ears of the poor cobbler, who\nnotwithstanding continued to exclaim that he was an astrologer,\nhaving resolved on doing what he could to please his beautiful\nwife.\n\nIt so happened that the king's jeweller was passing by. He was in\ngreat distress, having lost the richest ruby belonging to the\nking. Every search had been made to recover this inestimable\njewel, but to no purpose; and as the jeweller knew he could no\nlonger conceal its loss from the king, he looked forward to death\nas inevitable. In this hopeless state, while wandering about the\ntown, he reached the crowd around Ahmed, and asked what was the\nmatter. \"Don't you know Ahmed the Cobbler?\" said one of the\nbystanders, laughing. \"He has been inspired and is become an\nastrologer.\" A drowning man will catch at a broken reed: the\njeweller no sooner heard the sound of the word astrologer than he\nwent up to Ahmed, told him what had happened, and said, \"If you\nunderstand your art, you must be able to discover the king's\nruby. Do so, and I will give you two hundred pieces of gold. But\nif you do not succeed within six hours, I will use my influence\nat court to have you put to death as an impostor.\" Poor Ahmed was\nthunderstruck. He stood long without being able to speak,\nreflecting on his misfortunes, and grieving, above all, that his\nwife, whom he so loved, had, by her envy and selfishness, brought\nhim to such a fearful alternative. Full of these sad thoughts, he\nexclaimed aloud, \"O woman! woman! thou art more baneful to the\nhappiness of man than the poisonous dragon of the desert!\" Now\nthe lost ruby had been secreted by the jeweller's wife, who,\ndisquieted by those alarms which ever attend guilt, sent one of\nher female slaves to watch her husband. This slave, on seeing her\nmaster speak to the astrologer, drew near; and when she heard\nAhmed, after some moments of abstraction, compare a woman to a\npoisonous dragon, she was satisfied that he must know everything.\nShe ran to her mistress, and, breathless with fear, cried, \"You\nare discovered by a vile astrologer! Before six hours are past\nthe whole story will be known, and you will become infamous, if\nyou are even so fortunate as to escape with life, unless you can\nfind some way of prevailing on him to be merciful.\" She then\nrelated what she had seen and heard; and Ahmed's exclamation\ncarried as complete conviction to the mind of the terrified lady\nas it had done to that of her slave. The jeweller's wife hastily\nthrowing on her veil, went in search of the dreaded astrologer.\nWhen she found him, she cried, \"Spare my honour and my life, and\nI will confess everything.\" \"What can you have to confess to me?\"\nsaid Ahmed, in amazement. \"O nothing--nothing with which you are\nnot already acquainted. You know too well that I stole the king's\nruby. I did so to punish my husband, who uses me most cruelly;\nand I thought by this means to obtain riches for myself and have\nhim put to death. But you, most wonderful man, from whom nothing\nis hidden, have discovered and defeated my wicked plan. I beg\nonly for mercy, and will do whatever you command me.\" An angel\nfrom heaven could not have brought more consolation to Ahmed than\ndid the jeweller's wife. He assumed all the dignified solemnity\nthat became his new character, and said, \"Woman! I know all thou\nhast done, and it is fortunate for thee that thou hast come to\nconfess thy sin and beg for mercy before it was too late. Return\nto thy house; put the ruby under the pillow of the couch on which\nthy husband sleeps; let it be laid on the side farthest from the\ndoor; and be satisfied thy guilt shall never be even suspected.\"\nThe jeweller's wife went home and did as she was instructed. In\nan hour Ahmed followed her, and told the jeweller he had made his\ncalculations, and found by the aspect of the sun and moon, and by\nthe configuration of the stars, that the ruby was at that moment\nlying under the pillow of his couch on the side farthest from the\ndoor. The jeweller thought Ahmed must be crazy; but as a ray of\nhope is like a ray from heaven to the wretched, he ran to his\ncouch, and there, to his joy and wonder, found the ruby in the\nvery place described. He came back to Ahmed, embraced him, called\nhim his dearest friend and the preserver of his life, gave him\ntwo hundred pieces of gold, declaring that he was the first\nastrologer of the age.\n\nAhmed returned home with his lucky gains, and would gladly have\nresumed his cobbling but his wife insisting on his continuing to\npractice his new profession, there was no help but to go out\nagain next day and proclaim his astrological accomplishments. By\nmere chance he is the means of a lady recovering a valuable\nnecklace which she had lost at the bath, and forty chests of gold\nstolen from the king's treasury, and is finally rewarded with the\nhand of the king's daughter in marriage.\n\n\n\n\nSTORY OF THE KING WHO LOST KINGDOM, WIFE AND WEALTH.--Vol. XI. p. 319.\n\n\n\nIn the \"Indian Antiquary\" for June 1886 the Rev. J. Hinton\nKnowles gives a translation of what he terms a Kashm\u00edr\u00ed Tale,\nunder the title of \"Pride Abased,\" which, he says, was told him\nby \"a Brahman named Mukund B\u00e1y\u00fa, who resides at Suth\u00fa, Sr\u00ednagar,\"\nand which is an interesting variant of the Waz\u00edr Er-Rahwan's\nsecond story of the King who lost his Realm and Wealth:\n\n\n KASHMIRI VERSION.[FN#512]\n\nThere was once a king who was noted throughout his dominions for\ndaily boasting of his power and riches. His ministers at length\nbecame weary of this self-glorification, and one day when he\ndemanded of them, as usual, whether there existed in the whole\nworld another king as powerful as he, they plainly told him that\nthere was such another potentate; upon which he assembled his\ntroops and rode forth at their head, challenging the neighbouring\nkings to fight with him. Ere long he met with more than his\nmatch, for another king came with a great army and utterly\ndefeated him, and took possession of his kingdom. Disguising\nhimself, the humbled king escaped with his wife and two boys, and\narriving at the sea shore, found a ship about to sail. The master\nagreed to take him and his family and land them at the port for\nwhich he was bound. But when he beheld the beauty of the queen,\nhe became enamoured of her, and determined to make her his own.\nThe queen was the first to go on board the ship, and the king and\nhis two sons were about to follow, when they were seized by a\nparty of ruffians, hired by the shipmaster, and held back until\nthe vessel had got fairly under way. The queen was distracted on\nseeing her husband and children left behind, and refused to\nlisten to the master's suit, who, after having tried to win her\nlove for several days without success, resolved to sell her as a\nslave. Among the passengers was a merchant, who, seeing that the\nlady would not accept the shipmaster for her husband, thought\nthat if he bought her, he might in time gain her affection.\nAccordingly he purchased her of the master for a large sum of\nmoney, and then told her that he had done so with a view of\nmaking her his wife. The lady replied that, although the shipman\nhad no right thus to dispose of her, yet she would consent to\nmarry him at the end of two years, if she did not during that\nperiod meet with her husband and their two sons; and to this\ncondition the merchant agreed. In the meanwhile the king, having\nsorrowfully watched the vessel till it was out of sight, turned\nback with his two boys, who wept and lamented as they ran beside\nhim. After walking a great distance, he came to a shallow but\nrapid river, which he wished to cross, and, as there was no boat\nor bridge, he was obliged to wade through the water. Taking up\none of his sons he contrived to reach the other side in safety,\nand was returning for the other when the force of the current\novercame him and he was drowned.\n\nWhen the two boys noticed that their father had perished, they\nwept bitterly. Their separation, too, was a further cause for\ngrief. There they stood, one on either side of the river, with no\nmeans of reaching each other. They shouted, and ran about hither\nand thither in their grief, till they had almost wearied\nthemselves into sleep, when a fisherman came past, who, seeing\nthe great distress of the boys, took them into his boat, and\nasked them who they were, and who were their parents; and they\ntold him all that had happened. When he had heard their story, he\nsaid, \"You have not a father or mother, and I have not a child.\nEvidently God has sent you to me. Will you be my own children and\nlearn to fish, and live in my house?\" Of course, the poor boys\nwere only too glad to find a friend and shelter. \"Come,\" said the\nfisherman kindly, leading them out of the boat to a house close\nby, \"I will look after you.\" The boys followed most happily, and\nwent into the fisherman's house, and when they saw his wife they\nwere still better pleased, for she was very kind to them, and\ntreated them as if they had been her own children. The two boys\nwent to school, and when they had learned all that the master\ncould teach them, they began to help their adoptive father, and\nin a little while became most expert and diligent young\nfishermen.\n\nThus time was passing with them, when it happened that a great\nfish threw itself on to the bank of the river and could not get\nback again into the water. Everybody in the village went to see\nthe monstrous fish, and cut a slice of its flesh and took it\nhome. A few people also went from the neighbouring villages, and\namongst them was a maker of earthernware. His wife had heard of\nthe great fish and urged him to go and get some of the flesh. So\nhe went, although the hour was late. On his arrival he found that\nall the people had returned to their homes. The potter had taken\nan axe with him, thinking that the bones would be so great and\nstrong as to require its use in breaking them. When he struck the\nfirst blow a voice came out of the fish, like that of some one in\npain, at which the potter was greatly surprised. \"Perhaps,\"\nthought he, \"the fish is possessed by a bh\u00fat.[FN#513] I'll try\nagain,\" whereupon he struck another blow with his axe. Again the\nvoice came forth from the fish, saying, \"Woe is me! woe is me!\"\nOn hearing this, the potter thought, \"Well, this is evidently not\na bh\u00fat, but the voice of an ordinary man. I'll cut the flesh\ncarefully. May be that I shall find some poor distressed\nperson.\" So he began to cut away the flesh carefully, and\npresently he perceived a man's foot, then the legs appeared, and\nthen the entire body. \"Praise be to God,\" he cried, \"the soul is\nyet in him.\" He carried the man to his house as fast as he could,\nand on arriving there did everything in his power to recover him.\nA large fire was soon got ready, and tea and soup given the man,\nand great was the joy of the potter and his wife when they saw\nhim reviving.[FN#514] For some months the stranger lived with\nthose good people, and learnt how to make pots and pans and other\narticles and thereby helped them considerably. Now it happened\nthat the king of that country died and it was the custom of the\npeople to take for their sovereign whomsoever the late king's\nelephant and hawk should select. And so on the death of the king\nthe royal elephant was driven all over the country, and the hawk\nwas made to fly about, in search of a successor and it came to\npass that the person before whom the elephant saluted and on whom\nthe hawk alighted was considered as the divinely-chosen one.\nAccordingly the elephant and the hawk went about the country, and\nin the course of their wanderings came by the house of the potter\nwho had so kindly succoured the poor man whom he found in the\nbelly of the monstrous fish; and it chanced that as they passed\nthe place the stranger was standing by the door, and behold, no\nsooner did the elephant and hawk see him than the one bowed down\nbefore him and the other perched on his hand. \"Let him be king!\nlet him be king!\" shouted the people who were in attendance on\nthe elephant, and they prostrated themselves before the stranger\nand begged him to accompany them to the palace.[FN#515]\n\nThe ministers were glad when they heard the news, and most\nrespectfully welcomed their new king. As soon as the rites and\nceremonies necessary for the installation of a king had been\nobserved, his majesty entered on his duties. The first thing he\ndid was to send for the potter and his wife and grant them some\nland and money. In this and other ways, such as just judgments,\nproper laws, and kindly notices of all who were clever and good,\nhe won for himself the good opinion and affection of his subjects\nand prospered in consequence thereof. After a few months,\nhowever, his health was impaired, and his physicians advised him\nto take out-door exercise. Accordingly, he alternately rode,\nhunted and fished. He was especially fond of fishing, and\nwhenever he indulged in this amusement, he was attended by two\nsons of a fisherman, who were clever and handsome youths.\n\nAbout this time the merchant who bought the wife of the poor king\nthat was carried away by the rapid river visited that country for\npurposes of trade. He obtained an interview with the king, and\ndisplayed before him all his precious stones and stuffs. The king\nwas much pleased to see such treasures, and asked many questions\nabout them and the countries whence they had been brought. The\nmerchant satisfied the king's curiosity, and then begged\npermission to trade in that country, under his majesty's\nprotection, which the king readily granted, and ordered that some\nsoldiers should be placed on guard in the merchant's courtyard,\nand sent the fisherman's two sons to sleep in the premises.\n\nOne night those two youths not being able to sleep, the younger\nasked his brother to tell him a story to pass the time, so he\nreplied, \"I will tell you one out of our own experience: Once\nupon a time there lived a great and wealthy king, who was very\nproud, and his pride led him to utter ruin and caused him the\nsorest afflictions.. One day when going about with his army,\nchallenging other kings to fight with him, a great and powerful\nking appeared and conquered him. He escaped with his wife and two\nsons to the sea, hoping to find a vessel, by which he and his\nfamily might reach a foreign land. After walking several miles\nthey reached the sea-shore and found a ship ready to sail. The\nmaster of the vessel took the queen, but the king and his two\nsons were held back by some men, who had been hired by the master\nfor this purpose, until the ship was under way. The poor king\nafter this walked long and far till he came to a rapid river. As\nthere was no bridge or boat near, he was obliged to wade across.\nHe took one of his boys and got over safely, and was returning\nfor the other when he stumbled over a stone, lost his footing,\nand was carried down the stream; and he has not been heard of\nsince. A fisherman came along, and, seeing the two boys crying,\ntook them into his boat, and afterwards to his house, and became\nvery fond of them, as did also his wife, and they were like\nfather and mother to them. All this happened a few years ago, and\nthe two boys are generally believed to be the fisherman's own\nsons. O brother, we are these two boys! And there you have my\nstory.\"\n\nThe tale was so interesting and its conclusion so wonderful that\nthe younger brother was more awake than before. It had also\nattracted the attention of another. The merchant's promised wife,\nwho happened to be lying awake at the time, and whose room was\nseparated from the warehouse by a very thin partition, overheard\nall that had been said, and she thought within herself, \"Surely\nthese two boys must be my own sons.\" Presently she was sitting\nbeside them and asking them many questions. Two years or more had\nmade great difference in the persons of both the boys, but there\nwere certain signs which a hundred years could not efface from a\nmother's memory. These, together with the answers which she\nelicited from them, assured her that she had found her own sons\nagain. Tears streamed down her face as she embraced them, and\nrevealed to them that she was the queen, their mother, about whom\nthey had just been speaking. She then told them all that had\nhappened to her since she had been parted from them and their\npoor father, the king; after which she explained that although\nthe merchant was a good man and very wealthy yet she did not like\nhim well enough to become his wife, and proposed a plan for her\ngetting rid of him. \"My device,\" said she, \"is to pretend to the\nmerchant that you attempted my honour. I shall affect to be very\nangry and not give him any peace until he goes to the king and\ncomplains against you. Then will the king send for you in great\nwrath and inquire into this matter. In reply you may say it is\nall a mistake, for you regard me as your own mother, and in proof\nof this you will beg the king to summon me into his presence,\nthat I may corroborate what you say. Then I will declare that you\nare really my own sons, and beseech the king to free me from the\nmerchant and allow me to live with you in any place I may choose\nfor the rest of my days.\"\n\nThe sons agreed to this proposal, and next night, when the\nmerchant was also sleeping in the house, the woman raised a great\ncry, so that everybody was awakened by the noise. The merchant\ncame and asked the cause of the outcry, and she answered, \"The\ntwo youths who look after your warehouse have attempted to\nviolate me, so I screamed in order to make them desist.\" On\nhearing this the merchant was enraged. He immediately bound the\ntwo youths, and, as soon as there was any chance of seeing the\nking, took them before him preferred his complaint. \"What have\nyou to say in your defence?\" said the king, addressing the\nyouths; \"because, if what this merchant charges against you be\ntrue, I will have you at once put to death. Is this the gratitude\nyou manifest for all my kindness and condescension towards you?\nSay quickly what you have to say.\" \"O king, our benefactor,\"\nreplied the elder brother, \"we are not affrighted by your words\nand looks, for we are true servants. We have not betrayed your\ntrust in us, but have always tried to fulfil your wishes to the\nutmost of our power. The charges brought against us by this\nmerchant are unfounded. We have not attempted to dishonour his\nwife; we have rather always regarded her as our own mother. May\nit please your majesty to send for the woman and inquire further\ninto this matter.\"\n\nThe king consented, and the woman was brought before him. \"Is it\ntrue,\" he asked her \"what the merchant, your affianced husband,\nwitnesses against these two youths?\" \"O king,\" she replied, \"the\nyouths whom you gave to help the merchant have most carefully\ntried to carry out your wishes. But the night before last I heard\ntheir conversation. The elder was telling the younger a tale,\nfrom his own experience, he said. It was a story of a conceited\nking who had been defeated by another more powerful than he, and\nobliged to fly with his wife and two children to the sea. There,\nthrough the vile trickery of the master of a vessel, the wife was\nstolen and taken away to far distant lands, where she became\nengaged to a wealthy trader; while the exiled king and his two\nsons wandered in another direction, till they came to a river, in\nwhich the king was drowned. The two boys were found by a\nfisherman and brought up as his own sons. These two boys, O king,\nare before you, and I am their mother, who was taken away and\nsold to the trader, and who after two days must be married to\nhim. For I promised that if within a certain period I should not\nmeet with my husband and two sons I would be his wife. But I\nentreat your majesty to free me from this man. I do not wish to\nmarry again, now that I have found my two sons. In order to\nobtain an audience of your majesty, this trick was arranged with\nthe two youths.\"\n\nBy the time the woman had finished her story the king's face was\nsuffused with tears and he was trembling visibly. When he had\nsomewhat recovered he rose from the throne and going up to the\nwoman and the two youths embraced them long and fervently. \"You\nare my own dear wife and children,\" he cried. \"God has sent you\nback to me. I, the king, your husband, your father, was not\ndrowned as you supposed; but was swallowed by a great fish and\nnourished by it for some time, and then the monster threw itself\nupon the river's bank and I was extricated. A potter and his wife\nhad pity on me and taught me their trade, and I was just\nbeginning to earn my living by making earthen vessels when the\nlate king of this country died, and I was chosen king by the\nroyal elephant and hawk--I who am now standing here.\" Then his\nmajesty ordered the queen and her two sons to be taken into the\ninner apartments of the palace, and explained his conduct to the\npeople assembled. The merchant was politely dismissed from the\ncountry. And as soon as the two princes were old enough to govern\nthe kingdom, the king committed to them the charge of all\naffairs, while he retired with his wife to a sequestered spot and\npassed the rest of his days in peace.\n\nThe tale of Sarwar and N\u00edr, \"as told by a celebrated Bard from\nBaraut, in the Merath district,\" in vol. iii. of Captain R. C.\nTemple's \"Legends of the Panj\u00e1b\" (pp. 97-125), though differing in\nform somewhat from the Kashm\u00edr\u00ed version, yet possesses the\nleading incidents in common with it, as will be seen from the\nfollowing abstract:\n\n PANJ\u00c1B\u00cd VERSION.\n\nAmb\u00e1 the r\u00e1j\u00e1 of P\u00fan\u00e1 had a beautiful wife named Aml\u00ed and two\nyoung sons, Sarwar and N\u00edr. There came to his court one day a\nfak\u00edr. The r\u00e1j\u00e1 promised to give him whatsoever he should desire.\nThe fakir required Amb\u00e1 to give up to him all he possessed, or\nlose his virtue, and the r\u00e1j\u00e1 gave him all, save his wife and two\nchildren, receiving in return the blessings of the fak\u00edr, Then\nthe r\u00e1j\u00e1 and the r\u00e1n\u00ed went away; he carrying Sarwar in his bosom,\nand she with N\u00edr in her lap. For a time they lived on the fruits\nand roots of the forest. At length the ran\u00ed gave her husband her\n(jewelled) bodice to sell in the bazar, in order to procure food.\nHe offered it to Kundan the merchant, who made him sit down, and\nasked him where he had left the ran\u00ed, and why he did not bring her\nwith him. Amb\u00e1 told him that he had left her with their two boys\nunder the banyan-tree. Then Kundan, leaving Amb\u00e1 in the shop,\nwent and got a litter, and proceeding to the banyan-tree showed\nthe r\u00e1n\u00ed the bodice, and said, \"Thy husband wishes thee to come\nto him.\" Nothing doubting, the r\u00e1n\u00ed entered the litter, and the\nmerchant sent it off to his own house. Leaving the boys in the\nforest, he returned to Amb\u00e1, and said to him that he had not\nenough money to pay the price of the bodice, so the r\u00e1j\u00e1 must\ntake it back. Amb\u00e1 took the bodice, and coming to the boys,\nlearned from Sarwar how their mother had been carried away in a\nlitter, and he was sorely grieved in his heart, but consoled the\nchildren, saying that their mother had gone to her brother's\nhouse, and that he would take them to her at once. Placing the\ntwo boys on his shoulders he walked along till he came to a\nriver. He set down N\u00edr and carried Sarwar safely across, but as\nhe was going back for the other, behold, an alligator seized him.\nIt was the will of God: what remedy is there against the writing\nof Fate? The two boys, separated by the river, sat down and wept\nin their sorrow. In the early morning a washerman was up and\nspreading his clothes. He heard the two boys weeping and came to\nsee. He had pity on them and brought them together. Then he took\nthem to his house, and washed their faces and gave them food. He\nput them into a separate house and a Brahman cooked for them and\ngave them water.[FN#516] He caused the brothers to be taught all\nkinds of learning, and at the end of twelve years they both set\nout together to seek their living. They went to the city of\nUjjain, and told the r\u00e1j\u00e1 their history--how they had left their\nhome and kingdom. The r\u00e1j\u00e1 gave them arms and suitable clothing,\nand appointed them guards over the female apartments.[FN#517] One\nday a fisherman caught an alligator in his net. When he cut open\nits body, he found in it R\u00e1j\u00e1 Amb\u00e1, alive.[FN#518] So he took him\nto the r\u00e1j\u00e1 of Ujjain, and told how he had found him in the\nstomach of an alligator. Amb\u00e1 related his whole history to the\nr\u00e1j\u00e1; how he gave up all his wealth and his kingdom to a fak\u00edr;\nhow his wife had been stolen from him; and how after safely\ncarrying one of his young sons over the river in returning for\nthe other he had been swallowed by an alligator. On hearing of\nall these misfortunes the r\u00e1j\u00e1 of Ujjain pitied him and loved him\nin his heart: he adopted Amb\u00e1 as his son; and they lived together\ntwenty years, when the r\u00e1j\u00e1 died and Amb\u00e1 obtained the throne.\n\nMeanwhile the beautiful R\u00e1n\u00ed Aml\u00ed, the wife of Amb\u00e1, had\ncontinued to refuse the merchant Kundan's reiterated proffers of\nlove. At length he said to her, \"Many days have passed over thee,\nlive now in my house as my wife.\" And she replied, \"Let me bathe\nin the Ganges, and then I will dwell in thy house.\" So he took\nelephants and horses and lakhs of coin, and set the r\u00e1n\u00ed in a\nlitter and started on the journey. When he reached the city of\nUjjain, he made a halt and pitched his tents. Then he went before\nR\u00e1j\u00e1 Amb\u00e1 and said, \"Give me a guard, for the nights are dark.\nHitherto I have had much trouble and no ease at nights. I am\ngoing to bathe in the Ganges, to give alms and much food to\nBrahmans. I am come, r\u00e1j\u00e1, to salute thee, bringing many things\nfrom my house.\"\n\nThe r\u00e1j\u00e1 sent Sarwar and N\u00edr as guards. They watched the tents,\nand while the rain was falling the two brothers began talking\nover their sorrows, saying \"What can our mother be doing? Whither\nhath our father gone?\" Their mother overheard them talking, and\nby the will of God she recognised the princes; then she tore open\nthe tent, and cried aloud, \"All my property is gone! Who brought\nthis thief to my tent?\" The r\u00e1n\u00ed had both Sarwar and N\u00edr seized,\nand brought before R\u00e1j\u00e1 Amb\u00e1 on the charge of having stolen her\nproperty. The r\u00e1j\u00e1 held a court, and began to ask questions,\nsaying, \"Tell me what hath passed during the night. How much of\nthy property hath gone, my friend? I will do thee justice,\naccording to thy desire: my heart is grieved that thy goods are\ngone.\" Then said the ran\u00ed, \"Be careful of the young elephant! The\nlightning flashes and the heavy rain is falling. Said N\u00edr, 'Hear,\nbrother Sarwar, who knows whither our mother hath gone?' And I\nrecognised my son; so I made all this disturbance, raja [in order\nto get access to thee]\". [FN#519] Hearing this, R\u00e1j\u00e1 Amb\u00e1 rose up\nand took her to his breast--Aml\u00ed and Amb\u00e1 met again through the\nmercy of God. The r\u00e1j\u00e1 gave orders to have Kundan hanged, saying,\n\"Do it at once; he is a scoundrel; undo him that he may not\nlive.\" They quickly fetched the executioners and put on the\nnoose; and then was Kundan strangled. The r\u00e1n\u00ed dwelt in the\npalace and all her troubles passed far away. She fulfilled all\nher obligations, and obtained great happiness through her virtue.\n\n\n TIBETAN VERSION.\n\nUnder the title of \"Krisa Gautami\" in the collection of \"Tibetan\nTales from Indian Sources,\" translated by Mr. Ralston from the\nGerman of Von Schiefner, we have what appears to be a very much\ngarbled form of an old Buddhist version of our story. The heroine\nis married to a young merchant, whose father gives him some\narable land in a hill district, where he resides with Krisa\nGuatami his wife.\n\nWhen the time came for her to expect her confinement, she\nobtained leave of her husband to go to her parents' house in\norder that she might have the attendance of her mother. After her\nconfinement and the naming of the boy, she returned home. When\nthe time of her second confinement drew near, she again expressed\nto her husband a desire to go to her parents. Her husband set out\nwith her and the boy in a waggon; but by the time they had gone\nhalf way she gave birth to a boy. When the husband saw that this\nwas to take place he got out of the waggon, sat under a tree, and\nfell asleep. While he was completely overcome by slumber a snake\nbit him and he died. When his wife in her turn alighted from the\nwaggon, and went up to the tree in order to bring him the joyful\ntidings that a son was born unto him, he, as he had given up the\nghost, made no reply. She seized him by the hand and found that\nhe was dead. Then she began to weep. Meantime a thief carried off\nthe oxen. After weeping for a long time, and becoming very\nmournful, she looked around on every side, pressed the new-born\nbabe to her bosom, took the elder child by the hand, and set out\non her way. As a heavy rain had unexpectedly fallen, all the\nlakes, ponds, and springs were full of water, and the road was\nflooded by the river. She reflected that if she were to cross the\nwater with both the children at once, she and they might meet\nwith a disaster, and therefore the children had better be taken\nover separately. So she seated the elder boy on the bank of the\nriver, and took the younger one in her arms, walked across to the\nother side and laid him down upon the bank. Then she went back\nfor the elder boy. But while she was in the middle of the river,\nthe younger boy was carried off by a jackal. The elder boy\nthought that his mother was calling him, and sprang into the\nwater. The bank was very steep, so he fell down and was killed.\nThe mother hastened after the jackal, who let the child drop and\nran off. When she looked at it, she found that it was dead. So\nafter she had wept over it, she threw it into the water. When she\nsaw that the elder was being carried along by the stream, she\nbecame still more distressed. She hastened after him, and found\nthat he was dead. Bereft of both husband and children, she gave\nway to despair, and sat down alone on the bank, with only the\nlower part of her body covered. There she listened to the howling\nof the wind, the roaring of the forest and of the waves, as well\nas the singing of various kinds of birds. Then wandering to and\nfro, with sobs and tears of woe, she lamented the loss of her\nhusband and her two children.\n\nShe meets with one of her father's domestics, who informs her\nthat her parents and their servants had all been destroyed by a\nhurricane, and that \"he only had escaped\" to tell her the sad\ntidings. After this she is married to a weaver, who ill-uses her,\nand she escapes from him one night. She attaches herself to some\ntravellers returning from a trading expedition in the north, and\nthe leader of the caravan takes her for his wife. The party are\nattacked by robbers and the leader is killed. She then becomes\nthe wife of the chief of the robbers, who in his turn finds death\nat the hands of the king of that country, and she is placed in\nhis zenana.\n\nThe king died, and she was buried alive in his tomb, after having\nhad great honour shown to her by the women, the princes, the\nministers, and a vast concourse of people. Some men from the\nnorth who were wont to rob graves broke into this one also. The\ndust they raised entered into Krisa Gautami's nostrils, and made\nher sneeze. The grave-robbers were terrified, thinking that she\nwas a demon (vet\u00e1la), and they fled; but Krisa Gautami escaped\nfrom the grave through the opening which they had made. Conscious\nof all her troubles, and affected by the want of food, just as a\nviolent storm arose, she went out of her mind. Covered with\nmerely her underclothing, her hands and feet foul and rough, with\nlong locks and pallid complexion, she wandered about until she\nreached Sravast\u00ed. There, at the sight of Bhagavant, she recovered\nher intellect. Bhagavant ordered Ananda to give her an overrobe,\nand he taught her the doctrine, and admitted her into the\necclesiastical body, and he appointed her the chief of the\nBhikshun\u00eds who had embraced discipline.[FN#520]\n\nThis remarkable story is one of those which reached Europe long\nanterior to the Crusades. It is found in the Greek martyr acts,\nwhich were probably composed in the eighth century, where it is\ntold of Saint Eustache, who was before his baptism a captain of\nTrajan, named Placidus, and the same legend reappears, with\nmodifications of the details, in many medi\u00e6val collections and\nforms the subject of several romances. In most versions the motif\nis similar to that of the story of Job. The following is the\noutline of the original legend, according to the Greek martyr\nacts:\n\n\n LEGEND OF ST. EUSTACHE.\n\nAs Placidus one day hunted in the forest, the Saviour appeared to\nhim between the antlers of a hart, and converted him. Placidus\nchanged his name into Eustache, when he was baptised with his\nwife and sons. God announced to him by an angel his future\nmartyrdom. Eustache was afflicted by dreadful calamities, lost\nall his estate, and was compelled to go abroad as a beggar with\nhis wife and his children. As he went on board a ship bound for\nEgypt, his wife was seized by the shipmaster and carried off.\nSoon after, when Eustache was travelling along the shore, his two\nchildren were borne off by a lion and a leopard. Eustache then\nworked for a long time as journeyman, till he was discovered by\nthe emperor Trajan, who had sent out messengers for him, and\ncalled him to court. Reappointed captain, Eustache undertook an\nexpedition against the Dacians. During this war he found his wife\nin a cottage as a gardener--the shipmaster had fallen dead to the\nground as he ventured to touch her--and in the same cottage he\nfound again his two sons as soldiers: herdsmen had rescued them\nfrom the wild beasts and brought them up. Glad was their meeting\nagain! But as they returned to Rome they were all burnt in a\nglowing bull of brass by the emperor's order, because they\nrefused to sacrifice to the heathen gods.[FN#521]\n\nThe story of Placidus, which forms chapter 110 of the continental\n\"Gesta Romanorum,\" presents few and unimportant variations from\nthe foregoing: Eustatius came to a river the water of which ran\nso high that it seemed hazardous to attempt to cross it with both\nthe children at the same time; one therefore he placed upon the\nbank, and then passed over with the other in his arms, and having\nlaid it on the ground, he returned for the other child. But in\nthe midst of the river, looking back, he beheld a wolf snatch up\nthe child he had just carried over and run with it into the\nadjoining wood. He turned to rescue it, but at that instant a\nhuge lion approached the other child and disappeared with it.\nAfter the loss of his two boys Eustatius journeyed on till he\ncame to a village, where he remained for fifteen years, tending\nsheep as a hired servant, when he was discovered by Trajan's\nmessengers, and so on.\n\nThe story is so differently told in one of the Early English\ntranslations of the \"Gesta Romanorum\" in the Harleian MSS. 7333\n(re-edited by Herrtage for the E.E.T. Soc., pp. 87-91) that it is\nworth while, for purposes of comparison, reproducing it here in\nfull:\n\n\n OLD ENGLISH \"GESTA\" VERSION.\n\nAverios was a wise emperour regnyng in the cite of Rome; and he\nlet crye a grete feste, and who so ever wold come to that feste,\nand gete victory in the tournement, he shuld have his doughter to\nwyf, after his decesse. So there was a doughti knyght, and hardy\nin armys, and specially in tournement, the which hadde a wyf, and\ntwo yong children, of age of thre yere; and when this knyght had\nherd this crye, in a clere morowenyng[FN#522] he entred in to a\nforest, and there he herd a nyghtingale syng upon a tre so\nswetly, that he herd never so swete a melody afore that tyme. The\nknyght sette him doun undre the tre, and seid to him self, \"Now,\nLord, if I myght knowe what this brid[FN#523] shold\nbemene!\"[FN#524] There come an old man, and seid to him, \"That\nthou shalt go within thes thre daies to the emperours feste, and\nthou shalt suffre grete persecution or thou come there; and if\nthou be constant, and pacient in all thi tribulacion, thy sorowe\nshal turne the[FN#525] to grete joy; and, ser, this is the\ninterpretacion of his song.\" When this was seid, the old man\nvanysshed, and the brid fly away. Tho[FN#526] the knyght had\ngrete merveill; he yede[FN#527] to his wif, and told her the\ncas.[FN#528] \"Ser.\" quod she, \"the will of God be fulfilled, but\nI counsell that we go to the feste of the emperour and that ye\nthynk on the victory in the tournement, by the which we may be\navaunced[FN#529] and holpen.\"[FN#530] When the knyght had made\nall thing redy, there come a grete fire in the nyght; and\nbrent[FN#531] up all his hous and all his goodis, for which he\nhad grete sorowe in hert; nevertheles, notwithstondyng all this,\nhe yede forthe toward the see, with his wife, and with his two\nchildryn; and there he hired a ship, to passe over. When thei\ncome to londe, the maister of the shippe asked of the knyght his\nhire for his passage, for him, and for his wif and for his two\nchildryn. \"Dere frend,\" said the knyght to him, \"dere freed,\nsuffre me, and thou shalt have all thyn, for I go now to the\nfeste of the emperour, where I trust to have the victory in\nturnement, and then thou shalt be wele ypaied.\" \"Nay, by the\nfeith that I owe to the emperour,\" quod that other, \"hit shal not\nbe so, for but if [FN#532] you pay now, I shal holde thi wif to\nwed,[FN#533] tyll tyme that I be paied fully my salary.\" And he\nseid that, for he desired the love of the lady. Tho the knyght\nprofren his two childryn to wed, so that he myght have his wif;\nand the shipman seid, \"Nay, such wordis beth[FN#534] vayn, for,\"\nquod he, \"or[FN#535] I wol have my mede, or els I wolle holde thi\nwif.\" So the knyght lefte his wif with him, and kyst her with\nbitter teris; and toke the two childryn, scil. oon on his arme,\nand that othir in his nek, and so he yede forth to the turnement.\nAftir, the maister of the shippe wolde have layn by the lady, but\nshe denyed hit, and seid, that she had lever dey[FN#536] than\nconsente therto. So within short tyme, the maister drew to a\nfer[FN#537] lond, and there he deied; and the lady beggid her\nbrede fro dore to dore, and knew not in what lond her husbond was\nduellinge. The knyght was gon toward the paleis, and at the last\nhe come by a depe water, that was impossible to be passid,\nbut[FN#538] hit were in certein tyme, when hit was at the lowist.\nThe knyght sette doun oo[FN#539] child, and bare the othir over\nthe water; and aftir that he come ayen[FN#540] to fecche over the\nothir, but or[FN#541] he myght come to him, there come a lion,\nand bare him awey to the forest. The knyght pursued aftir, but he\nmyght not come to the lion; and then he wept bitterly, and yede\nayen over the water to the othir child; and or he were ycome, a\nbere had take the child, and ran therwith to the forest. When the\nknyght saw that, sore he wepte, and seid, \"Alias! that ever I was\nbore, for now have I lost wif and childryn. O thou brid! thi song\nthat was so swete is yturned in to grete sorowe, and hath ytake\naway myrth fro my hert.\" Aftir this he turned toward the feste,\nand made him redy toward the turnement; and there he bare him so\nmanly, and so doutely in the turnement and that twies or thries,\nthat he wan the victory, and worship, and wynnyng of that day.\nFor the emperour hily avauncid him, and made him maister of his\noste,[FN#542] and commaundid that all shuld obey to him; and he\nencresid, and aros from day to day in honure and richesse. And he\nwent aftirward in a certain day in the cite, [and] he found a\nprecious stone, colourid with thre maner of colours, as in oo\npartie[FN#542] white, in an othir partie red, and in the thrid\npartie blak. Anon he went to a lapidary, that was expert in the\nvertue of stonys; and he seid, that the vertue of thilke[FN#544]\nstone was this, who so ever berith the stone upon him, his\nhevynesse[FN#545] shall turne in to joy; and if he be\npovere,[FN#546] he shal be made riche; and if he hath lost\nanything, he shall fynde hit ayen with grete joy. And when the\nknyght herd this, he was glad and blith, and thought in him self,\n\"I am in grete hevynesse and poverte, for I have lost all that I\nhad, and by this stone I shal recovere all ayen, whether hit be\nso or no, God wote!\" Aftir, when he must go to bataile of the\nemperour he gadrid togidre[FN#547] all the oste, and among them\nhe found two yong knyghtis, semely in harneis,[FN#548] and wele\ni-shape, the which he hired for to go with him yn bataill of the\nemperour. And when thei were in the bataill, there was not oon in\nall the batail that did so doutely,[FN#549] as did tho[FN#550]\ntwo knyghtis that he hired; and therof this knyght, maister of\nthe ost, was hily gladid. When the bataill was y-do,[FN#551]\nthes two yong knyghtes yede to her oste[FN#552] in the cite; and\nas they sat to-gidir, the elder seid to the yonger, \"Dere frend,\nhit is long sithen[FN#553] that we were felawys,[FN#554] and we\nhave grete grace of God, for in every batail we have the victory;\nand therfore I pray you, telle me of what contre ye were ybore,\nand in what nacion? For I askid never this of the or now; and if\nthou wilt telle me soth,[FN#555] I shall telle my kynrede and\nwhere I was borne.\" And when oo felawe spak thus to the othir, a\nfaire lady was loggid[FN#556] in the same ostry;[FN#557] and when\nshe herd the elder knyght speke, she herkened to him; but she\nknew neither of hem,[FN#558] and yit she was modir of both, and\nwyf of the maister of the oste,[FN#559] the which also the\nmaister of the shippe withheld for ship-hire, but ever God kept\nher fro synne. Then spake the yonger knyght, \"Forsoth, good man,\nI note[FN#560] who was my fader or who was my modir, ne[FN#561]\nin what stede[FN#562] I was borne; but I have this wele in mynde\nthat my fader was a knyght, and that he bare me over the water,\nand left my eldir brothir in the lond; and as he passid over ayen\nto fecche him, there come a lion, and toke me up, but a man of the\ncite come with houndis, and when he saw him, he made him to leve\nme with his houndis.\"[FN#563] \"Now sothly,\" quod that othir, \"and\nin the same maner hit happid vith me. For I was the sone of a\nknyght, and had only a brothir; and my fader brought me and my\nbrothir, and my modir, over the see toward the emperour; and for\nmy fader had not to pay to the maister of the ship for the\nfraught, he left my modir to wed; and then my fader toke me with\nmy yong brothir, and brought us on his bak, and in his armys,\ntyll that we come unto a water, and there left me in a side of\nthe water, and bare over my yong brothir; and or my fader myght\ncome to me ayene, to bare me over, ther come a bere, and bore me\nto wode;[FN#564] and the people that saw him, make grete cry, and\nfor fere the bere let me falle, and so with thelke[FN#565] poeple\nI duellid x. yere, and ther I was y-norisshed.\" When the modir\nherd thes wordis, she seid, \"Withoute doute thes ben my\nsonys,\" and ran to hem anon, and fil upon her[FN#566] nekkes, and\nwepte sore for joy, and seid, \"A! dere sonys, I am your modir,\nthat your fader left with the maister of the shippe; and I know\nwele by your wordis and signes that ye beth true brethern. But\nhow it is with your fader, that I know not, but God, that all\nseth,[FN#567] yeve[FN#568] me grace to fynd my husbond.\" And alle\nthat nyght thes thre were in gladnes. On the morow the modir\nrose up, and the childryn, scil. the knyghtis, folowid; and as\nthei yede, the maister of the oste mette with hem in the strete,\nand though he were her fader, he knew hem not, but[FN#569] as\nthei had manli fought the day afore; and therfor he salued hem\nhonurably, and askid of hem what feir lady that was, that come\nwith hem? Anon as his lady herd his voys, and perceyved a certeyn\nsigne in his frount,[FN#570] she knew fully therby that it was\nher husbond; and therfore she ran to him, and clypt him, and kyst\nhim, and for joy fille doun to the erth, as she had be ded. So\naftir this passion, she was reised up; and then the maister seid\nto her, \"Telle me, feir woman, whi thou clippest me, and kyssist\nme so?\" She seid, \"I am thi wif, that thou leftist with the\nmaister of the ship; and thes two knyghtis bene your sonys. Loke\nwele on my front, and see.\" Then the knyght byheld her wele, with\na good avisement,[FN#571] and knew wele by diverse tokyns that\nshe was his wif; and anon kyst her, and the sonys eke; and\nblessid hiely God, that so had visited hem. Tho went he ayen to\nhis fond, with his wif, and with his children, and endid faire\nhis lif.\n\nFrom the legend of St. Eustache the romances of Sir Isumbras,\nOctavian, Sir Eglamour of Artois, and Sir Torrent of Portugal are\nderived. In the last, while the hero is absent, aiding the king of\nNorway with his sword, his wife Desonelle is delivered of twins,\nand her father, King Calamond, out of his hatred of her, causes\nher and the babes to be put to sea in a boat; but a favourable\nwind saves them from destruction, and drives the boat upon the\ncoast of Palestine. As she is wandering aimlessly along the\nshore, a huge griffin appears, and seizes one of her children, and\nimmediately after a leopard drags away the other. With submission\nshe suffers her miserable fate, relying on the help of the Holy\nVirgin. The king of Jerusalem, just returning from a voyage,\nhappened to find the leopard with the child, which he ordered to\nbe saved and delivered to him. Seeing from the foundling's golden\nring that the child was of noble descent, and pitying its\nhelpless state, he took it into his palace, and brought him up as\nif he were his own son, at his court. The dragon with the other\nchild was seen by a pious hermit, St. Antony, who, though son of\nthe king of Greece, had in his youth forsaken the world. Through\nhis prayer St. Mary made the dragon put down the infant. Antony\ncarried him to his father, who adopted him and ordered him to be\nbaptised. Desonelle wandered up and down, after the loss of her\nchildren, till she happened to meet the king of Nazareth hunting.\nHe, recognising her as the king of Portugal's daughter, gave her\na kind welcome and assistance, and at his court she lived several\nyears in happy retirement. Ultimately she is re-united to her\nhusband and her two sons, when they have become famous knights.\n\nThe following is an epitome of \"Sir Isumbras,\" from Ellis's\n\"Specimens of Early English Metrical Romances\" (Bohr's ed. p. 479\nff.):\n\n\n ROMANCE OF SIR ISUMBRAS.\n\nThere was once a knight, who, from his earliest infancy, appeared\nto be the peculiar favourite of Fortune. His birth was noble; his\nperson equally remarkable for strength and beauty; his\npossessions so extensive as to furnish the amusements of hawking\nand hunting in the highest perfection. Though he had found no\nopportunity of signalising his courage in war, he had borne away\nthe prize at numberless tournaments; his courtesy was the theme\nof general praise; his hall was the seat of unceasing plenty; it\nwas crowded with minstrels, whom he entertained with princely\nliberality, and the possession of a beautiful wife and three\nlovely children completed the sum of earthly happiness.\n\nSir Isumbras had many virtues, but he had one vice. In the pride\nof his heart he forgot the Giver of all good things, and\nconsidered the blessings so abundantly showered upon him as the\nproper and just reward of his distinguished merit. Instances of\nthis overweening presumption might perhaps be found in all ages\namong the possessors of wealth and power; but few sinners have\nthe good fortune to be recalled, like Sir Isumbras, by a severe\nbut salutary punishment, to the pious sentiments of Christian\nhumility.\n\nIt was usual with knights to amuse themselves with hawking or\nhunting whenever they were not occupied by some more serious\nbusiness; and, as business seldom intervened, they thus amused\nthemselves every day in the year. One morning, being mounted on\nhis favourite steed, surrounded by his dogs, and with a hawk on\nhis wrist, Sir Isumbras cast his eyes on the sky, and discovered\nan angel, who, hovering over him, reproached him with his pride,\nand announced the punishment of instant and complete degradation.\nThe terrified knight immediately fell on his knees; acknowledged\nthe justice of his sentence; returned thanks to Heaven for\ndeigning to visit him with adversity while the possession of\nyouth and health enabled him to endure it; and, filled with\ncontrition, prepared to return from the forest. But scarcely had\nthe angel disappeared when his good steed suddenly fell dead\nunder him, the hawk dropped from his wrist; his hounds wasted and\nexpired; and, being thus left alone, he hastened on foot towards\nhis palace, filled with melancholy forebodings, but impatient to\nlearn the whole extent of his misfortune.\n\nHe was presently met by a part of his household, who, with many\ntears, informed him that his horses and oxen had been suddenly\nstruck dead with lightning, and that his capons were all stung to\ndeath with adders. He received the tidings with humble\nresignation, commanded his servants to abstain from murmurs\nagainst Providence, and passed on. He was next met by a page, who\nrelated that his castle was burned to the ground, that many of\nhis servants had lost their lives, and that his wife and children\nhad with great difficulty escaped from the flames. Sir Isumbras,\nrejoiced that Heaven had yet spared those who were most dear to\nhim, bestowed upon the astonished page his purse of gold as a\nreward for the intelligence.\n\n A doleful sight then gan he see;\n His wife and children three\n Out of the fire were fled:\n There they sat, under a thorn,\n Bare and naked as they were born,\n Brought out of their bed.\n A woful man then was he,\n When he saw them all naked be,\n The lady said, all so blive,\n \"For nothing, sir, be ye adrad.\"\n He did off his surcoat of pallade,[FN#572]\n And with it clad his wife.\n His scarlet mantle then shore[FN#573] he;\n Therein he closed his children three\n That naked before him stood.\n\nHe then proposed to his wife that, as an expiation of their sins,\nthey should at once under take a pilgrimage to Jerusalem; so,\ncutting with his knife a sign of the cross on his bare shoulder,\nhe set off with the four companions of his misery, resolving to\nbeg his bread till they should arrive at the Holy Sepulchre.\nAfter passing through \"seven lands,\" supported by the scanty alms\nof the charitable, they arrived at length at a forest, where they\nwandered during three days without meeting a single habitation.\nTheir food was reduced to the few berries which they were able to\ncollect; and the children, unaccustomed to such hard fare, began\nto sink under the accumulated difficulties of their journey. In\nthis situation they were stopped by a wide and rapid though\nshallow river. Sir Isumbras, taking his eldest son in his arms,\ncarried him over to the opposite bank, and placing him under a\nbush of broom, directed him to dry his tears, and amuse himself\nby playing with the blossoms till his return with his brothers.\nBut scarcely had he left the place when a lion, starting from a\nneighbouring thicket, seized the child and bore him away into the\nrecesses of the forest. The second son became, in like manner,\nthe prey of an enormous leopard; and the disconsolate mother,\nwhen carried over with her infant to the fatal spot, was with\ndifficulty persuaded to survive the loss of her two elder\nchildren. Sir Isumbras, though he could not repress the tears\nextorted by this cruel calamity, exerted himself to console his\nwife and humbly confessing his sins, contented himself with\npraying that his present misery might be accepted by Heaven as a\npartial expiation.\n\n Through forest they went days three,\n Till they came to the Greekish sea;\n They grette,[FN#574] and were full wo!\n As they stood upon the land,\n They saw a fleet sailand,[FN#575]\n Three hundred ships and mo.[FN#576]\n With top-castels set on-loft,\n Richly then were they wrought,\n With joy and mickle[FN#577] pride:\n A heathen king was therein,\n That Christendom came to win;\n His power was full wide.\n\nIt was now seven days since the pilgrims had tasted bread or\nmeat, the soudan's[FN#578] galley, therefore, was no sooner moored\nto the beach than the hastened on board to beg for food. The\nsoudan, under the apprehension that they were spies, ordered them\nto be driven back on shore; but his attendants observed to him\nthat these could not be common beggars; that the robust limbs and\ntall stature of the husband proved him to be a knight in\ndisguise, and that the delicate complexion of the wife, who was\n\"bright as blossom on tree,\" formed a striking contrast to the\nragged apparel with which she was very imperfectly covered. They\nwere now brought into the royal presence; and the soudan,\naddressing Sir Isumbras, immediately offered him as much treasure\nas he should require, on condition that he should renounce\nChristianity and consent to fight under the Saracen banners. The\nanswer was a respectful but peremptory refusal, concluded by an\nearnest petition for a little food; but the soudan, having by\nthis time turned his eyes from Sir Isumbras to the beautiful\ncompanion of his pilgrimage, paid no attention to his request.\n\n The soudan beheld that lady there,\n Him thought an angel that she were,\n Comen a-down from heaven;\n \"Man! I will give thee gold and fee,\n An thou that woman will sellen me,\n More than thou can neven.[FN#579]\n I will give thee an hundred pound\n Of pennies that been whole and round,\n And rich robes seven:\n She shall be queen of my land,\n And all men bow unto her hand,\n And none withstand her steven.\"[FN#580]\n Sir Isumbras said, \"Nay!\n My wife I will nought sell away,\n Though ye me for her sloo![FN#581]\n I weddid her in Goddislay,\n To hold her to mine ending day,\n Both for weal and wo.\"\n\nIt evidently would require no small share of casuistry to\nconstrue this declaration into an acceptance of the bargain, but\nthe Saracens, having heard the offer of their sovereign,\ndeliberately counted out the stipulated sum on the mantle of Sir\nIsumbras; took possession of the lady, carried the knight with\nhis infant son on shore; beat him till he was scarcely able to\nmove, and then returned for further orders. During this\noperation, the soudan, with his own hand, placed the regal crown\non the head of his intended bride; but recollecting that the\noriginal project of the voyage to Europe was to conquer it, which\nmight possibly occasion a loss of some time, he delayed his\nintended nuptial, and ordered a fast-sailing vessel to convey her\nto his dominions, providing her at the same time with a charter\naddressed to his subjects, in which he enjoined them to obey her,\nfrom the moment of her landing, as their legitimate sovereign.\n\nThe lady, emboldened by these tokens of deference on the part of\nher new lord, now fell on her knees and entreated his permission\nto pass a few moments in private with her former husband, and the\nrequest was instantly granted by the complaisant Saracen. Sir\nIsumbras, still smarting from his bruises, was conducted with\ngreat respect and ceremony to his wife, who, embracing him with\ntears, earnestly conjured him to seek her out as soon as possible\nin her new dominions, to slay his infidel rival, and to take\npossession of a throne which was probably reserved to him by\nHeaven as an indemnification for his past losses. She then\nsupplied him with provisions for a fortnight; kissed him and her\ninfant son; swooned three times, and then set sail for Africa.\n\nSir Isumbras, who had been set on shore quite confounded by this\nquick succession of strange adventures, followed the vessel with\nhis eyes till it vanished from his sight, and then taking his son\nby the hand led him up to some rocky woodlands in the\nneighbourhood. Here they sat down under a tree, and after a short\nrepast, which was moistened with their tears, resumed their\njourney. But they were again bewildered in the forest, and, after\ngaining the summit of the mountain without being able to descry a\nsingle habitation, lay down on the bare ground and resigned\nthemselves to sleep. The next morning Sir Isumbras found that his\nmisfortunes were not yet terminated. He had carried his stock of\nprovisions, together with his gold, the fatal present of the\nsoudan, enveloped in a scarlet mantle; and scarcely had the sun\ndarted its first rays on the earth when an eagle, attracted by\nthe red cloth, swooped down upon the treasure and bore it off in\nhis talons. Sir Isumbras, waking at the moment, perceived the\ntheft, and for some time hastily pursued the flight of the bird,\nwho, he expected, would speedily drop the heavy and useless\nburthen; but he was disappointed; for the eagle, constantly\ntowering as he approached the sea, at length directed his flight\ntowards the opposite shore of Africa. Sir Isumbras slowly\nreturned to his child, whom he had no longer the means of\nfeeding; but the wretched father only arrived in time to behold\nthe boy snatched from him by a unicorn. The knight was now quite\ndisheartened. But his last calamity was so evidently miraculous\nthat even the grief of the father was nearly absorbed by the\ncontrition of the sinner. He fell on his knees and uttered a most\nfervent prayer to Jesus and the Virgin, and then proceeded on his\njourney.\n\nHis attention was soon attracted by the sound of a smith's\nbellows: he quickly repaired to the forge and requested the\ncharitable donation of a little food; but was told by the\nlabourers that he seemed as well able to work as they did, and\nthey had nothing to throw away in charity.\n\n Then answered the knight again,\n \"For meat would I swink[FN#582] fain.\"\n Fast he bare and drow,[FN#583]\n They given him meat and drink anon.\n And taughten him to bear stone:\n Then had he shame enow.\n\nThis servitude lasted a twelvemonth, and seven years expired\nbefore he had fully attained all the mysteries of his new\nprofession. He employed his few leisure hours in fabricating a\ncomplete suit of armour: every year had brought him an account of\nthe progress of the Saracens; and he could not help entertaining\na hope that his arm, though so ignobly employed, was destined at\nsome future day to revenge the wrongs of the Christians, as well\nas the injury which he had personally received from the\nunbelievers.\n\nAt length he heard that the Christian army had again taken the\nfield; that the day was fixed for a great and final effort; and\nthat a plain at an inconsiderable distance from his shop was\nappointed for the scene of action. Sir Isumbras rose before day,\nbuckled on his armour, and mounting a horse which had hitherto\nbeen employed in carrying coals, proceeded to the field and took\na careful view of the disposition of both armies. When the\ntrumpets gave the signal to charge, he dismounted, fell on his\nknees, and after a short but fervent prayer to Heaven, again\nsprang into his saddle and rode into the thickest ranks of the\nenemy. His uncouth war-horse and awkward armour had scarcely less\neffect than his wonderful address and courage in attracting the\nattention of both parties; and when after three desperate\ncharges, his sorry steed was slain under him, one of the\nChristian chiefs make a powerful effort for his rescue, bore him\nto a neighbouring eminence, and presented to him a more suitable\ncoat of armour, and a horse more worthy of the heroic rider.\n\n When he was armed on that stead,\n It is seen where his horse yede,[FN#584]\n And shall be evermore.\n As sparkle glides off the glede,[FN#585]\n In that stour he made many bleed,\n And wrought hem wonder sore.\n He rode up into the mountain,\n The soudan soon hath he slain,\n And many that with him were.\n All that day lasted the fight;\n Sir Isumbras, that noble knight,\n Wan the battle there.\n Knights and squires have him sought,\n And before the king him brought;\n Full sore wounded was he.\n They asked what was his name;\n He said, \"Sire, a smith's man;\n What will ye do with me?\"\n The Christian king said, than,\n \"I trow never smith's man\n In war was half so wight.\"\n \"I bid[FN#586] you, give me meat and drink\n And what that I will after think,\n Till I have kevered[FN#587] my might.\"\n The king a great oath sware,\n As soon as he whole were,\n That he would dub him knight.\n In a nunnery they him leaved,\n To heal the wound in his heved,[FN#588]\n That he took in that fight.\n The nuns of him were full fain,\n For he had the soudan slain,\n And many heathen hounds;\n For his sorrow they gan sore rue;\n Every day they salved him new,\n And stopp\u00e8d well his wounds.\n\nWe may fairly presume, without derogating from the merit of the\nholy sisters or from the virtue of their salves and bandages,\nthat the knight's recovery was no less accelerated by the\npleasure of having chastised the insolent possessor of his wife\nand the author of his contumelious beating. In a few days his\nhealth was restored; and having provided himself with a \"scrip\nand pike\" and the other accoutrements of a palmer, he took his\nleave of the nuns, directed his steps once more to the \"Greekish\nSea,\" and, embarking on board of a vessel which he found ready to\nsail, speedily arrived at the port of Acre.\n\nDuring seven years, which were employed in visiting every part of\nthe Holy Land, the penitent Sir Isumbras led a life of continued\nlabour and mortification: fed during the day by the precarious\ncontributions of the charitable, and sleeping at night in the\nopen air, without any addition to the scanty covering which his\npilgrim's weeds, after seven years service, were able to afford.\nAt length his patience and contrition were rewarded. After a day\nspent in fruitless applications for a little food,\n\n Beside the burgh of Jerusalem\n He set him down by a well-stream,\n Sore wepand[FN#589] for his sin.\n And as he sat, about midnight,\n There came an angel fair and bright,\n And brought him bread and wine;\n He said, \"Palmer, well thou be!\n The King of Heaven greeteth well thee;\n Forgiven is sin thine.\"\n\nSir Isumbras accepted with pious gratitude the donation of food,\nby which his strength was instantly restored, and again set out\non his travels; but he was still a widower, still deprived of his\nchildren, and as poor as ever; nor had his heavenly monitor\nafforded him any hint for his future guidance. He wandered\ntherefore through the country, without any settled purpose, till\nhe arrived at a \"rich burgh,\" built round a \"fair castle,\" the\npossessor of which, he was told, was a charitable queen, who\ndaily distributed a florin of gold to every poor man who\napproached her gates, and even condescended to provide food and\nlodging within her palace for such as were distinguished by\nsuperior misery. Sir Isumbras presented himself with the rest;\nand his emaciated form and squalid garments procured him instant\nadmittance.\n\n The rich queen in hall was set;\n Knights her served, at hand and feet,\n In rich robes of pall:\n In the floor a cloth was laid;\n \"The poor palmer,\" the steward said,\n \"Shall sit above you all.\"\n Meat and drink forth they brought;\n He sat still, and ate right nought,\n But looked about the hall.\n So mickle he saw of game and glee\n (Swiche mirthis he was wont to see)\n The tears he let down fall.\n\nConduct so unusual attracted the attention of the whole company,\nand even of the queen, who, ordering \"a chair with a cushion\" to\nbe placed near the palmer, took her seat in it, entered into\nconversation with him on the subject of his long and painful\npilgrimage, and was much edified by the moral lessons which he\ninterspersed in his narrative. But no importunity could induce\nhim to taste food: he was sick at heart, and required the aid of\nsolitary meditation to overcome the painful recollections which\ncontinually assailed him The queen was more and more astonished,\nbut at length left him to his reflections, after declaring that,\n\"for her lord's soul, or for his love, if he were still alive,\"\nshe was determined to retain the holy palmer in her palace, and\nto assign him a convenient apartment, together with a servant to\nattend him.\n\nAn interval of fifteen years, passed in the laborious occupations\nof blacksmith and pilgrim, may be supposed to have produced a\nvery considerable alteration in the appearance of Sir Isumbras;\nand even his voice, subdued by disease and penance, may have\nfailed to discover the gallant knight under the disguise which he\nhad so long assumed. But that his wife (for such she was) should\nhave been equally altered by the sole operation of time; that the\nair and gestures and action of a person once so dear and so\nfamiliar to him should have awakened no trace of recollection in\nthe mind of a husband, though in the midst of scenes which\npainfully recalled the memory of his former splendour, is more\nextraordinary. Be this as it may, the knight and the queen,\nthough lodged under the same roof and passing much of their time\ntogether, continued to bewail the miseries of their protracted\nwidowhood. Sir Isumbras, however, speedily recovered, in the\nplentiful court of the rich queen, his health and strength, and\nwith these the desire of returning to his former exercises. A\ntournament was proclaimed; and the lists, which were formed\nimmediately under the windows of the castle, were quickly occupied\nby a number of Saracen knights, all of whom Sir Isumbras\nsuccessively overthrew. So dreadful was the stroke of his spear,\nthat many were killed at the first encounter; some escaped with a\nfew broken bones; others were thrown headlong into the castle\nditch; but the greater number consulted their safety by a timely\nflight; while the queen contemplated with pleasure and\nastonishment the unparalleled exploits of her favourite palmer.\n\n Then fell it, upon a day,\n The Knight went him for to play,\n As it was ere his kind;\n A fowl's nest he found on high;\n A red cloth therein he seygh[FN#590]\n Wavand[FN#591] in the wind.\n To the nest he gan win;[FN#592]\n His own mantle he found therein;\n The gold there gan he find.\n\nThe painful recollection awakened by this discovery weighed\nheavily on the soul of Sir Isumbras. He bore the fatal treasure\nto his chamber, concealed it under his bed, and spent the\nremainder of the day in tears and lamentations. The images of his\nlost wife and children now began to haunt him continually; and\nhis altered demeanour attracted the attention and excited the\ncuriosity of the whole court, and even of the queen, who could\nonly learn from the palmer's attendant that his melancholy seemed\nto originate in the discovery of something in a bird's nest. With\nthis strange report she was compelled to be satisfied, till Sir\nIsumbras, with the hope of dissipating his grief, began to resume\nhis usual exercises in the field; but no sooner had he quitted\nhis chamber than the \"squires\" by her command broke open the\ndoor, discovered the treasure, and hastened with it to the royal\napartment. The sight of the gold and the scarlet mantle\nimmediately explained to the queen the whole mystery of the\npalmer's behaviour. She burst into tears; kissed with fervent\ndevotion the memorial of her lost husband; fell into a swoon; and\non her recovery told the story to her attendants, and enjoined\nthem to go in quest of the palmer, and to bring him at once\nbefore her. A short explanation removed her few remaining doubts;\nshe threw herself into the arms of her husband, and the reunion\nof this long separated couple was immediately followed by the\ncoronation of Sir Isumbras and by a protracted series of\nfestivities.\n\nThe Saracen subjects of the Christian sovereign continued, with\nunshaken loyalty, to partake of the plentiful entertainments\nprovided for all ranks of people on this solemn occasion;\t but no\nsooner had the pious Sir Isumbras signified to them the necessity\nof their immediate conversion, than his whole \"parliament\"\nadopted the resolution of deposing and committing to the flames\ntheir newly-acquired sovereign, as soon as they should have\nobtained the concurrence of the neighbouring princes. Two of\nthese readily joined their forces for the accomplishment of this\nsalutary purpose, and invading the territories of Sir Isumbras\nwith an army of thirty thousand men, sent him, according to usual\ncustom, a solemn defiance. Sir Isumbras boldly answered the\ndefiance, issued the necessary orders, called for his arms,\nsprang upon his horse, and prepared to march out against the\nenemy; when he discovered that his subjects had, to a man,\nabandoned him, and that he must encounter singly the whole host\nof the invaders.\n\n Sir Isumbras was bold and keen,\n And took his leave at the queen,\n And sighed wonder sore:\n He said, \"Madam, have good day!\n Sickerly, as you I say,\n For now and evermore!\"\n \"Help me, sir, that I were dight\n In arms, as it were a knight;\n I will with you fare:\n Gif God would us grace send,\n That we may together end,\n Then done were all my care.\"\n Soon was the lady dight\n In arms, as it were a knight;\n He gave her spear and shield:\n Again[FN#593] thirty thousand Saracens and mo.[FN#594]\n There came no more but they two,\n When they met in field.\n\nNever, probably, did a contest take place between such\ndisproportioned forces. Sir Isumbras was rather encumbered than\nassisted by the presence of his beautiful but feeble helpmate;\nand the faithful couple were upon the point of being crushed by\nthe charge of the enemy, when three unknown knights suddenly made\ntheir appearance, and as suddenly turned the fortune of the day.\nThe first of these was mounted on a lion, the second on a\nleopard, and the third on a unicorn. The Saracen cavalry, at the\nfirst sight of these unexpected antagonists, dispersed in all\ndirections. But flight and resistance were equally hopeless:\nthree and twenty thousand unbelievers were soon laid lifeless on\nthe plain by the talons of the lion and leopard and by the\nresistless horn of the unicorn, or by the swords of their young\nand intrepid riders; and the small remnant of the Saracen army\nwho escaped from the general carnage quickly spread, through\nevery corner of the Mohammedan world, the news of this signal and\ntruly miraculous victory.\n\nSir Isumbras, who does not seem to have possessed the talent for\nunravelling mysteries, had never suspected that his three\nwonderful auxiliaries were his own children, whom Providence had\nsent to his assistance at the moment of his greatest distress;\nbut he was not the less thankful when informed of the happy\ntermination of all his calamities. The royal family were received\nin the city with every demonstration of joy by his penitent\nsubjects; whose loyalty had been completely revived by the recent\nmiracle. Magnificent entertainments were provided; after which\nSir Isumbras, having easily overrun the territories of his two\npagan neighbours, who had been slain in the last battle,\nproceeded to conquer a third kingdom for his youngest son; and\nthe four monarchs, uniting their efforts for the propagation of\nthe true faith, enjoyed the happiness of witnessing the baptism\nof all the inhabitants of their respective dominions.\n\n They lived and died in good intent;\n Unto heaven their souls went,\n When that they dead were.\n Jesu Christ, heaven's king,\n Give us, aye, his blessing,\n And shield us from care!\n\nOn comparing these several versions it will be seen that, while\nthey differ one from another m some of the details, yet the\nfundamental outline is identical, with the single exception of\nthe Tibetan story, which, in common with Tibetan tales generally,\nhas departed very considerably from the original. A king, or\nknight, is suddenly deprived of all his possessions, and with his\nwife and two children becomes a wanderer on the face of the\nearth; his wife is forcibly taken from him; he afterwards loses\nhis two sons; he is once more raised to affluence; his sons,\nhaving been adopted and educated by a charitable person, enter\nhis service; their mother recognises them through overhearing\ntheir conversation; finally husband and wife and children are\nhappily re-united. Such is the general outline of the story,\nthough modifications have been made in the details of the\ndifferent versions-- probably through its being transmitted\norally in some instances. Thus in the Arabian story, the king is\nruined apparently in consequence of no fault of his own; in the\nPanj\u00e1b\u00ed version, he relinquishes his wealth to a fak\u00edr as a pious\naction; in the Kashm\u00edr\u00ed and in the romance of Sir Isumbras, the\nhero loses his wealth as a punishment for his overweening pride;\nin the legend of St. Eustache, as in the story of Job, the\ncalamities which overtake the Christian convert are designed by\nHeaven as a trial of his patience and fortitude; while even in\nthe corrupted Tibetan story the ruin of the monarch is reflected\nin the destruction of the parents of the heroine by a hurricane.\nIn both the Kashm\u00edr\u00ed and the Panj\u00e1b\u00ed versions, the father is\nswallowed by a fish (or an alligator) in re-crossing the river to\nfetch his second child; in the Tibetan story the wife loses her\nhusband, who is killed by a snake, and having taken one of her\nchildren over the river, she is returning for the other when,\nlooking back, she discovers her babe in the jaws of a wolf: both\nher children perish: in the European versions they are carried\noff by wild beasts and rescued by strangers--the romance of Sir\nIsumbras is singular in representing the number of children to be\nthree. Only in the Arabian story do we find the father carrying\nhis wife and children in safety across the stream, and the latter\nafterwards lost in the forest. The Kashm\u00edr\u00ed and \"Gesta\" versions\ncorrespond exactly in representing the shipman as seizing the\nlady because her husband could not pay the passage-money: in the\nArabian she is entrapped in the ship, owned by a Magian, on the\npretext that there is on board a woman in labour; in Sir Isumbras\nshe is forcibly \"bought\" by the Soudan. She is locked up in a\nchest by the Magian; sent to rule his country by the Soudan;\nrespectfully treated by the merchant in the Kashm\u00edr\u00ed story, and,\napparently, also by Kandan in the Panj\u00e1b\u00ed legend; in the story of\nSt. Eustache her persecutor dies and she is living in humble\ncircumstances when discovered by her husband.--I think there is\ninternal evidence, apart from the existence of the Tibetan\nversion, to lead to the conclusion that the story is of Buddhist\nextraction, and if such be the fact, it furnishes a further\nexample of the indebtedness of Christian hagiology to Buddhist\ntales and legends.\n\n\n\n\nAL-MALIK AL-ZAHIR AND THE SIXTEEN CAPTAINS OF POLICE.--Vol. XII.\n p. 3.\n\n\n\nWe must, I think, regard this group of tales as being genuine\nnarratives of the exploits of Egyptian sharpers. From the days of\nHerodotus to the present time, Egypt has bred the most expert\nthieves in the world. The policemen don't generally exhibit much\nability for coping with the sharpers whose tricks they so well\nrecount; but indeed our home-grown \"bobbies\" are not particularly\nquick-witted.\n\n\n\n\n THE THIEF'S TALE.--Vol. XII. p. 42.\n\n\n\nA parallel to the woman's trick of shaving off the beards and\nblackening the faces of the robbers is found in the well-known\nlegend, as told by Herodotus (Euterpe, 121), of the robbery of\nthe treasure-house of Rhampsinitus king of Egypt, where the\nclever thief, having made the soldiers dead drunk, shaves off the\nright side of their beards and then decamps with his brother's\nheadless body.\n\n\n\n\n THE NINTH CONSTABLE'S STORY.--Vol. XII. p. 46.\n\n\n\nThe narrow escape of the singing-girl hidden under a pile of\nhalfah grass may be compared with an adventure of a fugitive\nMexican prince whose history, as related by Prescott, is as full\nof romantic daring and hair's-breadth 'scapes as that of\nScanderbeg or the \"Young Chevalier.\" This prince had just time to\nturn the crest of a hill as his enemies were climbing it on the\nother side, when he fell in with a girl who was reaping chian, a\nMexican plant, the seed of which is much used in the drinks of\nthe country. He persuaded her to cover him with the stalks she\nhad been cutting. When his pursuers came up and inquired if she\nhad seen the fugitive, the girl coolly answered that she had, and\npointed out a path as the one he had taken.\n\n\n\n\n THE FIFTEENTH CONSTABLE'S STORY.--Vol. XII. p. 59.\n\n\n\nThe concluding part of this story differs very materially from\nthat of the Greek legend of Ibycus (fl. B.C. 540), which is thus\nrelated in a small MS. collection of Arabian and Persian\nanecdotes in my possession, done into English from the French:\n\nIt is written in the history of the first kings that in the reign\nof a Grecian king there lived a philosopher named Ibycus, who\nsurpassed in sagacity all other sages of Greece. Ibycus was once\nsent by the king to a neighbouring court. On the way he was\nattacked by robbers who, suspecting him to have much money,\nformed the design of killing him. \"Your object in taking my life,\"\nsaid Ibycus, \"is to obtain my money; I give it up to you, but\nallow me to live.\" The robbers paid no attention to his words,\nand persisted in their purpose. The wretched Ibycus, in his\ndespair, looked about him to see if any one was coming to his\nassistance, but no person was in sight. At that very moment a\nflock of cranes flew overhead. \"O cranes!\" cried Ibycus, \"know\nthat I have been seized in this desert by these wicked men, and I\ndie from their blows. Avenge me, and demand from them my blood.\"\nAt these words the robbers burst into laughter: \"To take away\nlife from those who have lost their reason,\" they observed, \"is\nto add nothing to their hurt.\" So saying, they killed Ibycus and\ndivided his money. On receipt of the news that Ibycus had been\nmurdered, the inhabitants of the town were exasperated and felt\ngreat sorrow. They caused strict inquiries to be made for the\nmurderers, but they could not be found. After some time the\nGreeks were celebrating a feast. The inhabitants of the adjoining\ndistricts came in crowds to the temples. The murderers of Ibycus\nalso came, and everywhere showed themselves. Meanwhile a flock of\ncranes appeared in the air and hovered above the people, uttering\ncries so loud and prolonged that the prayers and ceremonies were\ninterrupted. One of the robbers looked with a smile at his\ncomrades, saying, by way of joke, \"These cranes come without\ndoubt to avenge the blood of Ibycus.\" Some one of the town, who\nwas near them, heard these words, repeated them to his neighbour,\nand they together reported them to the king. The robbers were\ntaken, strictly cross-examined, confessed their crime, and\nsuffered for it a just punishment. In this way the cranes\ninflicted vengeance on the murderers of Ibycus. But we ought to\nsee in this incident a matter which is concealed in it: This\nphilosopher, although apparently addressing his words to the\ncranes, was really imploring help from their Creator; he hoped,\nin asking their aid, that He would not suffer his blood to flow\nunavenged. So God accomplished his hopes, and willed that cranes\nshould be the cause that his death was avenged in order that the\nsages of the world should learn from it the power and wisdom of\nthe Creator.\n\nThis ancient legend was probably introduced into Arabian\nliterature in the 9th century, when translations of so many of the\nbest Greek works were made; and, no doubt, it was adapted in the\nfollowing Indian (Muslim) story:[FN#595]\n\nThere was a certain pir, or saint, of great wisdom, learning, and\nsanctity, who sat by the wayside expounding the Kur\u00e1n to all who\nwould listen to him. He dwelt in the out-buildings of a ruined\nmosque close by, his only companion being a maina, or\nhill-starling, which he had taught to proclaim the excellence of\nthe formula of his religion, saying, \"The Prophet is just!\" It\nchanced that two travellers passing that way beheld the holy man\nat his devotions, and though far from being religious persons yet\ntarried a while to hear the words of truth. Evening now drawing\non, the saint invited his apparently pious auditors to his\ndwelling, and set before them such coarse food as he had to\noffer. Having eaten and refreshed themselves, they were\nastonished at the wisdom displayed by the bird, who continued to\nrepeat holy texts from the Kur\u00e1n. The meal ended, they all lay\ndown to sleep, and while the good man reposed, his treacherous\nguests, who envied him the possession a bird that in their hands\nmight be the means of enriching them, determined to steal the\ntreasure and murder its master. So they stabbed the sleeping\ndevotee to the heart and then seized hold of the bird's cage.\nBut, unperceived by them, the door of it had been left open and\nthe bird was not to be found. After searching for the bird in\nvain, they considered it necessary to dispose of the body, since,\nif discovered, suspicion would assuredly fall upon them; and\ncarrying it away to what they deemed a safe distance they buried\nit. Vexed to be obliged to leave the place without obtaining the\nreward of their evil deeds, they again looked carefully for the\nbird, but without success; it was nowhere to be seen, and so they\nwere compelled to go forward without the object of their search.\nThe maina had witnessed the atrocious deed, and unseen had\nfollowed the murderers to the place were they had buried the\nbody; it then perched upon the tree beneath which the saint had\nbeen wont to enlighten the minds of his followers, and when they\nassembled flew into their midst, exclaiming, \"The Prophet is\njust!\" making short flights and then returning. These unusual\nmotions, together with the absence of their preceptor, induced\nthe people to follow it, and directing its flight to the grave of\nits master, it uttered a mournful cry over the newly-covered\ngrave. The villagers, astonished, began to remove the earth, and\nsoon discovered the bloody corse. Surprised and horror-stricken,\nthey looked about for some traces of the murderers, and\nperceiving that the bird had resumed the movements which had\nfirst induced them to follow it, they suffered it to lead them\nforward. Before evening fell, the avengers came up with two men,\nwho no sooner heard the maina exclaim, \"The Prophet is just'\" and\nsaw the crowd that accompanied it, than they fell upon their\nknees, confessing that the Prophet had indeed brought their evil\ndeeds to light; so, their crime being thus made manifest, summary\njustice was inflicted upon them.\n\n\n\n\n TALE OF THE DAMSEL TUHFAT AL-KULUB.--Vol. XII. p. 70.\n\n\n\nAn entertaining story, but very inconsistent in the character of\nIblis, who is constantly termed, in good Muslim fashion, \"the\naccursed,\" yet seems to be somewhat of a follower of the Prophet,\nand on the whole a good-natured sort of fellow. His mode of\nexpressing his approval of the damsel's musical \"talent\" is, to\nsay the least, original.\n\n\n\n\n WOMEN'S WILES.--Vol. XII. p. 99.\n\n\n\nA variant--perhaps an older form--of this story occurs in the\ntale of Prince Fadlallah, which is interwoven with the History of\nPrince Calaf and the Princess of China, in the Persian tales of\n\"The Thousand and One Days\":\n\nThe prince, on his way to Baghdad, is attacked by robbers, his\nfollowers are all slain, and himself made prisoner, but he is set\nat liberty by the compassionate wife of the robber-chief during\nhis absence on a plundering expedition. When he reaches Baghdad\nhe has no resource but to beg his bread, and having stationed\nhimself in front of a large mansion, an old female slave\npresently comes out and gives him a loaf. At this moment a gust\nof wind blew aside the curtain of a window and discovered to his\nadmiring eyes a most beautiful damsel, of whom he became\nimmediately enamoured. He inquired of a passerby the name of the\nowner of the mansion, and was informed that it belonged to a man\ncalled Mouaffac, who had been lately governor of the city, but\nhaving quarrelled with the k\u00e1z\u00ed, who was of a revengeful\ndisposition, the latter had found means to disgrace him with the\nkhal\u00edf and to have him deprived of his office. After lingering\nnear the house in vain till nightfall, in hopes of once more\nobtaining a glimpse of this beauty, he retired for the night to a\nburying-ground, where he was soon joined by two thieves, who\npressed upon him a share of the good cheer with which they had\nprovided themselves, but while the thieves were feasting and\ntalking over a robbery which they had just accomplished, the\npolice suddenly pounced upon them, and took all three and cast\nthem into prison.\n\nIn the morning they were examined by the k\u00e1z\u00ed, and the thieves,\nseeing it was useless to deny it, confessed their crime. The\nprince then told the k\u00e1z\u00ed how he chanced to fall into company of\nthe thieves, who confirmed all he said, and he was set at\nliberty. Then the k\u00e1z\u00ed began to question him as to how he had\nemployed his time since he came to Baghd\u00e1d, to which he answered\nvery frankly but concealed his rank. On his mentioning the brief\nglance he had of the beautiful lady at the window of the\nex-governor's house, the k\u00e1z\u00ed's eyes sparkled with apparent\nsatifaction, and he assured the prince that he should have the\nlady for his bride; for, believing the prince to be a mere\nbeggarly adventurer, he resolved to foist him on Mouaffac as the\nson of a great monarch. So, having sent the prince to the bath and\nprovided him with rich garments, the k\u00e1z\u00ed despatched a messenger\nto request Mouaffac to come to him on important business. When\nthe ex-governor arrived, the k\u00e1z\u00ed told him blandly that there was\nnow an excellent opportunity for doing away the ill will that had\nso long existed between them. \"It is this,\" continued he: \"the\nprince of Basra, having fallen in love with your daughter from\nreport of her great beauty, has just come to Baghd\u00e1d, unknown to\nhis father, and intends to demand her of you in marriage. He is\nlodged in my house, and is most anxious that this affair should\nbe arranged by my interposition, which is the more agreeable to\nme, since it will, I trust, be the means of reconciling our\ndifferences.\" Mouaffac expressed his surprise that the prince of\nBasra should think of marrying his daughter, and especially that\nthe proposal should come through the k\u00e1z\u00ed, of all men. But the k\u00e1z\u00ed\nbegged him to forget their former animosity and consent to the\nimmediate celebration of the nuptials. While they were thus\ntalking, the prince entered, in a magnificent dress, and was not\na little astonished to be presented to Mouaffac by the\ntreacherous k\u00e1z\u00ed as the prince of Basra, who had come as a suitor\nfor his daughter in marriage. The ex-governor saluted him with\nevery token of profound respect, and expressed his sense of the\nhonour of such an alliance: his daughter was unworthy to wait\nupon the meanest of the prince's slaves. In brief, the marriage\nis at once celebrated, and the prince duly retires to the bridal\nchamber with the beauteous daughter of Mouaffac. But in the\nmorning, at an early hour, a servant of the k\u00e1z\u00ed knocks at his\ndoor, and, on the prince opening it, says that he brings him his\nrags of clothes and is required to take back the dress which the\nk\u00e1z\u00ed had lent him yesterday to personate the prince of Basra. The\nprince, having donned his tattered garments, said to his wife,\n\"The k\u00e1z\u00ed thinks he has married you to a wretched beggar, but I\nam no whit inferior in rank to the prince of Basra--I am also a\nprince, being the only son of the king of Mosel,\" and then\nproceeded to recount all his adventures. When he had concluded\nhis recital, the lady despatched a servant to procure a suitable\ndress for the prince, which when he had put on, she said, \"I see\nit all: the k\u00e1z\u00ed, no doubt, believes that by this time we are all\noverwhelmed with shame and grief. But what must be his feelings\nwhen he learns that he has been a benefactor to his enemies!\nBefore you disclose to him your real rank, however, we must\ncontrive to punish him for his malicious intentions. There is a\ndyer in this town who has a frightfully ugly daughter-- but leave\nthis affair in my hands.\"\n\nThe lady then dressed herself in plain but becoming apparel, and\nwent out of the house alone. She proceeded to the court of the\nk\u00e1z\u00ed, who no sooner cast his eyes upon her than he was struck\nwith her elegant form. He sent an officer to inquire of her who\nshe was and what she had come about. She made answer that she was\nthe daughter of an artisan in the city. and that she desired to\nhave some private conversation with the k\u00e1z\u00ed. When the officer\nreported the lady's reply, the k\u00e1z\u00ed directed her to be conducted\ninto a private chamber, where he presently joined her, and\ngallantly placed his services at her disposal. The lady now\nremoved her veil, and asked him whether he saw anything ugly or\nrepulsive in her features. The k\u00e1z\u00ed on seeing her beautiful face\nwas suddenly plunged in the sea of love, and declared that her\nforehead was of polished silver, her eyes were sparkling\ndiamonds, her mouth a ruby casket containing a bracelet of\npearls. Then she displayed her arms, so white and plump, the\nsight of which threw the k\u00e1z\u00ed into ecstasies and almost caused\nhim to faint. Quoth the lady, \"I must tell you, my lord, that\nwith all the beauty I possess, my father, a dyer in the city,\nkeeps me secluded, and declares to all who come to ask me in\nmarriage that I am an ugly, deformed monster, a mere skeleton,\nlame, and full of diseases.\" On this the k\u00e1z\u00ed burst into a tirade\nagainst the brutal father who could thus traduce so much beauty,\nand vowed that he would make her his wife that same day. The\nlady, after expressing her fears that he would not find it easy\nto gain her father's consent, took her leave and returned home.\n\nThe k\u00e1z\u00ed lost no time in sending for the dyer, and, after\ncomplimenting him upon his reputation for piety, said to him, \"I\nam informed that behind the curtain of chastity you have a\ndaughter ripe for marriage. Is not this true?\" Replied the dyer,\n\"My lord, you have been rightly informed. I have a daughter who\nis indeed fully ripe for marriage, for she is more than thirty\nyears of age; but the poor creature is not fit to be a wife to\nany man. She is very ugly, lame, leprous, and foolish. In short,\nshe is such a monster that I am obliged to keep her out of all\npeople's sight.\" \"Ha!\" exclaimed the k\u00e1z\u00ed, \"you can't impose on\nme with such a tale. I was prepared for it. But let me tell you\nthat I myself am ready and willing to marry that same ugly and\nleprous daughter of yours, with all her defects.\" When the dyer\nheard this, he looked the k\u00e1z\u00ed full in the face and said, \"My\nlord, you are welcome to divert yourself by making a jest of my\ndaughter.\" No,\" replied the k\u00e1z\u00ed \"I am quite in earnest. I demand\nyour daughter in marriage.\" The dyer broke into laughter, saying,\n'By Allah, some one has meant to play you a trick, my lord. I\nforewarn you that she is ugly, lame, and leprous.\" \"True,\"\nresponded the k\u00e1z\u00ed, with a knowing smile; \"I know her by these\ntokens. I shall take her notwithstanding.\" The dyer, seeing him\ndetermined to marry his daughter, and being now convinced that he\nhad been imposed upon by some ill-wisher, thought to himself, \"I\nmust demand of him a round sum of money which may cause him to\ncease troubling me any further about my poor daughter.\" So he\nsaid to the k\u00e1z\u00ed, \"My lord, I am ready to obey your command; but\nI will not part with my daughter unless you pay me beforehand a\ndowry of a thousand sequins.\" Replied the k\u00e1z\u00ed, \"Although,\nmethinks, your demand is somewhat exorbitant, yet I will pay you\nthe money at once.\" which having done, he ordered the contract to\nbe drawn up. But when it came to be signed the dyer declared that\nhe would not sign save in the presence of a hundred men of the\nlaw. \"Thou art very distrustful,\" said the k\u00e1z\u00ed, \"but I will\ncomply in everything, for I am resolved to make sure of thy\ndaughter.\" So he sent for all the men of law in the city, and\nwhen they were assembled at the house of the k\u00e1z\u00ed, the dyer said\nthat he was now willing to sign the contract; \"But I declare,\" he\nadded, \"in the presence of these honourable witnesses, that I do\nso on the condition that if my daughter should not prove to your\nliking when you have seen her, and you should determine to\ndivorce her, you shall oblige yourself to give her a thousand\nsequins of gold in addition to the same amount which I have\nalready received from you. \"Agreed,\" said the k\u00e1z\u00ed, \"I oblige\nmyself to it, and call this whole assembly to be witnesses. Art\nthou now satisfied?\" \"I am,\" replied the dyer, who then went his\nway, saying that he would at once send him his bride.\n\nAs soon as the dyer was gone, the assembly broke up, and the k\u00e1z\u00ed\nwas left alone in his house. He had been two years married to the daughter\nof a merchant of Baghd\u00e1d, with whom he had hitherto lived on very\namicable terms. When she heard that he was arranging for a second\nmarriage, she came to him in a great rage. \"How now,\" said she,\n\"two hands in one glove! two swords in one scabbard! two wives in\none house! Go, fickle man! Since the caresses of a young and\nfaithful wife cannot secure your constancy, I am ready to yield\nmy place to my rival and retire to my own family. Repudiate me--\nreturn my dowry--and you shall never see me more.\" \"I am glad you\nhave thus anticipated me,\" answered the k\u00e1z\u00ed, \"for I was somewhat\nperplexed how to acquaint you of my new marriage.\" So saying, he\nopened a coffer and took out a purse of five hundred sequins of\ngold, and putting it into her hands, \"There, woman,\" said he,\n\"thy dowry is in that purse: begone, and take with you what\nbelongs to you. I divorce thee once; I divorce thee twice, three\ntimes I divorce thee. And that thy parents may be satisfied thou\nart divorced from me, I shall give thee a certificate signed by\nmyself and my nayb.\" This he did accordingly, and his wife went\nto her father's house, with her bill of divorce and her dowry.\n\nThe k\u00e1z\u00ed then gave orders to furnish an apartment sumptuously for\nthe reception of his bride. The floor was spread with velvet\ncarpets, the walls were hung with rich tapestry, and couches of\ngold and silver brocade were placed around the room. The bridal\nchamber was decked with caskets filled with the most exquisite\nperfumes. When everything was in readiness, the k\u00e1z\u00ed impatiently\nexpected the arrival of his bride, and at last was about to\ndespatch a messenger to the dyer's when a porter entered,\ncarrying a wooden chest covered with a piece of green taffeta.\n\"What hast thou brought me there, friend?\" asked the k\u00e1z\u00ed. \"My\nlord,\" replied the porter, setting the chest on the floor, \"I\nbring your bride.\" The k\u00e1z\u00ed opened the chest, and discovered a\nwoman of three feet and a half, defective in every limb and\nfeature. He was horrified at the sight of this object, and\nthrowing the covering hastily over it, demanded of the porter,\n\"What wouldst thou have me do with this frightful creature?\" \"My\nlord,\" said the porter, \"this is the daughter of Omar the dyer,\nwho told me that you had espoused her out of pure inclination.\"\n\"O Allah!\" exclaimed the k\u00e1z\u00ed, \"is it possible to marry such a\nmonster as this?\" Just then, the dyer, well knowing that the k\u00e1z\u00ed\nmust be surprised, came in. \"Thou wretch,\" cried the k\u00e1z\u00ed, \"how\ndost thou dare to trifle with me? In place of this hideous\nobject, send hither your other daughter, whose beauty is beyond\ncomparison; otherwise thou shalt soon know what it is to insult\nme.\" Quoth the dyer, \"My lord, I swear, by Him who out of\ndarkness produced light, that I have no other daughter but this.\nI told you repeatedly that she was not for your purpose, but you\nwould not believe my words. Who, then, is to blame?\" Upon this\nthe k\u00e1z\u00ed began to cool, and said so the dyer, \"I must tell you,\nfriend Omar, that this morning there came to me a most beautiful\ndamsel, who pretended that you were her father, and that you\nrepresented her to everybody as a monster, on purpose to deter\nall suitors that came to ask her in marriage.\" \"My lord,\"\nanswered the dyer, \"this beautiful damsel must be an impostor;\nsome one, undoubtedly, owes you a grudge.\" Then the k\u00e1z\u00ed, having\nreflected for a few minutes, said to the dyer, \"Bid the porter\ncarry thy daughter home again. Keep the thousand sequins of gold\nwhich I gave thee, but ask no more of me, if thou desirest that\nwe should continue friends.\" The dyer, knowing the implacable\ndisposition of the k\u00e1z\u00ed, thought it advisable to content himself\nwith what he had already gained, and the k\u00e1z\u00ed, having formally\ndivorced his hideous bride, sent her away with her father. The\naffair soon got wind in the city and everybody was highly\ndiverted with the trick practiced on the k\u00e1z\u00ed.\n\nIt will be observed that in the Arabian story there are two\nclever devices: that of the lady who tricks the boastful\nmerchant, whose motto was that men's craft is superior to women's\ncraft, into marrying the ugly daughter of the k\u00e1z\u00ed; and that of\nthe merchant to get rid of his bad bargain by disgusting the k\u00e1z\u00ed\nwith the alliance. The scene at the house of the worthy judge--\nthe crowd of low rascals piping, drumming, and capering, and\nfelicitating themselves on their pretended kinsman the merchant's\nmarriage--is highly humorous. This does not occur in the Persian\nstory, because it is the k\u00e1z\u00ed, who has been duped into marrying\nthe dyer's deformed daughter, and she is therefore simply packed\noff again to her father's house.\n\nThat the tales of the \"Thousand and One Days\" are not (as is\nsupposed by the writer of an article on the several English\nversions of The Nights in the \"Edinburgh Review\" for July 1886,\np. 167) mere imitations of Galland[FN#596] is most certain, apart\nfrom the statement in the preface to Petis' French translation,\nwhich there is no reason to doubt--see vol. x. of The Nights, p.\n166, note 1. Sir William Ouseley, in his Travels, vol. ii., p.\n21, note, states that he brought from Persia a manuscript which\ncomprised, inter alia, a portion of the \"Haz\u00e1r \u00fa Yek R\u00faz,\" or the\nThousand and One Days, which agreed with Petis' translation of\nthe same stories. In the Persian collection entitled \"Shamsa \u00fa\nKuhkuha\" occur several of the tales and incidents, for example,\nthe Story of Nasiraddoli King of Mousel, the Merchant of Baghd\u00e1d,\nand the Fair Zeinib, while the Story of the King of Thibet and\nthe Princess of the Naimans has its parallel in the Turkish \"Kirk\nVaz\u00edr,\" or Forty Vaz\u00edrs. Again, the Story of Couloufe and the\nBeautiful Dilara reminds us of that of Haji the Cross-grained in\nMalcolm's \"Sketches of Persia.\" But of the French translation not\na single good word can be said--the Oriental \"costume\" and\nphraseology have almost entirely disappeared, and between Petis\nde la Croix and the author of \"Gil Blas\"--who is said to have had\na hand in the work--the tales have become ludicrously\nFrenchified. The English translation made from the French is, if\npossible, still worse. We there meet with \"persons of quality,\"\n\"persons of fashion,\" with \"seigneurs,\" and a thousand and one\nother inconsistencies and absurdities. A new translation is much\nto be desired. The copy of the Persian text made by Petis is\nprobably in the Paris Library and Ouseley's fragment is doubtless\namong his other Oriental MSS. in the Bodleian. But one should\nsuppose that copies of the \"Haz\u00e1r \u00fa Yek R\u00faz\" may be readily\nprocured at Ispah\u00e1n or Tehr\u00e1n, and at a very moderate cost, since\nthe Persians now-a-days are so poor in general that they are\neager to exchange any books they possess for the \"circulating\nmedium.\"\n\n\n\n\n NUR AL-DIN AND THE DAMSEL SITT AL-MILAH.--Vol. XII. p. 151.\n\n\n\nThis is an excellent tale; the incidents occur naturally and the\nreader's interest in the fortunes of the hero and heroine never\nflags. The damsel's sojourn with the old Muezzin--her dispatching\nhim daily to the shroff--bears some analogy to part of the tale\nof Ghanim the Slave of Love (vol. ii. of The Nights), which, by\nthe way, finds close parallels in the Turkish \"Forty Vaz\u00edrs\" (the\nLady's 18th story in Mr. Gibb's translation), the Persian\n\"Thousand and One Days\" (story of Aboulcasem of Basra), and the\n\"Bagh o Bah\u00e1r\" (story of the First Dervish). This tale is, in\nfact, a compound of incidents occurring in a number of different\nArabian fictions.\n\n\n\n\n TALE OF KING INS BIN KAYS AND HIS DAUGHTER.--Vol. XII. p. 191.\n\n\n\nHere we have another instance of a youth falling in love with the\nportrait of a pretty girl (see ante, p. 328). The doughty deeds\nperformed by the young prince against thousands of his foes throw\ninto the shade the exploits of the Bedouin hero Antar, and those\nof our own famous champions Sir Guy of Warwick and Sir Bevis of\nHampton.\n\n\n\n\n ADDITIONAL NOTES.\n\n\n\n FIRUZ AND HIS WIFE, p. 301.\n\n\n\nI find yet another variant of this story in my small MS.\ncollection of Arabian and Persian anecdotes, translated from the\nFrench (I have not ascertained its source):\n\nThey relate that a lord of Basra, while walking one day in his\ngarden, saw the wife of his gardener, who was very beautiful and\nvirtuous. He gave a commission to his gardener which required him\nto leave his home. He then said to his wife, \"Go and shut all the\ndoors.\" She went out and soon returned, saying, \"I have shut all\nthe doors except one, which I am unable to shut.\" The lord asked,\n\"And where is that door?\" She replied \"That which is between you\nand the respect due to your Maker: there is no way of closing\nit.\" When the lord heard these words, he asked the woman's\npardon, and became a better and a wiser man.\n\nWe have here a unique form of the wide-spread tale of \"The Lion's\nTrack,\" which, while it omits the husband's part, yet reflects\nthe virtuous wife's rebuke of the enamoured sultan.\n\n\n\n\n THE SINGER AND THE DRUGGIST, p. 305.\n\n\n\nIf Straparola's version is to be considered as an adaptation of\nSer Giovanni's novella-- which I do not think very probable--it\nmust be allowed to be an improvement on his model. In the Arabian\nstory the singer is first concealed in a mat, next in the oven,\nand again in the mat, after which he escapes by clambering over\nthe parapet of the druggist's roof to that of an adjoining house,\nand his subsequent adventures seem to be added from a different\nstory. In Ser Giovanni's version the lover is first hid beneath a\nheap of half-dried clothes, and next behind the street door, from\nwhich he escapes the instant the husband enters, and the latter\nis treated as a madman by the wife's relatives and the\nneighbours--an incident which has parallels in other tales of\nwomen's craft and its prototype, perhaps, in the story of the man\nwho compiled a book of the Wiles of Woman, as told in \"Syntipas,\"\nthe Greek version of the Book of Sindibad. In Straparola the\nlover--as in the Arabian story--is concealed three times, first\nin a basket, then between two boardings, and lastly in a chest\ncontaining law papers; and the husband induces him to recount his\nadventures in presence of the lady's friends, which having\nconcluded, the lover declares the story to be wholly fictitious:\nthis is a much more agreeable ending than that of Giovanni's\nstory, and, moreover, it bears a close analogy to the latter part\nof the Persian tale, where the lover exclaims he is right glad to\nfind it all a dream. Straparola's version has another point of\nresemblance in the Persian story--so far as can be judged from\nScott's abstract--and also in the Arabian story: the lover\ndiscovers the lady by chance, and is not advised to seek out some\nobject of love, as in Giovanni; in the Arabian the singer is\ncounselled by the druggist to go about and entertain wine\nparties. Story-comparers have too much cause to be dissatisfied\nwith Jonathan Scott's translation of the \"Bah\u00e1r-i- D\u00e1nish\"--a\nwork avowedly derived from Indian sources--although it is far\nsuperior to Dow's garbled version. The abstracts of a number of\nthe tales which Scott gives in an appendix, while of some use,\nare generally tantalising: some stories he has altogether omitted\n\"because they are similar to tales already well known\"\n(unfortunately the comparative study of popular fictions was\nhardly begun in his time); while of others bare outlines are\nfurnished, because he considered them \"unfit for general\nperusal.\" But his work, even as it is, has probably never been\n\"generally\" read, and he seems to have had somewhat vague notions\nof \"propriety,\" to judge by his translations from the Arabic and\nPersian. A complete English rendering of the \"Bah\u00e1r-i-D\u00e1nish\"\nwould be welcomed by all interested in the history of fiction.\n\n\n\n\n THE FULLER, HIS WIFE AND THE TROOPER, p. 329.\n\n\n\nThe trick played on the silly fuller of dressing him up as a\nTurkish soldier resembles that of the Three Deceitful Women who\nfound a gold ring in the public bath, as related in the Persian\nstory-book, \"Shamsa \u00fa Kuhkuha:\"\n\nWhen the wife of the superintendent of police was apprised that\nher turn had come, she revolved and meditated for some time what\ntrick she was to play off on her lord, and after having come to a\nconclusion she said one evening to him, \"To-morrow I wish that we\nshould both enjoy ourselves at home without interruptions, and I\nmean to prepare some cakes.\" He replied, \"Very well, my dear; I\nhave also longed for such an occasion.\" The lady had a servant\nwho was very obedient and always covered with the mantle of\nattachment to her. The next morning she called this youth and\nsaid to him, \"I have long contemplated the hyacinth grove of thy\nsymmetrical stature; and I know that thou travellest constancy\nand faithfully on the road of compliance with all my wishes, and\nthat thou seekest to serve me. I have a little business which I\nwish thee to do for me.\" The servant answered, \"I shall be happy\nto comply. Then the lady gave him a thousand dinars and said, \"Go\nto the convent which is in our vicinity; give this money to one\nof the kalandars there and say to him, 'A prisoner whom the Am\u00edr\nhad surrendered to the police has escaped last night. He closely\nresembles thee, and as the superintendent of the police is unable\nto account to the Am\u00edr, he has sent a man to take thee instead of\nthe escaped criminal. I have compassion for thee and mean to\nrescue thee. Take this sum of money; give me thy dress; and flee\nfrom the town; for if thou remainest in it till the morning thou\nwilt be subjected to torture and wilt lose thy life.'\" The\nservant acted as he was bid, and brought the garments to his\nmistress. When it was morning she said to her husband, \"I know\nyou have long wished to eat sweetmeats, and I shall make some\nto-day.\" He answered, \"Very well.\" His wife made all her\npreparations and commenced to bake the sweetmeats. He said to\nher, \"Last night a theft was committed in a certain place, and I\nsat up late to extort confessions; and as I have spent a\nsleepless night, I feel tired and wish to repose a little.\" The\nlady replied, \"Very well.\"\n\nAccordingly the superintendent of the police reclined on the\npillow of rest; and when the sweetmeat was ready his wife took a\nlittle and putting an opiate into it she handed it to him,\nsaying, \"How long will you sleep? To-day is a day of feasting and\npleasure, not of sleep and laziness. Lift up your head and see\nwhether I have made the sweets according to your taste.\" He\nraised his head, swallowed a piece of the hot cake and lay down\nagain. The morsel was still in his throat when consciousness left\nand a deep sleep overwhelmed him. His wife immediately undressed\nhim and put on him the garments of the kalandar. The servant\nshaved his head and made some tattoo marks on his body. When the\nnight set in the lady called her servant and said, \"Hyacinth, be\nkind enough to take the superintendent on thy back, and carry him\nto the convent instead of that kalandar, and if he wishes to\nreturn to the house in the morning, do not let him.\" The servant\nobeyed. Towards dawn the superintendent recovered his senses a\nlittle; but as the opiate had made his palate very bitter, he\nbecame extremely thirsty. He fancied that he was in his own\nhouse, and so he exclaimed, \"Narcissus, bring water.\" The\nkalandars awoke from sleep, and after hearing several shouts of\nthis kind, they concluded that he was under the influence of\nbang, and said, \"Poor fellow! the narcissus is in the garden;\nthis is the convent of sufferers, and there are green garments\nenough here. Arise and sober thyself, for the morning and\nharbinger of benefits as well as of the acquisition of the\nvictuals for subsistence is approaching.\" When the superintendent\nheard these words he thought they were a dream, for he had not\nyet fully recovered his senses. He sat quietly, but was amazed on\nbeholding the walls and ceiling of the convent: he got up, looked\nat the clothes in which he was dressed and at the marks tattooed\non his body, and began to doubt whether he was awake or asleep.\nHe washed his face, and perceived that the caravan of his\nmustachios had likewise departed from the plain of his\ncountenance.\n\nIn this state of perplexity he went out of the convent and\nproceeded to his house. There his wife, with her male and female\nservants, was expecting his arrival. He approached the house and\nplaced his hand on the knocker of the door, but was received by\nHyacinth, who said, \"Kalandar, whom seekest thou?\" The\nsuperintendent rejoined, \"I want to enter the house.\" Hyacinth\ncontinued, \"Thou hast to-day evidently taken thy morning draught\nof bang earlier and more copiously than usual, since thou hast\nfoolishly mistaken the road to thy convent. Depart! This is not a\nplace in which vagabond kalandars are harboured. This is the\npalace of the superintendent of the police. and if the symurgh\nlooks with incivility from the fastness of the west of Mount K\u00e1f\nat this place, the wings of its impertinence will at once become\nsinged.\" The superintendent said, \"What nonsense art thou\nspeaking? Go out of my way, for I do not relish thy imbecile\nprattle.\" But when he wanted to enter, Hyacinth struck him with a\nbludgeon on the shoulder, which the superintendent returned with\na box on the ear, and both began to wrestle together. At that\nmoment the lady and her maid-servants rushed forth from the rear\nand assailed him with sticks and stones, shouting, \"This kalandar\nwishes in plain daylight to force his way into the house of the\nsuperintendent. What a pity that the superintendent is sick, or\nelse this crime would have to be expiated on the gallows!\" In the\nmeantime all the neighbours assembled, and on seeing the\nshameless kalandar's proceedings they cried, \"Look at that\nimpudent kalandar who wants forcibly to enter the house of the\nsuperintendent.\" Ultimately the crowd amounted to more than five\nhundred persons, and the gentleman was put to flight and pursued\nby all the little boys, who pelted him with stones till they\nexpelled him from the town.\n\nAt the distance of three farsangs from the town there was a\nvillage where the superintendent concealed himself in the corner\nof a mosque. During the evenings he went from house to house and\nbegged for food to sustain life, until his mustachios again grew\nand the tattooed scars gradually began to disappear. Whenever\nanyone inquired for the superintendent at his house, he was\ninformed by the servants that the gentleman was sick. After one\nmonth had expired, the grief of separation and the misery of his\ncondition had again driven him back to the city. He went to the\nconvent because fear hindered him from going to the house. His\nwife happened one day to catch a glimpse of him from her window,\nand perceived him sitting in the same dress with a company of\nkalandars. She felt compassion for him, called the servant and\nsaid, \"The superintendent has had enough of this!\" She made a\nloaf of bread and put some opiate into it, and said, \"When the\nkalandars are asleep, you must go and place this loaf under the\npillow of the superintendent.\" The servant obeyed, and when the\ngentleman awoke in the middle of the night he was surprised to\nfind the loaf. He fancied that when his companions had during the\nnight returned from begging, they had placed it there, and so he\nate some of it. During the same night the servant went there by\nthe command of the lady, took his master on his back and carried\nhim home. When it was morning, the lady took off the kalandar's\nclothes from her husband and dressed him in his own garments, and\nbegan to make sweetmeats as on the former occasion. After some\ntime he began to move, and his wife exclaimed, \"O superintendent,\ndo not sleep so much. I have told you that we shall spend this\nday in joy and pleasure, and it was not fair of you to pass the\ntime in this lazy way. Lift up your head and see what beautiful\nsweetmeats I have baked for you.\" When he opened his eyes, and\nsaw himself dressed in his own clothes and at home, the rosebush\nof his amazement again brought forth the flowers of astonishment,\nand he said, \"God be praised! What has happened to me?\" He sat\nup, and exclaimed, \"Wife, things have happened to me which I can\nscarcely describe.\" She replied, \"From the uneasy motions which\nyou have made in your sleep, it appears you must have had\nextraordinary dreams.\" \"Dreams, forsooth,\" said he, \"since the\nmoment I lay down I have experienced the most strange\nadventures.\" \"Certainly,\" rejoined the lady, \"last night you have\nbeen eating food disagreeing with your constitution, and to-day\nthe vapours of it have ascended into your brains, and have caused\nyou all this distress.\" The superintendent said, \"Yes last night\nwe went to a party in the house of Serjeant Bahman, and there was\nroasted pillau, of which I ate somewhat more than usual, and the\nvapour of it has occasioned me all this trouble.\"[FN#597]\n\nStrikingly similar to this story is the trick of the first lady\non her husband in the \"Fabliau des Trois Dames qui trouverent un\nAnel.\" Having made him drunk, she causes his head to be shaved,\ndresses him in the habit of a monk, and carries him, assisted by\nher lover, to the entrance of a convent. When he awakes and sees\nhimself thus transformed he imagines that God by a miraculous\nexercise of His grace had called him to the monastic life. He\npresents himself before the abbot and requests to be received\namong the brethren. The lady hastens to the convent in\nwell-feigned despair, and is exhorted to be resigned and to\ncongratulate her husband on the saintly vow he has taken. \"Many a\ngood man, ' says the poet, \"has been betrayed by woman and by her\nharlotry. This one became a monk in the abbey, where he abode a\nvery long time. Wherefore, I counsel all people who hear this\nstory told, that they ought not to trust in their wives, nor in\ntheir households, if they have not first proved that they are\nfull of virtues. Many a man has been deceived by women and by\ntheir treachery. This one became monk against right, who would\nnever have been such in his life, if his wife had not deceived\nhim.''[FN#598]\n\nThe second lady's trick in the fabliau is a very close parallel\nto the story in The Nights, vol. v. p. 96.[FN#599] She had for\ndinner on a Friday some salted and smoked eels, which her husband\nbade her cook, but there was no fire in the house. Under the\npretext of going to have them cooked at a neighbour's fire she\ngoes out and finds her lover, at whose house she remains a whole\nweek. On the following Friday, at the hour of dinner, she enters\na neighbour's house and asks leave to cook the eels, saying that\nher husband is angry with her for having no fire, and that she\ndid not dare to go back, lest he should take off her head. As\nsoon as the eels are cooked she carries them piping hot to her\nown house. The husband asks her where she has been for eight\ndays, and commences to beat her. She cries for help and the\nneighbours come in, and amongst them the one at whose fire the\neels had been cooked, who swears that the wife had only just left\nher house and ridicules the husband for his assertion that she\nhad been away a whole week. The husband gets into a great rage\nand is locked up for a madman.\n\nThe device of the third lady seems a reflection of the\n\"Elopement,\" but without the underground tunnel between the\nhouses of the wife and the lover. The lady proposes to her lover\nto marry him, and he believes that she is only jesting, seeing\nthat she is already married, but she assures him that she is\nquite in earnest, and even undertakes that her husband will\nconsent. The lover is to come for her husband and take him to the\nhouse of Dan Eustace, where he has a fair niece, whom the lover\nis to pretend he wishes to espouse, if he will give her to him.\nThe wife will go thither, and she will have done her business\nwith Eustace before they arrive. Her husband cannot but believe\nthat he has left her at home, and she will be so apparelled that\nhe cannot recognise her. This plan is accordingly carried out.\nThe lover asks the husband for the hand of his niece in marriage,\nto which he joyously consents, and without knowing it makes a\npresent of his own wife. \"All his life long the lover possessed\nher, because the husband gave and did not lend her; nor could he\never get her back.\"\n\nLe Grand mentions that this fabliau is told at great length in\nthe tales of the Sieur d'Ouville, tome iv. p. 255. In the\n\"Faceti\u00e6 Bebelian\u00e6,\" p. 86, three women wager which of them will\nplay the best trick on her husband. One causes him to believe he\nis a monk, and he goes and sings mass, the second husband\nbelieved himself to be dead, and allows himself to be carried to\nthat mass on a bier; and the third sings in it quite naked.\n(There is a very similar story in Campbell's \"Popular Tales of\nthe West Highlands.\") It is also found, says Le Grand, in the\n\"Convivales Sermones,\" tome i. p. 200, in the \"Delices de\nVerboquet,\" p. 166; and in the Faceti\u00e6 of Lod. Dom\u00e9nichi, p. 172.\nIn the \"Contes pour Rire,\" p. 197, three women find a diamond, and\nthe arbiter whom they select promises it, as in the fabliau, to\nher who concocts the best device for deceiving her husband, but\ntheir ruses are different.\n\n\n\nEnd of Supplemental Nights Volume 2.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n Arabian Nights, Volume 12\n Footnotes\n\n\n\n[FN#1] Bresi. Edit., vol. xi. pp. 321-99, Nights dccccxxx-xl.\n\n[FN#2] Arab. \"Ikl\u00edm\" from the Gr. {kl\u00edma}, often used as amongst\nus (e.g. \"other climes\") for land.\n\n[FN#3] Bibars whose name is still famous and mostly pronounced\n\"Baybars,\" the fourth of the Baharite Mamelukes whom I would call\nthe \"Soldans.\" Originally a slave of Al-S\u00e1lih, seventh of the\nAyyubites, he rose to power by the normal process, murdering his\npredecessor, in A. D. 1260; and he pushed his conquests from\nSyria to Armenia. In his day \"Saint\" Louis died before Tunis (A.\nD. 1270).\n\n[FN#4] There are sundry S\u00e1hils or shore-lands. \"Sahil Misr\" is\nthe River-side of Cairo often extended to the whole of Lower\nEgypt (vol. i. 290): here it means the lowlands of Palestine once\nthe abode of the noble Philistines; and lastly the term extends\nto the sea-board of Zanzibar, where, however, it is mostly used\nin the plur. \"Saw\u00e1hil\"=the Shores.\n\n[FN#5] Arab. \"Samm\u00e1r\" (from Samar, = conversatio nocturna), = the\nstory-teller who in camp or house whiles away the evening hours.\n\n[FN#6] \"Flag of the Faith:\" Sanjar in old Persian=a Prince, a\nKing.\n\n[FN#7] \"Aider of the Faith.\"\n\n[FN#8] These policemen's tales present a curious contrast with\nthe detective stories of M. Gaboriau and his host of imitators.\nIn the East the police, like the old Bow Street runners, were and\nare still recruited principally amongst the criminal classes on\nthe principle of \"Set a thief,\" &c. We have seen that the\nBarmecide Wazirs of Baghdad \"anticipated Fourier's doctrine of\nthe passionel treatment of lawless inclinations,\" and employed as\nsubordinate officers, under the Wali or Prefect of Police,\naccomplished villains like Ahmad al-Danaf (vol. iv. 75), Hasan\nShuuman and Mercury Ali (ibid.) and even women (Dalilah the\nCrafty) to coerce and checkmate their former comrades. Moreover a\ngird at the police is always acceptable, not only to a\ncoffee-house audience, but even to a more educated crowd; witness\nthe treatment of the \"Charley\" and the \"Bobby\" in our truly\nEnglish pantomimes.\n\n[FN#9] i.e. the Chief of Police, as the sequel shows.\n\n[FN#10] About \u00a34.\n\n[FN#11] i.e. of the worlds visible and invisible.\n\n[FN#12] Arab. \"Mukaddam:\" see vol. iv, 42.\n\n[FN#13] \"Faithful of Command;\" it may be a title as well as a P.\nN. For \"Al-Am\u00edn,\" see vol. iv. 261.\n\n[FN#14] i. e. \"What have I to do with, etc.?\" or \"How great is\nthe difference between me and her.\" The phrase is still popular\nin Egypt and Syria; and the interrogative form only intensifies\nit. The student of Egyptian should always try to answer a\nquestion by a question. His labours have been greatly facilitated\nby the conscientious work of my late friend Spitta Bey. I tried\nhard to persuade the late Rogers Bey, whose knowledge of Egyptian\nand Syrian (as opposed to Arabic) was considerable, that a simple\ngrammar of Egyptian was much wanted; he promised to undertake it,\nbut death cut short the design.\n\n[FN#15] Arab. \"Naww\u00e1b,\" plur. of N\u00e1ib (lit. deputies,\nlieutenants)=a Nabob. Till the unhappy English occupation of\nEgypt, the grand old Kil'ah (Citadel) contained the palace of the\nPasha and the lodgings and offices of the various officials.\nForeign rulers, if they are wise, should convert it into a fort\nwith batteries commanding the town, like that of Hyderabad, in\nSind.\n\n[FN#16] For this famous and time-honoured building, see vol. i.\n269.\n\n[FN#17] Arab. \"Tamk\u00edn,\" gravity, assurance.\n\n[FN#18] Arab. \" Iy\u00e1l-hu\" lit. his family, a decorous\ncircumlocution for his wives and concubines.\n\n[FN#19] Arab. \"Darb,\" lit. a road; here a large thoroughfare.\n\n[FN#20] When Mohammed Ali Pasha (the \"Great\") began to rule, he\nfound Cairo \"stifled\" with filth, and gave orders that each\nhouseholder, under pain of confiscation, should keep the street\nbefore his house perfectly clean. This was done after some\nexamples had been made and the result was that since that time\nCairo never knew the plague. I am writing at Tangier where a\nMohammed Ali is much wanted.\n\n[FN#21] i.e. Allah forfend!\n\n[FN#22] Arab. \"Mustauda'\" = a strong place where goods are\ndeposited and left in charge.\n\n[FN#23] Because, if she came to grief, the people of the street,\nand especially those of the adjoining houses would get into\ntrouble. Hence in Moslem cities, like Damascus and Fez, the H\u00e1r\u00e1t\nor quarters are closed at night with strong wooden doors, and the\nguards will not open them except by means of a silver key.\nMohammed Ali abolished this inconvenience, but fined and\nimprisoned all night-walkers who carried no lanterns. See\nPilgrimage, vol. i. 173,\n\n[FN#24] As Kazi of the quarter he was ex-officio guardian of the\norphans and their property, and liable to severe punishment\n(unless he could pay for the luxury) in case of fraud or neglect.\n\n[FN#25] Altogether six thousand dinars = \u00a33000. This sentence is\nborrowed from the sequel and necessary to make the sense clear.\n\n[FN#26] i.e. \"I am going at once to complain of thee before the\nking unless thou give me due satisfaction by restoring the money\nand finding the thief.\"\n\n[FN#27] The Practice (of the Prophet) and the Holy Law (Koranic):\nsee vols. v. 36, 167 and i. 169.\n\n[FN#28] In the corrupt text \"Who knew me not;\" thus spoiling the\npoint.\n\n[FN#29] Arab. \"Maut Ahmar\" = violent or bloody death. For the\nvarious deaths, see vol. vi. 250.\n\n[FN#30] i.e. for lack of sleep.\n\n[FN#31] i.e. of the Kazi.\n\n[FN#32] Arab. \"Mub\u00e1h,\" in the theologic sense, an action which is\nnot sinful (har\u00e1m) or quasi-sinful (makr\u00fah); vulgarly \"permitted,\nallowed\"; so Shahrazad \"ceased to say her say permitted\" (by\nShahryar).\n\n[FN#33] Arab. \"Y\u00e1 Khawand\"; see vol. vii. 315.\n\n[FN#34] i.e. we both make different statements equally credible,\nbut without proof, and the case will go against me, because thou\nart the greater man.\n\n[FN#35] Arab. \"Irtiy\u00e1d\" = seeking a place where to stale, soft and\nsloping, so that the urine spray may not defile the dress. All\nthis in one word!\n\n[FN#36] Arab. \"Bah\u00e1r,\" the red buphthalmus sylvester often used\nfor such comparisons. In Algeria it is called 'Ar\u00e1wah: see the\nJardin Parfum\u00e9, p. 245, note 144.\n\n[FN#37] i.e. parties.\n\n[FN#38] i.e. amongst men.\n\n[FN#39] Almost as neat as \"o\u00f9 sont les neiges d'autan?\"\n\n[FN#40] Arab. \" \u00c1d\u00ed,\" one transgressing, an enemy, a scoundrel.\n\n[FN#41] It was probably stuck in the ground like an amphora.\n\n[FN#42] i.e. hush up the matter.\n\n[FN#43] In Egypt; the former being the Eastern of the Seven\nProvinces extending to the Pelusium branch, and the latter to the\nCanobic. The \"Bar\u00e1ri\" or deserts, i.e. grounds not watered by the\nNile, lie scattered between the two and both are bounded South by\nthe Kal\u00fab\u00edyah Province and Middle Egypt.\n\n [FN#44] i.e. a man ready of wit and immediate of action, as\nopposed to his name Al-Atwash = one notable for levity of mind.\n\n[FN#45] The negative is emphatic, \"I certainly saw a Jew,\" etc.\n\n[FN#46] The \"Irish bull\" is in the text; justified by--\n\n They hand-in-hand, with wand'ring steps and slow\n Through Eden took their solitary way,\n\n[FN#47] As we should say, \"There are good pickings to be had out\nof this job.\" Even in the last generation a Jew or a Christian\nintriguing with an Egyptian or Syrian Moslemah would be offered\nthe choice of death or Al-Islam. The Wali dared not break open\nthe door because he was not sure of his game.\n\n[FN#48] The Jew rose seemingly to fetch his valuables and ran\naway, thus leaving the Wali no proof that he had been there in\nMoslem law which demands ocular testimony, rejects circumstantial\nevidence and ignores such partial witnesses as the policeman who\naccompanied his Chief. This I have before explained.\n\n[FN#49] Arab. \"Raba',\" lit. = spring-quarters. See Marba', iii. 79.\n\n[FN#50] Arab. \"Ni'am,\" an exception to the Abb\u00e9 Sicard's rule.\n\"La consonne N est l'expression naturelle du doute chez toutes\nles nations, par ce que le son que rend la touche nasale, quand\nl'homme incertain examine s'il fera ce qu'on lui demande; ainsi\nNE ON, NE OT, NE EC, NE IL, d'o\u00f9 l'on a fait non, not, nec, nil.\n\n[FN#51] For this \"Hal\u00e1wat al-Mift\u00e1h,\" or sweetmeat of the\nkey-money, the French denier a Dieu, Old English \"God's penny,\"\nsee vol. vii. 212, and Pilgrimage i. 62.\n\n[FN#52] Showing that car. cop. had taken place. Here we find the\nirregular use of the inn, perpetuated in not a few of the monster\nhotels throughout Europe.\n\n[FN#53] For its rules and right performance see vol. vi. 199.\n\n[FN#54] i.e. the \"Basil(issa),\" mostly a servile name, see vol.\ni. 19.\n\n[FN#55] Arab. \"La'alla,\" used to express the hope or expectation\nof some event of possible occurrence; thus distinguished from\n\"Layta\" --Would heaven! utinam! O si! etc.-- expressing desire or\nvolition.\n\n[FN#56] Arab. \"Bal\u00e1t,\" in Cairo the flat slabs of limestone and\nsandstone brought from the Turah quarries, which supplied stone\nfor the J\u00edzah Pyramids.\n\n[FN#57] Arab. \"Y\u00e1 Mu'arras!\" here = O fool and disreputable; see\nvol. i. 338.\n\n[FN#58] These unfortunates in hot climates enjoy nothing so much\nas throwing off the clothes which burn their feverish skins: see\nPilgrimage iii. 385. Hence the boys of Eastern cities, who are\nperfect imps and flibbertigibbets, always raise the cry \"Majn\u00fan\"\nwhen they see a man naked whose sanctity does not account for his\nnudity.\n\n[FN#59] Arab. \"Daur al-K\u00e1'ah\" = the round opening made in the\nceiling for light and ventilation.\n\n[FN#60] Arab. \"La-nakhsifanna\" with the emphatic termination\ncalled by grammarians \"N\u00fan al-taakid\"--the N of injunction. Here\nit is the reduplicated form, the Nun al-Sak\u00edlah or heavy N. The\naddition of L\u00e1 (not) e.g. \"L\u00e1 yazrabanna\" = let him certainly not\nstrike answers to the intensive or corroborative negative of the\nGreek effected by two negations or even more. In Arabic as in\nLatin and English two negatives make an affirmative.\n\n[FN#61] Parturition and death in warm climates, especially the\ndamp-hot like Egypt are easy compared with both processes in the\ntemperates of Europe. This is noticed by every traveller. Hence\nprobably Easterns have never studied the artificial Euthanasia\nwhich is now appearing in literature. See p. 143 \"My Path to\nAtheism,\" by Annie Besant, London: Freethought Publishing\nCompany, 28, Stonecutter Street, E. C., 1877, based upon the\nUtopia of the highly religious Thomas Moore. Also \"Essay on\nEuthanasia,\" by P. D. Williams, Jun., and Mr. Tollemache in the\n\"Nineteenth Century.\"\n\n[FN#62] i.e. he whose turn it is to sit on the bench outside the\npolice-office in readiness for emergencies.\n\n[FN#63] Arab. \"'Ud\u00fal\" (plur. of '\u00c1dil), gen. men of good repute,\nqualified as witnesses in the law-court, see vol. iv. 271. It is\nalso used (as below) for the Kazi's Assessors.\n\n[FN#64] About \u00a380.\n\n[FN#65] Arab. \"Kit\u00e1b\" = book, written bond. This officiousness of\nthe neighbours is thoroughly justified by Moslem custom; and the\nsame scene would take place in this our day. Like the Hind\u00fa's,\nbut in a minor degree, the Moslem's neighbours form a volunteer\npolice which oversees his every action. In the case of the Hind\u00fa\nthis is required by the exigencies of caste, an admirable\ninstitution much bedevilled by ignorant Mlenchhas, and if\n\"dynamiting\" become the fashion in England, as it threatens to\nbecome, we shall be obliged to establish \"Vigilance Committees\"\nwhich will be as inquisitorial as caste\n\n[FN#66] e.g. writing The contract of A. with B., daughter of\nSuch-an-one, etc.\n\n[FN#67] Arab. \"Hujjat,\" which may also mean an excuse.\n\n[FN#68] The last clause is supplied by Mr. Payne to stop a gap in\nthe broken text.\n\n[FN#69] The text idiotically says \"To the King.\"\n\n[FN#70] In the text \"Nahnu\"=we, for I, a common vulgarism in\nEgypt and Syria.\n\n[FN#71] This clause has required extensive trimming; the text\nmaking the Notary write out the contract (which was already\nwritten) in the woman's house.\n\n[FN#72] Arab. \"Husn tadb\u00edr\" = lit. \"beauty of his contrivance.\"\nHusn, like {kal\u00f2s}, pulcher, beau and bello, is applied to moral and\nintellectual qualities as well as to physical and material. Hence\nthe {kal\u00f2 g\u00e9roon} or old gentleman which in Romaic becomes Calogero, a\nmonk.\n\n[FN#73] i.e. that some one told me the following tale.\n\n[FN#74] Arab. \"Mutawall\u00ed\": see vol. i. 259.\n\n[FN#75] i.e. his Moslem neighbours.\n\n[FN#76] In the text is a fearful confusion of genders.\n\n[FN#77] Her object was to sue him for the loss of the pledge and\nto demand fabulous damages.\n\n[FN#78] Arab. \"Ya'tamid\u00fana hud\u00e0-hum\" = purpose the right direction,\na skit at the devotees of her age and sex; and an impudent\ncomment upon the Prefect's address \"O she-devil!\"\n\n[FN#79] The trick has often been played in modern times at fairs,\nshows, etc. Witness the old Joe Miller of the \"Moving Multitude.\"\n\n[FN#80] Apparently meaning the forbidden pleasures of wine and\nwassail, loose talk and tales of women's wiles, a favourite\nsubject with the lewder sort of Moslem.\n\n[FN#81] i.e. women's tricks.\n\n[FN#82] The \"Turkoman\" in the text first comes in afterwards.\n\n[FN#83] Arab. \"K\u00e1sid,\" the old Anglo-lndian \"Cossid\"; see vol.\nvii. 340.\n\n[FN#84] Being a merchant he wore dagger and sword, a safe\npractice as it deters attack and far better than carrying hidden\nweapons, derringers and revolvers which, originating in the\nUnited States, have now been adopted by the most civilised\nnations in Europe.\n\n[FN#85] I have noted (vol. ii. 186, iv. 175) the easy expiation\nof perjury amongst Moslems, an ugly blot in their moral code.\n\n[FN#86] i.e. Enter in the name of Allah.\n\n[FN#87] i.e. Damn your soul for leading me into this danger!\n\n[FN#88] Arab. \"Saff Kamar\u00edy\u00e1t min al-Zuj\u00e1j.\" The Kamar\u00edyah is\nderived by Lane (Introd. M.E.) from Kamar=moon; by Baron Von\nHammer from Khum\u00e1rawayh, second of the Banu-Tul\u00fan dynasty, at the\nend of the ixth century A.D., when stained glass was introduced\ninto Egypt. N.B.--It must date from many centuries before. The\nKamariyah are glass windows about 2 feet high by 18\ninches wide, placed in a row along the upper part of the\nMashrab\u00edyah or projecting lattice-window, and are formed of small\npanes of brightly-stained glass set in rims of gypsum-plaster,\nthe whole framed in wood. Here the allusion is to the \"Mamrak\" or\ndome-shaped skylight crowning the room. See vol. viii. 156.\n\n[FN#89] i.e. easily arrested them.\n\n[FN#90] The reader will not forget the half-penitent Captain of\nBandits in Gil Blas.\n\n[FN#91] Arab. \"Abt\u00e1l\" = champions, athletes, etc., plur. of Batal,\na brave: so Batalat = a virago. As the root Batala = it was vain, the\nform \"Batt\u00e1l\" may mean either a hero or a bad lot: see vol. viii.\n335; x. 74,75.\n\n[FN#92] Arab. \"Fity\u00e1n;\" plur. of Fat\u00e0; see vol. i, 67.\n\n[FN#93] This was in popular parlance \"adding insult to injury:\"\nthe blackening their faces was a promise of Hell-fire.\n\n[FN#94] Arab. \"Shayyan li 'll\u00e1h!\" lit.=(Give me some) Thing for\n(the love of) Allah. The answer in Egypt. is \"Allah\nya't\u00edk:\"=Allah will give it thee (not I), or, \"Yaftah 'Allah,\"=\nAllah open (to thee the door of subsistence): in Marocco \"Sir f\u00ed\nh\u00e1lik\" (pron. Sirf h\u00e1k)= Go about thy business. In all cities\nthere is a formula which suffices the asker; but the Ghash\u00edm\n(Johny Raw) who ignores it, is pestered only the more by his\nprotestations that \"he left his purse at home,\" etc.\n\n[FN#95] i.e. engaged her for a revel and paid her in advance.\n\n[FN#96] Arab. \"Ras\u00edlah\"=a (she) partner, to accompany her on the\nlute.\n\n[FN#97] Suggesting that they are all thieves who had undergone\nlegal mutilation.\n\n[FN#98] Arab. \"Nuzhat-\u00ed:\" see vol. ii. 81.\n\n[FN#99] Arab. \"Muhattak\u00e1t;\" usually \"with torn veils\" (fem.\nplur.) here \"without veils,\" metaphor. meaning in disgrace, in\ndishonour.\n\n[FN#100] For this reedy Poa, see vol. ii. 18.\n\n[FN#101] I have repeatedly noticed that singing and all music\nare, in religious parlance, \"Makr\u00fah,\" blameable though not\nactually damnable; and that the first step after \"getting\nreligion\" is to forswear them.\n\n[FN#102] i.e. to find the thief or make good the loss.\n\n[FN#103] i.e. the claimants.\n\n[FN#104] Arab. \"Sakiyah:\" see vol. i. 123.\n\n[FN#105] The lower orders of Egypt and Syria are addicted to this\nbear-like attack; so the s imitate fighting-rams by butting\nwith their stony heads. Let me remark that when Herodotus (iii.\n12), after Psammenitus' battle of Pelusium in B.C. 524, made the\nremark that the Egyptian crania were hardened by shaving and\ninsolation and the Persians were softened by wearing head-cloths,\nhe tripped in his anthropology. The Iranian skull is naturally\nthin compared with that of the negroid Egyptian and the .\n\n[FN#106] Arab. \"Farkalah,\" {phrag\u00e9llion} from flagellum; cattle-whip\nwith leathern thongs. Lane, M.E.; Fleischer Glos. 83-84; Dozy\ns.v.\n\n[FN#107] This clause is supplied to make sense.\n\n[FN#108] i.e. to crucify him by nailing him to an upright board.\n\n[FN#109] i.e. a native of the Hauran, Job's country east of\nDamascus, now a luxuriant waste, haunted only by the plundering\nBadawin and the Druzes of the hills, who are no better; but its\nstretches of ruins and league-long swathes of stone over which\nthe vine was trained, show what it has been and what it will be\nagain when the incubus of Turkish mis-rule shall be removed from\nit. Herr Schuhmacher has lately noted in the Hauran sundry Arab\ntraditions of Job; the village Naw\u00e1, where he lived; the Hammam\n'Ayy\u00fab, where he washed his leprous skin; the Dayr Ayy\u00fab, a\nmonastery said to date from the third century; and the Makan\nAyyub at Al-Mark\u00e1z, where the semi-mythical patriarch and his\nwife are buried. The \"Rock of Job\", covered by a mosque, is a\nbasaltic monolith 7 feet high by 4, and is probably connected\nwith the solar worship of the old Ph\u0153nicians.\n\n[FN#110] This habit \"torquere mero,\" was a favourite with the\nmedi\u00e6val Arabs. Its effect varies greatly with men's characters,\nmaking some open-hearted and communicative, and others more\ncunning and secretive than in the normal state. So far it is an\nexcellent detection of disposition, and many a man who passes off\nwell when sober has shown himself in liquor a rank snob.\nAmong the lower orders it provokes what the Persians call\nBad-mast\u00ed (le vin m\u00e9chant) see Pilgrimage iii. 385.\n\n[FN#111] This mystery is not unfamiliar to the modern\n\"spiritualist;\" and all Eastern tongues have a special term for\nthe mysterious Voice. See vol. i. 142.\n\n[FN#112] Arab. \"Alaykum:\" addressed to a single person. This is\ngenerally explained by the \"Salam\" reaching the ears of Invisible\nControls, and even the Apostle. We find the words cruelly\ndistorted in the Pentamerone of Giambattista Basile (partly\ntranslated by John E. Taylor, London: Bogue, 1848), \"The Prince,\ncoming up to the old woman heard an hundred Licasalemme,\" p. 383.\n\n[FN#113] Arab. \"Al-Zalamah\"; the policeman; see vol. vi. 214.\n\n[FN#114] i.e. in my punishment.\n\n[FN#115] i.e. on Doomsday thou shalt get thy deserts.\n\n[FN#116] i.e. what I could well afford.\n\n[FN#117] Arab. Hirfah=a trade, a guild, a corporation: here the\nofficers of police.\n\n[FN#118] Gen. \"tip-cat\" (vol. ii. 314.) Here it would mean a rude\nform of tables or backgammon, in which the players who throw\ncertain numbers are dubbed Sultan and Wazir, and demean\nthemselves accordingly. A favourite bit of fun with Cairene boys\nof a past generation was to \"make a Pasha;\" and for this\nproceeding, see Pilgrimage, vol. i. 119.\n\n[FN#119] In Marocco there is great difficulty about finding an\nexecutioner who becomes obnoxious to the Th\u00e1r, vendetta or\nblood-revenge. For salting the criminal's head, however, the\nsoldiers seize upon the nearest Jew and compel him to clean out\nthe brain and to prepare it for what is often a long journey.\nHence, according to some, the local name of the Ghetto,\nAl-Mall\u00e1h,=the salting-ground.\n\n[FN#120] Mr. Payne suspects that \"laban,\" milk, esp. artificially\nsoured (see vol. vi, 201), is a clerical error for \"jubn\"=cheese.\nThis may be; but I follow the text as the exaggeration is greater\n\n[FN#121] i.e. in relinquishing his blood-wite for his brother.\n\n[FN#122] The Story-teller, probably to relieve the monotony of\nthe Constables' histories, here returns to the original cadre. We\nmust not forget that in the Bresl. Edit. the Nights are running\non, and that the charming queen is relating the adventure of\nAl-Malik al-Zahir.\n\n[FN#123] Arab. \"Za'amu\"=they opine, they declare, a favourite\nterm with the Bresl. Edit.\n\n[FN#124] Arab. \"Zirtah\" the coarsest of terms for what the French\nnuns prettily termed un sonnet; I find ung sonnet also in Nov.\nii. of the Cent nouvelles Nouvelles. Captain Lockett (p. 32)\nquotes Strepsiades in The Clouds {bront\u00e2 komid\u00ea papp\u00e1x} \"because he cannot\nexpress the bathos of the original (in the Tale of Ja'afar and\nthe old Badawi) without descending to the oracular language of\nGiacoma Rodogina, the engastrymythian prophetess.\" But Sterne was\nby no means so squeamish. The literature of this subject is\nextensive, beginning with \"Peteriana, ou l'art de peter,\" which\ndistinguishes 62 different tones. After dining with a late friend\nen gar\u00e7on we went into his sitting-room and found on the table 13\nbooks and booklets upon the Crepitus Ventris, and there was some\nastonishment as not a few of the party had never seen one.\n\n[FN#125] This tale is a replica of the Cranes of Ibycus. This was\na Rhegium man who when returning to Corinth, his home, was set\nupon by robbers and slain. He cast his dying eyes heavenwards and\nseeing a flight of cranes called upon them to avenge him and this\nthey did by flying over the theatre of Corinth on a day when the\nmurderers were present and one cried out, \"Behold the avengers of\nIbycus!\" Whereupon they were taken and put to death. So says\nPaulus Hieronymus, and the affecting old tale has newly been sung\nin charming verse by Mr. Justin H. McCarthy (\"Serapion.\" London:\nChatto and Windus).\n\n[FN#126] This scene is perfectly true to Badawi life; see my\nPilgrimage iii. 68.\n\n[FN#127] Arab. \"Durr\u00e1j\": so it is rendered in the French\ntranslation of Al-Masudi, vii. 347.\n\n[FN#128] A fair friend found the idea of Destiny in The Nights\nbecome almost a night-mare. Yet here we suddenly alight upon the\ntrue Johnsonian idea that conduct makes fate. Both extremes are\nas usual false. When one man fights a dozen battles unwounded and\nanother falls at the first shot we cannot but acknowledge the\npresence of that mysterious \"luck\" whose laws, now utterly\nunknown to us, may become familiar with the ages. I may note that\nthe idea of an appointed hour beyond which life may not be\nprolonged, is as old as Homer (Il. vi. 487).\n\nThe reader has been told (vol. vii. 135) that \"Kaz\u00e1\" is Fate in a\ngeneral sense, the universal and eternal Decree of Allah, while\n\"Kadar\" is its special and particular application to man's lot,\nthat is Allah's will in bringing forth events at a certain time\nand place. But the former is popularly held to be of two\ncategories, one Kaz\u00e1 al-Muham which admits of modification and\nKaz\u00e1 al-Muhkam, absolute and unchangeable, the doctrine of\nirresistible predestination preached with so much energy by St.\nPaul (Romans ix. 15-24); and all the world over men act upon the\nformer while theoretically holding to the latter. Hence \"Chinese\nGordon\" whose loss to England is greater than even his friends\nsuppose, wrote \"It is a delightful thing to be a fatalist,\"\nmeaning that the Divine direction and pre-ordination of all\nthings saved him so much trouble of forethought and afterthought.\nIn this tenet he was not only a Calvinist but also a Moslem whose\ncontradictory ideas of Fate and Freewill (with responsibility)\nare not only beyond Reason but are contrary to Reason; and\nalthough we may admit the argumentum ad verecundiam, suggesting\nthat there are things above (or below) human intelligence, we are\nnot bound so to do in the case of things which are opposed to the\ncommon sense of mankind. Practically, however, the Moslem\nattitude is to be loud in confessing belief of \"Fate and Fortune\"\nbefore an event happens and after it wisely to console himself\nwith the conviction that in no way could he have escaped the\noccurrence. And the belief that this destiny was in the hands of\nAllah gives him a certain dignity especially in the presence of\ndisease and death which is wanting in his rival religionist the\nChristian. At the same time the fanciful picture of the Turk\nsitting stolidly under a shower of bullets because Fate will not\nfind him out unless it be so written is a freak of fancy rarely\nfound in real life.\n\nThere are four great points of dispute amongst the schoolmen in\nAl-Islam; (1) the Unity and Attributes of Allah, (2) His promises\nand threats, (3) historical as the office of Im\u00e1m; and (4)\nPredestination and the justice thereof. On the latter subject\nopinions range over the whole cycle of possibilities. For\ninstance, the Mu'tazilites, whom the learned Weil makes the\nProtestants and Rationalists of Al-Islam, contend that the word\nof Allah was created in subjecto, ergo, an accident and liable to\nperish, and one of their school, the K\u00e1diriyah ( = having power)\ndenies the existence of Fate and contends that Allah did not\ncreate evil but left man an absolutely free agent. On the other\nhand, the Jabariyah (or Mujabbar = the compelled) is an absolute\nFatalist who believes in the omnipotence of Destiny and deems\nthat all wisdom consists in conforming with its decrees.\nAl-Mas'udi (chapt. cxxvii.) illustrates this by the saying of a\nMoslem philosopher that chess was the invention of a Mu'tazil,\nwhile Nard (backgammon with dice) was that of a Mujabbar proving\nthat play can do nothing against Destiny. Between the two are the\nAshariyah; trimmers whose stand-point is hard to define; they\nwould say, \"Allah creates the power by which man acts, but man\nwills the action,\" and care not to answer the query, \"Who created\nthe will ?\" (See Pocock, Sale and the Dabistan ii. 352). Thus\nSa'adi says in the Gulistan (iii. 2), \"The wise have pronounced\nthat though daily bread be allotted, yet it is so conditionally\nupon using means to acquire it, and although calamity be\npredestined, yet it is right to secure oneself against the\nportals by which it may have access.\" Lastly, not a few doctors\nof Law and Religion hold that Kaza al-Muhkam, however absolute,\nregards only man's after or final state; and upon this subject\nthey are of course as wise as other people, and--no wiser. Lane\nhas treated the Moslem faith in Destiny very ably and fully\n(Arabian Nights, vol. i. pp. 58-61), and he being a man of\nmoderate and orthodox views gives valuable testimony.\n\n[FN#129] Arab. \"Shaykh al-Hujj\u00e1j.\" Some Santon like Hasan al-\nMar\u00e1bit, then invoked by the Meccan pilgrims: see Pilgrimage, i.\n321. It can hardly refer to the famous Hajj\u00e1j bin Y\u00fasuf al-Sakaf\u00ed\n(vol. iv. 3).\n\n[FN#130] Here the Stories of the Sixteen Constables abruptly end,\nafter the fashion of the Bresl. Edit. They are summarily\ndismissed even without the normal \"Bakhsh\u00edsh.\"\n\n[FN#131] Bresl. Edit. vol xi. pp. 400-473 and vol. xii. pp. 4-50,\nNights dccccxli.-dcccclvii. For Kashghar, see vol. i. 255.\n\n[FN#132] Mr. Payne proposes to translate \"'Anbar\" by amber, the\nsemi-fossilised resin much used in modern days, especially in\nTurkey and Somaliland, for bead necklaces. But, as he says, the\nsecond line distinctly alludes to the perfume which is sewn in\nleather and hung about the neck, after the fashion of our ancient\npomanders (pomme d' ambre).\n\n[FN#133] i.e. The Caliph: see vol. i. p. 50.\n\n[FN#134] Arab. \"Adab :\" see vol. i. 132, etc. In Moslem dialects\nwhich borrow more or less from Arabic, \"B\u00ed-adab\u00ed\" = being without Adab, means rudeness, disrespect, \"impertinence\" (in its modern\nsense).\n\n[FN#135] i.e. Isaac of Mosul, the greatest of Arab musicians: see\nvol. iv. 119.\n\n[FN#136] The elder brother of Ja'afar, by no means so genial or\nfitted for a royal frolic. See Terminal Essay.\n\n[FN#137] Ibn Hab\u00edb, a friend of Isaac, and a learned grammarian\nwho lectured at Basrah.\n\n[FN#138] A suburb of Baghdad, mentioned by Al Mas'\u00fadi.\n\n[FN#139] Containing the rooms in which the girl or girls were\nsold. See Pilgrimage i. 87.\n\n[FN#140] Dozy quotes this passage but cannot explain the word\nFaww\u00e1k.\n\n[FN#141] \"A passage has apparently dropped out here. The Khalif\nseems to have gone away without buying, leaving Ishac behind,\nwhereupon the latter was accosted by another slave-girl, who came\nout of a cell in the corridor.\" So says Mr. Payne. vol. ii. 207.\nThe \"raiser of the veil\" means a fitting purchaser.\n\n[FN#142] i.e. \"Choice gift of the Fools,\" a skit upon the girl's\nname \"Tohfat al-Kul\u00fab\" = Choice gift of the Hearts. Her folly\nconsisted in refusing to be sold at a high price, and this is\noften seen in real life. It is a Pundonor amongst good Moslems\nnot to buy a girl and not to sleep with her, even when bought,\nagainst her will.\n\n[FN#143] \"Every one cannot go to Corinth.\" The question makes the\nassertion emphatic.\n\n[FN#144] i.e. The Narrows of the (Dervishes') convent.\n\n[FN#145] Arab. \"Akw\u00e0 min dahni 'l-lauz.\" These unguents have been\nused in the East from time immemorial whilst the last generation\nin England knew nothing of anointing with oil for incipient\nconsumption. A late friend of mine, Dr. Stocks of the Bombay\nEstablishment, and I proposed it as long back as 1845; but in\nthose days it was a far cry from Sind to London.\n\n[FN#146] The sequel will explain why she acted in this way.\n\n[FN#147] i.e. Thou hast made my gold piece (10 shill.) worth only\na doit by thy superiority in the art and mystery of music.\n\n[FN#148] Arab. \"Uadd\u00edki,\" Taadiyah (iid. of Ad\u00e1, he assisted)\nmeans sending, forwarding. In Egypt and Syria we often find the\nform \"Waddi\" for Addi, imperative.\n\n[FN#149] Again \"he\" for \"she\".\n\n[FN#150] i.e. Honey and wine.\n\n[FN#151] i.e. he died.\n\n[FN#152] i.e. if my hand had lost its cunning.\n\n[FN#153] Arab. \"Thiy\u00e1b 'Am\u00fadiyah\": 'Amud = tent prop or column, and\nKhatt 'Am\u00fad = a perpendicular line.\n\n[FN#154] i.e. a choice gift. The Caliph speaks half ironically.\n\"Where's this wonderful present etc?\" So further on when he\ncompares her with the morning.\n\n[FN#155] Again the usual pun upon the name.\n\n[FN#156] Throughout the East this is the action of a servant or a\nslave, practised by freemen only when in danger of life or\nextreme need and therefore humiliating.\n\n[FN#157] It had been thrown down from the Mamrak or small dome\nbuilt over such pavilions for the purpose of light by day and\nventilation by night. See vol. i. 257, where it is called by the\nPersian term \"B\u00e1dhanj.\"\n\n[FN#158] The Nights have more than once applied this patronymic\nto Zubaydah. See vol. viii. 56, 158.\n\n[FN#159] Arab. \"Mutahaddis\u00edn\" = novi homines, upstarts.\n\n[FN#160] i.e. thine auspicious visits.\n\n[FN#161] He being seated on the carpet at the time.\n\n[FN#162] A quotation from Al-Farazdat who had quarrelled with his\nwife Al-How\u00e1r (see the tale in Ibn Khallikan, i. 521), hence \"the\nnaked intercessor\" became proverbial for one who cannot be\nwithstood.\n\n[FN#163] i.e. Choice Gift of the Breasts, that is of hearts, the\ncontinens for the contentum.\n\n[FN#164] Pron. \"Abuttaw\u00e1if,\" the Father of the (Jinn-)tribes. It\nis one of the Moslem Satan's manifold names, alluding to the\nnumber of his servants and worshippers, so far agreeing with that\namiable Christian doctrine, \"Few shall be saved.\"\n\n[FN#165] Mr. Payne supplies this last clause from the sequence.\n\n[FN#166] i.e. \"Let us go,\" with a euphemistic formula to defend\nher from evil influences. Iblis uses the same word to prevent her\nbeing frightened.\n\n[FN#167] Arab. \"Al-Mustar\u00e1h,\" a favourite haunting place of the\nJinn, like the Hamm\u00e1m and other offices for human impurity. For\nits six names Al-Khal\u00e1, Al-Hushsh, Al-Mutawazz\u00e1, Al-Kan\u00edf,\nAl-Mustar\u00e1h, and Mirh\u00e1z, see Al-Mas'udi, chap. cxxvii., and\nShir\u00edshi's commentary to Hariri's 47, Assembly.\n\n[FN#168] Which, in the East, is high and prominent whilst the\ncantle forms a back to the seat and the rider sits as in a baby's\nchair. The object is a firm seat when fighting: \"across country\"\nit is exceedingly dangerous.\n\n[FN#169] In Swedenborg's \"Arcana C\u0153lestia\" we read, \"When man's\ninner sight is opened, which is that of his spirit; then there\nappear the things of another life which cannot be made visible to\nthe bodily sight.\" Also \"Evil spirits, when seen by eyes other\nthan those of their infernal associates, present themselves by\ncorrespondence in the beast (fera) which represents their\nparticular lust and life, in aspect direful and atrocious.\" These\nare the Jinns of Northern Europe.\n\n[FN#170] This exchange of salams was a sign of her being in\nsafety.\n\n[FN#171] Arab. \"Shaw\u00e1hid,\" meaning that heart testifies to heart.\n\n[FN#172] i.e. A live coal, afterwards called Zalzalah, an\nearthquake; see post p. 105. \"Wakh\u00edmah\" = an unhealthy land, and\n\"Shar\u00e1rah\" = a spark.\n\n[FN#173] I need hardly note the inscriptions upon the metal trays\nsold to Europeans. They are usually imitation words so that\ninfidel eyes may not look upon the formul\u00e6 of prayer; and the\nsame is the case with table-cloths, etc., showing a fancy Tohgra\nor Sultanic sign-manual.\n\n[FN#174] i.e. I cannot look at them long.\n\n[FN#175] Evidently a diabolical way of clapping his hands in\napplause. This description of the Foul Fiend has an element of\ngrotesqueness which is rather Christian than Moslem.\n\n[FN#176] Arab. \"Rikk\u00ed al-Saut,\" which may also mean either \"lower\nthy voice,\" or \"change the air to one less touching.\"\n\n[FN#177] \"Your\" for \"thy.\"\n\n[FN#178] i.e. written on the \"Guarded Tablet\" from all eternity.\n\n[FN#179] Arab. \"Al-'Urs w'al-Tuh\u00far\" which can only mean, \"the\nwedding (which does not drop out of the tale) and the\ncircumcision.\"\n\n[FN#180] I here propose to consider at some length this curious\ncustom which has prevailed amongst so many widely separated\nraces. Its object has been noted (vol. v. 209), viz. to diminish\nthe sensibility of the glans, no longer lubricated with prostatic\nlymph; thus the part is hardened against injury and disease and\nits work in coition is prolonged. On the other hand, \"pr\u00e6putium\nin coitu voluptatem (of the woman) auget, unde femina pr\u00e6putiatis\nconcubitum malunt quam cum Turcis ac Jud\u00e6is \" says Dimerbroeck\n(Anatomie). I vehemently doubt the fact. Circumcision was\ndoubtless practised from ages immemorial by the peoples of\nCentral Africa, and Welcker found traces of it in a mummy of the\nxvith century B.C. The Jews borrowed it from the Egyptian\npriesthood and made it a manner of sacrament, \"uncircumcised\"\nbeing = \"unbaptised,\" that is, barbarian, heretic; it was a seal of\nreconciliation, a sign of alliance between the Creator and the\nChosen People, a token of nationality imposed upon the body\npolitic. Thus it became a cruel and odious protestation against\nthe brotherhood of man, and the cosmopolitan Romans derided the\nverp\u00e6 ac verpi. The Jews also used the term figuratively as the\n\"circumcision of fruits\" (Lev. xix. 23), and of the heart (Deut.\nx. 16); and the old law gives copious historical details of its\norigin and continuance. Abraham first amputated his horny\n\"calotte\" at \u00e6t. 99, and did the same for his son and household\n(Gen. xvii. 24-27). The rite caused a separation between Moses\nand his wife (Exod. iv. 25). It was suspended during the Desert\nWanderings and was resumed by Joshua (v. 3-7), who cut off two\ntons weight of prepuces. The latter became, like the scalps of\nthe Scythians and the North-American \"Indians,\" trophies of\nvictory; Saul promised his daughter Michol to David for a dowry\nof one hundred, and the son-in-law brought double tale.\n\nAmongst the early Christians opinions concerning the rite\ndiffered. Although the Founder of Christianity was circumcised,\nSt. Paul, who aimed at a cosmopolitan faith discouraged it in the\nphysical phase. St. Augustine still sustained that the rite\nremoved original sin despite the Fathers who preceded and\nfollowed him, Justus, Tertullian, Ambrose and others. But it\ngradually lapsed into desuetude and was preserved only in the\noutlying regions. Paulus Jovius and Munster found it practised in\nAbyssinia, but as a mark of nobility confined to the descendants\nof \"Nicaules, queen of Sheba.\" The Abyssinians still follow the\nJews in performing the rite within eight days after the birth and\nbaptise boys after forty and girls after eighty days. When a\ncircumcised man became a Jew he was bled before three witnesses\nat the place where the prepuce had been cut off and this was\ncalled the \"Blood of alliance.\" Apostate Jews effaced the sign of\ncircumcision: so in 1 Matt. i. 16, fecerunt sibi pr\u00e6putia et\nrecesserunt a Testamento Sancto. Thus making prepuces was called\nby the Hebrews Meshookim = recutiti{s}, and there is an allusion to\nit in 1 Cor. vii. 18, 19, {m\u00e8 episp\u00e1sthai} (Farrar, Paul ii. 70). St.\nJerome and others deny the possibility; but Mirabeau (Akropodie)\nrelates how Father Conning by liniments of oil, suspending\nweights, and wearing the virga in a box gained in 43 days 7\u00bc\nlines. The process is still practiced by Armenians and other\nChristians who, compelled to Islamise, wish to return to\nChristianity. I cannot however find a similar artifice applied to\na circumcised clitoris. The simplest form of circumcision is mere\namputation of the prepuce and I have noted (vol. v. 209) the\ndifference between the Moslem and the Jewish rite, the latter\naccording to some being supposed to heal in kindlier way. But the\nvarieties of circumcision are immense. Probably none is more\nterrible than that practiced in the Province Al-As\u00edr, the old\nOphir, lying south of Al-Hij\u00e1z, where it is called Salkh,\nlit. = scarification. The patient, usually from ten to twelve years\nold, is placed upon raised ground holding m right hand a spear,\nwhose heel rests upon his foot and whose point shows every\ntremour of the nerves. The tribe stands about him to pass\njudgment on his fortitude, and the barber performs the operation\nwith the Jumbiyah-dagger, sharp as a razor. First he makes a\nshallow cut, severing only the skin across the belly immediately\nbelow the navel, and similar incisions down each groin; then he\ntears off the epidermis from the cuts downwards and flays the\ntesticles and the penis, ending with amputation of the foreskin.\nMeanwhile the spear must not tremble and in some clans the lad\nholds a dagger over the back of the stooping barber, crying, \"Cut\nand fear not!\" When the ordeal is over, he exclaims, \"Allaho\nAkbar!\" and attempts to walk towards the tents soon falling for\npain and nervous exhaustion, but the more steps he takes the more\napplause he gains. He is dieted with camel's milk, the wound is\ntreated with salt and turmeric, and the chances in his favour are\nabout ten to one. No body-pile or pecten ever grows upon the\nexcoriated part which preserves through life a livid ashen hue.\nWhilst Mohammed Ali Pasha occupied the province he forbade\n\"scarification\" under pain of impalement, but it was resumed the\nmoment he left Al-Asir. In Africa not only is circumcision\nindigenous, the operation varies more or less in the different\ntribes. In Dahome it is termed Addagwibi, and is performed\nbetween the twelfth and twentieth year. The rough operation is\nmade peculiar by a double cut above and below; the prepuce being\ntreated in the Moslem, not the Jewish fashion (loc. cit.). Heated\nsand is applied as a styptic and the patient is dieted with\nginger-soup and warm drinks of ginger-water, pork being\nespecially forbidden. The Fantis of the Gold Coast circumcise in\nsacred places, e.g., at Accra on a Fetish rock rising from the\nsea. The peoples of Sennaar, Taka, Masawwah and the adjacent\nregions follow the Abyssinian custom. The barbarous Bissagos and\nFellups of North Western Guinea make cuts on the prepuce without\namputating it; while the Baquens and Papels circumcise like\nMoslems. The blacks of Loango are all \"verp\u00e6,\" otherwise they\nwould be rejected by the women. The Bantu or Caffre tribes are\ncircumcised between the ages of fifteen and eighteen; the \"Fetish\nboys,\" as we call them, are chalked white and wear only grass\nbelts; they live outside the villages in special houses under an\nold \"medicine-man,\" who teaches them not only virile arts but\nalso to rob and fight. The \"man-making\" may last five months and\nends in f\u00eates and dances: the patients are washed in the river,\nthey burn down their quarters, take new names, and become adults,\ndonning a kind of straw thimble over the prepuce. In Madagascar\nthree several cuts are made causing much suffering to the\nchildren; and the nearest male relative swallows the prepuce. The\nPolynesians circumcise when childhood ends and thus consecrate\nthe fecundating organ to the Deity. In Tahiti the operation is\nperformed by the priest, and in Tonga only the priest is exempt.\nThe Maories on the other hand fasten the prepuce over the glans,\nand the women of the Marquesas Islands have shown great cruelty\nto shipwrecked sailors who expose the glans. Almost all the known\nAustralian tribes circumcise after some fashion: Bennett supposes\nthe rite to have been borrowed from the Malays, while Gason\nenumerates the \"Kurrawellie wonkauna\" among the five mutilations\nof puberty. Leichhardt found circumcision about the Gulf of\nCarpentaria and in the river-valleys of the Robinson and\nMacarthur: others observed it on the Southern Coast and among\nthe savages of Perth, where it is noticed by Salvado. James\nDawson tells us \"Circumciduntur pueri,\" etc., in Western\nVictoria. Brough Smyth, who supposes the object is to limit\npopulation (?), describes on the Western Coast and in Central\nAustralia the \"Corrobery\"-dance and the operation performed with\na quartz-flake. Teichelmann details the rite in Southern\nAustralia where the assistants--all men, women, and children\nbeing driven away--form a \"manner of human altar\" upon which the\nyouth is laid for circumcision. He then receives the normal two\nnames, public and secret, and is initiated into the mysteries\nproper for men. The Australians also for Malthusian reasons\nproduce an artificial hypospadias, while the Karens of New Guinea\nonly split the prepuce longitudinally (Cosmos p. 369, Oct. 1876);\nthe indigens of Port Lincoln on the West Coast split the virga:--\nFenditur usque ad urethram a parte infera penis between the ages\nof twelve and fourteen, says E. J. Eyre in 1845. Missionary\nSch\u00fcrmann declares that they open the urethra. Gason describes in\nthe Dieyerie tribe the operation 'Kulpi\" which is performed when\nthe beard is long enough for tying. The member is placed upon a\nslab of tree-bark, the urethra is incised with a quartz-flake\nmounted in a gum handle and a splinter of bark is inserted to\nkeep the cut open. These men may appear naked before women who\nexpect others to clothe themselves. Miklucho Maclay calls it\n\"Mika\" in Central Australia: he was told by a squatter that of\nthree hundred men only three or four had the member intact in\norder to get children, and that in one tribe the female births\ngreatly outnumbered the male. Those mutilated also marry: when\nmaking water they sit like women slightly raising the penis, this\nin coition becomes flat and broad and the semen does not enter\nthe matrix. The explorer believes that the deed of kind is more\nquickly done (?). Circumcision was also known to the New World.\nHerrera relates that certain Mexicans cut off the ears and\nprepuce of the newly born child, causing many to die. The Jews\ndid not adopt the female circumcision of Egypt described by Huet\non Origen--\"Circumcisio feminarum fit resectione {t\u00eas nymph\u00eas} (sive\nclitoridis) qu\u00e6 pars in Australium mulieribus ita crescit ut\nferro est co\u00ebrcenda.\" Here we have the normal confusion between\nexcision of the nymph\u00e6 (usually for fibulation) and circumcision\nof the clitoris. Bruce notices this clitoridectomy among the\nAbyssinians. Werne describes the excision on the Upper White Nile\nand I have noted the complicated operation among the Somali\ntribes. Girls in Dahome are circumcised by ancient sages femmes,\nand a woman in the natural state would be derided by every one\n(See my Mission to Dahome, ii. 159) The Australians cut out the\nclitoris, and as I have noted elsewhere extirpate the ovary for\nMalthusian purposes (Journ Anthrop. Inst., vol. viii. of 1884).\n\n[FN#181] Arab. \"Kayraw\u00e1n\" which is still the common name for\ncurlew; the peewit and plover being called (onomatopoetically)\n\"B\u00edbat\" and in Marocco Yah\u00fadi, certain impious Jews having been turned into the Vanellus Cristatus which still wears the black skullcap of the Hebrews.\n\n[FN#182] Arab. \"Saw\u00e1ki,\" the leats which irrigate the ground and are opened and closed with the foot.\n\n[FN#183] The eighth (in altitude) of the many-storied Heavens.\n\n[FN#184] Arab. \"Ihramat li al-Sal\u00e1t,\" i.e. she pronounced the\nformula of Intention (Niyat) without which prayer is not valid, ending with Allaho Akbar = Allah is All-great. Thus she had clothed herself, as it were, in prayer and had retired from the world pro temp.\n\n[FN#185] i.e.. the prayers of the last day and night which she\nhad neglected while in company with the Jinns. The Hammam is not a pure place to pray in; but the Farz or Koranic orisons should be recited there if the legal term be hard upon its end.\n\n[FN#186] Slaves, male as well as female, are as fond of talking over their sale as European dames enjoy looking back upon the details of courtship and marriage.\n\n[FN#187] Arab. \"Du'\u00e1,\" = supplication, prayer, as opposed to\n\"Sal\u00e1t\" = divine worship, \"prayers.\" For the technical meaning of the latter see vol. iv. 65. I have objected to Mr. Redhouse's distinction without a difference between Moslems' worship and prayer: voluntary prayers are not prohibited to them and their praises of the Lord are mingled, as amongst all worshippers, with petitions.\n\n[FN#188] Al-Muzfir = the Twister; Zaf\u00e1ir al-Jinn = Adiantum capillus veneris. L\u00fal\u00faah = The Pearl, or Wild Heifer; see vol. ix. 218.\n\n[FN#189] Arab. \"Bi jildi 'l-baker.\" I hope that captious critics will not find fault with my rendering, as they did in the case of Fals ahmar = a red cent, vol. i. 321.\n\n[FN#190] Arab. \"Far\u00e1sah\" = lit. knowing a horse. Arabia abounds in tales illustrating abnormal powers of observation. I have noted this in vol. viii. 326.\n\n[FN#191] i.e. the owner of this palace.\n\n[FN#192] She made the Ghusl not because she had slept with a man, but because the impurity of Satan's presence called for the major ablution before prayer.\n\n[FN#193] i.e. she conjoined the prayers of nightfall with those of dawn.\n\n[FN#194] i.e. those of midday, mid-afternoon and sunset.\n\n[FN#195] Arab. \"Sahb\u00e1\" red wine preferred for the morning\ndraught.\n\n[FN#196] The Apostle who delighted in women and perfumes. Persian poetry often alludes to the rose which, before white, was dyed red by his sweat.\n\n[FN#197] For the etymology of Juln\u00e1r--Byron's \"Gulnare\"--see vol. vii. 268. Here the rhymer seems to refer to its origin; Gul (Arab. Jul) in Persian a rose; and An\u00e1r, a pomegranate, which in Arabic becomes N\u00e1r = fire.\n\n[FN#198] i.e. \"The brilliant,\" the enlightened.\n\n[FN#199] i.e. the moral beauty.\n\n[FN#200] A phenomenon well known to spiritualists and to \"The\nHouse and the Haunter.\" An old Dutch factory near Hungarian Fiume is famed for this mode of \"obsession\": the inmates hear the sound of footfalls, etc., behind them, especially upon the stairs; and see nothing.\n\n[FN#201] The two short Koranic chapters, The Daybreak (cxiii.)\nand The Men (cxiv. and last) evidently so called from the words which occur in both (versets i., \"I take refuge with\"). These \"Ma'\u00fazat\u00e1ni,\" as they are called, are recited as talismans or preventives against evil, and are worn as amulets inscribed on parchment; they are also often used in the five canonical prayers. I have translated them in vol. iii. 222.\n\n[FN#202] The antistes or fugleman at prayer who leads off the\norisons of the congregation; and applied to the Caliph as the\nhead of the faith. See vol. ii. 203 and iv. 111.\n\n[FN#203] Arab. \" 'Umm\u00e1r\" i.e. the Jinn, the \"spiritual creatures\" which walk this earth, and other non-humans who occupy it.\n\n[FN#204] A parallel to this bodiless Head is the Giant Face,\nwhich appears to travellers (who expect it) in the Lower Valley of the Indus. See Sind Re-visited, ii. 155.\n\n[FN#205] Arab. \"Ghal\u00edl\u00ed\" = my yearning.\n\n[FN#206] Arab. \"Ahb\u00e1bu-n\u00e1\" plur. for singular = my beloved.\n\n[FN#207] i.e. her return.\n\n[FN#208] Arab. \"Arja'\" lit. return! but here meaning to stop. It is much used by donkey-boys from Cairo to Fez in the sense of \"Get out of the way.\" Hence the Spanish arre! which gave rise to arriero = a carrier, a muleteer.\n\n[FN#209] Arab. \"Afras\" lit.=a better horseman.\n\n[FN#210] A somewhat crippled quotation from Koran lvi. 87-88, \"As for him who is of those brought near unto Allah, there shall be for him easance and basil and a Garden of Delights (Na'\u00edm).\"\n\n[FN#211] i.e. Queen Sunbeam.\n\n[FN#212] See vol. i. 310 for this compound perfume which contains musk, ambergris and other essences.\n\n[FN#213] I can hardly see the sequence of this or what the\ncarpets have to do here.\n\n[FN#214] Here, as before, some insertion has been found\nnecessary.\n\n[FN#215] Arab. \"Dukh\u00falak\" lit.=thy entering, entrance, becoming familiar.\n\n[FN#216] Or \"And in this there shall be to thee great honour over all the Jinn.\"\n\n[FN#217] Mr. Payne thus amends the text, \"How loathly is yonder Genie Meimoun! There is no eating (in his presence);\" referring back to p. 88.\n\n[FN#218] i.e. \"I cannot bear to see him!\"\n\n[FN#219] This assertion of dignity, which is permissible in\nroyalty, has been absurdly affected by certain \"dames\" in\nAnglo-Egypt who are quite the reverse of queenly; and who degrade \"dignity\" to the vulgarest affectation.\n\n[FN#220] i.e. \"May thy visits never fail me!\"\n\n[FN#221] i.e. Ash-, verging upon white.\n\n[FN#222] i.e. \"She will double thy store of presents.\"\n\n[FN#223] The Arab boy who, unlike the Jew, is circumcised long\nafter infancy and often in his teens, thus making the ceremony\nconform after a fashion with our \"Confirmation,\" is displayed\nbefore being operated upon, to family and friends; and the seat is a couch covered with the richest tapestry. So far it resembles the bride-throne.\n\n[FN#224] Tohfah.\n\n[FN#225] i.e. Hindu, Indian.\n\n[FN#226] Japhet, son of Noah.\n\n[FN#227] Mr. Payne translates \"Take this and glorify thyself\nwithal over the people of the world.\" His reading certainly makes\nbetter sense, but I do not see how the text can carry the\nmeaning. He also omits the bussing of the bosom, probably for\nartistic reasons.\n\n[FN#228] A skit at Ish\u00e1k, making the Devil praise him. See vol.\nvii. 113.\n\n[FN#229] Arab. \"Maw\u00e1zi\" (plur. of Mauza')=lit. places, shifts,\npassages.\n\n[FN#230] The bed (farsh), is I presume, the straw-spread (?)\nstore-room where the apples are preserved.\n\n[FN#231] Arab. \"Farkh warak\", which sounds like an atrocious\nvulgarism.\n\n[FN#232] The Moss-rose; also the eglantine, or dog-rose, and the\nsweet-briar, whose leaf, unlike other roses, is so odorous.\n\n[FN#233] The lily in Heb., derived by some from its six (shash)\nleaves, and by others from its vivid cheerful brightness. \"His\nlips are lilies\" (Cant. v. 13), not in colour, but in odoriferous\nsweetness.\n\n[FN#234] The barber is now the usual operator; but all operations\nbegan in Europe with the \"barber-surgeon.\"\n\n[FN#235] Sic in text xii. 20. It may be a misprint for Ab\u00fa\nal-Tawaif, but it can also mean \"O Shaykh of the Tribes (of\nJinns)!\"\n\n[FN#236] The capital of King Al-Shisban.\n\n[FN#237] Arab \"Fajj\", the Spanish \"Vega\" which, however, means a mountain-plain, a plain.\n\n[FN#238] i.e. I am quite sure: emphatically.\n\n[FN#239] i.e. all the Jinn's professions of affection and\npromises of protection were mere lies.\n\n[FN#240] In the original this apodosis is wanting: see vol. vi. 203, 239.\n\n[FN#241] Arab. \"D\u00e1hiyat al-Daw\u00e1h\u00ed;\" see vol. ii. 87.\n\n[FN#242] Arab. \"Al-Jabal al-Mukawwar\"= Cha\u00eene de montagnes de\nforme demi circulaire, from Kaur, a park, an enceinte.\n\n[FN#243] Arab. \"R\u00fah\u00ed\" lit. my breath, the outward sign of life.\n\n[FN#244] i.e. K\u00e1f.\n\n[FN#245] i.e. A bit of burning charcoal.\n\n[FN#246] Arab. \"Al-yad al-bayz\u00e1,\"=lit. The white hand: see vol. iv. 185.\n\n[FN#247] Showing the antiquity of \"Apr\u00e8s moi le d\u00e9luge,\" the fame of all old politicians and aged statesmen who can expect but a few years of life. These \"burning questions\" (e.g. the Bulgarian) may be smothered for a time, but the result is that they blaze forth with increased violence. We have to thank Lord Palmerston (an Irish landlord) for ignoring the growth of Fenianism and another aged statesman for a sturdy attempt to disunite the United Kingdom. An old notion wants young blood at its head.\n\n[FN#248] Suggesting the nursery rhyme:\n\n Fee, fo, fum\n I smell the blood of an Englishman.\n\n[FN#249] i.e. why not at once make an end of her.\n\n[FN#250] The well-known war-cry.\n\n[FN#251] Lit. \"Smoke\" pop. applied, like our word, to tobacco.\nThe latter, however, is not here meant.\n\n[FN#252] Arab. \"Ghur\u00e1b al-bayn,\" of the wold or of parting. See\nvol. vii. 226.\n\n[FN#253] Arab. \"Hal\u00e1wah\"; see vol. iv. 60.\n\n[FN#254] Here the vocative particle \"Y\u00e1\" is omitted.\n\n[FN#255] Lit. \"The long-necked (bird)\" before noticed with the\nRukh (Roc) in vol. v. 122. Here it becomes a Princess, daughter of Bahr\u00e1m-i-G\u00far (Bahram of the Onager, his favourite game), the famous Persian king in the fifth century, a contemporary of Theodosius the younger and Honorius. The \"Ank\u00e1\" is evidently the Iranian S\u00edmurgh.\n\n[FN#256] \"Chamber\" is becoming a dangerous word in English. Roars of laughter from the gods greeted the great actor's declamation, \"The bed has not been slept in! Her little chamber is empty!\"\n\n[FN#257] Choice Gift of the breast (or heart).\n\n[FN#258] From the Calc. Edit. (1814\u201318), Nights cxcvi.\u2013cc., vol. ii., pp. 367\u2013378. The translation has been compared and collated with that of Langl\u00e8s (Paris, 1814), appended to his Edition of the Voyages of Sindbad. The story is exceedingly clever and well deserves translation.\n\n[FN#259] It is regretable that this formula has not been\npreserved throughout The Nights: it affords, I have noticed, a\npleasing break to the long course of narrative.\n\n[FN#260] Arab. \"Ban\u00e1t-al-haw\u00e1\" lit. daughters of love, usually\nmeaning an Anonyma, a fille de joie; but here the girl is of good repute, and the offensive term must be modified to a gay,\nfrolicsome lass.\n\n[FN#261] Arab. \"Jabhat,\" the lintel opposed to the threshold.\n\n[FN#262] Arab. \"Ghatt\u00ed,\" still the popular term said to a child showing its nakedness, or a lady of pleasure who insults a man by displaying any part of her person.\n\n[FN#263] She is compared with a flashing blade (her face) now\ndrawn from its sheath (her hair) then hidden by it.\n\n[FN#264] The \"Muajjalah\" or money paid down before consummation was about \u00a325; and the \"Mu'ajjalah\" or coin to be paid contingent on divorce was about \u00a375. In the Calc. Edit ii. 371, both dowers are \u00a335.\n\n[FN#265] i.e. All the blemishes which justify returning a slave to the slave-dealer.\n\n[FN#266] Media: see vol. ii. 94. The \"Daylamite prison\" was one of many in Baghdad.\n\n[FN#267] See vol. v. 199. I may remark that the practice of\nbathing after copulation was kept up by both sexes in ancient\nRome. The custom may have originated in days when human senses\nwere more acute. I have seen an Arab horse object to be mounted by the master when the latter had not washed after sleeping with a woman.\n\n[FN#268] On the morning after a happy night the bridegroom still\noffers coffee and Halw\u00e1 to friends.\n\n[FN#269] i.e. More bewitching.\n\n[FN#270] Arab. \"Shar\u00edf\u00ed\" more usually Ashrafi, the Port. Xerafim,\na gold coin = 6s.\u20137s.\n\n[FN#271] The oft-repeated Koranic quotation.\n\n[FN#272] Arab. \"'Irk\": our phrase is \"the apple of the eye.\"\n\n[FN#273] Meaning that he was a Sayyid or a Shar\u00edf.\n\n[FN#274] i.e. than a Jew or a Christian. So the Sultan, when\nappealed to by these religionists, who were as usual squabbling\nand fighting, answered, \"What matter if the dog tear the hog or\nthe hog tear the dog\"?\n\n[FN#275] The \"Shar\u00ed'at\" forbidding divorce by force.\n\n[FN#276] i.e. protect my honour.\n\n[FN#277] For this proverb see vol. v. 138. 1 have remarked that\n\"Shame\" is not a passion in Europe as in the East; the Western\nequivalent to the Arab. \"Hay\u00e1' 'would be the Latin \"Pudor.\"\n\n[FN#278] Arab. \"Tal\u00e1kan b\u00e1inan,\" here meaning a triple divorce\nbefore witnesses, making it irrevocable.\n\n[FN#279] i.e. who had played him that trick.\n\n[FN#280] The Bresl. Edit. (vol. xii. pp. 50-116, Nights\ndcccclviii- dcccclxv.) entitles it \"Tale of Abu al-Hasan the\nDamascene and his son S\u00edd\u00ed Nur al-D\u00edn ' Al\u00ed.\" S\u00edd\u00ed means simply,\n\"my lord,\" but here becomes part of the name, a practice\nperpetuated in Zanzibar. See vol. v.283.\n\n[FN#281] i.e. at the hours of canonical prayers and other\nsuitable times he made an especial orison (du'\u00e1) for issue.\n\n[FN#282] See vol. i.85, for the traditional witchcraft of\nBabylonia.\n\n[FN#283] i.e. More or less thoroughly.\n\n[FN#284] i.e. \"He who quitteth not his native country diverteth not himself with a sight of the wonders of the world.\"\n\n[FN#285] For similar sayings, see vol. ix. 257, and my Pilgrimage\ni. 127.\n\n[FN#286] i.e. relying upon, etc.\n\n[FN#287] The Egyptian term for a khan, called in Persia\ncaravanserai (karw\u00e1n-ser\u00e1i); and in Marocco funduk, from the\nGreek; whence the Spanish \"fonda.\" See vol. i. 92.\n\n[FN#288] Arab. \"Baliyah,\" to jingle with \"B\u00e1biliyah.\"\n\n[FN#289] As a rule whenever this old villain appears in The\nNights, it is a signal for an outburst of obscenity. Here,\nhowever, we are quittes pour la peur. See vol. v. 65 for some of his abominations.\n\n[FN#290] The lines are in vols. viii. 279 and ix. 197. I quote Mr.\nPayne.\n\n[FN#291] Lady or princess of the Fair (ones).\n\n[FN#292] i.e. of buying.\n\n[FN#293] Arab. \"\u00c1z\u00e1n-h\u00fa\" = lit. its ears.\n\n[FN#294] Here again the policeman is made a villain of the\ndeepest dye; bad enough to gratify the intelligence of his\ndeadliest enemy, a lodging-keeper in London.\n\n[FN#295] i.e. You are welcome to it and so it becomes lawful\n(hal\u00e1l) to you.\n\n[FN#296] Arab. \"Sijn al-Dam,\" the Carcere duro inasprito (to\nspeak Triestine), where men convicted or even accused of\nbloodshed were confined.\n\n[FN#297] Arab. \"Mab\u00e1sim\"; plur. of Mabsim, a smiling mouth which shows the foreteeth.\n\n[FN#298] The branchlet, as usual, is the youth's slender form.\n\n[FN#299] Subaudi, \"An ye disdain my love.\"\n\n[FN#300] In the text \"sleep.\"\n\n[FN#301] \"Them\" and \"him\" for \"her.\"\n\n[FN#302] 'Urk\u00fab, a Jew of Yathrib or Khaybar, immortalised in the A.P. (i. 454) as \"more promise-breaking than 'Urk\u00fab.\"\n\n[FN#303] Uncle of Mohammed. See vol. viii. 172.\n\n[FN#304] First cousin of Mohammed. See ib.\n\n[FN#305] This threat of \"'Orf with her 'ead\" shows the Caliph's lordliness.\n\n[FN#306] Arab. \"Al-Bashkh\u00e1nah.\"\n\n[FN#307] i.e. Amen. See vol. ix. 131.\n\n[FN#308] When asked, on Doomsday, his justification for having\nslain her.\n\n[FN#309] Khorasan which included our Afghanistan, turbulent then as now, was in a chronic state of rebellion during the latter part of Al-Rashid's reign.\n\n[FN#310] The brutality of a Moslem mob on such occasions is\nphenomenal: no fellow-feeling makes them decently kind. And so at executions even women will take an active part in insulting and tormenting the criminal, tearing his hair, spitting in his face and so forth. It is the instinctive brutality with which wild beasts and birds tear to pieces a wounded companion.\n\n[FN#311] The popular way of stopping hemorrhage by plunging the stump into burning oil which continued even in Europe till\nAmbrose Par\u00e9 taught men to take up the arteries.\n\n[FN#312] i.e. folk of good family.\n\n[FN#313] i.e. the result of thy fervent prayers to Allah for me.\n\n[FN#314] Arab. \"Al-Ab\u00e1r\u00edk\" plur. of lbrik, an ewer containing\nwater for the Wuzu-ablution. I have already explained that a\nMoslem wishing to be ceremonially pure, cannot wash as Europeans do, in a basin whose contents are fouled by the first touch.\n\n[FN#315] Arab. \"N\u00e1ihah\", the pr\u00e6fica or myriologist. See vol. i. 311. The proverb means, \"If you want a thing done, do it\nyourself.\"\n\n[FN#316] Arab. \"Burka',\" the face veil of Egypt, Syria, and\nArabia with two holes for the eyes, and the end hanging to the\nwaist, a great contrast with the \"Lith\u00e1m\" or coquettish fold of transparent muslin affected by modest women in Stambul.\n\n[FN#317] i.e. donned petticoat-trousers and walking boots other than those she was wont to wear.\n\n[FN#318] \"Surah\" (Koranic chapter) may be a clerical error for\n\"S\u00farah\" (with a S\u00e1d) = sort, fashion (of food).\n\n[FN#319] This is solemn religious chaff; the Shaykh had doubtless often dipped his hand abroad in such dishes; but like a good Moslem, he contented himself at home with wheaten scones and olives, a kind of sacramental food like bread and wine in\nsouthern Europe. But his retort would be acceptable to the True\nBeliever who, the strictest of conservatives, prides himself on\nimitating in all points, the sayings and doings of the Apostle.\n\n[FN#320] i.e. animals that died without being ceremonially\nkilled.\n\n[FN#321] Koran ii. 168. This is from the Chapter of the Cow where \"that which dieth of itself (carrion), blood, pork, and that over which other name but that of Allah (i.e. idols) hath been invoked\" are forbidden. But the verset humanely concludes:\n\"Whoso, however, shall eat them by constraint, without desire, or as a transgressor, then no sin shall be upon him.\"\n\n[FN#322] i.e. son of Simeon = a Christian.\n\n[FN#323] Arab. and Heb. \"Haykal,\" suggesting the idea of large\nspace, a temple, a sanctuary, a palace which bear a suspicious\nlikeness to the Accadian \u00ca-kal or Great House = the old Egyptian Perao (Pharaoh?), and the Japanese \"Mikado.\"\n\n[FN#324] Wine, carrion and pork being lawful to the Moslem if\nused to save life. The former is also the sovereignest thing for\ninward troubles, flatulence, indigestion, etc. See vol. v. 2, 24.\n\n[FN#325] Arab. \"N\u00e1zilah,\" i.e., a curse coming down from Heaven.\n\n[FN#326] Here and below, a translation of her name.\n\n[FN#327] \"A picture of Paradise which is promised to the\nGod-fearing! Therein are rivers of water which taint not; and\nrivers of milk whose taste changeth not; and rivers of wine,\netc.\"--Koran xlvii. 16.\n\n[FN#328] Let us have wine and women, mirth and laughter,\n Sermons and soda-water the day after.\n Don Juan ii. 178.\n\n[FN#329] The ox (Bakar) and the bull (Taur, vol. i. 16) are the\nMoslem emblems of stupidity, as with us are the highly\nintelligent ass and the most sagacious goose.\n\n[FN#330] In Arab. \"'Ud\" means primarily wood; then a lute. See\nvol. ii. 100. The Muezzin, like the schoolmaster, is popularly\nsupposed to be a fool.\n\n[FN#331] I have noticed that among Arab lovers it was the fashion to be jealous of the mistress's nightly phantom which, as amongst mesmerists, is the lover's embodied will.\n\n[FN#332] i.e. I will lay down my life to save thee from sorrow--a common-place hyperbole of love.\n\n[FN#333] Arab. \"Katl.\" I have noticed the Hibernian \"kilt\" which\nis not a bull but, like most provincialisms and Americanisms, a\nsurvival, an archaism. In the old Frisian dialect, which agrees\nwith English in more words than \"bread, butter and cheese,\" we\nfind the primary meaning of terms which with us have survived\nonly in their secondary senses, e.g. killen = to beat and slagen\n= to strike. Here is its great value to the English philologist.\nWhen the Irishman complains that he is \"kilt\" we know through the Frisian what he really means.\n\n[FN#334] The decency of this description is highly commendable\nand I may note that the Bresl. Edit. is comparatively free from\nerotic pictures.\n\n[FN#335] i.e. \"I commit him to thy charge under God.\"\n\n[FN#336] This is an Americanism, but it translates passing well\n\"Al-il\u00e1j\" = insertion.\n\n[FN#337] Arab. (and Heb.) \"Tarjum\u00e1n\" = a dragoman, for which see\nvol. i. 100. In the next tale it will occur with the sense of\npolyglottic.\n\n[FN#338] See vol. i. p. 35.\n\n[FN#339] After putting to death the unjust Prefect.\n\n[FN#340] Arab. \"Lajlaj.\" See vol. ix. 322.\n\n[FN#341] Arab. \"Maw\u00e1lid\" lit. = nativity festivals (plur. of\nMaulid). See vol. ix. 289.\n\n\n[FN#342] Bresl. Edit., vol. xii. pp. 116-237, Nights\ndcccclxvi-dcccclxxix. Mr. Payne entitles it \"El Abbas and the\nKing's Daughter of Baghdad.\"\n\n[FN#343] \"Of the Shayban tribe.\" I have noticed (vol. ii. 1) how\nloosely the title Malik (King) is applied in Arabic and in\nmedi\u00e6val Europe. But it is ultra-Shakespearean to place a Badawi\nKing in Baghdad, the capital founded by the Abbasides and ruled\nby those Caliphs till their downfall.\n\n[FN#344] i.e. Ir\u00e1k Arab\u00ed (Chald\u00e6a) and 'Ajami (Western Persia).\nFor the meaning of Al-Ir\u00e1k, which always, except in verse, takes\nthe article, see vol. ii. 132.\n\n[FN#345] See supra, p. 185. Mr. Payne suspects a clerical error\nfor \"Turkum\u00e1niyah\" = Turcomanish; but this is hardly acceptable.\n\n[FN#346] As fabulous a personage as \"King Kays.\"\n\n[FN#347] Possibly a clerical error for Zab\u00edd, the famous capital\nof the Tah\u00e1mah or lowlands of Al-Yaman.\n\n[FN#348] The Moslem's Holy Land whose capital is Meccah.\n\n[FN#349] A hinted protest against making a picture or a statue\nwhich the artist cannot quicken; as this process will be demanded of him on Doomsday. Hence also the Princess is called M\u00e1riyah (Maria, Mary), a non-Moslem name.\n\n[FN#350] i.e. day and night, for ever.\n\n[FN#351] Koran xxxiii. 38; this concludes a \"revelation\"\nconcerning the divorce and marriage to Mohammed of the wife of\nhis adopted son Zayd. Such union, superstitiously held incestuous\nby all Arabs, was a terrible scandal to the rising Faith, and\ncould be abated only by the \"Commandment of Allah.\" It is hard to\nbelieve that a man could act honestly after such fashion; but we\nhave seen in our day a statesman famed for sincerity and\nuprightness honestly doing things the most dishonest possible.\nZayd and Abu Lahab (chap. cxi. i.) are the only contemporaries of\nMohammed named in the Koran.\n\n[FN#352] i.e. darkened behind him.\n\n[FN#353] Here we have again, as so common in Arab romances, the\nexpedition of a modified Don Quixote and Sancho Panza.\n\n[FN#354] Arab. \"Arzi-h\u00e1\" = in its earth, its outlying suburbs.\n\n[FN#355] The king's own tribe.\n\n[FN#356] i.e. he was always \"spoiling for a fight.\"\n\n[FN#357] In the text the two last sentences are spoken by Amir\nand the story-teller suddenly resumes the third person.\n\n[FN#358] Mr. Payne translates this \"And God defend the right\" (of\nplunder according to the Arabs).\n\n[FN#359] Arab. \"Lill\u00e1hi darruk\"; see vol. iv. 20. Captain Lockett (p.28) justly remarks that \"it is a sort of encomiastic exclamation of frequent occurrence in Arabic and much easier to comprehend than translate.\" Darra signifies flowing freely (as milk from the udder) and was metaphorically transferred to bounty and to indoles or natural capacity. Thus the phrase means \"your flow of milk is by or through Allah.\" i.e., of unusual abundance.\n\n[FN#360] The words are euphemistic: we should say \"comest thou to our succour.\"\n\n[FN#361] i.e. If his friend the Devil be overstrong for thee,\nflee him rather than be slain; as\n\n He who fights and runs away\n Shall live to fight another day.\n\n[FN#362] i.e. I look to Allah for aid (and keep my powder dry).\n\n[FN#363] i.e. to the next world.\n\n[FN#364] This falling backwards in laughter commonly occurs\nduring the earlier tales; it is, however, very rare amongst the\nBadawin.\n\n[FN#365] i.e. as he were a flying Jinni, swooping down and\npouncing falcon-like upon a mortal from the upper air.\n\n[FN#366] This may be (reading Imraan = man, for Amran = matter) \"a masterful man\"; but I can hardly accept it.\n\n[FN#367] Arab. \"Bunduk\u00ed,\" the adj. of Bunduk, which the Moslems evidently learned from Slav sources; Venedik being the Dalmatian corruption of Venezia. See Dubrovenedik in vol. ii. 219.\n\n[FN#368] i.e. the castle's square.\n\n[FN#369] In sign of quitting possession. Chess in Europe is\nrarely played for money, with the exception of public matches:\nthis, however, is not the case amongst Easterns, who are also for the most part as tricky as an old lady at cribbage rightly named.\n\n[FN#370] i.e. he was as eloquent and courtly as he could be.\n\n[FN#371] Arab. \"Ya Z\u00ednat al-Nis\u00e1,\" which may either be a P.N. or\na polite address as Bella f\u00e9 (Handsome woman) is to any feminine\nin Southern Italy.\n\n[FN#372] Arab. \"Raas Ghanam\": this form of expressing singularity\nis common to Arabic and the Eastern languages, which it has\ninfluenced.\n\n[FN#373] This most wearisome form of politeness is common in the\nMoslem world, where men fondly think that the more you see of\nthem the more you like of them. Yet their Proverbial Philosophy\n(\"the wisdom of many and the wit of one\") strongly protests\nagainst the practice: I have already quoted Mohammed's saying,\n\"Zur ghibban, tazid Hibban\"--visits rare keep friendship fair.\n\n[FN#374] This clause in the text is evidently misplaced (vol.\nxii.144).\n\n[FN#375] Arab. Dara' or Dira'=armour, whether of leather or\nmetal; here the coat worn under the mail.\n\n[FN#376] Called from Rustak, a quarter of Baghdad. For Rust\u00e1k\ntown see vol. vi. 289.\n\n[FN#377] From Damietta comes our \"dimity.\" The classical name was Tami\u00e1this apparently Coptic gr\u00e6cised: the old town on the shore famed in Crusading times was destroyed in A.H. 648 = 1251.\n\n[FN#378] Easterns are always startled by a sudden summons to the presence either of King or Kazi: here the messenger gives the youth to understand that it is in kindness, not in anger.\n\n[FN#379] i.e. in not sending for thee to court instead of\nallowing thee to live in the city without guest-rite.\n\n[FN#380] In sign of agitation: the phrase has often been used in\nthis sense and we find it also in Al-Mas'udi.\n\n[FN#381] I would remind the reader that the \"Daw\u00e1t\" (ink-case)\ncontains the reed-pens.\n\n[FN#382] Two well-known lovers.\n\n[FN#383] On such occasions the old woman (and Easterns are hard\nde dolo vetularum) always assents to the sayings of her prey,\nwell knowing what the doings will inevitably be.\n\n[FN#384] Travellers, Nomads, Wild Arabs.\n\n[FN#385] Whither they bear thee back dead with the women crying\nand keening.\n\n[FN#386] Arab. Azn\u00e1n\u00ed = emaciated me.\n\n[FN#387] Either the Deity or the Love-god.\n\n[FN#388] Arab. \"Him\u00e0\" = the tribal domain, a word which has often\noccurred.\n\n[FN#389] \"O ye who believe! seek help through patience and\nprayer: verily, Allah is with the patient.\" Koran ii. 148. The\npassage refers to one of the battles, Bedr or Ohod.\n\n[FN#390] Arab. \"Sirr\" (a secret) and afterwards \"Kitm\u00e1n\"\n(concealment) i.e. Keeping a lover down-hearted.\n\n[FN#391] Arab. \"'Alkam\" = the bitter gourd, colocynth; more\nusually \"Hanzal.\"\n\n[FN#392] For \"Jaz\u00edrah\" = insula, island, used in the sense of\n\"peninsula,\" see vol. i. 2.\n\n[FN#393] Meccah and Al-Medinah. Pilgrimage i. 338 and ii. 57,\nused in the proverb \"Sharr fi al-Haramayn\" = wickedness in the\ntwo Holy Places.\n\n[FN#394] Arab. Al-hamd (o li'llah).\n\n[FN#395] i.e. play, such as the chase, or an earnest matter, such as war, etc.\n\n[FN#396] Arab. \"Mizwad,\" or Mizw\u00e1d = lit. provision-bag, from Z\u00e1d = viaticum; afterwards called Kirbah (pron. Girbah, the popular term), and Sakl. The latter is given in the Dictionaries as Ask\u00e1lah = scala, \u00e9chelle, stage, plank.\n\n[FN#397] Those blood-feuds are most troublesome to the traveller, who may be delayed by them for months: and, until a peace be patched up, he will never be allowed to pass from one tribe to their enemies. A quarrel of the kind prevented my crossing Arabia from Al-Medinah to Maskat (Pilgrimage, ii. 297), and another in Africa from visiting the head of the Tanganyika Lake. In all such journeys the traveller who has to fight against Time is almost sure to lose.\n\n[FN#398] i.e. his fighting-men.\n\n[FN#399] The popular treatment of a detected horse-thief, for\nwhich see Burckhardt, Travels in Arabia (1829), and Notes on the\nBedouins and Wahabys (1830).\n\n[FN#400] Arab \"Ash\u00edrah\": see vol. vii. 121.\n\n[FN#401] Arab. \"Mus\u00e1fahah\" -. see vol. vi. 287.\n\n[FN#402] In the text, \"To the palace of the king's daughter.\"\n\n[FN#403] Arab. \"Marj Sal\u00ed'\" = cleft meadow (here and below). Mr.\nPayne suggests that this may be a mistranscription for Marj Sal\u00ed'\n(with a S\u00e1d) = a treeless champaign. It appears to me a careless\nblunder for the Marj akhzar (green meadow) before mentioned.\n\n[FN#404] The palace, even without especial and personal reasons,\nnot being the place for a religious and scrupulous woman.\n\n[FN#405] \"i.e. those of El Aziz, who had apparently entered the\ncity or passed through it on their way to the camp of El Abbas.\"\nThis is Mr. Payne's suggestion.\n\n[FN#406] Arab \"Hatif\"; gen. = an ally.\n\n[FN#407] Not wishing to touch the hand of a strange woman.\n\n[FN#408] i.e. a mere passer-by, a stranger; alluding to her\ntaunt.\n\n[FN#409] The Bactrian or double-humped dromedary. See vol. iii.\n67. Al-Mas'udi (vii. 169) calls it \"Jamal f\u00e1lij,\" lit. = the\npalsy-camel.\n\n[FN#410] i.e. Stars and planets.\n\n[FN#411] i.e. Sang in tenor tones which are always in falsetto.\n\n[FN#412] Arab. Tahz\u00edb = reforming morals, amending conduct,\nchastening style.\n\n[FN#413] i.e. so as to show only the whites, as happens to the\n\"mesmerised.\"\n\n[FN#414] i.e. for love of and longing for thy youth.\n\n[FN#415] i.e. leather from Al-T\u00e1if: see vol. viii. 303. The text\nhas by mistake T\u00e1lif\u00ed.\n\n[FN#416] i.e. she was at her last breath, when cured by the magic\nof love.\n\n[FN#417] i.e. violateth my private apartment.\n\n[FN#418] The voice (Sh\u00e1zz) is left doubtful: it may be girl's,\nnightingale's, or dove's.\n\n[FN#419] Arab. \"Hib\u00e1\" partly induced by the rhyme. In desert\ncountries the comparison will be appreciated: in Sind the fine\ndust penetrates into a closed book.\n\n[FN#420] i.e. he smuggled it in under his 'Ab\u00e1-cloak: perhaps it was a better brand than that made in the monastery.\n\n[FN#421] i.e. the delights of Paradise promised by the Prophet.\n\n[FN#422] Again, \"he\" for \"she,\" making the lover's address more courtly and delicate.\n\n[FN#423] i.e. take refuge with Allah from the evil eye of her\ncharms.\n\n[FN#424] i.e. an thou prank or adorn thyself: I have translated literally, but the couplet strongly suggests \"nonsense verses.\"\n\n[FN#425] Arab. \"Sant\u00edr:\" Lane (M.E., chapt. xviii.) describes it as resembling the Kan\u00fan (dulcimer or zither) but with two oblique peg-pieces instead of one and double chords of wire (not treble strings of lamb's gut) and played upon with two sticks instead of the little plectra. Dozy also gives Santir from {psalt\u00e9rion}, the Fsaltr\u00fan of Daniel.\n\n[FN#426] i.e. That which is ours shall be thine, and that which\nis incumbent on thee shall be incumbent on us = we will assume\nthy debts and responsibilities.\n\n[FN#427] This passage is sadly disjointed in the text: I have\nfollowed Mr. Payne's ordering.\n\n[FN#428] The Arab of noble tribe is always the first to mount his\nown mare: he also greatly fears her being put out to full speed\nby a stranger, holding that this should be reserved for occasions\nof life and death; and that it can be done to perfection only\nonce during the animal's life.\n\n[FN#429] The red (Ahmar) dromedary like the white-red (Sabah)\nwere most valued because they are supposed best to bear the heats\nof noon; and thus \"red camels\" is proverbially used for wealth.\nWhen the head of Abu Jahl was brought in after the Battle of\nBedr, Mahommed exclaimed, \"'Tis more acceptable to me than a red\ncamel!\"\n\n[FN#430] i.e. Couriers on dromedaries, the only animals used for\nsending messages over long distances.\n\n[FN#431] These guest-fires are famous in Arab poetry. So\nAl-Har\u00edr\u00ed (Ass. of Banu Haram) sings:--\n\n A beacon fire I ever kindled high;\n\ni.e. on the hill-tops near the camp, to guide benighted\ntravellers. Also the Lam\u00edyat al-Ajam says:--\n\n The fire of hospitality is ever lit on the high\nstations.\n\nThis natural telegraph was used in a host of ways by the Arabs of\nThe Ignorance; for instance, when a hated guest left the camp\nthey lighted the \"Fire of Rejection,\" and cried, \"Allah, bear him\nfar from us!\" Nothing was more ignoble than to quench such fire:\nhence in obloquy of the Faz\u00e1r tribe it was said:--\n\n Ne'er trust Faz\u00e1r with an ass, for they\n Once roasted ass-pizzle, the rabble rout:\n And, when sight they guest, to their dams they say,\n \"Piss quick on the guest-fire and put it out!\"\n (Al-Mas\"udi vi. 140.)\n\n[FN#432] i.e. of rare wood, set with rubies.\n\n[FN#433] i.e. whose absence pained us.\n\n[FN#434] Mr. Payne and I have long puzzled over these enigmatical\nand possibly corrupt lines: he wrote to me in 1884, \"This is the\nfirst piece that has beaten me.\" In the couplet above (vol. xii.\n230) \"Rayh\u00e1n\u00ed\" may mean \"my basil-plant\" or \"my food\" (the latter\nKoranic), \"my compassion,\" etc.; and S\u00fas\u00e1n\u00ed is equally ancipitous\n\"My lilies\" or \"my sleep\": see Bard al-Susan = les douceurs du\nsommeil in Al-Mas'\u00fadi vii. 168.\n\n[FN#435] The \"Nik\u00e1\" or sand hill is the swell of the throat: the\nGhaur or lowland is the fall of the waist: the flower is the\nbreast anent which Mr. Payne appropriately quotes the well-known\nlines of Fletcher:\n\n \"Hide, O hide those hills of snow,\n That thy frozen bosom bears,\n On whose tops the pinks that grow\n Are of those that April wears.\"\n\n[FN#436] Easterns are right in regarding a sleepy languorous look\nas one of the charms of women, and an incitement to love because\nsuggestive only of bed. Some men also find the same pleasure in a\nlacrymose expression of countenance, seeming always to call for\nconsolation: one of the most successful women I know owes her\nexceptional good fortune to this charm.\n\n[FN#437] Arab. \"H\u00e1jib,\"eyebrow or chamberlain; see vol. iii. 233.\nThe pun is classical used by a host of poets including Al-Har\u00edr\u00ed.\n\n[FN#438] Arab. \"Tarfah.\" There is a Tarfia Island in the\nGuadalquivir and in Gibraltar a \"Tarfah Alto\" opposed to \"Tarfah\nbajo.\" But it must not be confounded with Tarf = a side, found in\nthe Maroccan term for \"The Rock\" Jabal al-Tarf = Mountain of the\nPoint (of Europe).\n\n[FN#439] For Solomon and his flying carpet see vol. iii. 267.\n\n[FN#440] Arab. \"Bil\u00e1d al-Maghrib (al-Aksa,\" in full) = the\nFarthest Land of the setting Sun, shortly called Al-Maghrib and\nthe people \"Maghribi.\" The earliest occurrence of our name\nMorocco or Marocco I find in the \"Mar\u00e1kiyah\" of Al-Mas'udi (iii.\n241), who apparently applies it to a district whither the Berbers\nmigrated.\n\n[FN#441] The necklace-pearls are the cup-bearer's teeth.\n\n[FN#442] In these unregenerate days they would often be summoned to the houses of the royal family; but now they had \"got religion\" and, becoming freed women, were resolved to be\n\"respectable.\" In not a few Moslem countries men of wealth and\nrank marry professional singers who, however loose may have been their artistic lives, mostly distinguish themselves by decency of behaviour often pushed to the extreme of rigour. Also jeune coquette, vieille d\u00e9vote is a rule of the world, Eastern and Western.\n\n[FN#443] Bresl. Edit., vol. xii p. 383 (Night mi). The king is called as usual \"Shahrb\u00e1n,\" which is nearly synonymous with\nShahry\u00e1r.\n\n[FN#444] i.e. the old Sindibad-N\u00e1meh (see vol. vi. 122), or \"The Malice of Women\" which the Bresl. Edit. entitles, \"Tale of the King and his Son and his Wife and the Seven Wazirs.\" Here it immediately follows the Tale of Al-Abbas and Mariyah and occupies pp. 237-383 of vol. xii. (Nights dcccclxxix-m).\n\n[FN#445] i.e. Those who commit it.\n\n[FN#446] The connection between this pompous introduction and the story which follows is not apparent. The \"Tale of the Two Kings and the Wazir's Daughters\" is that of Shahrazad told in the third person, in fact a rechauff\u00e9 of the Introduction. But as some three years have passed since the marriage, and the d\u00e9no\u00fbement of the plot is at hand, the Princess is made, with some art I think, to lay the whole affair before her husband in her own words, the better to bring him to a \"sense of his duty.\"\n\n[FN#447] Bresl. Edit., vol. xii. pp. 384-412.\n\n[FN#448] This clause is taken from the sequence, where the elder brother's kingdom is placed in China.\n\n[FN#449] For the Tobbas = \"Successors\" or the Himyaritic kings, see vol. i. 216.\n\n[FN#450] Kay\u00e1sirah, opp. to Ak\u00e1sirah, here and in many other\nplaces.\n\n[FN#451] See vol. ii. 77. King Kulayb (\"little dog\") al-W\u00e1'il, a powerful chief of the Banu Ma'ad in the Kas\u00edn district of Najd, who was connected with the war of Al-Bas\u00fas. He is so called because he lamed a pup (kulayb) and tied it up in the midst of his Him\u00e0 (domain, place of pasture and water), forbidding men to camp within sound of its bark or sight of his fire. Hence \"more masterful than Kulayb,\" A.P. ii. 145, and Al-Hariri Ass. xxvi. (Chenery, p. 448). This angry person came by his death for wounding in the udder a trespassing camel (Sorab) whose owner was a woman named Bas\u00fas. Her friend (Jas\u00fas) slew him; and thus arose the famous long war between the tribes W\u00e1'il Bakr and Taghlib. It gave origin to the saying, \"Die thou and be an expiation for the shoe-latchet of Kulayb.\"\n\n[FN#452] Arab. \"Mukhaddar\u00e1t,\" maidens concealed behind curtains and veiled in the Harem.\n\n[FN#453] i.e. the professional R\u00e1wis or tale-reciters who learned stories by heart from books like \"The Arabian Nights.\" See my Terminal Essay, vol. x. 163.\n\n[FN#454] Arab. \"Bid'ah,\" lit. = an innovation, a new thing, an\ninvention, any change from the custom of the Prophet and the\nuniversal practice of the Faith, whether it be in the cut of the beard or a question of state policy. Popularly the word =\nheterodoxy, heresy; but theologically it is not necessarily used in a bad sense. See vol. v. 167.\n\n[FN#455] About three parts of this sentence have been supplied by\nMr. Payne, the careless scribe having evidently omitted it.\n\n[FN#456] Here, as in the Introduction (vol. i. 24), the king\nconsummates his marriage in presence of his virgin sister-in-law,\na process which decency forbids amongst Moslems.\n\n[FN#457] Al-Mas'udi (vol. iv. 213) uses this term to signify\nviceroy in \"Shahry\u00e1r Sajast\u00e1n.\"\n\n[FN#458] i.e. his indifference to the principles of right and\nwrong, which is a manner of moral intoxication.\n\n[FN#459] i.e. hath mentioned the office of Wazir (in Koran xx.\n30).\n\n[FN#460] i.e. Moslems, who practice the Religion of Resignation.\n\n[FN#461] Koran xxxiii. 35. This is a proemium to the\n\"revelation\" concerning Zayd and Zaynab.\n\n[FN#462] i.e. I have an embarras de richesse in my repertory.\n\n[FN#463] The title is from the Bresl. Edit. (vol. xii. pp. 398-402). Mr. Payne calls it \"The Favourite and her Lover.\"\n\n[FN#464] The practice of fumigating gugglets is universal in\nEgypt (Lane, M. E., chapt. v.); but I never heard of musk being so used.\n\n[FN#465] Arab. \"Laysa fi 'l-diy\u00e1ri dayy\u00e1r\"--a favourite jingle.\n\n[FN#466] Arab. \"Khayr Kathir\" (pron. Kat\u00edr) which also means\n\"abundant kindness.\"\n\n[FN#467] Dozy says of \"Hunayn\u00ed\" (Ha\u00edn\u00ed), Il semble \u00eatre le nom\nd'un v\u00eatement. On which we may remark, Connu!\n\n[FN#468] Arab. Har\u00edsah: see vol. i. 131. Westerns make a sad mess of this dish when they describe it as une sorte d'olla podrida (the hotch-pot), une p\u00e2t\u00e9e de viandes, de froment et de l\u00e9gumes secs (Al-Mas'udi viii. 438). Whenever I have eaten it, it was always a meat-pudding, for which see vol. i. 131.\n\n[FN#469] Evidently one escaped because she was sleeping with the Caliph, and a second because she had kept her assignation.\n\n[FN#470] Mr. Payne entitles it, \"The Merchant of Cairo and the\nFavourite of the Khalif el Mamoun el Hakim bi Amrillah.\"\n\n[FN#471] See my Pilgrimage (i. 100): the seat would be on the\nsame bit of boarding where the master sits or on a stool or bench in the street.\n\n[FN#472] This is true Cairene chaff, give and take; and the\nstranger must accustom himself to it before he can be at home\nwith the people.\n\n[FN#473] i.e. In Rauzah-Island: see vol. v. 169.\n\n[FN#474] There is no historical person who answers to these name, \"The Secure, the Ruler by Commandment of Allah.\" The cognomen applies to two soldans of Egypt, of whom the later Abu al-Abbas Ahmad the Abbaside (A.D. 1261-1301) has already been mentioned in The Nights (vol. v. 86). The tale suggests the earlier Al-Hakim (Abu Ali al-Mans\u00far, the Fatimite, A.D. 995-1021), the God of the Druze \"persuasion;\" and the tale-teller may have purposely blundered in changing Mans\u00far to Maam\u00fan for fear of offending a sect which has been most dangerous in the matter of assassination and which is capable of becoming so again.\n\n[FN#475] Arab. \"'Al\u00e0 kulli h\u00e1l\" = \"whatever may betide,\" or\n\"willy-nilly.\" The phrase is still popular.\n\n[FN#476] The dulce desipere of young lovers, he making a buffoon of himself to amuse her.\n\n[FN#477] \"The convent of Clay,\" a Coptic monastery near Cairo.\n\n[FN#478] i.e. this is the time to show thyself a man.\n\n[FN#479] The Eastern succedaneum for swimming corks and other\n\"life-preservers.\" The practice is very ancient; we find these gourds upon the monuments of Egypt and Babylonia.\n\n[FN#480] Arab. \"Al-Khal\u00edj,\" the name, still popular, of the\nGrand Canal of Cairo, whose banks, by-the-by, are quaint and\npicturesque as anything of the kind in Holland.\n\n[FN#480a] A few lines higher up it was \"her neck\"; but the jar may have slipped down.\n\n[FN#481] We say more laconically \"A friend in need.\"\n\n[FN#482] Arab. \"N\u00e1zir al-Maw\u00e1r\u00eds,\" the employ\u00e9 charged with the disposal of legacies and seizing escheats to the Crown when Moslems die intestate. He is usually a prodigious rascal as in the text. The office was long kept up in Southern Europe, and Camoens was sent to Macao as \"Provedor dos defuntos e ausentes.\"\n\n[FN#483] Sir R. F. Burton has since found two more of \"Galland's\" tales in an Arabic text of The Nights, namely, Aladdin and Zeyn al-Asnam.\n\n[FN#484] i.e. wondering; thus Lady Macbeth says:\n\n \"You have displaced the mirth, broke the good meeting,\n With most admired disorder.\"---Macbeth, iii. 4\n\n[FN#485] Ludovicus Vives, one of the most learned of Spanish\nauthors, was born at Valentia in 1492 and died in 1540.\n\n[FN#486] There was an older \"T\u00fat\u00ed N\u00e1ma,\" which Nakhshab\u00ed\nmodernised, made from a Sanskrit story-book, now lost, but its\nmodern representative is the \"Suka Saptat\u00ed,\" or Seventy (Tales) of a Parrot in which most of Nakhshabi's tales are found.\n\n[FN#487] According to Lescallier's French translation of the\n\"Bakhty\u00e1r N\u00e1ma,\" made from two MSS. = \"She had previously had a lover, with whom, unknown to her father, she had intimate\nrelations, and had given birth to a beautiful boy, whose\neducation she secretly confided to some trusty servants.\"\n\n[FN#488] There is a slight mistake in the passage in p. 313\nsupplied from the story in vol. vi. It is not King Shah Bakht, but the other king, who assures his chamberlain that \"the lion\" has done him no injury.\n\n[FN#489] Such was formerly the barbarous manner of treating the insane.\n\n[FN#490] From \"Tarlton's Newes out of Purgatorie.\"\n\n[FN#491] A basket\n\n[FN#492] In the fabliau \"De la Dame qui atrappa un Pr\u00eatre, un\nPr\u00e9v\u00f4t, et un Forestier\" (or Constant du Hamel), the lady, on the pretext that her husband is at the door, stuffs her lovers, as they arrive successively, unknown to each other, into a large tub full of feathers and afterwards exposes them to public ridicule.\n\n[FN#493] Until.\n\n[FN#494] Requite.\n\n[FN#495] Accidents.\n\n[FN#496] A boarding.\n\n[FN#497] The letter I is very commonly substituted for \"ay\" in\n16th century English books.\n\n[FN#498] Oesterley mentions a Sanskrit redaction of the Vampyre Tales attributed to Sivad\u00e1sa, and another comprised in the \"Kath\u00e1rnava.\"\n\n[FN#499] And well might his sapient majesty \"wonder\"! The humour of this passage is exquisite.\n\n[FN#500] In the Tamil version (Babington's translation of the\n\"Ved\u00e1la Kadai\") there are but two brothers, one of whom is\nfastidious in his food, the other in beds: the latter lies on a bed stuffed with flowers, deprived of their stalks. In the\nmorning he complains of pains all over his body, and on examining the bed one hair is found amongst the flowers. In the Hind\u00ed version, the king asks him in the morning whether he had slept comfortably. \"O great King,\" he replied; \"I did not sleep all night.\" \"How so?\" quoth he. \"O great King, in the seventh fold of the bedding there is a hair, which pricked me in the back, therefore I could not sleep.\" The youth who was fastidious about the fair sex had a lovely damsel laid beside him, and he was on the point of kissing her, but on smelling her breath he turned away his face, and went to sleep. Early in the morning the king (who had observed through a lattice what passed) asked him, \"Did you pass the night pleasantly?\" He replied that he did not, because the smell of a goat proceeded from the girl's mouth, which made him very uneasy. The king then sent for the procuress and ascertained that the girl had been brought up on goat's milk.\n\n[FN#501] M\u00e9lusine: Revue de Mythologie, Litt\u00e9rature Populaire,\nTraditions, et Usages. Dirig\u00e9e par H. Gaidoz et E. Rolland.--\nParis.\n\n[FN#502] The trick of the clever Magyar in marking all the other sleepers as the king's mother had marked himself occurs in the folk-tales of most countries, especially in the numerous versions of the Robbery of the King's Treasury, which are brought together in my work on the Migrations of Popular Tales and Fictions (Blackwood), vol. ii., pp. 113-165.\n\n[FN#503] A mythical saint, or prophet, who, according to the\nMuslim legend, was despatched by one of the ancient kings of\nPersia to procure him some of the Water of Life. After a tedious journey, Khizr reached the Fountain of Immortality, but having drank of its waters, it suddenly vanished. Muslims believe that Khizr still lives, and sometimes appears to favoured individuals, always clothed in green, and acts as their guide in difficult enterprises.\n\n[FN#504] \"Spake these words to the king\"--certainly not those\nimmediately preceding! but that, if the king would provide for\nhim during three years, at the end of that period he would show Khizr to the king.\n\n[FN#505] Mr. Gibb compares with this the following passage from Boethius, \"De Consolatione Philosophi\u00e6,\" as translated by\nChaucer: \"All thynges seken ayen to hir propre course, and all thynges rejoysen on hir retourninge agayne to hir nature.\"\n\n[FN#506] In this tale, we see, Khizr appears to the distressed in white raiment.\n\n[FN#507] In an old English metrical version of the \"Seven Sages,\" the tutors of the prince, in order to test his progress in general science, secretly place an ivy leaf under each of the four posts of his bed, and when he awakes in the morning--\n\n \"Par fay!\" he said, \"a ferli cas!\n Other ich am of wine y-drunk,\n Other the firmament is sunk,\n Other wexen is the ground,\n The thickness of four leav\u00e8s round!\n So much to-night higher I lay,\n Certes, than yesterday.\"\n\n[FN#508] See also the same story in The Nights, vols. vii. and\nviii., which Mr. Kirby considers as probably a later version.\n(App. vol. x. of The Nights, p. 500).\n\n[FN#509] So, too, in the \"Bah\u00e1r-i-D\u00e1nish\" a woman is described as being so able a professor in the school of deceit, that she could have instructed the devil in the science of stratagem: of another it is said that by her wiles she could have drawn the devil's claws; and of a third the author declares, that the devil himself would own there was no escaping from her cunning!\n\n[FN#510] There is a similar tale by the Spanish novelist Isidro de Robles (circa 1660), in which three ladies find a diamond ring in a fountain; each claims it; at length they agree to refer the dispute to a count of their acquaintance who happened to be close by. He takes charge of the ring and says to the ladies, \"Whoever in the space of six weeks shall succeed in playing off on her husband the most clever and ingenious trick (always having due regard to his honour) shall possess the ring; in the meantime it shall remain in my hands.\" (See Roscoe's \"Specimens of the Spanish Novelists,\" Chandos edition, p. 438 ff.) This story was probably brought by the Moors to Spain, whence it may have passed into France, since it is the subject of a faliau, by Haisiau the trouv\u00e8re, entitled \"Des Trois Dames qui trouverent un Anel,\" which is found in M\u00e9on's edition of Barbazan, 1808, tome iii. pp. 220-229, and in Le Grand, ed. 1781, tome iv. pp. 163-165.\n\n[FN#511] Idiots and little boys often figure thus in popular\ntales: readers of Rabelais will remember his story of the Fool and the Cook; and there is a familiar example of a boy's\nprecocity in the story of the Stolen Purse--\"Craft and Malice ofWomen,\" or the Seven Wazirs, vol. vi. of The Nights.\n\n[FN#512] I have considerably abridged Mr. Knowles' story in\nseveral places.\n\n[FN#513] A species of demon.\n\n[FN#514] This is one of the innumerable parallels to the story of Jonah in the \"whale's\" belly which occur m Asiatic fictions. See, for some instances, Tawney's translation of the \"Kath\u00e1 Sarit S\u00e1gara,\" ch. xxxv. and lxxiv.; \"Indian Antiquary,\" Sept. 1885, Legend of Ahl\u00e1; Miss Stokes' \"Indian Fairy Tales,\" pp. 75, 76; and Steel and Temple's \"Wide-Awake Stories from the Panj\u00e1b and Kashm\u00edr,\" p. 411. In Lucian's \"Vera Historia,\" a monster fish swallows a ship and her crew, who live a long time in the extensive regions comprised in its internal economy. See also Herrtage's \"Gesta Romanorum\" (Early English Text Society), p. 297.\n\n[FN#515] In the Arabian version the people resolve to leave the choice of a new king to the royal elephant because they could not agree among themselves (vol. i., p. 323), but in Indian fictions such an incident frequently occurs as a regular custom. In the \"Sivandhi Sthala Purana,\" a legendary account of the famous temple at Trichinopoli, as supposed to be told by Gautama to Matanga and other sages, it is related that a certain king having mortally offended a holy devotee, his capital and all its inhabitants were, in consequence of a curse pronounced by the enraged saint, buried beneath a shower of dust. \"Only the queen escaped, and in her flight she was delivered of a male-child. After some time, the chiefs of the Chola kingdom, proceeding to elect a king, determined, by the advice of the saint, to crown whomsoever the late monarch's elephant should pitch upon. Being turned loose for this purpose, the elephant discovered and brought to Trisira-m\u00e1l\u00ed the child of his former master, who accordingly became the Chola king.\" (Wilson's Desc. Catal. of Mackenzie MSS., i. 17.) In a Manipur\u00ed story of two brothers, Turi and Basanta--\"Indian Antiquary,\" vol. iii.--the elder is chosen king in like manner by an elephant who meets him in the forest, and takes him on his back to the palace, where he is immediately placed on the throne. See also \"Wide-Awake Stories from the Panj\u00e1b and Kashm\u00edr,\" by Mrs. Steel and Captain Temple, p. 141; and Rev.\nLal Behari Day's \"Folk-Tales of Bengal,\" p. 100 for similar\ninstances. The hawk taking part, in this story, with the elephant in the selection of a king does not occur in any other tale known to me.\n\n[FN#516] So that their caste might not be injured. A dhob\u00ed, or\nwasherman, is of much lower caste than a Br\u00e1hman or a Khshatriya.\n\n[FN#517] A responsible position in a r\u00e1j\u00e1's palace.\n\n[FN#518] \"And Jonah was in the belly of the fish three days and three nights.\" R\u00e1j\u00e1 Amb\u00e1 must have been fully twelve years in the stomach of the alligator.\n\n[FN#519] This device of the mother to obtain speech of the king is much more natural than that adopted in the Kashmiri version.\n\n[FN#520] The story of Ab\u00fa S\u00e1bir (see vol. i. p. 81 ff.) may also be regarded as an analogue. He is unjustly deprived of all his possessions, and, with his wife and two young boys, driven forth of his village. The children are borne off by thieves, and their mother forcibly carried away by a horseman. Ab\u00fa S\u00e1bir, after many sufferings, is raised from a dungeon to a throne. He regains his two children and his wife, who had steadfastly refused to cohabit with her captor.\n\n[FN#521] Introduction to the romance of \"Torrent of Portingale,\" re-edited (for the Early English Text Society, 1886) by E. Adam, Ph.D., pp. xxi. xxii.\n\n[FN#522] Morning.\n\n[FN#523] Bird.\n\n[FN#524] Mean; betoken.\n\n[FN#525] Thee.\n\n[FN#526] Tho: then.\n\n[FN#527] Yede: went.\n\n[FN#528] Case.\n\n[FN#529] Avaunced: advanced; promoted.\n\n[FN#530] Holpen: helped.\n\n[FN#531] Brent: burnt.\n\n[FN#532] But if: unless.\n\n[FN#533] To wed: in pledge, in security.\n\n[FN#534] Beth: are.\n\n[FN#535] Or: either.\n\n[FN#536] Lever dey: rather die.\n\n[FN#537] Far, distant.\n\n[FN#538] Unless.\n\n[FN#539] Oo: one.\n\n[FN#540] Ayen: again.\n\n[FN#541] Or: ere, before.\n\n[FN#542] Army; host.\n\n[FN#543] Part.\n\n[FN#544] That.\n\n[FN#545] Grief, sorrow.\n\n[FN#546] Poor.\n\n[FN#547] Gathered, or collected, together.\n\n[FN#548] Arms; accoutrements; dress.\n\n[FN#549] Bravely.\n\n[FN#550] Those.\n\n[FN#551] Done, ended.\n\n[FN#552] Their lodgings, inn.\n\n[FN#553] Since.\n\n[FN#554] Comrades.\n\n[FN#555] Truly.\n\n[FN#556] Lodged.\n\n[FN#557] Inn.\n\n[FN#558] Hem: them.\n\n[FN#559] Chief of the army.\n\n[FN#560] I note: I know not.\n\n[FN#561] Nor.\n\n[FN#562] Place.\n\n[FN#563] That is by means of his hounds.\n\n[FN#564] A wood.\n\n[FN#565] Those.\n\n[FN#566] Her: their.\n\n[FN#567] Looks towards; attends to.\n\n[FN#568] Give.\n\n[FN#569] Excepting; unless.\n\n[FN#570] Face; countenance.\n\n[FN#571] Care; close examination.\n\n[FN#572] Palata, Lat. (Paletot, O. Fr. ), sometimes signifying a particular stuff, and sometimes a particular dress. See Du\nCange.\n\n[FN#573] Cut; divided\n\n[FN#574] Wept.\n\n[FN#575] Sailing.\n\n[FN#576] More.\n\n[FN#577] Much.\n\n[FN#578] Sultan.\n\n[FN#579] Name.\n\n[FN#580] Voice, i.e., command.\n\n[FN#581] Slew.\n\n[FN#582] Labour.\n\n[FN#583] Drew.\n\n[FN#584] Went.\n\n[FN#585] Burning coal.\n\n[FN#586] Pray; beg.\n\n[FN#587] Recovered.\n\n[FN#588] Head.\n\n[FN#589] Weeping.\n\n[FN#590] Saw.\n\n[FN#591] Waving.\n\n[FN#592] Began to climb.\n\n[FN#593] Against.\n\n[FN#594] More.\n\n[FN#595] From an early volume of the \"Asiatic Journal,\" the\nnumber of which I did not \"make a note of--thus, for once at\nleast, disregarding the advice of the immortal Captain Cuttle.\n\n[FN#596] \"It was no wonder,\" says this writer, \"that his (i.e.\nGalland's) version of the 'Arabian Nights' achieved a universal popularity, and was translated into many languages, and that it provoked a crowd of imitations, from 'Les Mille et Un Jours' to the 'Tales of the Genii.'\"\n\n[FN#597] This is a version of The Sleeper and the Waker--with a vengeance! Ab\u00fa Hasan the Wag, the Tinker, and the Rustic, and others thus practiced upon by frolic-loving princes and dukes, had each, at least, a most delightful \"dream.\" But when a man is similarly handled by the \"wife of his bosom\"--in stories, only, of course--the case is very different as the poor chief of police experienced. Such a \"dream\" as his wife induced upon him we may be sure he would remember \"until that day that he did creep into his sepulchre!\"\n\n[FN#598] I call this \"strikingly similar\" to the preceding\nPersian story, although it has fewer incidents and the lady's\nhusband remains a monk; she could not have got him back even had she wished; for, having taken the vows, he was debarred from returning to \"the world \" which a kalandar or dervish may do as often as he pleases.\n\n[FN#599] \"The Woman's trick against her Husband.\"\n\n\nEnd of the Project Gutenberg Etext of Supplemental Nights, Volume 2\nby Richard F. Burton\n","meta":{"redpajama_set_name":"RedPajamaBook"}} +{"text":"\nUTOPIA\n\n# UTOPIA\n\nSECOND EDITION\n\nThomas More\n\nTRANSLATED AND INTRODUCED BY \nCLARENCE H. MILLER \nWITH A NEW AFTERWORD BY \nJERRY HARP\n\nPublished with assistance from the foundation established in memory of Oliver Baty Cunningham of the Class of 1917, Yale College.\n\nAfterword and Suggestions for Further Reading copyright \u00a9 2014 by Yale University. Translation copyright \u00a9 2001 by Clarence H. Miller.\n\nAll rights reserved. \nThis book may not be reproduced, in whole or in part, including illustrations, in any form (beyond that copying permitted by Sections 107 and 108 of the U.S. Copyright Law and except by reviewers for the public press), without written permission from the publishers.\n\nYale University Press books may be purchased in quantity for educational, business, or promotional use. For information, please e-mail sales.press@yale.edu (U.S. office) or sales@yaleup.co.uk (U.K. office).\n\nDesigned by Rebecca Gibb. Set in Adobe Garamond type by Keystone \nTypesetting, Inc. \nPrinted in the United States of America.\n\nLibrary of Congress Control Number: 2012954304 \nISBN 978-0-300-18610-9 (pbk.)\n\nA catalogue record for this book is available from the Library of Congress and from the British Library.\n\n10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1\n\n## CONTENTS\n\nIntroduction\n\nA Chronology of More's Life\n\nUTOPIA\n\nThomas More to Peter Giles, Greetings\n\nBook 1\n\nBook 2\n\nThomas More to His Friend Peter Giles, Warmest Greetings\n\nAfterword by Jerry Harp\n\nNotes\n\nSuggestions for Further Reading\n\nIndex\n\n## INTRODUCTION\n\nThe circumstances under which More composed _Utopia,_ as he recounts them in the opening of the book, give us some clues about one of its central issues: public service versus contemplative withdrawal. More was a busy London lawyer in the service of Henry VIII on a trade commission negotiating in the spring and early summer of 1515 in Bruges. In the midst of this activity came three months of leisure from late July to late October; the negotiations were interrupted because the Flemish ambassadors had to return to consult with their prince. Released from business and public service, More had time for thought and contemplation: he wrote what would become the second book of _Utopia,_ a description of the island and its people, customs, and form of government\u2014a sort of fantastic, Lucianic travelogue. After he returned home he wrote the first book, a semi-Platonic dialogue framework concerning the question of whether it is useful to serve as the counsellor of a prince. The first book, in other words, argues about the alternatives of engagement or retreat.\n\nUnlike Platonic dialogues, which reach solutions, or even Ciceronian dialogues, which are more open-ended but clearly suggest the superiority of one outlook, the first book of _Utopia_ comes to no conclusion. It does not take long for the reader to see that Hythloday (whose name means \"peddler of nonsense\") contradicts his position by telling the story of his sojourn in the court of Cardinal Morton, who listens to Hythloday's advice about punishing thieves and suggests that it might be tried in a modified form. Nor does he defeat More in the argument about the necessity of communism; he simply evades it by insisting that More would agree with him if he had seen how communism has transformed the \"good place,\" Utopia. But unfortunately the \"good place\" is also \"no place.\" And not everything about the \"good place\" is good: apart from its policies on euthanasia and divorce, which might be tolerated in a non-Christian society, it practices capital punishment with a harshness not far from what Hythloday condemns in Book 1; its military and especially its colonial policies also leave much to be desired. At the end of Book 2 we are left with Hythloday's passionate condemnation of the outrageous social injustices of European society, but we are not really any closer to believing that they could be cured by communism, partly because we know that it has never been introduced in society as a whole and never could be, and we are never told how it was introduced or sustained in Utopia. Even if we thought it might work in Western nations, would we want to live in such a faceless and regimented society? The citizens sometimes seem like robots; the houses and even the cities seem almost interchangeable. Apart from Utopus, we never learn the name of a single Utopian. Did Hythloday never have any special friends there? One could say that he is not interested in autobiography but only in the Utopians' economic, social, and political institutions, but should children simply be taken from their parents and moved to a different family? Should whole populations be shifted back and forth to the continental colonies to provide demographic stability?\n\nSuch facts and questions make us realize that More's Utopia does not fit the ordinary meaning of the word as it came down in modern languages, where it signifies an unreservedly \"good place\" (though it still includes the notion that it is \"no place,\" that it can never be actualized). And More's _Utopia_ should not be read (as it often has been and sometimes still is read) as presenting More's notion of a purely positive and desirable society. What the character More says was believed by the real More, though the character's range of opinion is circumscribed by the context in which he appears; the real More had opinions and ideas about issues the character does not address. The character argues at some length that it is reasonable and salutary to become the counsellor to a king\u2014a problem the real More resolved for himself when he became a member of Henry's privy council two years after _Utopia_ was first published. He also disagrees that communism would be a social panacea. He concludes by saying there are both good and bad features in Utopia: he says he disagrees with the Utopians' religious practices, their methods of warfare, and especially their communism, but, apart from communism, he does not tell us what specific features he disagrees with or why he does so. The real More does not have his character spell out these disagreements because the experience of the book is not supposed to give the reader a view of a perfect society or analyze what is good or bad about Utopia. Rather the work encourages taking a new view of social and political problems by seeing alleged (and strange) solutions to them and challenges readers to try to find out what they approve or disapprove of and why. To quote from Edward Surtz's acute and comprehensive introduction to an earlier Yale translation of _Utopia:_\n\nIs the success of _Utopia_ due to dialogue? After all, dialogue is symbolic of open-mindedness, humility, and inquiry. Somehow or other, More succeeds in involving readers in the dialogue. It is no accident that _Utopia_ ends with challenges. Is the Utopian view of war, religion, and communism really absurd? Is the Utopian vision really hopeless and unachievable? _Utopia_ therefore is an open-ended work\u2014or, better, a dialogue with an indeterminate close. More asks the right questions\u2014 which can never be answered fully.\n\nThe central character of the book, and the real More's most original character, is of course Hythloday, who practically identifies himself with Utopia, to which he is unreservedly committed. His names suggest the bipolarity of his character. He is Raphael (God's healer), and Hythloday (the peddler of nonsense): on the one hand a passionate analyst of social injustice, an intense and outraged defender of the oppressed, the poor, the sick, and the weak, a proponent of freedom from crushing toil, an enthusiastic promoter of intellectual pursuits, a supporter of equal rights for women; on the other hand, he is an advocate of inhuman social engineering, colonial exploitation, assassination, bloody warfare (however brief), \"ethnic cleansing\" of the Zapoletes, and capital punishment for someone who commits adultery twice. He is narrow-minded, unrealistic, humorless, puritanical, stubborn, tactless, and\u2014according to some of his critics\u2014even self-indulgent and narcissistic. And yet he is an energetic, credible character, whom we do not find entirely admirable or entirely repellent, like Utopia itself. But also like Utopia, he is always intense and intriguing. He asks and answers important questions, and however much or little we may like his answers, he makes us aware of the urgency of the questions.\n\nThe way Hythloday speaks reflects his character and ideas, and some of the range and tensions of his style can be perceived even in a translation. Hythloday's sentences range from turbulent and often strained complexity, when he is contrasting Europe with Utopia, to simple, straightforward ease when he is describing Utopia.\n\nWhen Hythloday imagines a session of the French king's council and projects the advice he would give, he launches into a 464-word sentence\u2014suspended, unrealistically intricate, almost interminable\u2014and ends by asking More, \"How do you imagine, my dear More, my listeners would react to this speech?\" With wry understatement More replies in four words: \"Certainly not very favorably.\" Well satisfied, Hythloday takes a deep breath and soars off into another imaginary council session about raising revenues, this time in a sentence of 926 words, a syntactical extravaganza so convoluted that he himself almost loses track of it. To Hythloday's concluding inquiry, More again replies with good-humored litotes and goes on to point out, in two- or three-line sentences, that the manner of advice is as important as the matter. Among editors and commentators, so far as I know, only J. H. Lupton has pointed out these strained, overburdened sentences, and until now among English translators only Ralph Robinson attempted to reproduce them. Nowhere else did More write Latin sentences that so deliberately go beyond what ordinary Latin syntax can bear. And Hythloday does this precisely when he brings the ideal kingdoms of Achoria and Macaria, his anticipations of Utopia, into jarring and irreconcilable conflict with the military and economic corruption of Europe. The two worlds, ideal and real, collide and the ordinary syntax accepted by speakers of Latin cannot contain them.\n\nSurely More expected his readers to be disconcerted, if not totally flummoxed, by these marathon sentences. It is not so much that Hythloday has lost his grip on reality; he understands French militarism and fiscal chicanery only too well, as the extensive commentary by Fr. Surtz will testify. Rather, his only reaction to real corruptions is to grip them in one hand and smash them into ideal solutions in the other. And the syntactic explosion leads us to the \"ideality\" of Utopia. As Richard Sylvester pointed out, \"Hythlodaeus' argument . . . moves from a firm grasp on a past historical situation [the punishment of thieves discussed at Cardinal Morton's court], to a hypothetical revision of contemporary history [the French council set over against the Achorians], and, finally, to a totally aloof fabrication [the purely imaginary council on raising money and the Macarians, near neighbors of the Utopians].\"\n\nWhen Hythloday describes his ideal commonwealth, his sentences undergo a remarkable change: they are predominantly brief, factual, straightforward, syntactically simple. Usually he is simply describing Utopian things as they are, and they are mostly simple, whether it be the doors of the houses,\n\nThere is no house which does not have a door opening on the street and a back door into the garden;6\n\nor the selection of candidates for ruler,\n\nFor each of the four quarters of the city names one person and proposes him to the senate;\n\nor the universal work at farming,\n\nFarming is the one occupation in which all of them are skilled, men and women alike;\n\nor the color of their cloaks,\n\nthroughout the island they are all of the same color, that of the natural wool;\n\nor the shifting of people to maintain uniform populations,\n\nThis limit is easily maintained by transferring persons from households with too many people to those with too few;\n\nor the distribution of goods,\n\nAnd when it is distributed equitably to everyone, it follows that no one can be reduced to poverty or forced to beg;\n\nor the lack of seeking for offices,\n\nAnyone who campaigns for public office becomes disqualified for holding any office at all;\n\nor their exclusion of lawyers,\n\nthey ban absolutely all lawyers as clever practitioners and sly interpreters of the law;\n\nor their recruitment of soldiers,\n\nIn each city they choose troops from a list of volunteers;\n\nor their strict keeping of a truce,\n\nWhen they make a truce with their enemies, they keep it so religiously that they do not violate it even under provocation;\n\nor their withholding of honor and office from those who do not believe in the immortality of the soul, divine providence, and future rewards and punishment,\n\nthey bestow no honors on such a person, they assign him to no office, they put him in charge of no public responsibility.\n\nIn such simple sentences, which I have rather randomly sampled from the second book, everything seems so balanced and rectilinear, so simple and straightforward, so effortless and obviously desirable. And such simple sentences may tend to lull us into simple unquestioning acceptance of what they say as simple fact. They tell us what the Utopians do but leave many unanswered questions about how they manage to do it. How are the four candidates for ruler chosen in each quarter of the city? What happens if someone is no good at farming or refuses to do it? Or if someone dyes his cloak? Or objects to being separated from his family and friends in a population shift? How do you know whether someone is seeking an office? The only sure sign is absolute refusal to accept it. In the absence of lawyers the judge is supposed to protect the interests of the accused. But what if the judge dislikes the defendant and admires the prosecutor? What if he is stupid? How was he chosen? How was the prosecutor chosen? Are there no rules of evidence? What if too few soldiers volunteer to fight? What happens if, during a truce, the enemy ambushes a patrol? What if someone has ambitions to be a magistrate but conceals them? What if he does not believe in the immortality of the soul but conceals his disbelief? How are the priests chosen? By whom?\n\nHythloday does not answer these questions. He considers them simply irrelevant because the difficulties they embody spring from pride, which has no place in Utopia. The institutions of the Utopians clearly cannot work unless pride is eliminated. And how is pride eliminated? By the institutions, especially the abolition of private property. The institutions cannot be introduced unless they have already been introduced. But the ease and lucidity of Hythloday's sentences tend to mask such difficulties. The thing is simply there. No need to ask how it got there or can manage to stay there.\n\nNaturally, Hythloday's syntax is not always so curt and pat, even in his description of Utopia, but when his sentences swell and become somewhat involuted and turbulent it is usually when he is contrasting the ideal life of Utopia with the corruptions of Europe, as when he condemns Europe's distribution of labor, or attitude toward gold or hunting, or futilely complex laws, or abuse of treaties, or the Zapoletan (that is, Swiss) mercenaries. But these are merely occasional aftershocks of the great quake of his marathon sentences in Book 1, and he soon reverts to the simplicity of Utopian syntax.\n\nIn Book 1 the length and complexity of Hythloday's sentences lead us to believe that More himself could agree with most of what he says until the approach to Utopia (by way of Achoria and Macaria) dissociates him from More, interrupts the debates about counsel and private property (leaving them unresolved), and frees Hythloday to present the simplicities of Utopia in simple sentences, which are so unlike More's way of thinking and writing elsewhere as to suggest that he meant us to probe them with questions\u2014not only about obvious difficulties such as Utopian warfare, divorce, euthanasia, or colonialism, but throughout. So much of what the Utopians do is admirable, but how in heaven's name do they manage to do it?\n\nThere is, for example, a glaring omission in Utopia, which Hythloday's limpid and easy sentences may cause us to overlook: the political structure of Utopia has no central executive authority for its fifty-four independent city-states. Although the whole island has no single governor, it does have an annual senate composed of three wisemen from each city. If there were any real self-centered rivalry among these cities, even any normal conflict of interest, such a senate, without any executive machinery whatever, would be quite ineffectual. We, like More, have only to look to the city-states of ancient Greece or Renaissance Italy to see what would happen. Then, too, we are told about the punishments for various crimes in Utopia (among which the absence of theft may not be surprising, but what about assault or murder?), but, without a police force, who catches the criminal? Who checks whether he has the proper papers to be out of his own city-state? What prevents him from stowing away on a ship to the mainland? Questions proliferate endlessly. We are always being brought back to the basic paradox: the institutions cannot be introduced unless they have already been introduced.\n\nAnother remarkable feature of Hythloday's style, which is related to the deceptive simplicity of Utopia, is his diction. We are not surprised that he is fond of words like \"equal\" (which he uses 26 times) or \"easy\" (24 times). After all, his main thesis is that equality of goods makes just government easy in Utopia. But another group of frequent words suggests his inability to deal with specific problems in concrete circumstances and reflects the universalist, absolute, all-or-nothing cast of his mind: \"all\" (200 times), \"nothing\" (76), \"none\" (68), \"whole\" (62), \"one\" (35), \"the same\" (33), \"any\" (33), \"no one\" (29), \"entirely\" (24), \"each\" (19), \"never\" (19), \"anything\" (17), \"everywhere\" (14), \"anywhere\" (13), \"only\" (11), \"universal\" (9), \"ever\" (8), \"never\" (7). In the samples of short sentences given above, I made no attempt to include any of these words, and yet I noticed that they had inevitably appeared (\"There is NO house\"; \"Farming is the ONE occupation in which ALL of them are skilled\"; \"Whoever seeks ANY office becomes ineligible for ALL offices\"). Moreover, as I checked the instances, I found that they often tended to occur together with other words from this absolutist cluster.\n\nA few examples must suffice to suggest the effect of such diction.\n\nThe island has fifty-four cities, ALL of them large and splendid and having EXACTLY THE SAME language, customs, institutions, and laws. They have the SAME layout and they look the SAME, insofar as the terrain allows.\n\nFrom them [the storehouses] EACH head of household goes to get whatever he and his household need and takes away WHATEVER he wants, paying no money and giving ABSOLUTELY NOTHING in exchange for it. For why should he be denied ANYTHING, since there is plenty of EVERYTHING and NO ONE need fear that ANYONE would want to ask for more than he needs? For why should ANYONE be suspected of asking for too much if he is certain he will NEVER lack for ANYTHING?\n\nOn the other hand, here, where EVERYTHING belongs to EVERYONE, NO ONE doubts that (as long as care is taken that the public storehouses are full) NOTHING WHATEVER will be lacking to ANYONE for his own use. For the distribution of goods is not niggardly; NO ONE is a pauper or a beggar there, and though NO ONE has anything, ALL are rich.\n\nSuch reiterated universalist diction is the source of what most readers feel to be objectionable about the Utopians: their faceless anonymity and homogeneity. But such diction is not characteristic of More himself, either as a character in _Utopia_ or in his other Latin writings. And it should cause us to ask questions similar to those raised by Hythloday's simple sentences: how do you get everyone always to do the same one thing everywhere, wholly and completely, without anyone anywhere at all deviating significantly in anything, with no exceptions, with no one ever wishing to contravene the universal system, with all in equal conformity, with never a dissenting voice, with nowhere a refusal to comply? Hythloday's answer is one and the same, always: introduce Utopian institutions, based on the sharing of everything. Only then will everyone be totally and completely committed to the common good (respublica). But only a people raised, educated, and trained under Utopian institutions can make the institutions work. As with Hythloday's simple sentences, we are brought back to the paradox, the dilemma, the \"double-bind\": nowhere can such institutions be introduced except where they have already been introduced\u2014nowhere.\n\nBut Hythloday should not be viewed as merely narrowminded, solipsistic, and naive. When he condemns the injustices of Europe, his voice and his sentences are not incompatible with those of More himself. His passionate denunciations of the greedy oppression of the poor and his compassionate indignation at the lazy, corrupt self-indulgence of the rich are intense and memorable; everyone remembers the sheep who were once gentle but now devour people (p. 22), or his thunderous peroration against economic and social injustice, culminating in the condemnation of the conspiracy of the rich who look out for themselves under the pretext of serving the commonwealth (pp. 132). Only when he flees such corruption and breaks through to the simplicities of Utopia do his sentences fracture Latin syntax and soar beyond what More's Latin, even at its most muscular, would attempt. And the simple sentences and universalist diction of his description of Utopia do not make him seem merely simple-minded. They also help him to make us think that this has happened, that it could happen (in spite of all our nagging doubts about how it could have happened or how it could happen in the world we know); and, even more, he makes us think that some of it should happen (in spite of the thought-provoking anomalies in Utopian behavior) because the Utopians really believe in the common good; and Hythloday makes us almost believe in their belief, and so we believe him even while we disbelieve him, just as (because of her virtuoso and contrasting styles) we believe and disbelieve his great compeer, the Folly of Desiderius Erasmus' _Moriae Encomium_.\n\n### THE EARLY EDITIONS AND THE LATIN TEXT\n\nErasmus and Peter Giles supervised the printing of the first edition (Louvain, 1516), adding commendatory and sometimes analytic letters from well-known humanists of the time; these letters, though they provide a useful context for reading _Utopia,_ have not been included in this translation because they are highly specialized and sometimes inflated. I have included More's prefatory letter to Giles and his second letter to Giles, which appeared only in the second edition, in 1517. Erasmus and Giles were also probably responsible for the marginal notes that appeared in the first edition, and they may have had a hand in changing some Latin proper and place names from Latin to Greek forms. In the early editions many of the marginal notes are merely labels to mark off sections equivalent to paragraphs (of which the early editions have none). I have omitted such paragraph markers and included only the marginal notes that make some independent comment on the text. I have supplied the paragraphing in this translation.\n\nThomas Lupset supervised the second edition (Paris, 1517), which was corrected by More. Erasmus transmitted copy for the third edition (Basel, March 1518), which was also corrected by More (sometimes differently from 1517). In fact, it is possible that More corrected 1517 later than 1518m (as the March 1518 edition is known). The Basel edition of November 1518 was simply a reprint of 1518m, as was the Florence edition of 1520. It is significant that More, Erasmus, and Johann Froben, the publisher of the Basel editions, originally intended to include the translations of Lucian by More and Erasmus, though they were never included because the volume had grown too large; Lucian's fantastic and satirical flair was one of the ingredients in the savory stew of _Utopia_. Moreover, 1518m and 1518n (the November 1518 edition) also included the Latin epigrams of More and Erasmus; several of More's concern issues of good and bad government.\n\nThe Latin text on which this translation is based is derived from all the texts and variants of the first three editions, the only ones in which More actually had a hand; these materials are presented in full in the comprehensive and definitive editions of Fr. Surtz and Andr\u00e9 Pr\u00e9vost. My Latin text corresponds very closely with the Cambridge edition of George Logan and others, which is the most accurate and usable modern text. For these editions see the list of books for further reading at the end of this volume. I have also consulted the remarks and emendations in the Latin editions by V. Michels and T. Ziegler (1895), J. H. Lupton (1895), and Marie Delcourt (1936).\n\n### A NOTE ON THE TRANSLATION\n\nSince _Utopia_ has been translated by Ralph Robinson, Gilbert Burnet, and several translators in the twentieth century, it may be asked why another translation should be undertaken. But the truth is that in spite of many translations, some of them frequently reprinted, _Utopia_ has not fared as well as it deserves in English. Robinson's pioneering translation, published in 1551, is quite accurate (with only a few exceptions) and was usually consulted by subsequent translators, but it was made at a time when English did not yet have the strength, either in diction or style, to reproduce the elaborate Latin of _Utopia_. Hence his translation, though lively and vivid, often seems wordy and awkward (as it probably also did to his contemporaries who read Latin). But at least Robinson did not omit words or phrases when they were inconvenient, and he tried to match the varied style of the Latin. The same cannot be said for those who walked in his footsteps. By the time of Gilbert Burnet's translation in 1684, English prose was a varied and powerful instrument, fully capable of matching More's Latin; but fashionable prose in the Restoration was simple, lucid, \"easy\" (in reaction against the florid, baroque \"excesses\" of the earlier part of the century). Hence Burnet streamlined and simplified More's Latin, ignoring its extreme stylistic variations, occasionally clipping and pruning it as well.\n\nG. C. Richards, the first twentieth-century translator (1923), tried like Robinson to be fully faithful to the Latin, in details and style, but he kept too close to the Latin so that his English often turned out to be awkward and unidiomatic. H. V. S. Ogden (1949) explicitly mentions the translations of Robinson and Burnet, admitting that he has borrowed wording from both, especially Burnet. In fact his translation is swift and readable (like Burnet's) but only at the cost of simplification in detail and the suppression of elaborations in More's Latin. The same false tendency is carried even further in Paul Turner's translation (1965) and further yet in the translation by John Sheehan and John P. Donnelly (1989), who professedly simplify and prune the text for American college students. The translation by Robert M. Adams (1975) is also uniformly swift and breezy, and even its corrected form (1995) does not match the stylistic variations of the Latin.\n\nIn fact, More's Latin is often anything but colloquial and easy (pace Turner and Surtz). In his first letter to Giles, More describes Hythloday's language as unpolished, informal, and extemporaneous, giving his style the label \"casual simplicity.\" But hardly anything in this letter can be taken at face value. When Hythloday speaks about Utopia itself his sentences are indeed generally simple and easy (Utopia is, after all, a simple and easy solution to social and economic problems), but when he denounces the corruptions of Europe in Book 1 and in the peroration to Book 2, his sentences are complex, lengthy, elaborate, muscular, even muscle-bound. Some translators seem to think that such complications are natural in Latin but not in English. But in fact, English can follow the normal complications of Latin well enough, and the unnatural complications in the Latin ought not to be merely smoothed out in the English. They are an important part of the meaning.\n\nHence I have tried to translate all the details of the Latin in idiomatic English that matches the simplicity, complexity, or even unnatural strain of the Latin.\n\n## A CHRONOLOGY OF MORE'S LIFE\n\n1477 \nBorn in London, February 7\n\nc. 1482\u201390 \nSchool at St. Anthony's\n\nc. 1490\u201392 \nPage in the household of John Morton, Archbishop of \nCanterbury and chancellor of England\n\nc. 1492\u201394 \nStudent at Oxford University\n\n1494\u20131501 \nStudied law in London\n\nc. 1500\u20131504 \nTo test his vocation to the priesthood resided in Carthusian \nmonastery next to his law school, Lincoln's Inn\n\n1504\u20135 \nMarried Joan Colt, late 1504 or early 1505\n\n1509 \nNegotiated with Antwerp merchants on behalf of London companies\n\n1511 \nJoan, who bore him four children, died, and More \nmarried Alice Middleton\n\n1510\u201318 \nUndersheriff of London\n\n1513\u201318 \nWrote _The History of Richard III_ in both Latin and English\n\n1515 \nMember of a delegation sent to Bruges to revise \na commercial treaty\n\n1516 \n _Utopia_ published at Louvain\n\n1517 \nHelped quell a riot by a mob of London apprentices, May 1\n\n1517 \nNegotiated with the French at Calais and Boulogne about \nsuits arising from the recent war, September\u2013December\n\n1518 \nBecame a member of the king's council and \nMaster of Requests\n\n1520 \nAccompanied Henry VIII to a meeting with Francis I at the \nField of Cloth of Gold near Calais\n\n1520\u201321 \nNegotiated with Emperor Charles V and the \nHansa merchants at Calais and Bruges\n\n1521 \nKnighted\n\n1523 \nIn _Responsio ad Lutherum_ defended Henry VIII against Luther's attack\n\n1523 \nSpeaker of the House of Commons\n\n1524 \nMoved into the large mansion he built upriver in Chelsea\n\n1525 \nChancellor of the Duchy of Lancaster\n\n1524\u201325 \nHigh Steward of the Universities of Oxford (1524) and Cambridge (1525)\n\n1528 \nCommissioned by Bishop Tunstall of London to read and refute Lutheran books in English\n\n1529\u201333 \nWrote seven polemical books in English against Lutheranism\n\n1529 \nAttended the congress at Cambrai at which peace was negotiated between France and the Empire\n\n1529\u201332 \nLord Chancellor of England\n\n1534 \nRefused to swear to the Act of Succession because it \nrepudiated papal supremacy, April 13\n\n1534 \nImprisoned in the Tower, April 17\n\n1534\u201335 \nWrote _A Dialogue of Comfort Against Tribulation_ in the Tower\n\n1535 \nConvicted of treason on the perjured evidence of \nRichard Rich, July 1\n\n1535 \nBeheaded in the Tower, July 6\nUTOPIA\nOn the Best Form of a Commonwealth \nand \non the New Island of Utopia\n\na Truly Precious Book \nNo Less Profitable than Delightful \nby \nthe Most Distinguished and Learned Gentleman \nThomas More \nCitizen and Undersheriff \nof the Illustrious City of London\n\n_A Six-line Stanza on the Island of Utopia \nby the Poet Laureate \nAnemolius \nThe Son of Hythloday's Sister_\n\nCalled once \"No-place\" because I stood apart. \nNow I compete with Plato's state, perhaps \nSurpass it; what he only wrote about \nI have alone in fact become: the best \nIn people, wealth, in laws by far the best. \n\"Good-place\" by rights I should be called.\n\n### THE UTOPIAN ALPHABET A QUATRAIN IN THE UTOPIAN LANGUAGE\n\nThe literal meaning of these lines: \nWhen I was not an island, the commander Utopus made me into an island. I alone of all the nations on earth, without philosophy, have presented to mortals a philosophical state. Freely I share what I have; not unwillingly I accept what is better.\n\n## Thomas More to Peter Giles, Greetings\n\nI am almost ashamed, my dear Peter Giles, to have delayed for almost a year in sending you this little book about the Utopian commonwealth, which I'm sure you expected within six weeks. You knew, after all, that I was spared the labor of finding my matter, and did not have to give any thought to its arrangement; all I had to do was repeat what you and I heard Raphael say. For that reason there was no need to strive for eloquence, since his language could hardly be polished, first because it was informal and extemporaneous, and also because he is a person, as you know, not as well versed in Latin as in Greek; the closer my language came to his casual simplicity, the more accurate it would be, and in this matter accuracy is all that I ought to, and in fact do, aim for.\n\nI grant you, Peter, that with all this already taken care of, I was relieved of so much effort that there was almost nothing left for me to do. If this had not been so, thinking up the subject matter and arranging it might have required not a little time and study, even from someone of not inconsiderable intelligence and not totally without learning. But if I had been required to write not only accurately but also elegantly, no amount of time or study would have enabled me to do it. As it is, all these concerns, which would have cost me so much labor, are removed and all that remained to do was to write what I heard\u2014not a difficult task.\n\nBut nevertheless, even to perform this trifling task, other chores left me almost no time at all. I am constantly pleading one case, hearing another, acting as arbitrator, handing down decisions as a judge, visiting one person or another on business or because it is my duty to do so; I am out practically all day dealing with others, and the rest of my time is devoted to my family, and so I leave nothing for myself, that is for writing.\n\nWhen I get home, I have to talk with my wife, chat with my children, confer with the servants. All this I count as part of my obligations, since it needs to be done (and it does if you do not wish to be a stranger in your own home); and you must do everything you can to make yourself as agreeable as possible to the persons you live with, whether they were provided by nature, chance, or your own choice, as long as you do not spoil them by your familiarity or turn servants into masters through over-indulgence. As I am doing such things, as I said, a day, a month, a year slips by.\n\nWhen do I write then? And as yet I have said nothing about sleep and nothing at all about eating, and for many that takes up no less time than sleep itself, which consumes almost half our lives. The only time I get for myself is what I steal from sleep and eating. Because that is so little, I progressed slowly, but because it was at least something, I did make progress, and I sent _Utopia_ to you, my dear Peter, so that you can read it and let me know if I have missed anything. For, though on that score I do not lack all confidence in myself (and I only wish that my intelligence and learning were a match for my not inconsiderable memory), still I am not confident enough to think that nothing has escaped me.\n\nAs you know, John Clement, my young assistant, was there with us, for I do not allow him to miss out on any conversation which could be profitable to him because from this sprout which is beginning to grow green with proficiency in Latin and Greek I expect someday a marvelous harvest. He has made me feel very doubtful about one point: as far as I remember Hythloday told us that the bridge which spans the river Anyder at Amaurot is five hundred yards long, but my boy John says that is two hundred yards too many and that the river is no more than three hundred wide. Please try to remember that point. For if you agree with him, I will go along with you both and believe I am mistaken. But if you do not recall, I will stand by what I think I remember myself, for just as I have taken great pains to prevent any inaccuracy in the book, so too, when I am in doubt, I would rather say something inaccurate than tell a lie, because I would rather be honest than clever.\n\nIn fact, it would be easy to remedy this defect if you would find out from Raphael himself about it, in person or by letter. And you need to do the same concerning another difficulty which has arisen\u2014who is more to blame for it, I or you or Raphael himself, I do not know. For it did not occur to us to ask, or him to mention, in what part of that new world Utopia is located. Indeed, to remedy this oversight I would be willing to give a sizeable sum, partly because I am ashamed not to know in which ocean the island lies about which I have recounted so much, partly because there are one or two people here, but especially one person, a devout man and a theologian by profession, who is amazingly eager to go to Utopia, not out of idle curiosity or any hankering after novelties but in order to nourish and spread our religion, which has made such a good beginning there. To do this properly he has decided to see to it beforehand that he is sent by the pope and made the bishop of the Utopians. He has no scruples whatever about begging for this bishopric, since he considers such ambition to be holy if it is not based on honor or gain but rather springs from piety.\n\nTherefore, my dear Peter, I beg you to contact Hythloday, either in person if that is convenient or by letter if you are separated, and see to it that this work of mine contains nothing false and lacks nothing true. And perhaps it would be best to show him the book. For there is no one else capable of correcting any errors and even he cannot do so unless he reads through what I have written. Then too, this will let you see whether he is pleased or annoyed at me for writing this work. For if he himself has decided to commit his labors to writing, he may not want me to do so. And I certainly would not want to deprive his narrative of the bloom and charm of novelty by making the commonwealth of Utopia public.\n\nBut in fact, to tell you the truth, I myself have not yet made up my mind whether or not to publish it at all. For the tastes of mortals are so various, the temperaments of some are so bitter, their minds so ungrateful, their judgments so preposterous that a person would do far better to follow his own bent and lead a merry life than to wear himself out trying to publish something useful or entertaining for an audience so finicky and ungrateful. Most people know nothing about learning; many despise it. Dummies reject as too hard whatever is not dumb. The literati look down their noses at anything not swarming with obsolete words. Some like only ancient authors; many like only their own writing. One person is so dour that he cannot abide jokes; another is so witless that he cannot stand anything witty. Some have so little nose for satire that they dread it the way someone bitten by a rabid dog fears water. Others are so changeable that their approval depends on whether they are sitting down or standing up.\n\nThey sit around in taverns and over their cups they pontificate about the talents of writers, condemning each author just as they please, pulling him down through his writings as if they had grabbed him by the hair, while they themselves are safe and out of harm's way, as the saying goes, because these good men have their whole heads smooth-shaven so that there is not a single hair to grab on to.\n\nFurthermore, some are so ungrateful that, even though a work has given them great pleasure, they still do not like the author any better because of it. They are not unlike illmannered guests who, after they have been lavishly entertained at a splendid banquet, finally go home stuffed without saying a word of thanks to the host who invited them. Go on, now, and at your own expense provide a banquet for persons of such delicate palates and various tastes, who will remember and repay you with such gratitude!\n\nNevertheless, my dear Peter, raise with Hythloday the points I mentioned. Afterwards I will be free to consider the matter once more. But in fact, if he himself gives his consent\u2014 since it is late to be wise now that I have finished all the work\u2014in all other considerations about publishing I will follow the advice of my friends, and especially yours. Farewell, my dearest Peter Giles, with regards to your excellent wife, and be as fond of me as ever, since I am fonder of you than ever.\nA Discourse \non the Best Form of a Commonwealth \nSpoken by the Remarkable Raphael Hythloday\n\nas Reported by \nthe Illustrious Thomas More \na Citizen and the Undersheriff \nof the Famous British City of London\n\n## BOOK 1\n\nRecently the invincible king of England, Henry the eighth of that name, who is lavishly endowed with all skills necessary for an outstanding ruler, had some matters of no small moment which had to be worked out with Charles, the most serene prince of Castile. To discuss and resolve these differences he sent me to Flanders as his ambassador; I was the companion and colleague of the incomparable Cuthbert Tunstall, whom he recently appointed to be Master of the Rolls, to the enormous satisfaction of everyone. I will say nothing in his praise, not because I am afraid that my friendship might seem to make me an unreliable witness, but because his virtue and learning are beyond my power to proclaim them and because they are everywhere so renowned and well known that there is no need for me to do so, unless I intend to display the sun by the light of a lantern, as they say.\n\nAs had been agreed, we were met at Bruges by those to whom the prince had entrusted the negotiations, all of them outstanding men. Their leader and chief was the Mayor of Bruges, a splendid man, but their spokesman and mastermind was George de Themsecke, the Provost of Cassel, who is not only a trained orator but also a naturally eloquent speaker; he is very skilled in the law as well, and also an extraordinarily deft negotiator because he is both intelligent and very experienced. After one or two meetings we could not reach agreement on some points, and so they bade us farewell for some days and set out for Brussels to ask for the pronouncement of their prince.\n\nMeanwhile, as my business required, I made my way to Antwerp. While I was staying there, I was often visited by Peter Giles, among others, though no other visitor was more delightful to me. A native of Antwerp, he holds a post of great responsibility and prestige (and he is worthy of the most prestigious), since for this young man it would be hard to say which is greater, his learning or his virtue. For he is most virtuous and very widely read, and also good-natured toward everyone, but toward his friends he is so responsive, warmhearted, loyal, and unfeignedly affectionate that it would be hard to find even one or two anywhere that you would think comparable to him in every aspect of friendship. He has a modesty rarely to be found; no one is further from false poses; no one combines more prudence with simplicity. Then, too, his elegant speech and his innocent wit are so attractive that his delightful companionship and his charming conversation alleviated my longing for my country, household, wife, and children, though I was tormented by my desire to see them again, for at that time I had been away from home for more than four months.\n\nOne day, after I had heard mass at the church of St. Mary, which is remarkable for its beautiful architecture and its large congregation, when the service was over and I was getting ready to return to my lodgings, I happened to see Giles conversing with a stranger who was getting up in years. His face was sunburned, his beard untrimmed, his cloak hanging carelessly from his shoulder; from his face and bearing I thought he looked like a sea captain. But then, when Peter saw me, he came up and greeted me. When I tried to answer, he took me a little aside and said, \"Do you see this man?\" (At the same time he indicated the person I had seen him talking to.) \"He is the one,\" he said, \"I was just getting ready to bring straight to you.\"\n\n\"He would have been all the more welcome to me on your account.\"\n\n\"Actually on his own,\" he said, \"if you knew him. For there is no mortal alive today who can give more information about unknown peoples and lands, and I know that you are very eager to hear about them.\"\n\n\"My guess was not far off, then,\" I said, \"for when I first set eyes on him, I immediately thought he was a sea captain.\"\n\n\"But in fact,\" he said, \"you were far off the mark. Certainly he has sailed, not like Palinurus, but rather like Ulysses, or even better like Plato. This man, who is named Raphael\u2014his family name is Hythloday\u2014has no mean knowledge of the Latin language but is especially proficient in Greek; he has devoted himself to Greek more than to Latin because he has totally committed himself to philosophy and he knew that in that field there is nothing of any importance in Latin except some works of Seneca and Cicero. Out of a desire to see the world he left to his brothers his heritage in his homeland (he is from Portugal), joined Amerigo Vespucci, and was his constant companion in the first three of the four voyages which everyone is now reading about; but on the last voyage he did not come back with him. He sought and practically wrested from Amerigo permission to be one of the twenty-four who were left behind in a fort at the farthest point of the last voyage. And so he was left behind in accordance with his outlook, since he was more concerned about his travels than his tomb. Indeed he often used to say, 'Whoever does not have an urn has the sky to cover him,' and 'from everywhere it is the same distance to heaven.' This attitude of his would have cost him dearly if God had not been merciful to him. However, after the departure of Vespucci, he traveled through many lands with five companions from the fort, and finally, by an extraordinary stroke of luck, he was transported to Ceylon and from there he reached Calicut, where he opportunely found some Portuguese ships and at last, beyond all expectation, he got home again.\"\n\nWhen Peter had told me this I thanked him for his kindness in taking so much trouble to introduce me to someone whose conversation he hoped I would enjoy, and then I turned to Raphael. After we had greeted each other and spoken the usual amenities that are exchanged when strangers meet for the first time, we went off to my house, where we conversed sitting in the garden on a bench covered with grassy turf.\n\nAnd so he told us how, after the departure of Vespucci, he and his companions who had remained in the fort gradually began to win the good graces of the people of that land by encountering and speaking well of them, and then they started to interact with them not only with no danger but even on friendly terms, and finally they gained the affection and favor of some ruler, whose name and country escape me. He told how, through the generosity of the ruler, he and five of his companions were liberally supplied with provisions and ships on the sea and wagons on the land\u2014together with a trustworthy guide who took them to other rulers to whom he heartily recommended them. After many days' journey, he said, he discovered towns and cities and commonwealths that were very populous and not badly governed.\n\nOn both sides of the equator, it is true, extending almost as far as the space covered by the orbit of the sun there lie vast empty wastelands, scorched with perpetual heat. The whole region is barren and ugly, rugged and uncultivated, inhabited by wild beasts and serpents and by people who are no less wild than the beasts and no less dangerous. But when you have traveled further, everything gradually becomes milder. The heavens are less fierce, the ground is green and pleasant, the creatures are more gentle, and finally one sees peoples, cities, towns, which not only trade continually among themselves and with near neighbors but also carry on commerce with distant nations by land and sea. From that point on they were able to visit many countries in all directions since there was no ship traveling anywhere in which he and his comrades were not eagerly welcomed.\n\nHe told us that in the first regions they traveled they saw flat-bottomed vessels, spreading sails made of wickerwork or of stitched papyrus, and in other places of leather. But afterwards they found ships with curved keels, canvas sails, and in fact all the features of our own vessels. The sailors were not unskilled in seamanship and celestial navigation, but he told us that they were extremely grateful to him for introducing them to the magnetic compass, with which they had been totally unfamiliar. For that reason they usually were afraid to commit themselves to the open sea and they did not venture to do so except during the summer. But now they have such confidence in the compass that they scorn the winter weather and are careless rather than secure; thus there is a danger that the device which they thought would do them so much good will do them great harm because of their imprudence.\n\nTo present what he told us about the things he saw in each and every place would take a long time and would be beyond the scope of this work. And perhaps I will speak of it elsewhere, especially those points of which it would be useful not to be ignorant, above all whatever correct and prudent provisions he observed among civilized nations. We asked him very eagerly about such matters, and he was quite willing to explain them, but we paid no attention to monsters, for nothing is less novel than they are. Indeed, there is almost no place where you will not find Scyllas and rapacious Celaenos and man-eating Laestrigonians and such prodigious monsters, but it is not everywhere that you will find soundly and wisely trained citizens. But just as he noted many ill-considered practices among those newly discovered nations, so too he recounted not a few features that could serve as patterns to correct the errors of our own cities, nations, peoples, and kingdoms. These, as I said, will have to be presented elsewhere. At present I intend to relate only what he told us about the customs and institutions of the Utopians, but first I will present the conversation which led him on, as it were, to mention that commonwealth. For after Raphael had very judiciously analyzed some of our errors and some of theirs (and certainly there are plenty in both places) and had presented some wiser provisions both here and there\u2014and he had such a mastery of the customs and institutions of every nation he visited that you would imagine he had spent his whole life there\u2014Peter was amazed by him and said, \"My dear Raphael, why do you not enter into the service of some king, for I am convinced that there is none who would not be extremely glad to have you, because this learning of yours and your knowledge of peoples and places would not only serve to delight him but would also make you fit to inform him of precedents and aid him with advice. In this manner you could at one and the same time promote your own interests enormously and be of great assistance to your relatives and friends.\"\n\n\"As for my relatives and friends, I am not much concerned about them because I have done my duty by them well enough: others do not give up their possessions until they are old and sick, and even then they do so reluctantly, when they can no longer retain them; but I divided my possessions up among my relatives and friends when I was not only healthy and vigorous but also young. I think they ought to be satisfied with my generosity, and beyond that they should not demand and expect me to hand myself over into servitude to kings for their sake.\"\n\n\"A fine thing to say,\" said Peter. \"I want you to go into the service of kings, not be in servitude to them.\"\n\n\"There is,\" he said, \"only one syllable's difference between them.\"\n\n\"But I am of the opinion,\" said Peter, \"that, whatever name you give it, it is still the course by which you can not only profit others, both privately and publicly, but also make your own position a happier one.\"\n\n\"Would I make it happier by following a course which is abhorrent to me? But as it is, I live as I please, and I certainly suspect that is very seldom the case with the grandees of court. Surely there are plenty of people who strive to gain the favor of powerful men, so that you need not consider it any great loss if I and one or two like me are not among them.\"\n\nThen I said, \"It is clear, my dear Raphael, that you are not greedy for wealth or power; I respect and revere a person with your attitude no less than I do any of the high and mighty. But it seems obvious to me that you would be acting in a fashion worthy of yourself and of your noble and truly philosophical nature if you could bring yourself to apply your intelligence and industry to public affairs, even at the cost of some private inconvenience. You will never be able to do this to such good effect as you could if you became a counsellor to some great prince and urged upon him what is right and honorable, as I am sure you would. For the stream of good and evil, as if from a never-failing spring, flows from the prince down upon the whole people. And your learning is so complete, even if you had no great experience, and your experience is so full, even if you had no learning at all, that you would be an outstanding counsellor to any king whatever.\"\n\n\"You are wrong on two counts, my dear More,\" he said. \"First about me, and then about the way things are. For I do not have the ability you attribute to me, and even if I had it in full measure, I would sacrifice my contemplative leisure to active endeavor without contributing anything to the common good. First of all, the princes themselves, almost all of them, are more devoted to military pursuits (in which I neither have nor desire any skill) than they are to the beneficent pursuits of peacetime; and they are far more interested in how to acquire new kingdoms by hook or crook than in how to govern well those they have already acquired. Moreover, among the counsellors to kings, there is none who is not so truly wise as not to need\u2014or at least thinks he is so wise as not to tolerate\u2014the advice of any other counsellor, except that they support and fawn on any and all absurdities propounded by the prince's favorites, whose favor they strive to win by flattery. Certainly nature seems to have arranged it so that everyone is delighted with his own insights. So the crow dotes on its chick, and the monkey on its whelp.\n\n\"But in a conclave made up of those who envy the insights of others or exalt their own, if anyone should propose something which he has read was done in other eras or which he has seen done in other places, his listeners there immediately act as if their whole reputation for wisdom were at risk, as if they would thereafter be considered totally stupid if they cannot propose something to undermine the proposals of others. If all else fails, then this is their last resort: these things pleased our ancestors, they say, and would that we were as wise as they! And with this remark they take their seat thinking they have said the last word on the subject, as if it were a very dangerous matter if anyone were detected to be wiser than his ancestors on any point. In fact if those ancestors have instituted some truly excellent policy, we are quite content to dismiss it. But if they might have taken a wiser course on some point, we immediately and eagerly seize the pretext of tradition to maintain it. And I have encountered such arrogant, absurd, and captious judgments often enough in other places, but once even in England.\"\n\n\"What,\" I said, \"you were in our country?\"\n\n\"I was,\" he said, \"and I spent some months there, not long after the revolt of the Englishmen from the west against the king was put down with such a miserable slaughter of the rebels. While there I was much obliged to the most Reverend Father John Morton, Cardinal Archbishop of Canterbury, and at that time also Lord Chancellor of England. He was a man, my dear Peter (for More already knows what I am about to say) no more venerable for his authority than for his prudence and character. He was of medium height, not stooped over though he was of an advanced age. His looks inspired reverence, not fear. In company he was not standoffish, but grave and serious. Sometimes he enjoyed handling suitors roughly, but harmlessly, so as to gauge the intelligence and presence of mind each would display. He was delighted with such qualities, provided they were devoid of all impudence, since they were related to his own character, and he embraced them as valuable in getting things done. His speech was polished and pointed; he was very skilled in the law; his intelligence was incomparable; his memory was so excellent as to be prodigious. These extraordinary natural gifts he had improved by study and practice. The king seemed to rely very much on his advice and while I was there he seemed to be the mainstay of the commonwealth. This was not surprising: thrust immediately from school into the court at a very young age, active in important affairs throughout his life, continually whirled about by violent changes of fortune, he had learned practical wisdom in the midst of many and serious perils, and wisdom so won is not easily forgotten.\n\n\"One day when I happened to be dining at his table, a layman who was skilled in the laws of your country was there. Following up some remark or other, he launched on a elaborate encomium of the rigorous justice which was at that time applied to thieves in England. They were executed everywhere, he said, sometimes as many as twenty at a time hanging on one gallows, and he remarked that he was all the more amazed that the country was cursed to have so many of them prowling about everywhere, since so few escaped punishment. Then I said (and I dared to speak my mind freely in the presence of the Cardinal): 'You should not be at all surprised. For this punishment of thieves is both beyond the limits of justice and not in the public interest. As a punishment for theft it is too harsh, and even so it is not a sufficient deterrent: simple theft is not so serious a crime as to deserve capital punishment, and no penalty is great enough to keep people from stealing if they have no other way to make a living. Thus, in this matter, not only you but most of the world seem to imitate bad teachers who are more eager to beat their pupils than to instruct them. For heavy and horrible punishments are imposed on thieves when it would be much better to make some provision for their livelihood, so that no one should labor under the cruel necessity first of stealing and then of dying for it.'\n\n\" 'We have made sufficient provision for that,' he said. 'There are trades; there is farming. From them they can make a living, as long as they do not willingly prefer to be criminals.'\n\n\" 'You will not get out of it that way,' I said. 'First of all, we will overlook the many soldiers who come home crippled from foreign or domestic wars, as they recently did from the battle against the Cornishmen and not long before that from the French wars. They have sacrificed their limbs for the commonwealth or the king; their disability does not allow them to practice their former trades and they are too old to learn a new one. These,' I said, 'let us overlook, since wars happen only now and then. Let us consider what is never not happening. Now there is a multitude of noblemen who not only live like drones on the labor of others\u2014namely the tenants of their estates whom they bleed white by raising their rents (for this is the only kind of frugality they recognize, and otherwise they are so prodigal as to reduce themselves to beggary)\u2014but they also travel with a huge crowd of retainers, none of whom has ever learned how to make a living. As soon as their master dies or they get sick, they are immediately thrown out. For lords would rather support idle men than invalids, and often the heir of a dying master cannot support a household as large as his father's, at least at first. Meanwhile the outcasts vigorously starve unless they vigorously steal. For what are they to do? After tramping around a bit they will have ruined their clothes and their health. Disfigured as they are by disease and clad in rags, no nobleman will deign to take them in and no farmer dares to do so. For the farmers are not unaware that a person who has been brought up in idle ease and pleasure and who has been used to swaggering about like a bully, girt with sword and buckler, looking down his nose at the whole neighborhood and despising everyone but himself, is hardly likely to be a reliable and faithful servant for a poor farmer, working with hoe and mattock for miserable wages and scanty keep.'\n\n\"To this the lawyer replied, 'But this is precisely the sort of person we should cherish the most. For since they are more high-spirited and lofty-minded than artisans and farmers, they provide the strength and power of an army if we ever have to fight a war.'\n\n\" 'Indeed,' I said, 'you might as well say that we should cherish thieves for the sake of warfare, for you will never lack for thieves as long as you have the retainers. In fact robbers are no slouches as soldiers and soldiers are not the most lethargic of thieves\u2014so finely matched are the two callings. But this problem, though it is widespread among you, is not peculiar to you; it is shared by almost all nations. But France is infected with another pestilence besides, one that is even more virulent: the whole country is occupied and filled with mercenaries, even during peacetime (if it can be called that). Their justification is the same as yours for maintaining idle retainers here: those foolosophers think that the public welfare consists in having strong and stout armed forces in a state of readiness, especially veterans, for they have no confidence in untried troops, just as if they should seek out a war precisely to avoid having inexperienced soldiers, and people should be gratuitously slaughtered (as Sallust nicely puts it) lest hand and spirit should grow sluggish through inactivity. Just how deadly it is to maintain such beasts France has learned to her cost, and the same is made clear by the examples of the Romans, the Carthaginians, and the Syrians, and of many other nations as well: standing armies of mercenaries, on one occasion after another, destroyed not only their government but also their fields and even their cities. How little this was necessary is made clear by the fact that not even French soldiers, thoroughly trained in warfare to their very fingertips, can very often boast that they came off better than your draftees\u2014not to put it more strongly lest I seem to be flattering present company. But your troops, whether urban artisans or rough and untrained farmers, are not thought to be very much afraid of the idle retainers of noblemen, except for some whose physique does not lend itself to strength and boldness or whose brave spirit has been broken by the poverty of their families. There is little enough danger that those retainers whose vigorous and strong bodies (for noblemen do not deign to ruin any but choice physiques) are now either grown flabby with idleness or soft with almost ladylike activities, no danger, I say, that such retainers would be unmanned if they were taught a good craft to earn a living and were exercised in manly labors. However that may be, I certainly do not see that it can ever contribute to the common good to prepare for war (which you never have unless you wish to) by maintaining such a huge crowd of people who undermine the peace, to which we ought to pay so much more attention than to war. But this is not the only problem which makes it necessary to steal. There is another, more peculiar (so far as I know) to you Englishmen.'\n\n\" 'What is that?' said the Cardinal.\n\n\" 'Your sheep,' I said, 'which are ordinarily so meek and require so little to maintain them, now begin (so they say) to be so voracious and fierce that they devour even the people themselves; they destroy and despoil fields, houses, towns. I mean that wherever in the realm finer and therefore more expensive wool is produced, noblemen, gentlemen, and even some abbots (holy men are they), not content with the annual rents and produce which their ancestors were accustomed to derive from their estates, not thinking it sufficient to live idly and comfortably, contributing nothing to the common good, unless they also undermine it, these drones leave nothing for cultivation; they enclose everything as pasture; they destroy homes, level towns, leaving only the church as a stable for the sheep; and as if too little ground among you were lost as game preserves or hunting forests, these good men turn all habitations and cultivated lands into a wilderness. And so that one glutton, a dire and insatiable plague to his native country, may join the fields together and enclose thousands of acres within one hedge, the farmers are thrown out: some are stripped of their possessions, circumvented by fraud or overcome by force; or worn out by injustices, they are forced to sell. One way or another, the poor wretches depart, men, women, husbands, wives, orphans, widows, parents with little children and a household which is numerous rather than rich, since agriculture requires many hands, they depart, I say, from hearth and home, all that was known and familiar to them, and they cannot find any place to go to. All their household furnishings, which could not be sold for much even if they could wait for a buyer, are sold for a song now that they must be removed. They soon spend that pittance in their wanderings, and then finally what else is left but to steal and to hang\u2014justly, to be sure\u2014or else to bum around and beg? For that matter, even as vagrants they are thrown into jail because they are wandering around idly, though no one will hire them, even when they offer their services most eagerly. For since no seed is sown, there is no farm labor, and that is all they are accustomed to. One herdsman or shepherd is sufficient to graze livestock on ground that would require many hands to cultivate and grow crops.\n\n\" 'And for this reason the price of grain has risen sharply in many places. Even the price of wool has gone up so high that poorer people who ordinarily make cloth out of it in this country cannot buy it, and for that reason many of them are out of a job and reduced to idleness. For after pastureland was expanded, huge herds of sheep were carried off by a murrain, as if God were punishing the owners' greed by visiting on the sheep a pestilence which might more justly have been hurled at the heads of their owners. But even if the number of sheep should increase enormously, the price still does not go down, because, though the sellers cannot be said to have a monopoly since more than one is selling, still it is certainly an oligopoly. For the sheep have almost all come into the hands of a few, and these men are so rich that they are under no necessity to sell until they want to, and they do not want to until they get the price they want.\n\n\" 'For the same reason other kinds of livestock are similarly high-priced, and all the more so because, once the farmhouses have been torn down and agriculture neglected, there is no one to see to the breeding of animals. For even those rich landholders do not rear other animals as they do sheep. Rather they buy them lean and cheap in some distant market and then sell them dear after fattening them up in their pastures. And for that reason, I think, the full disadvantage of this system has not yet been felt. I mean that up to now they have raised the prices only in the places where the animals are sold. But when the time comes that they are taken from the breeders faster than they can be bred, then finally the numbers will also gradually decrease where they are bought, so that here also there must needs be a severe shortage. Thus the very feature that seemed to make your island extremely fortunate has been turned into an instrument of its destruction by the wicked greed of a few men. For these high food prices are the reason why everyone dismisses as many as he can from his household\u2014to go where, I ask you, except to go begging or else, as a noble spirit can more easily be persuaded to do, to turn to robbery.\n\n\" 'What shall we say when this miserable poverty and want is coupled with wanton luxury? For the retainers of noblemen, artisans, and one might say even some peasants and, in sum, all classes of society indulge in extravagant sartorial display and excessive, luxurious cuisine. And then the cookshops, the brothels, the bawdy houses, and those other sorts of bawdy houses, the wine bars and alehouses, and then so many crooked games of chance, dice, cards, backgammon, tennis, bowling, quoits, don't all these quickly empty pockets and send their votaries off to rob someone? Get rid of these pernicious plagues, make laws requiring that villages and towns be rebuilt by those who have torn them down or be handed over to those who are willing to restore and rebuild them. Keep the rich from cornering the market and from having a licensed monopoly, as it were. Let fewer people be supported in idleness, let agriculture be restored, let cloth working be reinstated as an honest trade which will give useful employment to this idle mob, whether those whom poverty has already turned into thieves or those who are now vagabonds or idle servants\u2014in either case they will turn out to be thieves.\n\n\" 'Certainly unless you remedy these evils, it is pointless for you to boast of the justice administered in the punishment of thieves, a justice which is specious rather than either just or expedient. In fact when you bring people up with the worst sort of education and allow their morals to be corrupted little by little from their earliest years, and then punish them at last as grown men when they commit the crimes which from childhood they have given every prospect of committing, what else are you doing, I ask you, but making them into thieves and then punishing them for it?'\n\n\"As I was saying this, the lawyer was already getting ready to speak and had decided to employ that common method of disputants who are more diligent in repeating than in replying\u2014so high is their opinion of memory. 'A very fine speech indeed,' he said, 'especially for a stranger who has only had more opportunity to hear about these matters than to get any precise knowledge of them, as I shall make clear in a few words. For first I shall recount in an orderly way what you have said; then I shall show on what points your ignorance of our affairs has misled you; finally, I shall rebut and refute all your arguments. Therefore, to begin with the first task I promised to undertake, you seem to have made four\u2014'\n\n\" 'Be quiet,' said the Cardinal, 'for it seems hardly likely that you will reply in a few words after such a beginning. Hence, for the present we will relieve you of the trouble of replying, but we reserve that whole task for you when you two meet again, which I wish to be tomorrow, if nothing prevents you or Raphael here from meeting then. But meanwhile, my dear Raphael, I would very much like to hear why you think theft should not be punished with execution, or what other punishment you would enact that would contribute more to the common good. For even you do not think we should put up with it. But if people rush into thievery now when it is punishable by death, and then if they could once be sure of their lives, what force, what fear could possibly restrain criminals? They would interpret the mitigation of the punishment almost as an incentive or reward for wrongdoing.'\n\n\" 'Most gracious Father,' I said, 'it seems to me to be entirely and absolutely unjust to take a person's life because he has taken some money. For a human life cannot be equated with the goods of fortune, not even the whole sum of them. But if they say that this punishment is redress not for money but for the transgression of justice or the violation of laws, would it not be right to call this extreme justice extreme injury? For we ought not to approve of legal decrees so Manlian that the slightest infraction causes the sword to be unsheathed nor should we accept the Stoic maxim that all sins are equal, making no distinction between killing a person or stealing a coin from him, for between these two crimes (if fairness means anything at all) there is no similarity or relationship. God forbade us to kill anyone, and are we so ready to kill someone because he has taken a bit of money? But if someone should interpret that command to mean that the power to kill anyone is taken away except when human law declares a person should be killed, what is to prevent human beings from using the same principle to decide to what degree rape, adultery, or perjury are permissible? In fact, God has deprived us of the right to kill not only others but also ourselves, but if the mutual consent of human beings to specific laws allowing them to kill one another has enough force to release their agents from the bonds of God's commandment and enable them, with no precedent from God, to execute anyone condemned to death by human law, will that not mean that God's commandment has only as much force as is granted to it by human law? And indeed on this principle human beings may decide to what degree God's commands are to be observed in all fields. Finally, the law of Moses, though it was harsh and severe because it was made for slaves, and stubborn ones at that, still punished theft with a fine, not death. Let us not think that in his new law of mercy, by which he commands us as a father does his children, God has granted us greater license to be cruel to one another.\n\n\" 'These are the reasons why I think this punishment is wrong. And I think there is no one who does not understand how absurd and even dangerous it is to society to punish theft and murder in the same way. For when a thief sees that he is in no less danger if he is convicted of theft than if he had also been condemned for murder, that consideration alone will drive him to kill someone whom otherwise he would only have robbed. For apart from the fact that there is no more danger if he is caught, murder makes him more safe and gives him a greater hope of concealing his crime, since the witness to it has been eliminated. Thus by using excessively harsh measures to terrify thieves we encourage them to kill the innocent.\n\n\" 'As for the usual question of what punishment would be more advantageous, in my judgment it would be quite a bit easier to find a better one than to find one that is worse. For why should we doubt the utility of that way of punishing criminals which we know was once preferred for so long by the Romans, who were quite expert in the art of governing? Those convicted of serious crimes were condemned to quarry stone or dig out ore, constantly shackled and guarded. But as for me, on this point I reserve my highest approval for the system practiced by a people generally called the Polylerites whom I encountered in the course of my travels in Persia. Their population is not small and their institutions are not lacking in prudence; except that they pay an annual tribute to the king of Persia, they are otherwise free and allowed to make their own laws. But because they are a long way from the ocean and almost entirely surrounded by mountains, and because they are content with the produce of their land, which is by no means infertile, they neither visit others nor are visited very often themselves. In accord with the ancient policy of their country, they do not seek to extend their territory, and what they already have is easily protected by the mountains and the tribute paid to their overlord. They have absolutely no armed forces, their lifestyle is hardly splendid but it is comfortable, and they are happy rather than renowned or illustrious. Indeed, even their name, I think, is not very well known except to their immediate neighbors.\n\n\" 'And so, among them whoever is convicted of theft restores what was taken to its owner, not (as elsewhere) to the prince, for they consider he has no more right to stolen goods than the thief himself. If the goods have been lost, their equivalent is paid from the possessions of the thief, and whatever is left is handed over intact to his wife and children. He himself is condemned to hard labor.\n\n\" 'Moreover, unless the theft was committed with violence, they are not shackled or imprisoned but left free and unconstrained as they work on public projects. Shirkers and slackers are not restrained with shackles but egged on with the lash. If they work energetically, they are subjected to no humiliation; they are locked up in their cells only at nighttime after roll call. Except for constant labor their lives are not uncomfortable. Since they are doing public works they are fed at public expense, and not badly, but in different ways in different places. In some places what is spent on them is collected as alms; and this method, though it is unpredictable, has nevertheless been found to be the most productive because the people there are compassionate. In other places public revenues are set aside for that purpose. There are places where they levy a tax on private individuals to support the prisoners. Actually, in other places they do not do public works, but when a private person needs workmen he goes to the city square and hires some of them for that day at a fixed wage, which is a little less than what a freeman would cost. Moreover, if a slave is lazy it is permissible to whip him. Thus no one ever lacks work. And over and above his keep, each of them brings something into the public treasury every day.\n\n\" 'They are all dressed in one color and they are the only ones who wear it. Their hair is not shaved off but it is clipped a bit short above the ears. A little piece of one ear is cut off. Their friends are allowed to give any of them food, drink, and clothing of the right color. But it is death to give them money, both for the donor and the recipient, nor is it any less dangerous for a freeman to take money from them for any reason whatsoever or for a slave (for that is what they call the convicts) to lay a hand on a weapon. Each district has its own distinguishing badge, which it is a capital crime to throw away, just as it is to be seen outside the district boundaries or to say anything to a slave from another district. To plan an escape is no safer than to attempt it. In fact, to be an accessory to such a plan is death for a slave and enslavement for a freeman. On the other hand, rewards are allotted to informers: for a freeman money, for a slave freedom, and for either one pardon and amnesty for their complicity, to keep it from seeming safer to carry out a criminal plan than to repent of it.\n\n\" 'This law and the system I have described constitute their policy in this matter. It is perfectly obvious how humane and advantageous it is since vengeance is managed in such a way as to eliminate the vice and preserve the person, and to handle him in such a way that he has to be good and will spend the rest of his life making up for the harm he has done. Furthermore, there is so little fear that they will revert to their former ways that travelers who intend to make a journey consider no guides to be safer than these slaves, whom they exchange from district to district. For there is no opportunity whatever to commit robbery: they are unarmed; money is of no use except as evidence of a crime; punishment is in store for them if they are caught; and there is absolutely no hope of escaping anywhere. For how could a person whose clothes are totally different from anyone else's cover up his escape and disguise himself unless he ran away naked? And even then his ear would give him away. But couldn't they at least conspire to overthrow the republic?\u2014that surely is the real danger. As if any district could hope to do so without sounding out and enlisting the slave gangs of many other districts! They are so far from being able to conspire that they cannot even meet or converse or greet one another. And then how can we believe anyone would dare to trust his companions with such a plot, since it is dangerous for them to remain silent and most advantageous to reveal it? On the other hand, if they are patient and obedient, if they give good reason to believe that they will lead reformed lives in the future, none need despair of regaining his freedom; indeed not a year goes by in which some slaves who have recommended themselves by their patience are not reinstated.'\n\n\"When I had said this, and had added that I saw no reason why this system could not be set up also in England, and with much more benefit than the justice which the lawyer had praised so highly, then he (namely the lawyer) said: 'This system could never be established in England without enormous danger to the commonwealth.' As he said this he shook his head, puckered his mouth, and fell silent. And everyone there jumped on his bandwagon.\n\n\"Then the Cardinal said, 'It is not easy to predict whether the outcome would be favorable or not without at least trying it out. But when the death sentence has been pronounced, if the prince were to grant a reprieve without any right of asylum in order to see how the system would work, and then if in fact it turned out to be useful, it would be right to establish it. If not, then thieves who had been condemned earlier could be executed at that time; on the part of the government this would be neither less nor more unjust than immediate execution, and during the trial period it would pose no danger. In fact, it seems clear to me that it would not be a bad idea to treat vagabonds also in the same way, for in spite of the many laws made against them, we have still made no progress.'\n\n\"When the Cardinal had said this, there was no one there who did not vie with the others in praising what they had scorned when I proposed it, but especially the part about the vagabonds because the Cardinal himself had added it on.\n\n\"I do not know whether or not it would be better to say nothing about what happened then, for it was quite silly. But I will tell it anyway, for it was not malicious and it has some bearing on our subject. A certain hanger-on was standing around. It seems he wanted to play the fool, but he did it so well that he seemed to be one, raising a laugh with such witless jokes that the laughter was directed more often at him than at the jokes. But every now and then he came up with something not entirely absurd, so as to confirm the proverb 'Throw the dice often enough and you will sooner or later get a lucky combination.' One of the guests said that in my discourse I had made good provision for thieves and the Cardinal had also taken care of the vagabonds, and now all that remained was to make public provision for those whom disease or old age had rendered destitute and who were incapable of returning to the jobs by which they had earned their living. 'Leave that to me,' said the hanger-on. 'I will see to it that this is also properly taken care of. In fact, I am desperately anxious to ship off this sort of person somewhere out of my sight; they annoy me so much with their wailing and whining and pleas for money, though they can never sing so pretty a tune as to extract a penny from me. Actually, one of two things happens: either I don't want to give them anything or I don't have anything to give. And so they have now begun to get wise. To keep from wasting their effort, they keep silent when they see me passing by. Good lord, they no more hope for anything from me than if I were a priest. I would decree by law that all such beggars be divided up and parceled out among the Benedictine monasteries where they would become lay brothers (as they are called); and the women I would order to become nuns.'\n\n\"The Cardinal smiled and took it as a joke, but the others took it seriously. A certain friar, however, a theologian, was so delighted by a joke aimed at priests and monks that he himself also began to make merry, though he was otherwise so serious as to be almost sour. 'But even this,' he said, 'will not free you from beggars unless you also look out for us friars.'\n\n\" 'But that is already taken care of,' said the hanger-on. 'For the Cardinal looked out for you marvelously well when he proposed that vagabonds should be confined and put to work, for you are the greatest vagabonds of all.'\n\n\"After they all had looked at the Cardinal and saw that he did not reject this joke either, they were not at all loath to enjoy it, all except the friar. Needled in this fashion, he was indignant and furious (nor am I surprised that he was), so much so that he couldn't even refrain from hurling insults. He called the fellow a scoundrel, a backbiter, a sneak, and a son of perdition, all the while citing terrible threats from Holy Scripture. Now the buffoon began to do some serious buffoonery, for he was clearly on his own ground.\n\n\"'Do not grow angry, my good friar,' he said, 'for it is written, \"In your patience you shall possess your souls.\"'\n\n\"The friar replied (and I will give his very own words), 'I am not angry, you jailbird, or at least I do not sin. For the psalmist says, \"Be angry and do not sin.\"'\n\n\"Then the friar was gently advised by the Cardinal to control his emotions, but he said, 'No, my lord, my language springs from nothing but good zeal, as it should, for holy men have had good zeal, whence it is said, \"Zeal for your house has consumed me,\" and we sing in church, \"Those who mock Elisha as he goes up to the house of God feel the zeal of the bald man,\" just as perhaps this mocking and ribald rascal will feel it.'\n\n\" 'Perhaps you are acting out of a laudable feeling,' said the Cardinal, 'but it seems to me that you would act, if not in a holier, then certainly in a wiser way, if you would not put yourself on the level of a fool and set out to cap his absurdities with your own.'\n\n\" 'No, my lord,' he said, 'I would not act more wisely. For Solomon, the wisest of men, says, \"Reply to a fool in accord with his folly,\" as I am now doing, and I am showing him the pit into which he will fall if he does not watch out. For if the multitude which mocked Elisha, who was just one bald man, felt the zeal of the bald man, how much more will be heaped on a single person who mocks a multitude of friars, for many of them are bald. And also we have a papal bull which excommunicates anyone who makes fun of us.'\n\n\"When the Cardinal saw there would be no end to it, he sent the hanger-on away with a motion of his head and opportunely turned the conversation to another subject. A little later he arose from the table and, dismissing us, devoted himself to hearing the petitions of suitors.\n\n\"See, my dear More, how I have burdened you with a long discourse, and I would be quite ashamed of myself for doing so if you had not eagerly importuned me and seemed to listen as if you wanted no detail of this conversation omitted. Though I should have been more brief, still I did at least feel obliged to tell it to show how judiciously they scorned the plan when I proposed it and how the very same persons immediately reversed themselves and approved it when the Cardinal did not disapprove of it. Their flattery of him went so far that they seriously favored and almost accepted the ideas of his hangeron because his master took them as a joke and hence did not scorn them. From this you can judge how high an estimation courtiers would have of me and my advice.\"\n\n\"Indeed, my dear Raphael,\" I said, \"you have given me much pleasure, you told the whole story so judiciously and so deftly. Moreover, while you spoke I seemed not only to have returned to my homeland but also to have grown young again because of fond memories of the Cardinal, in whose household I was educated as a boy. When you honored his memory so highly, you cannot imagine how much dearer you became to me on that account, though you were already most dear. But I am by no means ready to change my mind yet. No, I am convinced if you could bring yourself not to shrink from the courts of princes, you could contribute a great deal to the common good through your advice. No duty of a good man (and you are one, of course) is more important than that. Then too, since your friend Plato thinks that commonwealths will be happy only when philosophers become kings or kings become philosophers, how far will we be from happiness if philosophers will not even deign to impart their advice to kings.\"\n\n\"They are not so disagreeable as that; they would do so gladly. Indeed they have already done so by publishing many books, if those in power were prepared to accept their good advice. But undoubtedly Plato clearly foresaw that unless kings became philosophers, they would never give their approval to the advice of philosophers, because since childhood they have been thoroughly imbued and infected with misguided notions. He also found this out for himself when he was with Dionysius. But don't you think that, if I proposed sound measures to some king and tried to eradicate from his mind the seeds of corruption, I would be banished or held up as a laughingstock!\n\n\"Come now, imagine that I serve the French king and sit in his council chamber, as the king himself presides in a secret session, surrounded by a most judicious circle of advisers who are very eagerly seeking out wiles and stratagems to keep Milan and win back Naples (which is always slipping from his fingers), and then to overthrow Venice and make all of Italy subject to him, and then to bring Flanders, Brabant, and finally all of Burgundy into his control, and other peoples as well, whose realms he has long had it in mind to invade. At this meeting, while one urges that a treaty be struck with Venice, to last only as long as it suits the French, and that the French share their plans with them and even give them some share of the spoils, which they can reclaim when matters have been satisfactorily settled; while another advises them to hire German mercenaries, another to soothe the Swiss with payments of money; someone else, on the other hand, thinks that his divine majesty the emperor ought to be propitiated with a votive offering, as it were, of gold; while another thinks it best to strike a bargain with the king of Aragon, granting him the kingdom of Navarre (which belongs to someone else) as the price of peace; and on the same occasion another suggests that the prince of Castile should be snared by the prospect of a marriage alliance and that some nobles of his court should be brought over to the French side by giving them reliable pensions; when the greatest difficulty of all is encountered, namely what to do in the meantime about England; but they agree that a peace treaty should be negotiated with them, for a weak bond should always be tightened by the strictest terms; let them be called friends but be suspected as enemies; and that therefore the Scots should be stationed in readiness, poised on all occasions to attack immediately if the English make any moves; moreover, that some exiled noblemen be supported secretly (for treaties forbid that it be done openly) who can claim that the kingdom is rightfully his so that the French king will have a rein to check an English king he does not trust\u2014at this council, I say, amidst such a mass of suggestions, surrounded by such distinguished men, all vying to give advice about going to war, if such a nobody as I were to stand up and give an order to tack in a different direction, expressing the opinion that Italy should be ignored and that the king should stay at home, that France is a kingdom so large that it is not easy for one man to rule it (much less should the king imagine he should consider adding others to it); and then if I should put before them the measures adopted by the Achorians, whose country faces the island of Utopia on the southeast side; if I should tell them that they had once fought a war to gain for their king a realm which he claimed to inherit because of some ancient marriage tie, and that, when they finally won it, they saw that they would endure no less suffering in keeping it than they did in gaining it, but rather that the seeds of war were always sprouting up, either rebellion within or incursions from without against the subjected people, so that they were always having to fight either for them or against them; that they never had an opportunity to disband their army, and that at the same time they were being stripped of their resources, their money was being carried out of the country, their blood was being spilled to provide someone else a smidgeon of glory, that they were no safer during peacetime; that at home the war had corrupted morals, imbued the citizens with a lust for robbery, that slaughter in warfare made them completely reckless, that they scorned the laws because the king was so distracted by trying to take care of two kingdoms that he couldn't concentrate on either one. When they saw that otherwise there would be no end to these great troubles, they finally took counsel together and very courteously gave their king the choice of retaining whichever of the kingdoms he wished; but they said he could not have power over both because they were too numerous to be governed by half a king (indeed no one is willing to share even a muledriver with someone else). And so the good prince left his new kingdom to one of his friends (who was soon afterwards banished) and was forced to be content with his old one. Furthermore, if I showed that all these abortive wars, which had thrown so many countries into turmoil for his sake would exhaust his treasury, destroy his people, and in the end still come to nothing through some mishap or other; and that therefore he should care for the kingdom of his ancestors, improve it as much as he could, make it as flourishing as possible; he should love his own and be loved by them; he should live with them, govern them kindly and leave other kingdoms alone, since the kingdom which has fallen to his lot is enough, and more than enough, for him\u2014how do you imagine, my dear More, my listeners would react to this speech?\"\n\n\"Certainly not very favorably,\" I said.\n\n\"Let us proceed, then,\" he said. \"If counsellors were in a discussion with some king or other and were thinking up schemes to fill up his treasury, while one person suggests increasing the value of the currency when the king pays out money and decreasing it exorbitantly when he collects it so that he can discharge a large debt with a little money and collect a great deal when he is owed only a little; while another urges him to pretend he is going to war and to use that pretext to raise money and then, when it suits him, to make peace with religious ceremonies, pulling the wool over the people's eyes and making them think that he is a conscientious, merciful prince who wishes to spare them bloodshed; while another reminds him of certain antiquated, moth-eaten laws, long since fallen into disuse, laws which everyone ignores since no one even remembers that they were passed, and advises that he should therefore enforce them with fines, noting that no source of revenue could be more productive, none more honorable, since it has the appearance of a concern for justice; while another advises him to prohibit many practices with heavy fines, especially those that are contrary to the public interest, noting that later he can make a monetary arrangement with those whose interests are hurt by the laws and that thus he can win the gratitude of the people and make a double profit, first from fining those whom greed has led into his trap and then by selling dispensations to others (the higher the price the better the prince, since he is reluctant to grant a private person the right to obstruct the common good, and therefore does it only for a high price); while someone else persuades him to put pressure on judges to rule in his favor in all cases and advises him to summon them to his palace where they are to discuss his affairs in his own presence, saying that thus no case will seem so flimsy that his judges (whether out of love of contradiction, or a desire to seem original, or a wish to curry favor) cannot, in his presence, find some loophole for a false verdict, noting that when the judges give differing opinions and argue about a case that is as clear as day, the truth can be called into question and the king will have a convenient handle to interpret the law in his own favor, pointing out that the others will acquiesce out of shame or fear and thus the judgment can be fearlessly rendered in court, nor can there be any lack of pretexts for someone ruling in the prince's favor, since he has on his side either equity or the letter of the law or a twisted interpretation of the language, or something that outweighs all laws in the minds of conscientious judges, the indisputable royal prerogative; while everyone agrees completely with that saying of Crassus that no amount of gold is sufficient for a king, since he has to maintain an army, and moreover that a king can do no wrong, no matter how much he wants to, since all the possessions of all his subjects, and even their own persons, belong to him, and since nothing belongs to anyone unless the king graciously refrains from taking it away from him, and that he should leave as little as possible to his subjects since his safety consists in keeping the people from enjoying too much wealth or freedom, which render them less willing to put up with harsh and unjust commands, whereas on the other hand poverty and privation break their spirits and make them patient, depriving the oppressed of the lofty aspirations needed for rebellion; at this point, if I should stand up and contend that all this advice is both dishonorable and harmful to the king, for not only his honor but also his safety depends more on the people's wealth than on his own; if I were to show that the people choose a king for their own sake, not his, since his labor and effort enable them to live in comfort and safety; and that therefore a prince should be more concerned with the welfare of his people than with his own, just as it is the duty of a shepherd, insofar as he is a real one, to feed his sheep and not himself; that experience itself shows how wrong they are in thinking that the poverty of the people is the safeguard of peace, for where can you find more quarrels than among beggars? who is more intent on changing things than someone who is most dissatisfied with his present state in life? or, finally, who is more driven to create a general disturbance in the hope of gaining something than someone who has nothing to lose? But if a king is so scorned and hated by his subjects that he cannot make them do their duty unless he harasses them with maltreatment, plundering, and confiscation and reduces them to poverty, it would certainly be better for him to abdicate his throne than to retain it by methods which may keep the name of authority but have certainly lost all of its majesty, for it does not befit the dignity of a king to rule over beggars but rather over wealthy and happy subjects; that was certainly what was meant by that upright and lofty spirit Fabricius, when he replied that he would rather rule over the rich than be rich himself. Indeed, for one person to wallow in pleasure and luxury while he is surrounded on all sides by grieving and groaning, that is to be the guardian not of a kingdom but of a prison; finally, just as a physician is totally incompetent if he cannot cure a disease except by means of another disease, so too someone who does not know how to improve the lives of citizens except by depriving them of the comforts of life is admitting that he does not know how to rule over a free people; instead he should cure either his sloth or his pride, for these are usually the vices that make his people despise and hate him; he should live harmlessly on his own income, adapt his expenses to his income; he should curb crime and, by educating his people properly, prevent it rather than allow it to increase and then punish it; he should not be hasty to revive laws which are customarily ignored, especially those which are long disused because they were never desirable; he should never take something as a fine which a private person would not be allowed to accept because to do so would be criminal and deceitful. At this point, what if I told them that the Macarians, who are also not very far from the Utopians, have a law requiring their king to swear formally and solemnly on the very first day of his reign that he will never have in his treasury at one time more than a thousand pounds in gold or the equivalent amount of silver? They say that a king who was more concerned about the welfare of his land than about his own wealth made this law to prevent the heaping up of so much treasure as to impoverish his people; for he saw that this amount would be enough either for the king to fight against rebels or for the kingdom to repel a hostile invasion but would be too little to encourage him to invade other countries\u2014and that was the primary reason for making the law. A secondary reason was that he thought it would make enough money available for the ordinary business transactions of the citizens; and since any money which accrues over that limit has to be paid back, he reckoned that a king would not seek out methods of extortion. A king such as this would be feared by malefactors and loved by his law-abiding subjects. If I should obtrude such notions and others like them on persons who are violently opposed to them, don't you suppose they would turn deaf ears as I told my tale?\"\n\n\"Deaf as a post, undoubtedly,\" I said. \"And, by heaven I am not surprised, and, to tell you the truth, I don't think you should obtrude such speeches or give advice which you are certain they will never accept. For how can it do any good or how can such an odd discourse influence the thinking of those whose minds are prejudiced and dead set against such notions? In private conversation with good friends this academic philosophy is not unpleasant. But there is no room for it in the council chambers of kings, where great matters are handled with great authority.\"\n\n\"That is what I said,\" he replied. \"Among princes there is no room for philosophy.\"\n\n\"Yes indeed, there is,\" I said, \"but not for this academic philosophy which considers anything appropriate anywhere. But there is another sort of philosophy better suited to public affairs. It knows its role and adapts to it, keeping to its part in the play at hand with harmony and decorum. This is the sort you should use. Otherwise, during a performance of a comedy by Plautus, when the slaves are joking around together, if you should come out onto the stage dressed like a philosopher and recite the passage from _Octavia_ where Seneca argues with Nero, wouldn't it have been better for you to have a non-speaking part than to jumble together tragedy and comedy by reciting something inappropriate? By hauling in something quite diverse, you would spoil and distort the play then being presented, even if what you add were better in itself. Whatever play is being presented, play your part as best you can and do not disturb the whole performance just because a more elegant play by someone else comes to mind.\n\n\"That's how it is in the commonwealth; that's how it is in the councils of princes. If you cannot thoroughly eradicate corrupt opinions or cure long-standing evils to your own satisfaction, that is still no reason to abandon the commonwealth, deserting the ship in a storm because you cannot control the winds. You should not din into people's ears odd and peculiar language which you know will have no effect on those who believe otherwise, but rather by indirection you should strive and struggle as hard as you can to handle everything deftly, and if you cannot turn something to good at least make it as little bad as you can. For everything will not be done well until all men are good, and I do not expect to see that for quite a few years yet.\"\n\n\"In that way,\" he said, \"I would be doing no more than trying to remedy the madness of others by succumbing to their madness myself. For if I want to tell the truth, then I have to say such things. I do not know whether it is proper for a philosopher to say what is false, but it certainly isn't for me. Though that discourse of mine might perhaps have been irksome and repugnant to them, I do not see why it should seem odd to the point of absurdity. If I were to describe everything Plato imagines in his _Republic_ or what the Utopians do in theirs, these things might be better (as they surely are), but they might still seem strange, because here we have private property and there all things are held in common.\n\n\"As for my speech (except that those who have decided to run headlong down a different path cannot be pleased by someone who calls them back and points out the dangers), but otherwise what was there in it that it is not fitting and even obligatory to say anywhere? Indeed if we are to avoid as odd or absurd everything that has been made to seem alien by the corrupt morals of mankind, we Christians will have to ignore almost all Christ's teachings, and he forbade us to ignore them, so much so that the teachings which he himself whispered in the ears of his disciples, he commanded them to preach openly from the rooftops. And most of his teachings are far more alien to our common customs than that speech of mine was, except that preachers (following your advice, I imagine), whenever mankind refuses to make their behavior conform to the rule of Christ, adapt Christ's teaching to the behavior as if it were a ruler made of lead, so as to make the two match in some way or other. I don't see what good that does except to allow people to be wicked with a better conscience.\n\n\"And that, indeed, is all the good I would do in the councils of princes. For my opinion would either be different, and that would amount to having no opinion at all, or it would be the same, and I would be the abettor, as Terence's Mitio says, of their madness. For I do not see what you mean by that indirect approach of yours which you think enables you to manage things deftly even if you cannot make everything good, and at least make them as little bad as you can. For there is no room there to dissemble or to look the other way: you must approve of advice that is clearly quite bad and subscribe to measures that are utterly pestilential. Anyone who gave faint praise to wicked advice would be taken for a spy or perhaps a traitor. There will be no occasions on which you can do any good, since you have fallen among colleagues who will corrupt the best of men before they themselves will be reformed; either you will be depraved by their evil way of life or, if you remain honest and innocent, you will be made a screen for the wickedness and folly of others. That is how far you are from being able to improve anything by that indirect approach.\n\n\"That is why Plato, in a very elegant simile, explains why wise men are right to refrain from taking on governmental tasks: when they see people rushing out on the streets only to be soaked by never-ending rain and they cannot persuade them to get under a roof and out of the rain, they get under shelter themselves, knowing that they will accomplish nothing by going out except to get drenched together with the rest and considering it sufficient, when they cannot cure the folly of others, at least to remain in safety themselves.\n\n\"But actually, my dear More (to tell you truly what I really think), it seems to me that wherever there is private property, where everything is measured in terms of money, it is hardly ever possible for the common good to be served with justice and prosperity, unless you think justice is served when all the best things go to the worst people or that happiness is possible when everything is shared among very few, who themselves are not entirely happy, while the rest are plunged into misery.\n\n\"Therefore, when I turn over in my mind the most prudent and holy institutions of the Utopians, who have very few laws and yet manage so well that virtue is rewarded and yet, since everything is equalized, everyone has plenty of everything, and then when I contrast their customs with those of other nations, always issuing ordinances but none of them all ever achieving order, where whatever a person can get he calls his own private property, where a mass of laws, enacted day after day, are never enough to ensure that anyone can protect what each calls his own private property or even adequately distinguish it from what belongs to someone else (as can easily be seen from the infinite lawsuits which are always being filed and are never finished), when I consider these things, I say, I have a higher opinion of Plato and I am not surprised that he would not deign to make any laws for people who would not accept laws requiring that all goods be shared equally by all. In his great wisdom he easily foresaw that the one and only path to the welfare of the public is the equal allocation of goods; and I doubt whether such equality can be maintained where every individual has his own property. For where everyone tries to get clear title to whatever he can scrape together, then however abundant things are, a few men divide up everything among themselves, leaving everyone else in poverty. And it usually happens that each sort deserves the lot of the other, since the one is rapacious, wicked, and worthless, and the other is made up of simple, modest men who by their daily labor contribute more to the common good than to themselves.\n\n\"Thus I am firmly persuaded that there is no way property can be equitably and justly distributed or the affairs of mortal men managed so as to make them happy unless private property is utterly abolished. But if it remains, there will also always remain a distressing and unavoidable burden of poverty and anxiety on the backs of the largest and best part of the human race. I grant their misery may be somewhat alleviated but I contend that it cannot be fully eliminated. I mean, if you decreed that no one could own more than a certain amount of land and that there be a legal limit to the money anyone can possess, if some laws were enacted that could keep the prince from being too powerful or the people too headstrong, that would keep offices from being solicited or put up for sale, or keep them from entailing many expenses (for otherwise they provide opportunities to rake in money by fraud and spoliation or it becomes necessary to put rich men in offices which ought to be held by wise men), such laws, I say, could mitigate and alleviate these ills, just as applying continual poultices can relieve the symptoms of sick bodies that are beyond healing. But as long as everyone has his own property, there is no hope whatever of curing them and putting society back into good condition. In fact, while you are trying to cure one part you aggravate the malady in other parts; curing one disease causes another to break out in its place, since you cannot give something to one person without taking it away from someone else.\"\n\n\"Quite the contrary,\" I said, \"it seems to me that no one can live comfortably where everything is held in common. For how can there be any abundance of goods when everyone stops working because he is no longer motivated by making a profit, and grows lazy because he relies on the labors of others. And then, when people are driven by want and there is no law which enables them to keep their acquisitions for their own use, wouldn't everyone necessarily suffer from continual bloodshed and turmoil? Especially when the magistrates no longer have any respect or authority, for I cannot conceive how they could have any among people who are all placed on one level.\"\n\n\"I am not surprised that you think so,\" he said, \"since you have no conception of the matter, or only a false one. But if you had been with me in Utopia and had seen their customs and institutions in person as I did (for I lived there more than five years, and I would never have wanted to leave except to reveal that new world to others) you would quite agree that you had never seen a people well governed anywhere but there.\"\n\n\"But you would surely have a hard time persuading me,\" said Peter Giles, \"that a better governed people can be found in that new world than in the one we know, since our intellects are no worse than theirs and our governments are older, I imagine, than theirs, so that long experience has brought to light many features which make our lives more comfortable, to say nothing of some things we have discovered by chance which no amount of ingenuity would have sufficed to invent.\"\n\n\"As for the antiquity of governments,\" said Raphael, \"you could give a more accurate judgment if you had read through the histories of that world: if they are trustworthy, there were cities there before there were people here. As for what ingenuity has invented or chance revealed up till now, that could have happened in either place. But certainly I think that even though we may surpass them in intelligence, they still leave us far behind in diligence and zeal to learn.\n\n\"According to their chronicles before we landed there they had never heard anything about us Ultra-equatorials (for that is what they call us) except that some twelve hundred years ago a ship was driven to Utopia by a storm and shipwrecked there. Some Romans and Egyptians were cast upon the shore and never left there again. Notice how their diligence turned this single occasion to their advantage. There was no useful skill in the whole Roman empire which they did not learn from the explanations of the strangers or did not manage to discover from the hints and clues they were given. Such was the enormous gain they made on this one occasion when some men from here were driven to their shores. But if a similar accident ever brought one of them from there to here, the incident has been completely forgotten, just as posterity perhaps will also forget that I was once there. One meeting alone was enough for them to appropriate all of our useful inventions, but I think it will be a long time before we will accept any institution of theirs which is better than ours. And I think that is the only reason why they manage their affairs more prudently and live more happily than we do, though we are not inferior to them in intelligence or resources.\"\n\n\"Therefore, my dear Raphael,\" I said, \"I beg and implore you, describe the island to us. And do not try to be brief but explain in order their fields, rivers, cities, population, customs, institutions, laws, and, in short, whatever you think we would want to know. And you should think we want to know whatever we don't know yet.\"\n\n\"There is nothing I would rather do,\" he said, \"for I have all this at my fingertips. But it will take some free time.\"\n\n\"Then let us go inside to eat lunch,\" I said. \"Afterwards we will take as much time as we want.\"\n\n\"Agreed,\" he said. And so we went in to eat lunch. After lunch we came back to the same place and sat down on the same bench, and having instructed the servants that we were not to be interrupted, Peter Giles and I urged Raphael to keep his promise. When he saw that we were attentive and eager to hear, he sat there quiet and thoughtful for a little while, and then began as follows.\n\nTHE END OF THE FIRST BOOK\nThe Discourse of Raphael Hythloday \non the Best Form of a Commonwealth\n\nas Reported by \nThomas More, Undersheriff of London\n\n## BOOK 2\n\nThe island of the Utopians is two hundred miles across in the middle, where it is widest, and throughout most of the island it is not much narrower, but toward both ends it narrows a bit. These ends, curling around into a circle with a circumference of five hundred miles, make the whole island look like a new moon. The sea flows in between the horns through a strait about eleven miles wide and then spreads out into a huge empty space protected from the wind on all sides, like an enormous, smooth, unruffled lake; thus almost the whole inner coast serves as a harbor and allows ships to go from shore to shore in all directions, much to the advantage of the people. The jaws of the strait are dangerous, on one side because of shallows, on the other because of rocks. In just about the middle of the channel, one rock stands out, visible and hence harmless; they have built and garrisoned a tower on it. The other rocks are hidden and treacherous. The channels are known only to the Utopians themselves, and hence it hardly ever happens that a foreigner enters the bay without a Utopian pilot. Indeed they themselves find it hard to enter it safely, except that they set their course by means of some signals on the shore. By moving these to different locations, they can easily lure an enemy fleet to shipwreck, no matter how large it is.\n\nMAP OF UTOPIA, \nWOODCUT FROM THE NOVEMBER 1518 EDITION \n(Beinecke Rare Book and Manuscript Library, Yale University)\n\nOn the outside coast there are not a few ports. But everywhere the landing places are so well defended, either naturally or artificially, that a few troops can keep a huge army from coming ashore. According to report, however (and the appearance of the place bears it out), their land was once not surrounded by the ocean. But Utopus, who conquered the island and named it after himself (for before that time it had been called Abraxa) and who brought its crude and rustic mob to a level of culture and humanity beyond almost all other mortals, after he won the victory at his first assault, had a channel cut fifteen miles wide at the point where the land adjoined the continent, and thus caused the sea to flow all around the land. And since he set not only the inhabitants to this task but also employed his own soldiers (to keep the inhabitants from thinking the work was imposed on them as a humiliation), the labor was shared by a great multitude of workers and was finished in an incredibly short time, so that the neighboring peoples (who at first ridiculed the project as silly) were overwhelmed with wonder and fear.\n\nThe island has fifty-four cities, all of them large and splendid and having exactly the same language, customs, institutions, and laws. They have the same layout and they look the same, insofar as the terrain allows. Those which are closest to each other are separated by twenty-four miles. None is so isolated that it is more than a day's journey on foot from another city. Every year each city sends three old and experienced citizens to Amaurot to discuss problems common to the whole island. For that city, which is located at the navel of the land, so to speak, and hence is most convenient as a meeting place for the delegates from everywhere, is the capital and chief city.\n\nThe land is so well distributed that no city has less than twelve miles of ground on all sides, though it may have much more in some directions, namely where the cities are furthest apart from one another. None of them is driven by any desire to extend its boundaries. Indeed, whatever land they have, they consider themselves its tenant-farmers, not its landlords. In the countryside, throughout the fields, they have conveniently located houses, each provided with farming tools. They are inhabited by the citizens, who take turns going out to live there. No country household has fewer than forty men and women, besides the two slaves bound to the land; it is presided over by a master and mistress who are sober and mature. Every thirty households are ruled by one phylarch. Every year twenty from each household return to the city, having fulfilled their two-year stint in the country. They are replaced by twenty substitutes from the city, who are to be trained by those who have already been there a year and hence are more skilled in farmwork; the substitutes themselves will train another group the following year, for if everyone were new and equally ignorant of farming, the crops would suffer from lack of skill. Although this system of exchanging farmers is customary, to keep anyone from being forced to live this hard life for a long time, nevertheless many who have a natural bent for agricultural pursuits apply for and are allowed additional years.\n\nThey farm the land, raise cattle, cut wood, and convey it to the cities by the most convenient route, whether by sea or by land. They raise a huge number of chickens, and they have a marvelous method of doing it. The hens do not sit on the eggs. For the Utopians themselves tend a great number of eggs, keeping them alive and hatching them them in constant warmth. As soon as the chicks emerge from the shell, they recognize and follow human beings around as if they were their mothers.\n\nThey raise very few horses and none but high-spirited ones, which serve no other purpose than the training of young people in horsemanship. For ploughing and hauling they use oxen; they grant that they are inferior to horses in short sprints, but they consider them superior over the long haul and less subject to diseases; moreover, they require less effort and expense to maintain, and when they have served out their term, they can be used for food.\n\nGrain they use only for bread. For they drink either wine made from grapes or cider made from apples or pears or else plain water, which they often boil with honey or licorice, of which they have plenty. Although they know (and they know it very well) how much produce is needed by a city and its surrounding population, they plant far more grain and raise far more cattle than they need for their own use, giving the surplus to their neighbors. All the supplies that are necessary but not available in the country they get from the city, giving nothing in exchange; the city magistrates provide them the goods with no bargaining. For every month many of them gather there on the feast day. On the day of harvesting, the phylarchs of the farmers inform the city magistrates how many citizens should be sent out; since they arrive at precisely the right time, such a large crowd of workers gets the harvest almost completely done in one day if they have good weather.\n\n### THEIR CITIES, ESPECIALLY AMAUROT\n\nIf you know one of their cities, you know them all, so similar are they in all respects (so far as the terrain allows). And so I will describe one of them (it doesn't much matter which one). But why choose any one except Amaurot? For it is the most notable and takes precedence over the others because the senate meets there; and no other is better known to me, since I lived there for five whole years.\n\nAmaurot, then, is situated on the gentle slope of a mountain; its shape is almost square. Beginning almost at the crest of the hill, it stretches two miles down to the river Anyder; its width is slightly greater along the river than it is at the hilltop. The source of the Anyder is eighty miles above Amaurot, a small spring which is amplified by tributaries, two of them sizeable, until, when it reaches the city itself, it is five hundred yards wide. Then for sixty miles it flows on, getting wider and finally flowing into the ocean. In the space between the city and the coast, and also for some miles above the city, the tide flows and ebbs for six whole hours in a swift current. Seawater flows in to a point thirty miles upstream, filling the whole channel of the Anyder and driving the river water upstream. It also makes the water salty somewhat higher up; from there the river gradually grows fresh and it is pure when it flows by the city. And at ebb tide it flows pure and fresh nearly all the way to the mouth of the river.\n\nThe city is connected to the opposite bank of the river by a bridge made not of pilings and planks but of beautifully arched stonework; it is placed at a point furthest from the sea so that ships can sail unobstructed along that whole side of the city. They also have another stream, not large but very gentle and pleasant, which gushes from a spring on the same mountain where the city is located; it flows down through the middle of the city into the Anyder. The Amaurotians have fortified the head and spring of this stream, which is located a little outside the city, surrounding it with walls that link it to the city, so that if an enemy ever attacks them, the water cannot be diverted or contaminated. From this stream the water is channeled in tile conduits to the various districts in the lower parts of the city. Where the terrain makes this impossible, rainwater collected in large cisterns serves the same purpose.\n\nThe city is surrounded by a high, thick wall with many towers and bastions. On three sides the wall is surrounded by a moat that is dry but wide and deep and blocked by thorn hedges; on the fourth side the river itself serves as a moat. The streets are laid out to facilitate traffic and to offer protection from the wind. The buildings are by no means ugly; the houses extend in a continuous row along the whole block, facing the row on the other side of the street; the housefronts along each block are separated by a street twenty feet wide. Behind the houses, a large garden, as long on each side as the block itself, is hemmed in on all sides by the backs of the rowhouses.\n\nThere is no house which does not have a door opening on the street and a backdoor into the garden. The double doors, which open easily with a push of the hand and close again automatically, allow anyone to come in\u2014so there is nothing private anywhere. For every ten years they exchange the houses themselves by drawing lots. The Utopians place great stock by these gardens; in them they grow vines, fruit trees, herbs, and flowers, all so bright and well tended that I have never seen anything more flourishing and elegant. In gardening they are motivated not only by their own pleasure but also by competition among the various blocks to see which has the best garden. And certainly you will not easily find any feature of the whole city that is of greater use to the citizens or gives them more pleasure. For that reason the founder of the city seems to have devoted more attention to these gardens than he did to anything else.\n\nFor they say that in the very beginning Utopus himself laid out the whole plan of the city. But he left it to succeeding ages to complete the adornment and landscaping that could not be completed during one lifetime. Thus in their annals, which have been diligently and scrupulously kept up since the island was captured 1,760 years ago, it is recorded that at first their dwellings were humble, mere huts and shacks, built of wood gathered at random, the walls plastered with mud. The roofs came to a point and were thatched with straw. But now all houses have a handsome appearance and are built three stories high. The outer sections of the walls are made of fieldstone, quarried rock, or brick, and the space between is filled up with gravel and cement. The roofs are flat and are coated with a sort of plaster which is not expensive but is formulated so as to be fireproof and more weather-resistant than lead. They commonly use glass (which is very plentiful there) to keep out the wind; sometimes they also use thin linen, soaked in clear oil or treated with resin\u2014a method which has two advantages: it lets in more light and keeps out more drafts.\n\n### THEIR MAGISTRATES\n\nEvery year each group of thirty families elects its magistrate, who in their ancient language was called a syphogrant but is known as a phylarch in the modern tongue. Ten syphogrants with their households are presided over by an official once called a tranibor, now known as a protophylarch. Finally, all the syphogrants, who number two hundred, having sworn to choose the person they consider the most capable, elect the ruler by secret ballot, choosing him from the four candidates named by the people. For each of the four quarters of the city names one person and proposes him to the senate. The ruler remains in office for life, unless his tenure is interrupted because he is suspected of trying to become a tyrant. They elect the tranibors every year, but they do not lightly change them. All the other magistrates hold office for one year.\n\nEvery third day, and sometimes oftener if circumstances require it, the tranibors gather to advise the ruler. They make decisions about public affairs; if there are any disputes among private persons (and there are very few) they settle them in a timely fashion. They always invite two syphogrants into the senate, different ones on every occasion; and they have provided that no measures concerning public affairs be adopted unless they have been discussed in the senate three days before a decision is reached. To enter into schemes concerning affairs of state outside the senate or public assemblies is a capital crime. These measures were taken, they say, to make it hard for the ruler and the tranibors to conspire to change the form of government and set up a tyranny over the people. And for the same reason matters of great moment are presented at the assemblies of the syphogrants, who report the matter to the households, take counsel among themselves, and report their recommendations to the senate. Sometimes a matter will be referred to the council of the whole island.\n\nThen, too, the senate has a rule that no point is discussed on the same day it is brought up, but rather it is put off till the next meeting; they do this so that someone who blurts out the first thing that occurs to him will not proceed to think up arguments to defend his position instead of looking for what is of use to the commonwealth, being willing to damage the public welfare rather than his own reputation, ashamed, as it were, in a perverse and wrong-headed way, to admit that his first view was short-sighted. From the start such a person should have taken care to speak with deliberation rather than haste.\n\n### OCCUPATIONS\n\nFarming is the one occupation in which all of them are skilled, men and women alike. They are all trained in it from childhood on, partly by instruction in the classroom, partly by being taken out to play at it, as it were, in the fields near the city, not merely looking on but doing the work themselves for bodily exercise.\n\nBesides farming (which, as I said, is common to all of them) everyone is taught some trade of his own. The ordinary ones are working with wool or linen or laboring as a stone mason, blacksmith, or carpenter. No other trade there employs any number worth mentioning. As for their clothing\u2014which is uniform throughout the island for all age groups and varies only to indicate sex or marital status, and which is not unappealing to the eye, allows freedom of movement, and is adapted to either heat or cold\u2014as for their clothing, I say, each household makes its own.\n\nEverybody learns one or the other of these trades, including women as well as men. But women, as the weaker sex, engage in lighter crafts, mostly working with wool or linen. The other trades, which require more strength, are relegated to the men. Generally children take up their father's trade, for most are naturally inclined to it. But if anyone is drawn to another occupation, he is transferred by adoption into another household where he can work at the trade he wants to pursue. The move is supervised not only by his father but also by the magistrates, to make sure the master of his adoptive household is respectable and responsible. Actually, if someone has mastered one trade and wants to learn another besides, he gets permission to do so by the same procedure. When he has mastered both, he practices whichever he wants to, unless the city has a greater need for the other.\n\nThe chief and practically the only function of the syphogrants is to take care and see to it that no one lounges around in idleness but rather that everyone practices his trade diligently, but not working from early morning till late at night, exhausted by constant labor like a beast of burden. For such grievous labor is fit only for slaves, and yet almost everywhere it is the way workmen live, except in Utopia. Dividing the day and night into twenty-four equal hours, they devote only six to work, three before noon, when they go to lunch. After lunch they take two hours of rest in the afternoon, then three more given over to work, after which they have dinner. Counting the first hour after noon as ending at one o'clock, it is eight o'clock when they go to bed. Sleep takes up eight hours.\n\nThe intervals between work, meals, and sleep they are allowed to spend however they like, provided that the time they have free from work is not wasted in debauchery and idleness but spent well in some other pursuit, according to their preference. Many devote these intervals to intellectual activities. For every day they have regular lectures in the hours before dawn; attendance is required only from those who have been specially chosen to devote themselves to learning. But a great number of men, and also women, from all orders of society flock to hear these lectures, some one sort, some another, as each is naturally inclined. But if someone wishes to spend this same time practicing his trade (as do many whose temperaments are not suited to any abstract discipline), they are quite free to do so; indeed they are also praised for doing so, since their labor contributes to the common good.\n\nAfter dinner they devote one hour to recreation, during the summer in the gardens, during the winter in the common rooms where they have their meals. There they either play music or entertain themselves with conversation. They do not so much as know about dice and other such pointless and pernicious games, but they do play two games not unlike chess. In one of them numbers fight against each other, one taking over the other; in the other game virtues are lined up in a battlefront against the vices. This game shows very cleverly both how the vices fight among themselves but join forces against the virtues, and also which vices are opposed to which virtues, what forces they bring to bear openly, what instruments they use to attack indirectly, what defenses the virtues use to fend off the forces of the vices, how they evade their assaults, and finally by what methods one side or the other wins the victory.\n\nBut at this point, it is necessary to examine the matter in more detail to avoid making a mistake. If only six hours are devoted to work, you might think that there would necessarily be some shortage of supplies. But that is so far from being true that six hours is not only enough to produce abundantly all the necessities and comforts of life but is even more than enough. This you, too, will understand if you consider what a large part of the population in other countries live their lives in idleness. First, almost all the women do, and they make up almost half the population. Or in places where the women work, the men take their place and lie around snoring. Add to that the huge idle crowd of priests and religious, as they are called. Throw in all the rich, especially the landlords of estates who are commonly called gentlemen and nobles. Include with them their retainers, that rank cesspool of worthless swashbucklers. Add, finally, the strong and sturdy beggars who feign some disease as a pretext for their idleness. You will certainly find that it takes far fewer than you thought to produce everything that mortals use.\n\nNow consider how few of these workers are occupied in necessary trades, since, where money is the measure of everything, many completely futile and superfluous crafts must be practiced just to support over-indulgence and wanton luxury. Now if that same crowd who are presently working were divided up among the few trades needed to produce the few commodities that nature requires, the resulting abundance of goods would drive prices down so low that craftsmen could not make a living. But if all those who work away at pointless tasks and, together with them, that whole crowd of lazy, languid idlers (any single one of whom consumes twice as much as any of the workers who produce the goods), if they all were put to work\u2014and useful work at that\u2014you can easily see how little time would be enough and more than enough time to produce all the goods required for human needs and conveniences\u2014and pleasures, too, as long as they are true and natural ones.\n\nAnd this very point is confirmed by the experience of the Utopians. For there, in the whole city and the surrounding territory, out of all the men and women who are old enough and strong enough to work, barely five hundred are exempted from work. Among them the syphogrants, who are legally relieved from work, nevertheless do not exempt themselves; they work so as to motivate others to work by giving a good example. The same immunity is enjoyed by those to whom the people give total leisure to pursue various branches of learning, but only after the priests have recommended them and the syphogrants have chosen them by a secret ballot. If any of them disappoints the hopes they had in him, he is put back to work; and on the other hand, it happens, not infrequently, that an artisan, devoting his free time to intellectual pursuits, works so diligently and makes such progress that he is exempted from working at his trade and promoted to the scholarly class. From this order of scholars are chosen ambassadors, priests, tranibors, and finally the ruler himself, who was called Barzanes in their ancient language, but is named Ademus in the modern tongue. The remaining group, which is neither idle nor devoted to useless trades, is so large that it is easy to imagine how many goods they produce in so few hours.\n\nApart from what I have just said, they have it easier because in most of the necessary trades they do not need to expend as much labor as in other nations. First of all, building or repairing structures everywhere else requires the continuous effort of so many workers for the simple reason that what a father has built his worthless heir allows to fall gradually into disrepair. Thus what could have been maintained with a minimum of effort has to be totally rebuilt, at great expense, by the next heir. Moreover, it often happens that a house that cost someone enormous sums to build seems contemptible to someone of more fastidious taste; after a short time it falls into ruin through neglect and the owner builds another house somewhere else, at no less expense. But among the Utopians, from the time when everything was settled and the commonwealth was established, it very rarely happens that a new site is chosen on which to build houses; and they not only repair damage quickly when it happens but they take preventive measures against it. The result is that their buildings last a very long time and require very little work, and sometimes construction workers have so little to do that they are set to shaping timbers or squaring and fitting stones at home, so that if they ever need to build anything, it can be constructed more quickly.\n\nNow as for their clothing, notice how little labor it requires. First of all, at work they wear informal garments made of leather or skins which last for seven years. When they go out in public they put on cloaks which cover these rough clothes; throughout the island they are all of the same color, that of the natural wool. Thus they not only get along with much less woolen cloth than anywhere else, but it also costs much less. But linen is easier to work and hence they use more of it; they are concerned only about the whiteness of linen and the neatness of wool, for they place no value on fineness of weave. The result is that in other places four or five woolen cloaks and the same number of silk shirts are not enough for one person, and if he is a bit fastidious, not even ten will do, but there everybody is content with one, which generally lasts for two years. Naturally there is no reason why he should want any more, for if he got them he would have no more protection against the cold, and his clothing would not look the least bit more fashionable.\n\nTherefore, since everyone is employed in a useful trade and the trades themselves require less labor, the result is a great abundance of everything, so that sometimes they bring out an enormous number of people to repair the public roads, if any have deteriorated. It happens very often, when there is no occasion even for that kind of work, that they publicly decree a shorter workday. For the magistrates do not compel anyone to engage in superfluous labor against his will, since the structure of the commonwealth is primarily designed to relieve all the citizens from as much bodily labor as possible, so that they can devote their time to the freedom and cultivation of the mind. For that, they think, constitutes a happy life.\n\n### SOCIAL RELATIONS\n\nNow is the time, I think, to explain how they treat each other, how they interact with one another, and what system they have for distributing goods.\n\nAnd so, while the city is made up of households, the households themselves consist mostly of blood relatives. Girls, when they grow up and marry, move into the dwellings of their husbands. But sons and, after them, grandsons remain in the household and are subject to the oldest parent, unless his mind is failing because of old age; in that case he is replaced by the next oldest. But to keep the city from being either over- or underpopulated, they see to it that no household (and each city, apart from its territory, has six thousand of them) has fewer than ten or more than sixteen adults. For it is not possible to set a limit for children. This limit is easily maintained by transferring persons from households with too many people to those with too few. But if it should happen that the whole city grows too large, they use the excess to supply underpopulated cities. But if it should happen that throughout the island the whole mass of the population should swell inordinately, they sign up citizens from each city and send them as colonists to live under their own laws on the nearest part of the continent, wherever the natives have a lot of land left over and uncultivated; they adopt any natives who choose to live with them. Assenting willingly to the same style of life and the same customs, the natives are easily assimilated, and that to the advantage of both groups. For by means of their institutions the Utopians make the land easily support both peoples, whereas before it provided a meager and skimpy living for only one. The natives who refuse to live under their laws are driven out of the territory the Utopians have marked off for their use; if they resist, the Utopians make war against them. For they think it is quite just to wage war against someone who has land which he himself does not use, leaving it fallow and unproductive, but denying its possession and use to someone else who has a right, by the law of nature, to be maintained by it. If any of their cities is ever accidentally so reduced in population that they cannot replenish it from other parts of the island and still keep the full quota in those cities (which they say has only happened twice in their whole history because of a virulent plague), then they resupply it with citizens immigrating from a colony. For they would rather allow the colonies to disappear than let any of the cities on the island shrink in size.\n\nBut, to return to the citizens' way of life, the oldest man, as I said, presides over a household. Wives serve their husbands and children their parents, and generally the younger serve the older. Each city is divided into four equal districts. In the middle of each district is a marketplace for all sorts of commodities. The products of each household are taken to designated houses there and each kind of goods is separately stored in a warehouse. From them each head of household goes to get whatever he and his household need, and he takes away whatever he wants, paying no money and giving absolutely nothing in exchange for it. For why should he be denied anything, since there is plenty of everything and no one need fear that anyone would want to ask for more than he needs? For why should anyone be suspected of asking for too much if he is certain he will never lack for anything? Certainly fear of want makes all kinds of animals greedy and rapacious, but only mankind is made so by pride, which makes them consider their own glory enhanced if they excel others in displaying superfluous possessions; in the Utopian scheme of things there is no place at all for such a vice.\n\nAdjoining the marketplaces I mentioned are food markets, to which vegetables, fruit, and bread are brought, and also fish and edible birds and beasts are conveyed from designated places outside the city where there is a stream to wash away refuse and offal. From here they bring the cattle which have been slaughtered and cleaned by the hands of bondsmen. For they do not allow their own citizens to become accustomed to butchering animals; they think that to do so gradually eliminates compassion, the finest feeling of human nature. They do not allow anything filthy or foul to be brought into the city, for air tainted by such rottenness might engender disease.\n\nFurthermore, each block has spacious halls located at equal intervals, each known by its own name. The syphogrants look after them, and to each of them are assigned thirty families (namely fifteen on either side) who eat their meals there. Stewards from each hall gather in the market at a designated hour and get food according to the number of mouths they have to feed.\n\nBut their first priority is the sick, who are cared for in public hospitals. They have four of them on the outskirts of the city, a little outside the walls; they are as capacious as four little towns so that no matter how many people are sick they do not need to be crowded uncomfortably together, and so that those who have contagious diseases that can be transferred from one person to another can be kept at a distance from the main body of the patients. These hospitals are so equipped and provided with everything that promotes health, the care provided in them is so gentle and solicitous, the doctors who are in constant attendance are so skilled that, although no one is sent there against his will, there is still almost no one in the whole city who would not rather be lodged there than at home when he is in failing health.\n\nAfter the stewards of the hospitals have received the food prescribed by the physicians, the best of what is left is divided equitably among the halls, according to the number fed by each one, except that they pay special attention to the ruler, the high priest, and the tranibors, and also to ambassadors and all foreigners (if there are any, for they are few and far between); but when there are any, designated residences are furnished and prepared for them. At the times fixed for lunch and dinner, the whole syphograncy, alerted by the blast of a bronze trumpet, convenes in these halls, except for those who are bedridden in the hospitals or at home. Nevertheless, no one is forbidden to take home food from the marketplace once the halls have been supplied with their quotas, for they know that no one would lightly choose to do so; though no one is prohibited from eating at home, still no one does it willingly, for it is not considered proper and it would be foolish to go to the trouble of preparing an inferior meal at home when a splendid and sumptuous one is ready and waiting in a hall nearby.\n\nIn this hall slaves perform all the chores which are somewhat heavy or dirty. But the women are solely responsible for preparing and cooking the food and making arrangements for the whole meal, each household taking its turn. They sit at three tables or more, according to the number of diners. The men sit with their backs to the wall, the women on the outside, so that if they should suddenly feel ill, as happens, sometimes, when they are pregnant, they can get up and go out to the nurses without disturbing the seating arrangement.\n\nThe nurses are seated separately with the nursing infants in a little room assigned to them; it never lacks a fire and clean water and also cradles so that when they want they can either lay them down or take off their swaddling clothes and let them refresh themselves by playing freely. Every mother nurses her own child unless death or disease prevents it. When that happens, the wives of the syphogrants immediately find a nurse, and that is not hard to do. For those who can are more than willing because everyone praises their compassion and the infant who is brought up this way takes the nurse as its natural mother.\n\nChildren who are under five sit in the nurses' den. Other minors, among whom they include members of both sexes who are not yet old enough to marry, either serve the diners, or, if they are too young and not strong enough for that, stand by\u2014and that in absolute silence. Both groups eat what is handed to them by those seated at table, nor is any other time set aside for them to eat.\n\nThe syphogrant and his wife sit at the head table, which is the place of honor and overlooks the whole assembly, since it is placed crosswise in the highest part of the chamber. Next to them sit two of the oldest persons, for they sit in groups of four at all the tables. But if a church is located in that syphograncy, the priest and his wife sit with the syphogrant so as to preside. On both sides of them sit younger people, and then older people again, and so on throughout the whole hall. And so people sit with their coevals, and yet they are mixed in with a different age group. They say that this arrangement was adopted so that the dignity of the elders and the respect due them would keep the young people from indulging in improper language or behavior, since nothing can be done or said at table which would escape the notice of the persons sitting nearby on all sides.\n\nThe dishes of food are not served to the highest places and then downward to the others, but rather the choicest pieces are served first to the old people (whose places are marked) and then equitable shares are served to the rest. But some of the delicacies which are not in sufficient supply to be distributed to the whole hall are given by the old people, as they see fit, to those sitting near them. Thus respect for the elders is maintained and yet everyone has the same advantage from it.\n\nLunch and dinner always begin with some reading that concerns morals, but it is brief lest it be tedious. Taking off from this, the elders begin the discussion, but not in a gloomy and sour fashion. And they do not take up the whole meal with long disquisitions. No, they would much rather listen to the young people, and they even deliberately challenge them so as to learn about the temperament and intelligence of each of them as revealed in the free give and take of tabletalk.\n\nLunches are quite brief, dinners more ample because the one is followed by work and the other by rest and sleep during the night, which they think contribute more to good digestion. They never dine without music and after dinner they never lack for tasty desserts. They light incense and sprinkle perfumes and spare no effort to cheer up the diners. For they tend to incline to the position that no kind of pleasure ought to be forbidden as long as no harm comes of it.\n\nThis is the way they live in the city. But in the country, since they live far apart, they all eat in their own homes. No household has any shortage of food, since, after all, everything eaten by the city-dwellers comes from the farmers.\n\n### HOW THE UTOPIANS TRAVEL\n\nIf someone wants to visit friends who live in another city or is simply taken with a desire to see the place, he easily gets the permission of his syphogrant and tranibor unless a necessary job keeps him from going. He is sent out as part of a group, with a letter from the ruler which grants them permission and sets the day they must be back. They are provided with a carriage and a public slave to drive the oxen and take care of them. But unless there are women in the group, they leave the carriage behind as more of a hindrance than a help. Throughout the whole journey they carry nothing with them; yet they lack for nothing and are at home everywhere. If they stay anywhere longer than one day, each of them works at his trade and is treated very kindly by his fellow craftsmen.\n\nIf someone takes it upon himself to wander outside his territory, when he is caught without the ruler's passport, he is treated with contempt, brought back as a runaway, and severely punished. If he dares to repeat the offense, he is punished with slavery. But if someone is taken with a longing to wander through the fields belonging to his own city, he is not prohibited from doing so, as long as he gets his father's permission and his wife's consent. But wherever he goes in the countryside, he is not given any food until he has done the work allotted to the morning or however much work is usually done there before dinner. Under this regulation he is allowed to go anywhere within the boundaries of his city's territory, for he will be no less useful to the city than if he were in it.\n\nSo you see that nowhere is there any chance to be idle; there is no excuse for laziness, no wine taverns, no alehouses, no brothels, no occasion to be corrupted, no hideouts, no hangouts. With the eyes of everyone upon them, they have no choice but to do their customary work or to enjoy pastimes which are not dishonorable. Such behavior on the part of the people is bound to produce an abundance of everything. And when it is distributed equitably to everyone, it follows that no one can be reduced to poverty or forced to beg.\n\nIn the senate at Amaurot (to which, as I said before, three representatives come every year from each city), once they have determined what surpluses are at hand in each place and what places have shortages, they immediately make up the deficiencies of the one with the excess supplies of the other, and they provide them as a free gift, receiving nothing in return from those to whom they gave them. But if they gave something to a city and received nothing in return, they also get what they need from some other city and pay nothing for it. Thus the whole island is like one household.\n\nWhen they have enough provisions for themselves (which they do not think they do unless they have provided for two years, since the next year's outcome is uncertain), they export to other countries vast quantities of grain, honey, wool, linen, timber, red and purple dye, fleece, wax, tallow, leather, and also livestock. They give one-seventh of all this to the poor in that country and sell the rest at a moderate price. In exchange they not only acquire goods they do not have at home (they lack almost nothing except iron) but also they bring back to their homeland enormous quantities of silver and gold. They have continued this practice for such a long time that they now have everywhere a greater supply of those metals than you would think possible. Hence they do not much care whether they are paid in cash or credit, and they accept promissory notes for most of what is owed them, but never from private persons; instead they make the usual legal documents binding on the city government. When the loan comes due, the city requires it to be paid by the private debtors and puts it in the public treasury; then the city enjoys the use of it until the Utopians call it in. For the most part they never do, since they think it is hardly right to claim what is of no use to them from those who have a use for it. But if circumstances require that they lend part of it to another nation they call it in, or when they are obliged to go to war; that is the only reason they keep all of the treasure which they have at home, as protection against extreme danger or sudden emergencies. They use it especially to pay enormous wages to foreign mercenaries, whom they would much rather expose to danger than their own citizens. They are also aware that with large sums of money even the enemies themselves can be bought and set against one another, either through treason or open hostilities.\n\nThis is the reason they reserve such an incalculable treasure, although they do not keep it as treasure but in a form I am really ashamed to tell you. I am afraid you will not believe what I say, and all the more rightly so since I am aware that if I had not seen it in person I would have been reluctant to believe it if someone else told it to me. For in general the more foreign something is to the habits of the listeners, the harder it must be for them to believe it. But actually, a prudent judge of the matter will perhaps be less surprised that they handle silver and gold in their own way rather than ours, since all their arrangements are so different from ours. In fact, since they themselves have no use for money but rather keep it as protection against events which might or might not happen, in the meantime they keep gold and silver (from which money is made) in a form that lets no one place more value on it than it deserves by its nature. And obviously it deserves far less than iron, without which mortals could no more live, by heaven, than they could without fire or water, whereas nature gave to gold and silver no use which we could not easily do without; the folly of mankind gives them value because they are rare, but nature, on the other hand, like a kind and gracious mother, made the most useful elements openly available, like air, water, and earth, but she hid away what is vain and unprofitable in the most remote recesses.\n\nNow if in their society these metals were put away in some tower, the ruler and the senate might be suspected of deceiving the people by some trick and getting some good from it for themselves\u2014such is the foolish anxiety of the mob. And then if they made platters out of them or other vessels made by goldsmiths, if ever the occasion arose to melt them down and use them to pay mercenaries, they realize that once people had begun to delight in them they would be reluctant to give them up. To obviate these difficulties they have thought up a method quite compatible with the rest of their arrangements but very far removed from ours (for we value gold very highly and hide it away quite carefully), a method which is therefore hard to believe unless you have experienced it. Whereas they eat and drink from vessels of earthenware and glass, beautifully crafted but inexpensive, they use gold and silver, not only in the common halls but also in private houses, to make all the chamberpots and lowliest containers. Moreover, the chains and heavy shackles used to restrain the slaves are made of the same metals. Finally, the most notorious criminals wear gold rings in their ears, gold rings on their fingers, a gold collar around their necks, and even a gold band around their heads. By these means they see to it that the same metals which other nations give up with almost as much grief as if their guts were being pulled out have so little value that if circumstances required the Utopians to part with all such metals none of them would think they had lost as much as a single farthing.\n\nFurthermore, they gather pearls on the seashore and even diamonds and rubies on some cliffs; they do not look for them, however, but when they have found some by chance, they polish them. They use them to deck out their infants, who are boastful and proud of such gems in their earliest childhood; but, as they get a little older and notice that such trinkets are worn only by children, they become ashamed of them of their own accord and, with no urging from their parents, they give them up just as our children discard their baubles, necklaces, and dolls when they grow up.\n\nThese arrangements, so different from those of other peoples, have produced quite different feelings and attitudes. That never became clearer to me than in the incident of the Anemolian ambassadors. They came to Amaurot while I was there and since they had come to discuss important matters, the three citizens chosen by every city had come before they arrived. All the ambassadors from neighboring countries, who had landed there before and were familiar with the customs of the Utopians, knew that they did not revere sumptuous clothing, considered silk contemptible, and even associated gold with disgrace; and so they used to come clothed as modestly as possible. But the Anemolians lived further away and had less contact with them. Hence, when they saw that all the Utopians wore one and the same rough garment, they thought they did so because they had nothing better to wear and, with more pride than wisdom, they decided to set themselves up as gods by the elegance of their trappings and to dazzle the eyes of the poor Utopians by the splendor of their garb.\n\nAnd so when the three ambassadors made their entry, their retinue of a hundred retainers was dressed in particolored garments, mostly made of silk, but the ambassadors themselves, who were noblemen in their own country, were garbed in cloth of gold, with large chains and earrings of gold, and also golden rings on their fingers, and on top of that strings of pearls and gems hanging from their hats, and in sum, decked out in everything that the Utopians use to punish slaves, to mark off someone in disgrace, or to make toys for children. And so it was a sight to see how they ruffled their feathers when they compared their finery with the clothing of the Utopians (for the people had poured out onto the streets). On the other hand, it was no less delightful to observe how totally mistaken their hopes and expectations were and how far they were from the consideration they thought they would receive. For in the eyes of all the Utopians, except for the very few who had had some good reason to travel to foreign countries, all their splendid trappings seemed shameful. They greeted all the retainers of the lowest rank reverently as if they were lords. But they considered the ambassadors to be slaves because they wore golden chains, and so they passed over them with no respect whatever. In fact, you could have also seen children there who had thrown away their gems and pearls. When they saw such gems affixed to the hats of the ambassadors, they nudged their mothers and said: \"Look, mother, that big lout is still wearing little pearls and gems, as if he were a little boy!\" But the mother would reply in all seriousness: \"Hush, my son, I think he is one of the ambassadors' fools.\" Others criticized those golden chains as useless because they were so fine that a slave could easily break them and so loosely fastened that a slave could shake them off whenever he wanted and run off anywhere he wanted, footloose and fancy-free.\n\nBut after the ambassadors had lived there for a day or two and seen such an enormous amount of gold treated as if it were worthless and contemned there as much as it was honored in their countries, and when they also noticed that the chains and shackles of only one runaway slave contained more gold and silver than the trappings of all three of them, they were crestfallen and sheepishly put away all the finery which they had so haughtily displayed, especially after they had talked more informally with the Utopians and learned their customs and opinions.\n\nIndeed they are amazed that any mortal can take delight in the dubious sparkle of a tiny gem or precious stone when he can look at a star or even at the sun, or how anyone could be so insane as to imagine that he is nobler because of fine-spun woolen thread, since that wool (however fine-spun) was once worn by a sheep, which was at the same time nothing more than a sheep. They are likewise amazed that gold, which in itself is useless, is now prized so highly everywhere that mankind itself, which gave it value and for whose use it got that value, is valued much less than the gold itself, so much so that some beef-witted blockhead, who has morals to match his folly, nevertheless has many wise and good men in his service, for no better reason than that he has a heap of gold coins. And if some turn of Fortune or trick of the law (which turns things topsy-turvy no less than Fortune herself) should transfer this heap from the heir to the lowest lout in the whole household, the master would shortly enter the service of his servant as if he were a mere adjunct and appendage of the coins. But what they find most amazing and despicable is the insanity of those who all but worship the rich, to whom they owe nothing and who can do them no harm; they do so for no other reason except that they are rich, knowing full well that they are so mean and tightfisted that they will certainly never give them one red cent during their whole lives.\n\nThese opinions and others like them they have formed partly from their upbringing, since they were brought up in a commonwealth whose institutions are farthest removed from those kinds of folly, and partly from instruction and books. For though not many in each city are dispensed from physical labor and assigned to do nothing but study (namely those in whom they have perceived from their childhood remarkable talent, extraordinary intelligence, and devotion to learning), nevertheless all children are introduced to good books, and throughout their lives a good many people, both men and women, devote to learning the hours I have mentioned as free from labor.\n\nThey learn the various branches of knowledge in their own language, which has no lack of vocabulary, is not unpleasant to the ear, and is not surpassed by any other in the expression of thought. It has spread throughout most of that part of the world, though everywhere else it is corrupted in various ways.\n\nOf all the philosophers whose names are so famous in this known part of the world, they had not so much as heard of any before our arrival, and yet in music, dialectic, arithmetic, and geometry, they have made almost the same discoveries as our own ancient writers did. But though they measure up to our ancient writers in almost all respects, they are not up to the discoveries of modern dialecticians. In fact, they have not discovered a single one of those rules about restrictions, amplifications, and suppositions which have been so subtly excogitated in the _Parva logicalia_ and which are taught to young men everywhere in our world. And then, as for second intentions, they are so far from being able to understand them that none of the Utopians could see man in general, as they say, even when we pointed him out with our finger, though, as you know, he is plainly colossal and bigger than any giant. But they are very expert in the orbits of stars and the movement of heavenly bodies. In fact, they have devised instruments of various designs which enable them to understand very accurately the movements and positions of the sun and moon and also the other stars which are visible in their hemisphere. But as for the conjunctions and oppositions of the planets and the whole fraud of divination by the stars, they have never so much as dreamed of it. By means of signs that they have perceived from long observation they predict rainstorms, winds, and other changes in the weather. But concerning the causes of those phenomena, and concerning tides and the saltiness of the ocean, and in general concerning the origin and nature of the heavens and the world, they agree on some points with our own ancient philosophers, and on others, just as the ancients disagreed with one another, they also differ from all the ancients and propose new theories, and yet they do not entirely agree among themselves.\n\nIn that area of philosophy which deals with ethics, they discuss the same issues as we do. They inquire about the goods of the mind and body and external goods, and whether the designation \"good\" applies to all of these or only to the gifts of the mind. They discuss virtue and pleasure, but the primary and principal controversy is about what they think human happiness consists in, whether one thing or many. On this point they seem over-inclined to the position which claims that all or the most important part of human happiness consists of pleasure. And what is even more surprising, they claim support for this self-indulgent view even from religion, which is sober and strict and, indeed, almost gloomy and stern. For they never analyze happiness unless they combine some religious principles with the rational analysis of philosophy, since they think that without such principles reason by itself is too weak and deficient to investigate true happiness.\n\nThese principles are of this sort: that the soul is immortal, and by the beneficence of God is born for happiness; that our virtues and good deeds will be rewarded after this life, and our crimes have punishments prepared for them. Though these are religious principles, the Utopians still think that reason leads them to believe and grant them; if they are eliminated, the Utopians have no hesitation in affirming that no one could be so stupid as not to feel that he ought to pursue his own pleasure by hook or crook. He would only be concerned not to sacrifice a greater pleasure for a lesser one and not to pursue one that would be requited by pain. For they think it would be truly insane to pursue virtue, which is harsh and difficult, and not only to banish the pleasures of life but even to seek out pain of your own accord, and to expect to get nothing out of it (for how can you get anything out of it if you get nothing after death, since you have spent your whole life here without pleasure, that is, wretchedly?). But as it is, they think happiness consists not in every sort of pleasure but in pleasure that is good and honorable, for they believe that our nature is drawn to pleasure as the highest good by virtue itself, whereas the opposite faction attributes happiness to virtue alone.\n\nAnd then they define virtue as living according to nature; to that end, they say, we were created by God. We follow the guidance of nature when we obey reason in choosing and avoiding things. Furthermore, reason above all inspires mortals to love and revere the majesty of God, to whom we owe our very existence and our capacity to be happy. Secondly, reason admonishes and encourages us to lead lives with as little anxiety and as much joy as possible and, beyond that, to exert ourselves in helping all others achieve the same end because of our natural fellowship. For not even the gloomiest and sternest advocate of virtue, who despises pleasure so much that he would impose toil, vigils, and mortifications on you, would refrain from enjoining you to do as much as you can to alleviate the poverty and distress of others, and he would think it praiseworthy and humane for one human being to rescue and comfort another, since the very essence of humanity (and no virtue is more proper to human beings) is to relieve the distress of others, eliminate sadness from their lives, and restore them to a joyful life, that is, to pleasure. Why should nature not impel us to do the same for ourselves? For either a joyful life, that is, a life of pleasure, is wrong and in that case we should not only not help anyone to achieve it but rather we should do all we can to make everyone avoid it as harmful and deadly, or if you are not only allowed but even required to obtain it for others, why not do so first of all for yourself? You should be no less well-disposed to yourself than to others. For when nature prompts you to be good to others, she does not require you to turn around and be cruel and merciless to yourself. Nature herself, they say, prescribes as the aim of all our actions a joyful life, that is, pleasure, and they define virtue as following the prescriptions of nature. But when nature invites mortals to help each other to lead cheerful lives (and she is certainly right to do so, since no one is so far above the rank of human beings that nature should care for him alone, whereas in fact she is equally concerned about all those whom she groups together as belonging to the same species), she also, of course, forbids you time after time to seek your own advantages in ways that create disadvantages for others.\n\nTherefore they think that not only private agreements must be kept but also public laws which have either been promulgated by a good ruler or which a people not oppressed by a tyrant or deceived by some trick have laid down by common consent to govern the distribution of vital commodities, that is, the means to pleasure. As long as these laws are not broken, to look out for your own good is prudent; to promote the public good is pious. But to deprive someone else of pleasure to promote your own is wrong; on the other hand, to deprive yourself of something to give it to someone else is a work of humanity and kindness and it always brings you more good than it takes away. For it is counterbalanced by gifts given in return, and also your consciousness of having done a good deed and the thought of the love and good will of those you have benefited will give you mental pleasure that outweighs any loss of bodily comfort. Finally, as religion makes clear to true believers, God will repay the loss of brief and paltry pleasures with enormous and never-ending joy. Following this line of reasoning and having considered the matter long and hard, they think that all our actions, including also our virtuous deeds, are directed toward pleasure as our happiness and final end.\n\nThey define pleasure as any motion or state of the mind or body which produces delight in accord with the guidance of nature. Not without reason do they add that the impulse must be in accord with nature. For just as not only our senses but also our reason pursues whatever is pleasurable by nature, that is, pleasures not achieved through wrongdoing, or acquired with the loss of a greater pleasure, or followed by hardship, so too they hold that all those unnatural pleasures which mortals agree to call delightful by the emptiest of fictions (as if it were in their power to change the thing by changing the name) are so far from contributing to happiness that they actually hinder it because, once they have taken over the mind, they occupy it totally and leave no room for true and genuine pleasures. For a great many things are not pleasurable by their very nature and are, in fact, for the most part bitter, but through the perverse enticement of evil desires they are not only thought to be the greatest pleasures but are even included among the primary reasons for living.\n\nAmong those who pursue false pleasures they include those whom I mentioned before who think that the finer the gown they wear the better they are. On this one point they are wrong twice over. They are no less deceived in thinking the gown is better than in imagining they themselves are. For if you consider the usefulness of a garment, why is wool woven with fine thread better than wool woven with coarser thread? But they think they excel in fact, not merely in their illusions. They ruffle their feathers; they believe that they are more valuable because of their clothes. And on that basis, honors they would not have dared hope for in cheaper clothes they demand as rightly due to their elegant gown, and they are outraged if someone passes them by without due deference.\n\nAnd then isn't it equally stupid to be much taken with empty and worthless honors? For what natural pleasure is there in someone's baring his head to you or bending his knee? Will that relieve the pain in your own knee or cure the delirium in your head? It is amazing how some are caught up in this imaginary, specious pleasure: delightfully insane, they flatter themselves and take pride in their imagined nobility simply because they happen to be descended from a long series of ancestors who are considered to be rich, above all rich landlords (for nowadays there is no other source of nobility except wealth), and yet they think they are not a whit the less noble even if their ancestors have left them no wealth or they themselves have squandered it.\n\nWith these they group the persons I mentioned before who are enthralled by gems and precious stones and almost think they have been deified if they ever get a fine specimen, especially if it is the sort most highly valued in their own times; for not all sorts are highly regarded by all persons and at all times. But they do not buy such a stone unless it is removed from its gold setting and exposed, and even then not unless the seller swears and guarantees that it is a genuine jewel and a true gemstone; so afraid are they that their eyes may be deceived by a counterfeit substituted for a real stone. For why should your eyes be any less delighted by a counterfeit since they cannot distinguish it from a real one? To you each of them should have equal value, no less so, by heaven, than they would to a blind man.\n\nWhat about people who keep superfluous wealth under lock and key, taking delight not in using the amassed treasure but merely in contemplating it? Do they feel any real delight or rather are they not deluded by a false pleasure? How about those who are subject to a different vice and hide away their gold, intending not only never to use it but perhaps never even to see it any more; in their anxiety not to lose it, they lose it. For surely it is lost if it is buried in the ground so as to be of no use to you and perhaps not to any other mortal. But still, when the treasure is hidden away, you feel carefree and happy. If a thief took it away and you died ten years later without knowing of the theft, in all those years that you lived after the money was stolen, what difference did it make to you whether it was removed or remained safe? In either case its usefulness to you was the same.\n\nTo these categories of absurd enjoyment they add gambling (a sort of madness they know of only through hearsay, not experience) and also hunting and falconry. For what pleasure can there be, they say, in throwing dice on a gaming table? Even if there were any pleasure in it, you have done it so often that mere repetition should have made you sick of it. How can it be delightful to hear the barking and howling of dogs?\u2014isn't that a disgusting noise? Why do hunters feel more pleasure when a dog chases a hare than when a dog chases a dog? For in either case the action is the same, that is, running, if that is what pleases you. Or if you are attracted by the hope of carnage and the expectation of seeing the slaughter with your own eyes, you ought instead to be moved to compassion when you see a little hare torn to pieces by a dog, a weak creature tormented by a stronger one, a timid creature fleeing from a ferocious beast, a harmless creature from a cruel hound. And so the Utopians have assigned the whole business of hunting to the butchers, whose trade (as I said before) is conducted entirely by slaves, considering it beneath the dignity of free men. They consider it the lowest function of the trade. The other activities of butchers are more useful and honorable, since they contribute much more and destroy animals only out of necessity, whereas the hunter seeks nothing but pleasure from the slaughter and butchering of some poor little creature. Even in beasts themselves, according to the Utopians, such an eagerness to view carnage springs from a cruel disposition, or else the continual indulgence in such brutal pleasure finally degenerates into cruelty.\n\nThough the herd of mortals consider such pursuits as these and others like them (for there is no end to them) to be pleasures, the Utopians firmly hold that they have nothing to do with pleasure, since there is no natural sweetness in them. Though they ordinarily produce sensual joy (which seems to be the function of pleasure), the Utopians are unwilling to change their minds. The reason they seem pleasant is not the nature of the things themselves but the perverse habits of their devotees, whose vicious attitudes cause them to embrace what is bitter as sweet, just as the defective tastebuds of pregnant women make them think that pitch and tallow are sweeter than honey. And yet no one's judgment, if it is vitiated by disease or habit, can change the nature of pleasure, or of anything else for that matter.\n\nTrue pleasures they divide into various classes, assigning some to the mind, others to the body. To the mind they attribute understanding and the sweetness which springs from the contemplation of the truth. To these they add the pleasure of looking back on a lifetime of good deeds and the sure hope of happiness to come.\n\nThey divide bodily pleasure into two kinds: one is the sweetness which pervades the senses, either when the supplies our natural heat has used up are replenished (as they are by food and drink) or else when the excessive elements overburdening our bodies are discharged. This happens when we purge our intestines of excrement, or go about generating children or when the itching in some part of the body is alleviated by rubbing or scratching. But sometimes pleasure results not from the replenishment sought by our bodily members nor from relieving them of excess but from some secret but remarkable power which tickles, excites, and attracts our senses to itself, such as the pleasure arising from music.\n\nThey claim that there is another kind of bodily pleasure which consists in the balanced and quiet condition of the body, that is, when a person's health is not disturbed by any disease. Such health, as long as it is not interrupted by any pain, is delightful in itself, even though it is not affected by any external pleasure. Though it is less obvious and affects the senses less grossly than the insistent desire for food and drink, nevertheless many Utopians hold it to be the greatest pleasure of all. Almost all of them believe that it is a great pleasure and the foundation and basis, as it were, of all the others, since it is the only one which keeps our lives peaceful and desirable; and, if you take it away, there is no room left for any pleasure at all. For the mere absence of pain without health they regard as insensibility, certainly not as pleasure.\n\nThey have long since rejected the position of those who think that stable and undisturbed health should not be considered to be a pleasure because, they say, its presence can be felt only through some external stimulus (for they, too, have debated this question intensely). But now they are in almost complete agreement with the opposite position, that health is actually essential to pleasure. For according to them, disease brings pain, which is unalterably opposed to pleasure, in the same way as disease is opposed to health. Why not conclude, in turn, that there is pleasure in undisturbed health? On this point they do not think it makes any difference whether the disease is a pain or the pain comes from the disease; in either case the effect is the same. Thus, if health itself is a pleasure or if it necessarily brings pleasure with it as fire brings heat, the result in either case is that, wherever health is, stable pleasure cannot be lacking.\n\nMoreover, when we eat, they say, what happens is that health, which has begun to fail, now has food as its ally in the battle against hunger. As it gradually becomes stronger, the very progress toward its ordinary vigor brings with it the pleasure of being reinvigorated. And so if health finds joy in the struggle, will it not rejoice when the victory is won? But when it has at last happily recovered its former strength, which was the sole object of the whole struggle, will it immediately become insensible and fail to recognize and embrace its own good? The idea that health is not perceived they consider to be very far from the truth. For when we are awake, who does not perceive that he is healthy\u2014except someone who is not? Who can be so constricted by dullness and lethargy that he does not admit that health is delightful and enjoyable? And what is enjoyment but another name for pleasure?\n\nAbove all they embrace the pleasures of the mind, which they consider the first and foremost of all pleasures. They think that mental pleasure springs primarily from the practice of the virtues and the consciousness of a good life. Of the pleasures supplied by the body they give the first place to health. As for the pleasure of eating and drink and whatever else falls under a similar category of delight, they think they should be sought, but only for the sake of health, for such activities are not enjoyable in themselves but only insofar as they counter the unnoticed encroachments of ill health. And therefore a wise man, they say, should ward off disease rather than seek medicine for it and avoid pain rather than seek relief from it; just so it would be better not to have any need for such pleasure than to be relieved by it.\n\nIf anyone thinks that this kind of pleasure makes him happy, he must also confess that his life would be the happiest of all if it could be spent in perpetual hunger, thirst, and itching, followed by eating, drinking, scratching, and rubbing\u2014 and who can fail to see that such a life would be not only foul but also miserable? Certainly these are the lowliest of all pleasures, since they are the least unadulterated and never occur except in conjunction with the pain contrary to them. Thus the pleasure of eating is coupled with hunger, and not in equal proportions, for the pain is both longer and more intense. For it begins before the pleasure and never departs until the pleasure also ceases. Therefore they do not place much stock in such pleasures, except insofar as necessity demands them. But they also rejoice in them and gratefully acknowledge the kindness of Mother Nature, who uses the sweetest pleasures to entice her offspring to do what they must always be doing out of necessity. How irksome our lives would be if the daily ailments of hunger and thirst had to be warded off by drugs and bitter medications like the other diseases which afflict us less often?\n\nThey gladly cherish beauty, strength, agility as special and enjoyable gifts of nature. Certainly the pleasures which are mediated by our ears, eyes, and noses and which nature assigned as proper and peculiar to the human race (for no other kind of creature admires the design and beauty of the world, or is moved by the beauty of fragrances except to distinguish kinds of food, or recognizes the harmonious or discordant intervals in sounds), these pleasures, I say, they cultivate as adding a certain enjoyable spice to their lives. In all of them, however, they impose the limitation that a lesser should not impede a greater pleasure or that a pleasure should not cause pain at some later time\u2014and they think this will necessarily happen if the pleasure is dishonorable.\n\nThey think it is certainly quite mad for someone to despise a beautiful figure, to deplete his strength, to turn agility into torpor, to wear out his body with fasting, to ruin his health, and to scorn the other favors bestowed by nature, unless he neglects his own good so as to work more avidly for the the good of others or the public welfare, and in return for his effort he expects greater pleasure from God. Otherwise to inflict pain on oneself without doing anyone any good\u2014simply to gain the empty shadow of virtue or to be able to bear with less distress adversities that may never come\u2014this they consider to be insane and the mark of a mind that is both cruel to itself and ungrateful to nature, rejecting her benefits and not deigning to be beholden to her.\n\nThis is their view of virtue and pleasure; and in the absence of religious inspiration from heaven revealing something holier, they think human reason can discover no truer doctrine. I do not have time now to examine whether or not their teaching is correct, nor is it necessary, since I undertook to present their principles, not to defend them. But whatever validity their precepts may have, I am fully persuaded that nowhere will you find a more extraordinary people or a happier commonwealth.\n\nPhysically they are agile and vigorous, stronger than you would expect from their height, though they are not undersized. Though their soil is not uniformly fertile and their weather is not particularly favorable, they protect themselves from the climate by moderation in their diet and they work hard to remedy the defects of the soil, so that nowhere in the world will you find a more abundant supply of crops and cattle or bodies more vigorous and subject to fewer diseases. You can see them there diligently employing the usual agricultural methods of improving infertile soil by skill and effort, but you could also see a forest that they uprooted with their own hands and planted in another place. The reason for doing this was not greater production but transportation: they wanted the timber closer to the sea or rivers or the cities themselves, since it takes less labor to move crops by land over long distances than it does to transport timber.\n\nThey are an easy-going people, cheerful and clever. They enjoy their leisure but they endure physical labor well enough as long as it is useful (but otherwise they are hardly fond of it); in intellectual pursuits they are indefatigable. When we told them about the literature and learning of the Greeks (for in Latin there is nothing except the poets and historians that would be likely to interest them very much) it was amazing how eagerly they pressed us to help them master Greek by giving them instruction. And so we began to read, at first more out of a desire not to seem lazy than from any hope that much good would come of it. But when we had made a little progress, their diligence immediately made us anticipate that ours would not be wasted. They began to imitate the shape of the letters so easily, to pronounce the words so readily, to memorize so quickly, and to recite so accurately that we would have thought it miraculous except that the majority of them had undertaken this study not only on their own initiative but also at the explicit command of the senate, and hence they were selected from the most talented and mature scholars. And so in less than three years there was nothing in that language which they had not mastered; they read good authors with no hesitation, unless they encountered some textual crux. I tend to think they mastered Greek all the more easily because it is somewhat related to their own language. I suspect that the Utopian people originally sprang from the Greeks because their language, which is otherwise closest to Persian, preserves some vestiges of Greek in the names of cities and magistrates.\n\nOn the fourth voyage, instead of trade goods I took on board a fair-sized packet of books because I was fully determined to return only after a long time, if ever. From me they got most of Plato's works, more of Aristotle's, and also Theophrastus _On Plants,_ which was mutilated in several places, I'm sorry to say. During the voyage the book had not been put away properly and a playful monkey came upon it; he mischievously ripped out some pages here and there and tore them up. Of the grammarians they have only Lascaris, for I did not take Theodore with me nor any dictionary except Hesychius and Dioscorides. They are very fond of Plutarch's books and they are also much taken with the wit and elegance of Lucian. Of the poets they have Aristophanes, Homer, and Euripides, and also Sophocles in the small typeface of Aldus. Of the historians they have Thucydides and Herodotus, as well as Herodian.\n\nFurthermore, as for medical books, my companion Tricius Apinatus had brought with him some shorter works of Hippocrates and the _Microtechne_ of Galen; for these books they have a high regard. Even though there is hardly a country in the world that has less need of medicine, still it is nowhere more honored, precisely because they consider a knowledge of it as one of the finest and most useful branches of science. When they investigate the secrets of nature using the resources of science, they not only experience wonderful pleasure from doing so but they also think they win the highest approbation from the creator and maker of the world. For they suppose that he, like other workmen, set up the marvelous mechanism of this world for mankind to view and contemplate (and men are the only creatures he made capable of doing so) and that therefore he is fonder of a careful observer and meticulous admirer than he is of some lazy blockhead who ignores such a marvelous spectacle as if he were a mindless brute.\n\nAnd so the natural talent of the Utopians, trained by study, is marvelously effective in inventing techniques which make some contribution to a comfortable life. Two of these they owe to us, printing and papermaking, but even these they owe not only to us but in large part to themselves. For when we had shown them some books printed by Aldus on paper and had spoken a bit about the material for making paper and the technique of printing letters, though we did not really explain it (since none of us was expert in either process), they immediately and most ingeniously figured it out. And whereas before they had written only on vellum, bark, and papyrus, they immediately tried to make paper and to print with type. Though at first they did not get it quite right, by frequent attempts they soon mastered both techniques, and they became so proficient that if they had copies of Greek texts, there could have been no lack of printed editions. But as it is, they have no more than what I have mentioned, but what they have they have disseminated in many thousands of printed copies.\n\nAny sightseers who visit them are especially welcome if they are recommended by unusual intellectual gifts or knowledge of many lands gained by traveling widely (and for that reason they welcomed us warmly when we landed), for they are eager to learn what is happening everywhere in the world. But not very many come there to trade. For what can they bring except iron or gold and silver, which they would prefer to take home than to export? As for their own exports, they think it more advantageous to deliver them themselves than to have others pick them up, for in that way they learn more about foreign countries everywhere and they keep their seamanship and nautical skills from getting rusty.\n\n### SLAVES\n\nPrisoners of war they do not consider to be slaves except those captured in wars they themselves have fought. The children of slaves and the slaves of foreign countries whom they have obtained are not kept in slavery. Their slaves are those who have committed a serious crime in Utopia or foreigners who have been condemned to death for committing some crime (and these are by far the larger number), for the Utopians acquire many of them, sometimes cheaply, more often gratis, and take them away. These kinds of slaves they not only keep constantly at work but also in chains. Utopian slaves, however, they treat more harshly since they consider them baser and deserving of more severe punishment because they had an extraordinary education and the best of moral training, yet still could not be restrained from wrongdoing. Another class of slaves is made up of poor, overworked drudges from other nations who choose of their own accord to be slaves among the Utopians. These they treat decently and, except that they make them work a bit harder (since they are used to it), they are treated not much less kindly than the citizens. If they wish to depart (and that does not happen very often), they are not kept against their will nor are they sent away empty-handed.\n\nThey care for the sick, as I said, with great concern, omitting nothing whatever in the way of medicine or diet that might restore them to health. They sit with those who are suffering from an incurable disease, talk with them, console them, and do what they can to alleviate their pain. But if someone suffers from a disease which is not only incurable but also constantly and excruciatingly painful, then the priests and the magistrates point out that he can no longer live a useful life, that he is a heavy burden to himself and to others, and that he has outlived his own death; they encourage him to make a decision not to maintain the sickness and disease any longer and urge him not to hesitate to die, but rather to rely on hope for a better life; since he lives in a prison where he is cruelly tormented on the rack, he should escape from this miserable life on his own or willingly allow others to rescue him from it. This would be a wise act, they say, since death would deprive him of no advantages but would save him from suffering; and since in doing so he would be following the advice of the priests, the interpreters of God's will, it would also be a pious and holy deed.\n\nThose who agree with these arguments voluntarily starve themselves to death or are put to sleep and dispatched with no sensation of dying. But they do not do away with anyone who is unwilling, and they do not in any way diminish their attendance on him. Those who are persuaded and die in this way are treated with honor; but otherwise anyone who commits suicide for reasons not approved by the priests and senate is deemed unworthy of either burial or cremation and is ignominously thrown into a swamp without a proper funeral.\n\nA woman does not marry until she is eighteen, a man not until he is four years older than that. If a man and a woman are convicted of engaging in secret intercourse before marriage, they are both severely reprimanded and they are forbidden ever to marry anyone unless the ruler remits the sentence. But both the master and the mistress of the household where the offense was committed fall into utter disgrace for not doing their duty with sufficient diligence. They punish this offense so severely because they foresee that few would join together in married love, living their whole lives with one person and enduring besides the troubles that come with marriage, if they were not carefully restrained from promiscuous intercourse.\n\nMoreover, in choosing spouses they have a custom which seemed to us absolutely absurd and thoroughly ridiculous, but they observe it strictly and seriously. The bride, whether virgin or widow, is presented naked to the groom by a sober and respected matron, and the groom in turn is shown naked to the bride by some honorable man. When we laughed at this custom and criticized it as ridiculous, they in turn were amazed at the extraordinary folly of all other nations: when they are buying a colt\u2014a matter of no great expense\u2014they are so cautious that even if the animal is almost completely exposed they refuse to buy it unless the saddle and saddlecloth are removed so as to reveal any sores that might be hidden beneath them; yet in choosing a spouse\u2014a matter which will make them either happy or miserable for the rest of their lives\u2014they are so careless that they judge her whole person by a mere handsbreadth, that is, by her face only, since the rest of her is wrapped up in her clothes, and according to that judgment they join themselves to her, not without great danger of not getting along with her if they later find something offensive. For not everyone is so wise as to pay attention only to character, and even in the marriages of the wise the gifts of the body add something to the virtues of the mind. Certainly some ugly deformity concealed beneath clothing can completely alienate a man's mind from his wife when his body can no longer be separated from her. If such a deformity should occur after the wedding, then everyone must put up with his lot; but before the wedding the laws should see to it that no one is duped or deceived.\n\nAll the more care needs to be taken because, of all the countries in that part of the world, they are the only one that is monogamous, and their marriages are almost never dissolved except by death, though adultery or unbearably offensive conduct can be grounds for divorce. The offended party gets permission from the senate to remarry; the offender is disgraced and can never remarry. Otherwise, it is absolutely forbidden to put away a wife against her will and without any blame on her part because of some bodily disfigurement. They consider it cruel to desert someone at the very time she is in most need of comfort and they think it would make her uncertain and insecure about her old age, which brings diseases with it and is itself a disease.\n\nBut sometimes it happens that two people are temperamentally incompatible, and if they have each found someone else with whom they hope they can live more agreeably, they separate by mutual consent and remarry, but not, however, without the permission of the senate, which does not permit divorce unless the senators and their wives have examined the case very carefully. Even then they do not do it readily because they know that the expectation of easily remarrying is hardly a means of strengthening the love of married couples.\n\nAdulterers are punished with the harshest servitude, and if both were married the injured parties may divorce their spouses and marry each other if they wish to; otherwise they may marry whomever they like. But if one of the injured parties continues to love such an undeserving spouse, the marriage can remain intact, as long as the innocent party is willing to accompany the criminal condemned to hard labor; and it happens sometimes that the affectionate concern of the one and the repentance of the other move the ruler to mercy so that he sets them free again. But if the crime is repeated, it is punished with death.\n\nTheir laws do not prescribe punishments for other crimes, but rather the senate determines penalties according to how heinous or venial each particular offense seems to be. Husbands chastise their wives and parents their children, unless an offense is so serious that open punishment is advisable in order to maintain public morality. But generally the most serious crimes are punished with servitude, which they consider no less grievous to the criminal and much more advantageous to the commonwealth than to execute wrongdoers and immediately get rid of them altogether. They do more good by their labor than by their death, and they offer a long-standing example to deter others from similar crimes. If slaves are rebellious and unruly, then they are finally slaughtered like wild beasts that cannot be restrained by bars or chains. But if they are patient, they are not left entirely without hope. If they are tamed by long suffering and show that they regret the sin more than the punishment, their servitude may be either mitigated or revoked, sometimes by the ruler's prerogative, sometimes by popular vote.\n\nAttempted seduction is no less dangerous than seduction itself. In fact, in all sorts of crimes, they equate the clear and deliberate attempt with the completed deed, for they do not think that the mere incompletion of the deed should benefit someone who did everything he could to complete it.\n\nThey are very fond of fools: they consider it quite shameful to treat them with contempt, and they have nothing against finding enjoyment in their foolery, since they think that will do the most good for the fools themselves. If anyone is so strict and gloomy that he never laughs at any word or deed, they do not entrust fools to him, out of fear that he would not treat them kindly enough, since to him they would be not only useless but not even entertaining\u2014and that is the only talent they have.\n\nTo mock someone for being disfigured or crippled is considered shameful and disfiguring, not to the person mocked but to the mocker, since it is stupid for him to blame someone for a defect which it is not in his power to avoid.\n\nThey consider it lazy and negligent not to keep up natural beauty by grooming, but they consider seeking help from cosmetics a disgraceful affectation. They know from experience itself that no physical beauty recommends wives to their husbands as much as respect and an upright character. Some men may be snared by beauty alone, but none can be held except by virtue and compliance.\n\nThey not only deter from crime by punishments, but they also foster virtue by rewarding it with honors. And so in the marketplace they set up statues of outstanding men who have done extraordinary service to the commonwealth, thus preserving the memory of their good deeds so that posterity may have the glory of their ancestors as a spur and incentive to virtuous deeds.\n\nAnyone who campaigns for public office becomes disqualified for holding any office at all. The Utopians live together amiably, since no magistrate is arrogant or terrifying; they are called fathers and they live up to the name. Honor is willingly paid to them (as is proper); it is not exacted from those unwilling to give it. The ruler is not singled out by his clothes or a crown but rather by the sheaf of grain he carries: the sign of the high priest is a wax candle borne before him.\n\nThey have very few laws, for very few suffice for persons trained as they are. Indeed, one of their primary charges against other nations is that endless volumes of laws and interpretations are not sufficient. But they consider it quite unjust to bind people by laws which are so numerous no one can read through all of them or so obscure that no one can understand them. Moreover, they ban absolutely all lawyers as clever practitioners and sly interpreters of the law. For they think it is practical that everyone should handle his own case and present the facts to the judge as he would to a lawyer; in this way there will be less confusion and the truth will be easier to determine, since he tells his story without having learned any evasion from a lawyer, while the judge weighs all the details carefully and protects simple souls from the false accusations of crafty litigants. In other countries, such straightforwardness is difficult to obtain because there is a mass of incredibly intricate laws. But among them everyone is knowledgeable about the laws. For, as I said, there are very few laws, and as for interpretations, they consider the most obvious the most correct. For though all laws (they say) are promulgated to inform everyone of his duty, a subtle interpretation will inform very few (for few can understand it); on the other hand, the simpler and more obvious meaning of the laws is clear to everyone. Otherwise, as far as ordinary people are concerned (and they constitute the largest group that needs to be informed), it would make no difference if you formulated no laws at all or if, after you have formulated them, you interpret them in such a way that no one can understand them without great intelligence and long analysis. The dull judgment of ordinary people is not adequate to that task, and they do not have enough time, occupied as they are in making a living.\n\nInspired by the virtues of the Utopians, those of their neighbors who are free and can choose as they please (for the Utopians themselves have long since liberated many of them from tyranny) ask for and obtain Utopians to act as their magistrates, some for a year, some for five years; when they have served their term, they bring them back to Utopia with great honor and praise, and take replacements with them back to their own country. And certainly these countries are providing very well and very effectively for the public welfare, which depends, for good or bad, on the character of the magistrates. What persons could they choose more wisely than those whose honesty cannot be undermined by bribes (since they will soon return to a place where money is useless) and who cannot be swayed by some person or faction, since they have no connections among that people? Wherever these two vices, favoritism and greed, get a hold on judicial decisions, all justice, which is the mainstay of the commonwealth, is immediately undermined. The peoples who recruit magistrates from them are called allies by the Utopians; the others on whom they have bestowed benefits are called friends.\n\nThey do not make treaties with any nation\u2014such treaties as other nations so often make, break, and remake. What good is a treaty, they say, as if nature did not sufficiently bind one human being to another? And if someone scorns nature, do you think he will be concerned with mere words? They are especially drawn to that view because in that part of the world treaties and agreements between princes are not usually observed with very much good faith.\n\nIn Europe, of course, and especially in those parts which follow the faith and religion of Christ, the authority of treaties is everywhere holy and inviolable, partly because of the goodness and justice of the princes themselves, partly out of reverence and respect for the popes, who themselves undertake nothing which they do not carry out most scrupulously and likewise command all princes to keep their promises to the letter; if any prince reneges, the pope makes him comply by pastoral censure and sharp reproof. Certainly they are right in thinking that it is quite shameful for those who are specifically called the faithful not to be faithful to their treaties.\n\nBut in that new world, which is as far from us in customs and way of life as it is removed from us by the distance the equator puts between us, no one has confidence in treaties: the more ceremoniously and solemnly the knot of a treaty is tied, the more quickly it is untied; it is easy to find some defect in the wording, which they often intentionally devise with some clever loophole, so that the language can never bind them so tightly that they cannot somehow escape, breaking both the treaty and their word. If such craftiness, or rather downright fraud and deceit, occurred in a private transaction it would be contemptuously decried as sacrilegious and deserving of the gallows\u2014and that by the very same persons who are proud of having advised the prince to do the same. Thus it happens that justice seems either to be nothing more than a plebeian and humble virtue, far beneath the exalted dignity of a king, or at least there seem to be two kinds of justice: one is fit for ordinary people, lowly and creeping along the ground, fenced in on all sides, totally encumbered with chains and unable to escape; the other kind is a virtue proper to princes, which is more august than the ordinary virtue and hence much freer\u2014 forbidden, in fact, to do only what it does not wish to do.\n\nSuch behavior on the part of the princes there, who have so little respect for treaties, is the reason, I think, that the Utopians make no treaties; perhaps they would change their minds if they lived here. But even if treaties were strictly observed, they still think the practice of making them at all is a bad custom because it implies that nations think they are natural-born enemies to each other (just as if there were no natural ties between two peoples separated only by a little distance, a hill or a creek) and that they would rightly try to destroy one another if they were not bound by treaties; and that even if they have entered into a treaty, they are not united in friendship but rather have permission to prey upon each other, insofar as nothing which the treaty forbids is couched with sufficient care because of some oversight in the language. On the other hand, the Utopians think that no one should be considered an enemy if he has done no harm, and that the natural bond which unites us should replace treaties, and that men are more adequately bound to one another by good will than by agreements, more strongly joined by their hearts than by their words.\n\n### MILITARY PRACTICES\n\nThey loathe war as positively bestial (though no sort of beast engages in it as constantly as mankind), and unlike almost all nations they consider nothing more inglorious than glory won in warfare. Therefore, though they regularly devote themselves to military training on certain appointed days so that they will not be incapable of fighting when circumstances require it\u2014and not only the men do so but also the women\u2014 they are reluctant to go to war and do so only to defend their own territory, or to drive an invading enemy from the territory of their friends, or else, out of compassion and humanity, they use their forces to liberate a oppressed people from tyranny and servitude. When they come to the aid of their friends, it is not always to defend them but sometimes also to requite and avenge injuries inflicted on them. But they do this only if they have been consulted before any steps are taken and if, after they have verified the facts, demanded restitution, and been refused, they themselves declare war. They decide to do this not only when an enemy has invaded and plundered one of their friends, but also, and even more fiercely, when their friends' merchants in any part of the world have been unjustly accused under some pretext of justice, either by using unjust laws speciously or by interpreting good laws perversely.\n\nThis was the only reason for the war which the Utopians fought a little before our time on behalf of the Nephelogetes against the Alaopolitans: some Nephelogete merchants among the Alaopolitans had been treated unjustly under some pretext of justice (or so the merchants thought). Certainly, whether the cause was just or unjust, it was avenged by a hideous war, in which the surrounding nations also added their energy and resources to the hostile forces of the major opponents so that some prosperous peoples were ravaged, others were badly shaken. One disaster followed upon another until finally the surrender and enslavement of the Alaopolitans put an end to the war. The Utopians, who sought nothing for themselves, subjected the vanquished to the Nephelogetes\u2014a people hardly to be compared with the Alaopolitans in their heyday.\n\nSo fierce are the Utopians even when they are punishing only monetary injuries against their friends; but they are not so when the injury is against themselves. If they should be cheated out of their property, as long as they are subjected to no physical force, they set limits to their anger: they merely refrain from trade with that nation until restitution is made, not because they care less for their own citizens than for their allies but rather they are more offended by their friends' loss of money than by their own because their friends' merchants are severely injured by such a loss, since it comes from their own private possessions. But their own citizens lose nothing but public property, goods which were abundant at home, even superfluous, for otherwise they would not have been exported. So the loss is hardly perceived by anyone. Hence they feel that it would be cruel to punish an injury by killing many people when it causes no inconvenience to any of the Utopians in their lives or livelihood. But if any of their citizens is unjustly disabled or killed, wherever it may be, whether it be done by a public decision or by a private citizen, they send ambassadors to ascertain the facts, and if the malefactors are not handed over to them they cannot be put off but declare war immediately. If the guilty persons are handed over for punishment, they are sentenced to death or servitude.\n\nThey are not only grieved by a bloody victory but also ashamed of it, thinking that it is stupid to pay too much for merchandise, however valuable it may be. But if they conquer and crush an enemy by skill and cunning, they glory mightily in the victory, holding public parades to celebrate it and putting up a monument as if for a hard-won victory. For they boast that they have acted with courage and fortitude only when they have won the victory as no other creature but man is able to win it, that is, by the power of his wits. For bears, lions, boars, wolves, dogs, and other animals (they say) fight with the power of their bodies; and though most of them surpass us in strength and ferocity, we outdo them all in intelligence and reasoning.\n\nTheir one and only aim in warfare is to gain the objective which, if they had obtained it beforehand, would have kept them from going to war at all. Or, if circumstances make that impossible, they seek to punish those they consider culpable so severely that fear will keep them from daring to do such a thing in the future. These are the goals they set for their undertaking, and they try to achieve them quickly, but yet in such a way that a concern for avoiding danger takes precedence over winning praise and glory.\n\nAnd so, immediately after declaring war, they see to it that many notices certified by their official seal are put up secretly and simultaneously in the most conspicuous places in the enemy's territory, promising a huge reward to anyone who does away with the enemy's prince; they also assign lesser, but still very substantial, sums for the deaths of those individuals they list in the same notices. These are the persons who, apart from the prince himself, were responsible for plotting against the Utopians. They double the reward assigned to the assassin if he brings them any of the proscribed persons alive; in fact, they offer the same rewards to the proscribed persons themselves, and throw immunity into the bargain, if they turn against their comrades. Thus their enemies quickly suspect all outsiders and even among themselves they are neither trusting nor trustworthy so that they live in a state of utter panic and no less peril. For it has very often turned out (as is well known) that a good number of them, and among them the prince himself, have often been betrayed by those they trusted the most. So easy is it to get someone to commit any crime whatsoever by means of bribes, and for that reason the Utopians set no limits to their bribes. Keeping in mind the great risks they are urging people to take, they take care to balance the magnitude of the danger with the lavishness of the reward; hence they promise not only enormous quantities of gold but also personal and perpetual title to rich estates in the safe and secure territory of their friends, and they faithfully keep their promises.\n\nOther nations condemn this practice of bidding for and buying off an enemy as a barbarous, degenerate crime, but the Utopians think it does them great credit: it shows them to be wise, since in this way they win great wars without fighting at all, and also humane and compassionate, since by killing a few malefactors they spare the lives of many innocent persons who would have fallen in battle, both their own soldiers and those of the enemy; for they pity the rank-and-file of the enemy's soldiers almost as much as their own citizens because they know they do not go to war of their own accord but are driven to it by the madness of princes.\n\nIf this procedure is not successful, they sow and cultivate the seeds of dissension by encouraging the brother of the prince or some nobleman to have hopes of gaining the throne. If such internal factions languish, they stir up neighboring peoples and set them against their enemy by digging up some ancient claim such as is never lacking to kings.\n\nWhen they have promised resources for war, they supply money lavishly, but their citizens very sparingly. They hold their own people so very dear and value each other so highly that they would not be willing to exchange a single one of their own citizens for the enemy's prince. But they are not at all reluctant to pay out gold and silver, since they keep it only for this purpose and would live no less comfortably if they spent all of it. Then too, apart from the wealth they have at home, they also have a limitless treasure abroad, since many nations, as I said before, owe them money. And so they hire mercenaries from everywhere and send them to war, especially the Zapoletes.\n\nThese people live five hundred miles to the east of Utopia. Rough, rude, and fierce, they prefer to live in the forests and rugged mountains where they were brought up. They are a hardy people, able to endure heat, cold, and hard labor. They have no interest in agriculture, no acquaintance with refinements, no concern about their houses or clothes; they care only about their flocks. They live mostly from hunting and plundering. They are born only for warfare; they zealously seek opportunities to fight and when they find one they embrace it eagerly. They set out in great numbers and offer themselves cheaply to whoever needs soldiers. The only skill they have to live on is one that aims at death.\n\nThey fight fiercely and with complete loyalty for whoever pays them. But they bind themselves for no fixed period. They sign on with the stipulation that if an enemy offers them higher wages tomorrow they will take his side, and if they are lured with slightly higher pay they will return to the side they abandoned. There are very few wars in which a great many of them are not fighting in both armies. And so it happens every day that blood relatives who were hired by the same side and lived together amicably are separated a little later in opposing armies and fight each other as enemies. Forgetting both kinship and friendship, they run each other through with violent hostility, trying to kill each other for no other reason than that they were hired for a pittance by opposing princes. They reckon their wages so strictly that adding one penny to their daily pay can easily cause them to change sides. They have quickly become greedy through and through, and yet it does them no good for what they gain with their blood they immediately squander on debauchery, and wretched debauchery at that.\n\nThese people fight for the Utopians against any mortals whatsoever because they hire their services for more than they can get anywhere else. And just as the Utopians seek good men in order to use them, so too they also enlist these wicked men in order to use them up. When they need to use them, they urge them on with great promises and expose them to the greatest dangers so that most of them do not return to claim what they were promised. To the survivors they faithfully keep their promises so as to make them eager to undertake similar exploits. Nor do they have any qualms about doing away with so many of them, since they believe the human race would owe them a great debt of gratitude if they could purge the whole world of such loathsome and wicked scum.\n\nApart from the Zapoletes, they use the forces of those for whom they have taken up arms, and after that the auxiliary troops of other friendly nations. As a last resort they add their own citizens, from whom they choose a man of proven valour to command the whole army. Under him they appoint two men who remain private citizens as long as he is safe, but if he is captured or killed, one of the two succeeds him, and in case of a mishap he himself is succeeded by the third, so that if the commander is in danger (and the fortunes of war are quite various) the whole army does not panic.\n\nIn each city they choose troops from a list of volunteers. No one is sent out to foreign wars against his will, for they are convinced that if someone is by nature fearful he will not only not fight vigorously himself but he will also inspire fear in his comrades. But if their country is invaded during a war, cowards of this sort, as long as they are physically fit, are dispersed among better troops in the ships or they are spread out here and there on the walls so that they have no place to run away to. Thus shame in the presence of their friends, the confrontation with the enemy, and the absence of any hope of escaping overcome fear, and often they make a virtue out of extreme necessity.\n\nThough no one is sent to a foreign war unwillingly, if women are willing to accompany their husbands to battle the Utopians are so far from preventing them that they exhort them to do so and encourage them with praise. Each accompanies her husband to the front and is stationed shoulder to shoulder with him in the battle line. Moreover, each soldier is surrounded by his children and relatives by blood or marriage so that they all have help close by from the persons who are by nature most highly motivated to help one another. It is a great disgrace for one spouse to return without the other or for a son to come back after the loss of a parent. The result is that once it comes to hand-to-hand combat, if the enemy stands his ground, the battle is so long and grim that it ends in a general slaughter.\n\nCertainly they take every precaution to avoid having to fight themselves, as long as they can wage war using mercenaries to take their place. But when they can no longer avoid entering the fray, the courage with which they fight matches the prudence with which they avoided fighting as long as they could. They do not give their all in a first furious attack but rather they grow stronger gradually and over a period of time, and they are so resolute that they would rather die than retreat. For one thing, they are certain that everyone at home is provided for, and they do not need to worry about their children (such concern generally breaks the spirits of lofty souls); so their courage is proud and contemptuous of defeat. Moreover, their skill in the arts of war gives them confidence. Finally, sound ideas, instilled in them from childhood on, both by instruction and through the institutions of the commonwealth, give them courage: they hold life neither so cheap as to throw it away recklessly nor so perversely dear as to cling to it greedily and shamefully when honor requires them to give it up.\n\nWhen the battle is at its fiercest everywhere, a picked group of sworn and dedicated young men seek out the enemy commander. Sometimes they attack him openly; sometimes they try to ambush him. They assail him from close by and from a distance and they attack him in a wide, unbroken phalanx, continuously replacing the exhausted men with fresh troops. And unless he saves himself by running away, it rarely happens that he is not killed or captured alive by his enemies.\n\nIf they win a victory, they do not slaughter the defeated; they would rather capture than kill those they have put to flight. And they never pursue retreating troops without keeping in reserve at least one battalion drawn up under its colors. They do this so regularly that if the rest of their own forces have been defeated and they win the victory with their last battalion, they would rather let the whole enemy army escape than get into the habit of pursuing the fugitives with their own forces in disarray. They remember something that happened to them more than once: when the main body of the whole Utopian army had been overwhelmed and put to flight, while the enemy was exulting in the victory and pursuing them as they ran away in all directions, a few of their own troops held in reserve and on the lookout for opportunities suddenly attacked the enemy troops, who were scattered and straggling and careless from overconfidence, and thus changed the whole outcome of the battle; snatching certain and undoubted victory from their enemies' hands, the conquered turned the tables and conquered the conquerors.\n\nIt is not easy to say whether they are more clever in laying ambushes or more cautious in avoiding them. You would think they are preparing to flee when that is the last thing they intend; on the other hand, when they do intend to flee, you would imagine that is the last thing they have in mind. For if they feel they are at a disadvantage either in numbers or location, then they either move their camp silently at night, or escape by some stratagem, or withdraw gradually by day, keeping their ranks in such good order that they are no less dangerous in retreat than when they attack. They fortify their camp very carefully with a wide and very deep moat; the earth they dig up is piled up on the inside. In such work they do not use the services of common laborers. It is done by the hands of the soldiers themselves, and the whole army joins in the work except for the armed soldiers outside the rampart who keep watch against sudden attacks. With so many soldiers pitching in, they build massive fortifications around a large area with incredible speed.\n\nThey wear armor which is strong enough to ward off blows but does not hinder movement and gestures\u2014so much so that they feel no inconvenience even in swimming. For swimming in armor is one of the ordinary rudiments of their military training. At long range their weapon is the arrow which they shoot with great force and accuracy, not only on foot but also from horseback. At close quarters they strike not with swords but with battle-axes, which are deadly because of their sharp blade and their weight, whether used to hack or thrust. They are very skilled in devising siege engines. Once they are made, they conceal them very carefully, lest they become known before it is time to use them and turn out to be more ridiculous than useful. In designing them their primary concern is to make them easy to move and aim.\n\nWhen they make a truce with their enemies, they keep it so religiously that they do not violate it even under provocation. They do not lay enemy territory waste or burn their crops; they even do what they can to keep the grain from being trampled by men and horses, for they think it may be of some use to them. They injure no unarmed civilians except for spies. They offer amnesty to cities that surrender and even those taken by siege they do not sack; instead they execute those who prevented the surrender; they enslave the rest of the defenders, but the civilian populace they leave unharmed. If they find persons who urged the town to surrender, they grant them a share in the property of the condemned; they divide up the rest and give it to their auxiliaries, for none of the Utopians takes any of the booty.\n\nWhen the war is over, they assess the costs not against the friends for whom they incurred them but against the losers; they demand part of it in money, which they reserve for similar use in warfare, and part in estates within enemy territory, from which they forever enjoy a not inconsiderable income. They now have revenues of this sort in many nations; it accumulated gradually in various ways and now amounts to 700,000 ducats a year. To take care of it they send out collectors of revenue, who live there in grand style and play the part of great lords. But there is plenty left over to put into the treasury, unless they choose to give credit to the nation that owes it, which they often do until they need it, and even then it rarely happens that they demand all of it. They also bestow some of these estates on those whom they have persuaded to place themselves in great danger, as I mentioned before.\n\nIf some prince takes up arms against them and is preparing to invade their domain, they immediately confront him with a huge force outside their own boundaries, for they are reluctant to wage war within their own territory and no exigency could ever induce them to allow foreign auxiliaries on their island.\n\n### THE RELIGIONS OF THE UTOPIANS\n\nThere are various religions not only throughout the island but also within individual cities: some worship the sun as god, others the moon, others a different planet. Others worship some ancient paragon of either virtue or glory, venerating such a person not only as a god but as the supreme god. But the vast majority, and those by far the wiser ones, accept none of those gods and believe there is a certain single deity, unknown, eternal, infinite, inexplicable, diffused throughout this whole universe not physically but by his power, in a manner that is beyond human comprehension; him they call their parent. To him alone they attribute the origin, increase, progress, changes, and goals of all things; him and no other they honor as divine.\n\nActually, though all the others hold different beliefs on some points, they agree with the monotheists in thinking that there is some one supreme being who made and rules the universe, and in their native language they all agree in calling him Mythras, but they differ in that they identify the supreme power variously, each asserting that whatever he considers to be supreme is in fact that single nature to whose divine majesty, by the consensus of all nations, the whole creation is attributed. But gradually they are all abandoning these superstitious variations and joining together in that one religion which seems more reasonable than the others. And there is no doubt that the other beliefs would have vanished long ago if it were not that, whenever something untoward happened to someone who was considering changing his religion, fear made him think that it was not accidental but was sent from heaven, as if the divinity whose cult he was forsaking were avenging a wicked affront to himself.\n\nBut after they had heard from us the name, the teaching, the behavior, and the miracles of Christ, and the no less miraculous constancy of so many martyrs who freely shed their blood and thus brought many peoples, from far and wide, over to their religion, you would not believe how eagerly they also were converted, whether through the secret inspiration of God or because Christianity seemed closest to the sect which is predominant among them, although I think it was a matter of no small moment with them to hear that Christ approved of life in common for his disciples and that it is still practiced among the most genuine Christian communities. But certainly, whatever the reason, no small number of them were converted to our religion and were washed clean in the sacred waters of baptism.\n\nBut because there was, I am sorry to say, no priest among the four of us (for only that number remained after two of us had given up the ghost), they received the other sacraments but still lacked those which among us are conferred only by priests. But they know about them and long for them most intensely. In fact, they also earnestly discuss among themselves whether someone chosen from among their number could receive the sacerdotal character without the dispatch of a Christian bishop. And in fact it seemed they were about to choose someone, but when I left they had not yet done so.\n\nEven those who do not agree with the Christian religion still do not frighten anyone away from it; they do not oppose anyone who has embraced it, except that one of our community was repressed while I was there. Shortly after he was baptized, over our objections, he harangued publicly about Christianity with more zeal than prudence, and he began to get so carried away that he not only ranked our religion above all the rest but condemned all the others outright. He cried out against them as profane; he denounced their worshipers as wicked, sacrilegious, and worthy to be punished in eternal fire. When he had preached like this for a long time, they arrested him and tried him, not for despising their religion but for exciting riots among the people. They convicted him and sentenced him to exile, for it is one of their oldest policies that no one should come to any harm because of his religion.\n\nFor Utopus had learned that before his arrival the inhabitants squabbled incessantly about religion and he had noticed that the sects, which generally disagreed with each other and fought for their country in separate groups, provided the opportunity for him to conquer all of them. Hence, from the very beginning, after he had obtained the victory, he decreed first of all that everyone could practice the religion of his choice and could also strive to convert others to it, but only so long as he advocated it calmly and moderately with rational arguments. And if he could not win others over by persuasion, he was not to assail their religions bitterly nor use force against them, and he was to refrain from insults. Anyone who quarrels insolently about religion is punished with exile or enslavement.\n\nUtopus laid down these rules not only for the sake of peace, which he saw was completely undermined by constant strife and implacable hatred, but also because he thought such a decree would benefit religion itself. In religious matters he did not venture to dogmatize rashly because he was uncertain whether or not God wishes to have varied and manifold kinds of worship and hence inspires different people with different views. Certainly he thought that to use force and threats to make everyone accept what you believe to be true is both arrogant and absurd. Then too, if one religion should be actually true and the rest false, still he easily foresaw that in the long run the the truth would sooner or later emerge and prevail by its own force as long as the matter was handled reasonably and moderately. But if the struggle is conducted with arms and uprisings, since the worst people are always the most headstrong, the best and holiest religion, embroiled among empty superstitions, will be choked like grain among thorns and briars. And so he left the whole matter open and left everyone free to believe whatever he wanted, except that he solemnly and strictly forbade that anyone should sink so far below the dignity of human nature as to think that the soul dies with the body or that the world is ruled by mere chance and not by providence.\n\nAnd for this reason they believe that after this life punishments are ordained for vices and rewards for virtues. Anyone who thinks otherwise they do not even include in the category of human beings since he has degraded the lofty nature of his soul to the base level of a beast's wretched body. Still less will they count him as one of their citizens, since he would set no store whatever by all their laws and morality if it were not for fear. For who can doubt that someone who has nothing to fear but the law and no hope of anything beyond bodily existence would strive to evade the public laws of his country by secret chicanery or to break them by force in order to satisfy his own personal greed? For that reason they bestow no honors on such a person, they assign him to no office, they put him in charge of no public responsibility. He is universally looked down on as a lazy and spineless character. But he is not subjected to any punishment because they are convinced that it is not within a person's power to believe whatever he wishes; they neither compel him by any threats to mask his opinion nor accept any pretexts or lies, which they utterly despise as next door to deliberate malice. Still they do forbid him to argue for his opinion, but only among the common people. Otherwise, in private, among priests and prudent men, they not only permit him to argue but also encourage it, confident that in the end his madness will yield to reason.\n\nThere are also others, and they are by no means few (since their position is not forbidden as completely unreasonable or wicked) who go to the opposite extreme and believe that the souls of brute beasts are also immortal, although not comparable to ours in dignity nor destined for the same happiness.\n\nAlmost all of them are certain and fully persuaded that human happiness will be so boundless that they mourn for everyone who is sick but not for anyone who dies, unless they see that he is torn from life anxiously and unwillingly. For they take this to be a very bad sign, as if such a soul, despairing and conscious of guilt, fears to leave life because of some secret presentiment of future punishment. Moreover, they think God will hardly be well pleased when someone who is summoned does not come running eagerly but is dragged off reluctant and unwilling. Therefore when they see such a death they are dismayed and they carry out the dead persons with grief and in silence; after praying that God in his mercy will kindly forgive the infirmities of such souls, they cover the body with earth. On the other hand, when someone dies joyfully and full of good hope, they do not mourn him, but rather they conduct his funeral with song; commending his soul to God with great affection, they finally cremate his body with reverence, not grief, and erect on that spot a column inscribed with the virtues of the dead person. After they have returned home, they tell of his character and deeds, and no part of his life is rehearsed more often or more eagerly than his cheerful death.\n\nThey think this commemoration of his uprightness is a very strong inducement to virtue for the living and the most acceptable form of veneration to the dead, whom they also believe to be present when they are talked about, though invisible to us because the eyesight of mortals is too dull to see them. For it would not be suitable to the condition of the blessed to lack the liberty of going wherever they want, and it would be ungrateful of them to have no desire whatever to visit their friends, to whom they were united in mutual love and charity while they were alive; such charity they suppose, like other good qualities, is increased, not diminished, in good men after their death. Thus they believe that the dead are present among the living, observing what they say and do, and for that reason they go about their business more confidently because of their trust in such protectors; their belief in the presence of their ancestors also deters them from secret wrongdoing.\n\nThey have nothing to do with fortune-telling and other vain, superstitious divinations, which other people take quite seriously but which they consider ridiculous. But miracles which happen apart from any natural cause they revere as works and witnesses which manifest the presence of a deity. They say such miracles often happen there, and sometimes, during great crises, they pray publicly for a miracle with great confidence and they do obtain it.\n\nThey think the worship which pleases God is the contemplation of nature and the praise which springs from it. But there are others, and they are by no means few, who neglect learning in the name of religion, who do not strive to attain any knowledge, and who allow themselves no leisure at all. They are determined to earn happiness after death solely by keeping busy in the service of others. And so some tend the sick, others repair the roads, clear out ditches, rebuild bridges, dig turf, sand, or stones, fell and cut up trees, cart lumber, crops, and other provisions into the cities. They perform their services not only for the public but also for private citizens, and they work even harder than slaves. They willingly and cheerfully undertake any tasks which are rough, difficult, dirty, and shunned by most people because of the toil, disgust, and hopelessness they entail. They see to it that others have leisure, while they themselves are continually engaged in labor and toil, but nevertheless they take no credit for it. They neither censure the lives of others nor extol their own. The more they conduct themselves like slaves the more everyone honors them.\n\nThey are divided into two sects. The one is celibate and not only abstains from any sexual activity but also eats no meat (and some of them no animal products at all), totally rejecting the pleasures of this life as harmful, longing only for those of the world to come, which they strive to obtain by toil and vigils. Meanwhile, confident that they will soon obtain them, they are cheerful and energetic. The other group, no less devoted to labor, prefers to marry: they do not spurn the consolations of marriage, and they think that just as they owe such activity to nature, they owe children to their country. They do not refuse any pleasure which does not interfere with their work. They like to eat the flesh of animals precisely because they think such food gives them the strength to do all kinds of work. The Utopians consider this group more prudent; the other they regard as holier. If they claimed on rational grounds to prefer celibacy to marriage and a hard life to a comfortable one, the Utopians would laugh at them; but since they profess to be motivated by religion, the Utopians respect and revere them. On no other subject are they more cautious about making any rash pronouncements than on matters concerning religion. In their language these persons are given the special title \"Buthrescae,\" which could be translated into Latin as \"religiosi.\"\n\nTheir priests are extremely holy and therefore very few. For each city has no more than thirteen, one for each church, except during wartime, when seven of them set out with the army and are replaced by substitutes for the time being. But when the priests return, each assumes his former position. Until the time when the substitutes, in an orderly succession, replace priests who have died, they become attendants of the high priest (for one priest has authority over the others). They are elected by the people in the same way as other magistrates, that is, by secret ballot, in order to avoid partisan strife. Once elected, they are consecrated by their own college of priests.\n\nThey preside over divine worship, attend to religious matters, and act as guardians of morality. To be summoned by them and rebuked for dishonorable conduct is considered to be a great disgrace. But their role is to exhort and admonish; to repress and punish wrongdoers is the function of the ruler and other magistrates. The priests, however, do excommunicate those they find to be thoroughly vicious. There is almost no other punishment which they fear more, for such persons are both dejected by their infamy and tormented by a bad conscience. They may not even be physically safe for very long. For unless they quickly convince the priests that they are repentant, they will be seized by the senate and punished for their impiety.\n\nChildren and young people are educated by the priests, and they devote no more attention to learning than to character and virtue. They take the greatest pains from the very first to instill in the tender and impressionable minds of children sound opinions conducive to preserving the common good. When such ideas are thoroughly absorbed in childhood, they persist throughout all of manhood and they are extremely useful in protecting the status of the commonwealth, which decays only because of vices which spring from perverse attitudes.\n\nThe wives of the priests are the very finest women in the country, unless the priests themselves are women, for that sex is not excluded; but they are rarely elected and must be widows of advanced years.\n\nNo magistrates are held in greater honor among the Utopians, so much so that even if they commit a crime they are not subject to a public tribunal but are left to God and their own consciences. For they do not think it is right to lay human hands on anyone, however vicious, who has been dedicated to God in such a special way as a holy offering, so to speak. It is easier for them to observe this custom because priests are so few and are chosen so carefully. For it is very unlikely that someone who is the cream of the crop and is elevated to a position of such dignity only because of his virtue should degenerate into corruption and vice. And even if that very thing should happen\u2014for human nature is changeable\u2014nevertheless there would certainly be no reason to fear that the public would be in any great danger, because the priests are so few and have no power beyond what derives from the honor paid them. In fact the very reason they have so few and scattered priests is to keep the dignity of the order, now held in such high esteem, from being cheapened by bestowing the honor on many, especially since they think it is hard to find very many who are equal to the dignity of the office, for which merely mediocre virtues are insufficient.\n\nTheir reputation at home is no greater than the esteem in which they are held by foreign nations. This becomes quite clear, I think, if we note the reason for it. When troops are engaged in battle, the priests kneel at a distance but not very far away, dressed in their sacred vestments; lifting up their hands to heaven, they pray first of all for peace, and then for victory for their own forces, but without bloodshed on either side. When their soldiers win they rush into the battle line and restrain the fury of their forces against the routed troops. Merely to see them and make oneself known to them by calling out is enough to save anyone's life; to touch their flowing garments also protects the remaining goods of fortune from any damage due to the war. Hence they are venerated by the countries all around them, who attribute to them such genuine majesty that oftentimes they provide as much protection for their own citizens as they do for their enemies. For sometimes it has happened that, when their battle line was thrown back in despair and had turned to flee, as the enemy was rushing in to kill and plunder, the intervention of the priests has stopped the slaughter and separated the two armies so that a peace was devised and established on equitable terms. For nowhere is there a nation so savage, cruel, and barbarous that they do not hold their persons to be sacrosanct and inviolable.\n\nThe first and last days of each month and likewise of each year are celebrated as feastdays; the months are marked off by the orbit of the moon, just as the year is established by the course of the sun. In their language they call all of the first days \"cynemerni,\" the last days \"trapemerni,\" names that are equivalent to \"first-feastday\" and \"last-feastday.\" Their churches are remarkable not only for their workmanship but also for their capacity to hold immense crowds\u2014which is necessary because there are so few of them. They are all dimly lit, and they say this resulted not from lack of skill but from the deliberate policy of the priests, who believe that too much light distracts our thoughts, whereas dim and doubtful lighting concentrates the mind and intensifies religious devotion.\n\nSince religion is not the same for everyone there, yet all the forms of it, however varied and different, converge from various directions on one goal, the worship of the divine nature, nothing is seen or heard in the churches which is not held in common by all the religions. If any denomination has a rite peculiar to it, they provide for it in their own homes. Public worship is conducted according to a ritual which does not at all detract from any of the private devotions. Therefore no images of the gods are seen in churches so that everyone can be free to imagine the form of God as he wishes according to his own religion. They invoke God by no other name than Mythras, a name they all apply to the one divine nature, whatever it may be. No prayers are devised which everyone cannot say without offending his own denomination.\n\nAnd so on the last-feastdays they gather in church in the evening, still fasting and ready to give thanks to God for the success they enjoyed during the year or month just coming to an end. On the next day, which is the first-feastday, they flock to church in the morning to pray for success and happiness in the following year or month which begins on that feastday. But on the last-feastdays, at home, before they go to church, wives throw themselves at the feet of their husbands, and children do the same before their parents; they confess that they have sinned either through commission or negligence, and they beg forgiveness for their offenses. In this way if some little cloud of strife has arisen in the household, it is dispelled by such atonement so that they can attend the sacrifices with clear and untroubled minds, for they are too conscientious to worship with a disturbed conscience. Therefore those who feel anger or hatred toward someone do not intrude on the sacrifices unless they are reconciled and purged of such feelings, for fear of some swift and severe punishment.\n\nWhen they get there, the men sit on the right side of the church, the women separately on the left. Then too, they position themselves so that the male members of each household sit in front of the master of that household, and the matron of each household sits in the last row of the women. Thus they see to it that all the actions of everyone are observed in public by the persons whose authority maintains discipline at home. Moreover they are also very careful to intermingle everywhere young persons with their elders; otherwise, if children were entrusted to children, they might spend in childish tomfoolery the time that they should devote to cultivating a religious fear of the heavenly beings, the greatest and practically the only incitement to virtue.\n\nIn their sacrifices they do not kill any animals; they do not think that a merciful God, who bestowed life on animals precisely that they might live, takes any pleasure in bloodshed and slaughter. They burn incense and other fragrant substances. They also display many candles, not because they do not know that such things add nothing to God's nature, no more than human prayers do, but they like this harmless mode of worship and people feel that somehow such perfumes, lights, and other ceremonies lift up the human heart and make it rise more eagerly in divine worship.\n\nIn church the people wear white garments; the priests are clothed in vestments of various colors, marvelous in both workmanship and design, though the materials are not especially expensive, and they are not woven with gold threads or encrusted with rare gems; rather they are fashioned out of the feathers of various birds, so elegantly and skillfully that the costliest material would not match the value of the workmanship. Moreover, these feathers and plumes of birds and the set patterns in which they are arranged on the priests' garments are said to contain certain secret mysteries which, if rightly understood (and the interpretation is carefully handed down by the priests), remind them of the benefits bestowed on them by God and of the devotion they owe him in return, as well as their duty to each other.\n\nWhen the priest, dressed in this way, comes out of the sacristy, everyone immediately prostrates himself on the ground out of reverence; on all sides the silence is so profound that the spectacle itself inspires a certain fear, as if in the presence of some divinity. They remain on the ground for a while and then arise at a signal from the priest. Then they sing the praises of God, accompanied by musical instruments, which are mostly shaped differently from those seen in our part of the world. Most of them surpass ours in sweetness of tone, but some of them are incomparably superior to ours. But in one respect their music is undoubtedly far ahead of ours: whether instrumental or vocal, it imitates and expresses natural feelings so well, the sound matches the sense of the words so closely (whether they express supplication or joy, peace or turmoil, sadness or anger), and the shape of the melody matches the meaning so well that it quite wonderfully stirs up, pierces, and inflames the hearts of the hearers. Finally the priest and the people recite together certain customary and fixed forms of prayer, composed in such a way that everyone can apply to himself what they all recite together.\n\nIn these prayers each one recognizes God as the creator and ruler of the universe and also the source of all good things. He thanks God for bestowing so many benefits on him, but especially because through God's kindness he was placed in the happiest form of commonwealth and has been allotted the religion which he hopes is the truest. If he is mistaken in this matter or if there is some form of commonwealth or religion which is better and more approved by God, he prays that God in his goodness will cause him to recognize it, for he is prepared to follow wherever God leads him. But if this form of commonwealth is the best and this religion is truest, he asks that God will both make him steadfast and lead other mortals to the same way of life and the same idea of God\u2014unless there is in fact something in this variety of religions which pleases his inscrutable will.\n\nFinally he prays that by an easy death God may take him to himself, how soon or late he certainly does not dare to determine. But, provided that God's majesty is not offended by it, he would much rather go to him by a very difficult death than be kept away from him any longer, even by a prosperous way of life. After saying this prayer they once more prostrate themselves on the ground and after a little while they get up again, go to eat lunch, and spend the rest of the day playing games or doing military exercises.\n\nI have described to you as accurately as I can the plan of their commonwealth, which I certainly consider to be not only the best but also the only kind worthy of the name. For elsewhere they always talk about the public good but they are concerned with their own private welfare; here, where there is no private property, everyone works seriously for the public good. And for good reason in both places, for elsewhere is there anyone who does not know that unless he looks out for his own personal interest he will die of hunger, no matter how flourishing the commonwealth may be; therefore necessity causes him to think he should watch out for his own good, not that of others, that is, of the people. On the other hand, here, where everything belongs to everyone, no one doubts that (as long as care is taken that the public storehouses are full) nothing whatever will be lacking to anyone for his own use. For the distribution of goods is not niggardly; no one is a pauper or a beggar there, and though no one has anything, all are rich.\n\nFor what greater wealth can there be than to be completely spared any anxiety and to live with a joyful and tranquil frame of mind, with no worries about making a living, not vexed by a wife's complaints and demands, not fearing a son will end up in poverty, not concerned about a daughter's dowry, but secure about the livelihood and happiness of himself and his own, his wife, children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, great-great-grandchildren, and however long a line of descendants noblemen presume they will have. Indeed those who worked before but are now disabled are no less provided for than those who are still working.\n\nAt this point I wish that someone would venture to compare with this equity the justice to be found in other nations, where I'll be damned if I can find any trace whatever of justice or equity. For what sort of justice is it for some nobleman or goldsmith or moneylender or, in short, any of the others who either do nothing at all or something that is not very necessary for the commonwealth, to live luxuriously and splendidly in complete idleness or doing some superfluous task? And at the same time a laborer, a teamster, a blacksmith or farmer works so long and so hard that a beast of burden could hardly sustain it, performing tasks so necessary that without them no commonwealth could survive at all for even a single year, and yet they earn such a meager living and lead such miserable lives that beasts of burden seem to be better off, since they do not have to work so incessantly, their fodder is not much worse (and to them it tastes better), and in the meantime they are not afraid of what will happen to them. These workers are driven to toil without profit or gain in the present; they are crushed by the thought that they will be poverty-stricken in their old age, for their daily wages are not enough for that very day, much less can they accumulate any surplus which might be put aside every day to provide for their old age.\n\nIs a commonwealth not unjust and ungrateful if it lavishes so many benefits on noblemen, as they are called, and goldsmiths, and the rest of that crew who are either idle or else merely flatterers and providers of empty pleasures, but makes no proper provision for farmers, colliers, laborers, teamsters, and blacksmiths, without whom there would be no commonwealth at all; unmindful of their sleepless labors and forgetting their many and great contributions, it first uses up the labors of their flourishing years, and then, when they are worn down by old age and diseases, it is totally ungrateful and rewards them with a miserable death. And how about this: every day the rich scrape away something from the wages of the poor, not only by private chicanery but also by public laws. Before, it seemed unjust that those who deserve the most from the commonwealth should receive the least, but now, by promulgating a law, they have transmuted this perversion into justice. From my observation and experience of all the flourishing nations everywhere, what is taking place, so help me God, is nothing but a conspiracy of the rich, as it were, who look out for themselves under the pretext of serving the commonwealth. They think up and devise all ways and means, first of keeping (and having no fear of losing) what they have heaped up through underhanded deals, and then of taking advantage of the poor by buying their labor and toil as cheaply as possible. Once the rich have decreed in the name of the public (including the poor) that these schemes must be observed, then they become laws.\n\nBut after these depraved creatures, in their insatiable greed, have divided among themselves all the goods which would have sufficed for everyone, they are still very far from the happiness of the Utopian commonwealth; there, once the use of money was abolished, and together with it all greed for it, what a mass of troubles was cut away, what a crop of crimes was pulled up by the roots! Is there anyone who does not know that fraud, theft, plunder, strife, turmoil, contention, rebellion, murder, treason, poisoning, crimes which are constantly punished but never held in check, would die away if money were eliminated? And also that at the very instant when money disappeared, so would fear, anxiety, worries, toil, and sleepless nights? Indeed, poverty itself, which seems to be merely the lack of money, would itself immediately fade away if money were everywhere totally abolished.\n\nTo make this clearer, imagine some barren year of bad harvests when many thousands of people die of hunger. I maintain it is clear that at the end of this famine, if you examined the barns of the rich, you would find so much grain that if it had been divided among those swept away by starvation and disease, no one would have noticed any effect at all of the failure of weather and soil. It would have been easy to provide food if that blessed money, that invention very clearly designed to open the way to what we need to live, were not the only barrier to keep us from it. I have no doubt that the rich also understand this and are not unaware how much better it would be to lack no necessities than to abound in so many superfluities, to be relieved of so many troubles than to be hemmed in by such great wealth. And in fact I have no doubt that everyone's concern for his own well-being or the authority of our savior Christ (who is so wise that he cannot be unaware of what is best and so good that he would never advise what he knew was not the best) would long since have easily drawn the whole world to adopt the laws of this commonwealth, if it were not held back by one and only one monster, the prince and parent of all plagues, pride.\n\nPride measures prosperity not by her own advantages but by the disadvantages of others. She would not even wish to be a goddess unless there were some wretches left whom she could order about and lord it over, whose misery would make her happiness seem all the more extraordinary, whose poverty can be tormented and exacerbated by a display of her wealth. This infernal serpent, pervading the human heart, keeps men from reforming their lives, holding them back like a suckfish.\n\nSince pride is too firmly fixed in the minds of men to be easily plucked out, I am glad that this form of commonwealth, which I would gladly see adopted by everyone, is at least enjoyed by the Utopians; they have followed ethical principles which enabled them to lay the foundations of a commonwealth that is not only most happy but also, so far as human prescience can foresee, likely to last forever. For now that they have eradicated factional strife and ambition at home, along with the other vices, there is no danger that they can be disturbed by domestic discord, which has been the sole reason for the downfall of many prosperous and splendidly fortified cities. But as long as their domestic tranquility and wholesome social structure is preserved, the envy of all the surrounding princes cannot shock or unsettle their dominion, though in the past they have often unsuccessfully tried to do so.\n\nWhen Raphael had ended his tale, there occurred to me quite a few institutions established by the customs and laws of that nation which seemed to me quite absurd, not only in their way of waging war, their religious beliefs and practices, and other institutions as well, but also (and above all) in the very point which is the principal foundation of their whole social structure, namely their common life and subsistence with no exchange of money. That one fact entirely undermines all nobility, magnificence, splendor, and majesty, which are (in the popular view) the true adornments and ornaments of a commonwealth. Nevertheless, I knew that his talk had worn him out, and I was not sure whether he could endure to listen to an opinion contrary to his own\u2014especially since I remembered that he had reproached some persons precisely because they thought they would not be considered wise unless they could find some way of picking apart the ideas of others\u2014and so, having praised their regimen and his own exposition, I took his hand and led him in to dinner, though first I said we would have another time to consider these matters more thoroughly and to confer more fully. I only wish this would happen someday!\n\nMeanwhile, just as I can hardly agree with all the points he made (even though he is a person of unquestionable learning and wide experience of human affairs), so too I readily confess that in the Utopian commonwealth are very many features which in our societies I would wish rather than expect to see.\n\nTHE END OF THE SECOND BOOK\n\nThe End of the Afternoon Discourse \nof Raphael Hythloday \nabout the Laws and Institutions \nof the Little-known Island of Utopia \nRecorded by the Most Illustrious \nand Learned Gentleman \nMaster Thomas More \nCitizen and Undersheriff of London\n\n## Thomas More to His Friend Peter Giles, \nWarmest Greetings\n\nMy dear Peter, I was thoroughly delighted with the judgment you know about, delivered by that very sharp fellow in the form of a dilemma directed against my _Utopia:_ if the story is being presented as true, I find some things in it rather absurd; if it is a fiction, then I think that More's usual good judgment is lacking on some points. I am very grateful to this man, my dear Peter, whoever he may be, who I suspect is learned and whom I see as a friendly critic. I do not know whether any other critique since the book came out has pleased me as much as this one. For, first of all, motivated either by his regard for me or for the work itself, it seems that he did not begrudge the effort of reading it all the way through, and that not cursorily and hastily the way priests read the divine office (if they do so at all) but deliberately and carefully so as to weigh the details thoughtfully. And then, after criticizing some points, and not very many at that, he declares that he approves of the rest, not thoughtlessly but judiciously. Finally, even in the language with which he castigates me he praises me more highly than those who deliberately set out to praise me. For he gives a clear indication what a splendid opinion he has of me when he complains that he is disappointed when he reads a passage that is not as precise as it should be, whereas I myself exceed my own hopes if I happen to be able to publish something in the whole lot that is at least not absolutely absurd.\n\nBut in fact, to deal with him no less frankly in turn, I do not see why he should consider himself so eagle-eyed and, as the Greeks say, sharp-sighted, if he discovers some things rather absurd in the institutions of the Utopians or finds that in setting up a commonwealth I have not thought through some matters in a sufficiently practical way, as if there were no absurdities elsewhere in the world, or as if any of all the philosophers everywhere had so devised a commonwealth, a ruler, or a household so perfectly as to propound nothing that could not be improved. On that point, if it were not that I consider as sacred the memory of the most extraordinary men who have been hallowed from ancient times, I could certainly point out features from each of them which everyone would undoubtedly agree in condemning.\n\nBut when he is in doubt whether the work is true or fictitious, on this point I think his own usual good judgment is lacking. Nevertheless, I do not deny that if I had decided to write about the commonwealth and a story such as this had occurred to me, I would not have shrunk from a fictional presentation which would make the truth slip more pleasantly into the mind like medicine smeared with honey. But certainly I would have managed it so that, even though I might have wanted to deceive the ignorant mob, I would at least have inserted some pointed hints which would have let the more learned discover what I was about. Thus even if I had done nothing more than assign to the ruler, river, city, and island such names as would have informed learned readers that the island is nowhere, the city is a phantom, the river has no water, the ruler no people\u2014which would not have been hard to do and would have been much more elegant than what I actually did, for if I had not been forced by historical accuracy, I am not so stupid as to use those barbarous and meaningless names Utopia, Anyder, Amaurot, and Ademus.\n\nBut my dear Giles, since I see that some people are so cautious, wary, and sagacious that they can hardly be induced to believe what we simple and credulous souls wrote down at Hythloday's dictation, lest such persons should mistrust not only the accuracy of the story but also my own credibility, I am glad that I can say for my brainchild what Mysis in Terence says to keep Glycerius' boy from being considered a changeling: \"By heaven, I thank goodness that there were some freeborn matrons present at the birth.\" For luckily for me it so happens that Raphael told his tale not only to you and me but also to many very respectable and upstanding men. I do not know whether he related more numerous or notable details but I am sure he told them no fewer and no less remarkable matters than he did to us.\n\nBut if these incredulous persons will not take even their word for it, they can visit Hythloday himself, for he has not yet died. I just heard from some persons who recently returned from Portugal that on the first day of last March he was healthy and vigorous as ever. Therefore let them ask him for the truth or question him to ferret it out, as long as they understand that I am responsible only for my own work, not for the trustworthiness of others. Farewell, dearest Peter, to you and your charming wife and pretty little daughter, to whom my wife wishes long life and good health.\n\n## AFTER WORD\n\nJERRY HARP\n\nPoet, translator, lawyer, statesman, social philosopher, martyr, and (as of 1935) canonized saint, Thomas More remains\u2014in his friend Erasmus's phrase\u2014a \"man for all seasons,\" one who in his integrity is suited to all occasions. He was formed to no small degree by the cultural movement known as Renaissance humanism, with its emphases on the study of ancient texts, the deepening of a historical sense, the cultivation of the art of rhetoric, and devotion to active service in the world. The terms \"Renaissance\" and \"humanism\" come trailing clouds of ambiguity, so some sorting of their meaning is in order.\n\nThe idea that the Renaissance\u2014roughly 1400 to 1650, give or take (depending on where one stood in the world)\u2014was a time of great cultural renewal immediately following the \"Dark Ages\" owes a lot to the work of Jacob Burkhardt. Although his writing has been immensely influential, many generations of scholars have challenged certain of his ideas. More recent work has stressed, for example, the continuities that carry from the ancient, through the medieval, and into the early modern world. One sign of the continuity is the occurrence of various smaller-scale renaissances leading up to the major period known as _the_ Renaissance. There was the Carolingian Renaissance of the late eighth and ninth centuries, which brought into greater prominence study of the Bible, the church fathers, and the Latin classics, along with a reform of handwriting that made the copying of manuscripts more efficient. Later came the Ottonian Renaissance (tenth century), with its emphasis on historical writing, revitalization of monastic and cathedral schools, and increased circulation of classical learning. Perhaps most widely known is the Renaissance of the \"long twelfth century\" (roughly 1050 to 1250), which saw a surge of cultural energies in a variety of spheres: further revival of the classics of ancient Latinity, the rise of scholasticism, and the emergence of theology as an academic discipline, as well as developments in art, architecture, vernacular literature, and music. These \"Dark Ages\" were not so dark as some reports might lead us to believe.\n\nThat there was greater continuity between the fall of Rome and the beginning of the Renaissance is one reason for the use, in the past few decades, of the term \"early modern\" in preference to \"Renaissance.\" To put the matter simply, \"early modern\" stresses the period's relationship to what follows (modernity and even postmodernity), whereas \"Renaissance\" emphasizes the period's relationship to the past, and also implies that culture somehow died out in the intervening period (returning us again to the idea of the Dark Ages). While the term \"early modern\" avoids the problem of connoting a rebirth of something that never really died out, it also introduces its own distinct difficulties into the discussion. For example, it tends to gloss over important differences between early and late modernity, implying a smoother trajectory of cultural development than is fitting. Nevertheless, it can be salutary to choose a new set of problems to negotiate; the new questions can call forth insights and work that otherwise might not occur. Besides, in placing greater emphasis on the Renaissance as harbinger of the new, the term \"early modern\" actually extends the work of Burkhardt, who ends his great study by proclaiming the Italian Renaissance the \"leader of modern ages.\"\n\nThe evidence of continuity does not, however, negate that something distinctive and new was happening in the period commonly referred to as the Renaissance, merely that the Burkhardtian view of disjunction overstates the case. Taking shape in the run-up to the Renaissance is what might be termed the requisite intellectual infrastructure in the form, for example, of the many manuscripts that medieval monks had been busy copying for centuries, and then in the form of printed books in the middle of the fifteenth century. As Jack Goody has pointed out, the Renaissance of early modern Europe is one instance of an identifiable pattern in which a critical mass of material culture enables a recovery and circulation of much older texts, which in some cases then lead to an outpouring of further work and experimentation. Even if many of the ancient texts had continued to be known, at least by a learned cohort, their further circulation was required to open the floodgates of Renaissance work.\n\nA distinctive movement within the early modern era was what scholars in the nineteenth century termed humanism. Douglas Bush said of this movement that it is a \"medieval fusion of classical wisdom with Christian faith, and the only real change in later times was that the classical element, philosophically and aesthetically, became a less inferior partner.\" With regard to the aesthetic inheritance, the humanists' work brought the importance of style in human discourse into greater prominence, not as mere ornamentation but as part and parcel of signification. In other words, they emphasized rhetoric over dialectic (logic); it's not that they were against logic, but rather that they were deeply aware that far more than logic is needed to make discourse meaningful. When Aristotle defined rhetoric as the \"faculty of observing in any given case the available means of persuasion,\" he was writing about oratory, but rhetoric also has to do with the art of structuring discourse. In other words, rhetoric is about the ways that human experience, insight, and wisdom are encoded in language.\n\nThis concern with the style and structuring of discourse was at the heart of the humanists' educational and cultural reform of the medieval dispensation they inherited, and _Utopia_ exemplifies these ambitions with great force. In the Dialogue of Counsel, when Hythloday maintains that princes would be impervious to his advice, the character More takes him to task for his idea that the language of truth is singular; Hythloday's preference is for the language of \"academic philosophy\" (p. 43), the scholasticism that the humanists criticized for its obsessive concern with hyper-subtle logic. As in his letter to Martin Dorp, More derided a trifling, pointless, and at times captious concern with logical quibbles. Generally, the humanists wanted more Cicero and less of the Aristotle of the logical works in their educational program.\n\nWith their focus on rhetoric and style, the humanists developed the discipline of textual criticism, seeking as they did to establish reliable texts and accurate translations. A signal example of this work with texts, one that connects with the humanists' historical-mindedness, is Lorenzo Valla's demonstration that the Donation of Constantine was a forgery. Relying largely on historical details, many of them philological, Valla showed that the document could not have come from the Emperor Constantine's hand.\n\nIn relation to their other labors, the humanists also undertook a variety of literary experiments, such as the classic and quirky texts by Erasmus ( _Praise of Folly_ ), More ( _Utopia_ ), and Fran\u00e7ois Rabelais ( _Gargantua and Pantagruel_ ). It was as if all of the scholarly work and public service issued in outbreaks of sheer creativity and serious play. For all of the lasting value of the humanists' scholarship, it is these texts at play that most of us now read most assiduously. It is not without reason that, with regard to More's text, one of the great theologians of our day discerns a strong link between utopia and festivity.\n\nThe humanist emphasis on rhetoric and style fostered skills fitting for administrative workers in a world of increasingly centralized states and expanding bureaucratic church structures. These skills were fostered by such precursors of the humanists as the lawyers and notaries who mediated commercial activity in thirteenth-century Italy, workers who embellished documents and letters with allusions to the Latin classics. Further, their training in Roman law led them to study the literature of ancient Rome as well. As this world of centralized bureaucracy grew, so did the need for well-trained and fluent language workers. Whatever its other merits, humanism trained people to work in this increasingly bureaucratized world, the one for which Thomas More was shaped.\n\nHis early formation took place in the grammar school (where young boys were drilled in the niceties of Latin grammar) at St. Anthony's in London. Having finished his course of study there, he embarked on an apprenticeship at the home of Archbishop (later Cardinal and then Lord Chancellor) Morton, who shows up as a character in _Utopia._ As a page in Morton's household at Lambeth, More would have not only learned how to play a formal role on public occasions, but also extended his rhetorical skills by engaging in debates and taking on various personae to perform fluent and convincing discourses. Having entered his fourteenth year, he left Lambeth to enter Canterbury College, Oxford, where he studied for two years before leaving to take up legal studies at New Inn, London. We do not know why he left Oxford without taking a degree, though it is worth noting that it was not uncommon to study at a university for a year or two before moving on to legal training. After two years at New Inn, he moved on to Lincoln's Inn to continue his training in the law. It was during his time at Lincoln's Inn that he was also part of a circle of scholars\u2014such as William Grocyn, John Colet, and Thomas Linacre\u2014interested in the new humanist learning. These figures came from a variety of walks of life including medicine, law, theater, education, and publishing. But the most influential person More met at this time was Erasmus, who first visited England in 1499. Because neither was proficient in the other's native tongue, they spoke Latin, the lingua franca of European intellectual life, a language in which they could exchange ideas, interests, and witticisms. Early in their friendship, they undertook a friendly contest of translating work of the ancient Greek satirist Lucian from Greek into Latin. Erasmus saw _Utopia_ through the press of Thierry Martens at Louvain. It appeared near the end of 1516.\n\n_Utopia_ keeps appearing as if out of nowhere, showing up in the here and now to take us elsewhere. According to Thomas More's Greek pun, \"Utopia\" is the good place ( _eu-topos_ ) that is no place ( _ou-topos_ ). Early on he referred to his book by the Latin _Nusquama_ (Nowhere), but it was his Greek coinage that entered the language, and it shows up everywhere. Although the term has come to mean an imaginary and ideal place, an impractical social scheme, More's text works in more complex ways than popular usage allows. _Utopia_ is a nowhere that opens into new discursive spaces. Were the realm of the present and pragmatic concern to dominate entirely, we would be led into stagnation. The nowhere of _Utopia_ \u2014the work as well as the genre and mode of thinking\u2014provides one way to keep consciousness on the move even though it is an impossible place (even the mathematical dimensions of the island cannot work out).\n\nMore's great text indeed uncannily recurs. Many editions have been noted. Back in the early 1980s, I spent the better part of a month tracking them down\u2014this for one of those marvelous, old-fashioned graduate school exercises that I hope students still undertake, at least on occasion. I stopped counting somewhere upward of 260. Had neither limitation of time nor lack of initiative intervened, I suspect I could have found many more, and the ensuing decades have produced editions no doubt by the score, such as the one you are reading now. They tend to proliferate during times of conspicuous social stress, such as the world wars. Does this pattern of publication disclose a desire to escape to nowhere during tumultuous times? Or perhaps to reflect on what a good place might be? Does it show an interest, felt if not explicitly contemplated, in the complexities of how to speak of social change?\n\nWe do well to read the text in more complex terms than as a blueprint to an ideal state. Its longer title\u2014 _On the Best Form of a Commonwealth and on the New Island of Utopia_ \u2014cues us into as much. The conjunction separates as well as joins the two parts. The \"best form of a commonwealth,\" along with what it could mean to talk about and work toward it (dominant in Book 1), is not the same as the \"new island of Utopia\" (which dominates Book 2). After all, as Clarence Miller states in the introduction to this edition, few would want to live in such a regimented world as Hythloday describes. He even seems to forget a principle of justice that he urges. In his dialogue with Cardinal Morton, he argues convincingly that execution is an unjust and finally ineffectual punishment for thievery, but then in the description of his beloved isle, we learn that the Utopians practice capital punishment for a repeated offense of adultery (p. 99). Both offenses violate a biblical commandment (one the sixth, the other the seventh), so we might take this slip\u2014criticism of one death sentence and implied praise of the other\u2014as something of a wink from the author.\n\nSomething other is at stake here than a picture of a perfect world, which must exist elsewhere for More anyway. For this student of St. Augustine, we work to better this world as best we can even when we know we'll fail. In _The City of God_ (Bk. 15, chs. 1\u20136), Augustine locates the beginnings of the human city in the fratricide in which Cain kills Abel, and he makes the rather astute point that of the two, it is only Cain who builds a literal city. For a citizen of the City of God, life in this world is constant pilgrimage. It is thus fitting that, as several have pointed out, the life of Utopia is that of a monastery writ large. Although the life of a monk traditionally involves staying home, the monastic way of renunciation reminds us that our lives are pilgrimage in a much deeper sense than locomotion can account for; the monk is one who uses the monastic rule to \"follow the path to God.\"\n\nMore wrote about the complications of forming an ideal commonwealth in this world, in a Latin poem titled _Quis Optimus Reipubae Status_ (\"What Is the Best Form of Government\"), in which the speaker raises the question of which rules better, a senate or a king. He wrote the poem around the time he was composing _Utopia,_ with which it appeared in 1518. Here the poem is rendered into English heroic couplets:\n\nWhich one excels, a senate or a king? \nLikely the senate\u2014it's a common thing: \nThe best in greater numbers of the good. \nBut how to find the numbers that you would? \nIt's easier to hold one bad in view. \nA senate often lives between the two, \nBut kings don't walk on any middle ground. \nFlawed senates may get counsel from the sound, \nBut kings subdue the wisest of the earth. \nOne is elected by the people. By birth \nThe other reigns while holding in derision \nThe whole of his subjected population. \nWhile greedy kings will chew their people up, \nAn evil senate still leaves room for hope. \nThe old tale says, Endure the sated pest; \nA hungry one invades, worse than the last. \nBut greedy kings are never satisfied; \nA leech hangs on until the body's dried. \nDissent will throw a senate into shambles. \nNot so the king, but that is where one gambles. \nWhen disagreement rules in weighty things . . . \nBut hey, what started all this anyway? \nAre there people whom you hold in sway \nTo shape their mode of rule? If so, you're king. \nDon't worry whether there would be abuse. \nAsk rather, Would it be of any use?\n\nSure enough, Utopia is governed by a senate, but it was founded by a king (Utopus) who held sway to establish the system of rule and then legislated his position out of existence\u2014an unlikely scenario, as things go in this world, and one that raises the question of whether democracy can be imposed on a people. It may be said of Utopus that, in taking on the role of king to create a system of democratic rule, the \"latter end of his commonwealth forgets the beginning,\" as Antonio says of Gonzalo's ideal state. The voice at the end of More's poem makes a similar point with the question \"Would it be of any use?\"\n\nGiven the ways of worldly power, could I escape\u2014if I were king\u2014the corrupting influence of my kingly position? How might one answer this question from More's point of view, given life in a fallen world of fallen people whose institutions are compromised by the effects of social sin, where social justice falls by the wayside, and where the dangerous folly of the deluded rich and powerful holds sway more than the wise folly of the City of God (foolish in the eyes of this world) and what passes for wisdom and common sense is far too often the \"common nonsense\" that arises from the distorting influence of our desires and fears, which are misshapen by life in a fallen world? Besides the corruptions of power, our struggles merely to survive compromise our desires to live well; as Lewis Mumford wrote, Utopia addresses the complication that \"our attempts to live the good life are constantly perverted by our efforts to gain a living.\" From Hythloday's point of view, the only solution is to establish Utopian institutions. But how do we get those institutions up and running? As Miller points out, they can be introduced only if they already exist. You can't get there from here.\n\n_Utopia_ ushers its readers into a style of thought that confronts such complications as these. It is therefore advisable to attend to the style of this masterpiece of Neo-Latin prose. As Elizabeth McCutcheon points out, litotes\u2014an affirmation formed by the negation of its opposite\u2014plays no small part in More's text; she counted more than 140 instances in the Latin of the Yale edition. Because litotes does not do quite the same work as straightforward affirmation, it fosters a mindset that allows nuances and ambiguities otherwise easily glossed over, and thus encourages a habit of understanding in more complex terms than simple affirmation or negation accomplishes. The figure of litotes is one of many that Stephen Greenblatt points to as forming the incongruous relationship between the two realms of the text\u2014the world where the dialogue takes place and the island that Hythloday describes. Clearly, they are related, but their relationship is unstable and distorted. One can even map out certain significant shifts in the style of Hythloday's sentences. When he speaks of the injustices of his contemporary Europe, his sentences are of moderate length, similar to More's Latin prose in his other works. However, when Hythloday contrasts the real with his ideal, or describes the Utopians' simple way of life, he employs styles that represent \"extremes that cannot be found anywhere else in More's Latin prose.\" When contrasting the real with his ideal, he employs \"marathon sentences\" that go \"beyond what ordinary Latin syntax can bear.\" When describing his ideal, his sentences are simple and brief. Much of the meaning of the text depends on experience of its style, as of its shifts of style. Happily, Miller's translation preserves these stylistic features, and more.\n\nRecognition of the need for a variety of styles and discourses was central to the humanist program. In _Utopia,_ the character More emphasizes that there are many languages of truth. The language that a given speaker chooses should respond to the situation at hand and the persons addressed. Here he makes use of the metaphor of the world as a stage, arguably the most common of Renaissance commonplaces. As he says to Hythloday, \"But there is another sort of philosophy better suited to public affairs. It knows its role and adapts to it, keeping to its part in the play at hand with harmony and decorum\" (p. 43). The Latin of this passage even refers literally to the boards of the theater, the stage ( _scaena_ ). We may be reminded of the anecdote, related by More's son-in-law, about the future Lord Chancellor: during his apprenticeship in the home of Archbishop Morton, where \"though [More] was young of years, yet would he at Christmas-tide suddenly sometimes step in among the players, and never studying for the matter, make a part of his own there presently among them, which made the lookers-on more sport than all the players beside.\" The humanist spirit recognized that the stage of the world demands improvisation with many language styles.\n\nIt may seem curious that More speaks of this theatrical metaphor as a philosophy. But there is a way of understanding ourselves and our world implicit in the metaphor and its relationship to the arts of rhetoric, one that includes a variety of roles and language worlds by means of which humans negotiate experience. One term for this way of understanding is what has been styled relationism. Because everything is related to everything else, there is no singular statement to make about anything. Further, because every statement (such as the one I am making now) conceals as much as it reveals, any statement, no matter how true, must be supplemented by other statements. There is no final word, as there is no final interpretation. What makes a given utterance relevant has everything to do with the situation within which it is made, who is speaking, and who is addressed. None of this is to say that humans cannot know something true\u2014were this the case, we could not know it\u2014but rather that there is no absolute human perspective or singular language of truth, as Hythloday insists that there is.\n\nGiven this relationist style of thinking, we may discern in the humanists' work early stirrings toward what Bernard Lonergan identified in his aptly titled \"The Transition from a Classicist World-View to Historical-Mindedness.\" This transition moves from a monolithic understanding of what it means to be human to the insight that there is a great variety of valid ways to be human, as there is a great variety of valid languages of knowing. The _Utopia_ suggests that we are permitted to reflect on how we might change our institutions, revise our social structures, conduct our cultural and civic lives differently. For all of its monolithic structure and faceless anonymity, even Utopia is permeable to outside influence\u2014Utopians eagerly learn Greek, printing, and papermaking (pp. 92\u201395). Reading _Utopia_ means entering into a dialogue, with oneself and others, that continues to this day.\n\nAnother influence on the emerging historical-mindedness of More's era was the ongoing exploration of the globe, as learning about the varieties of culture beyond Europe enabled a greater appreciation of the forms that human societies, and everyday human life, can take. Hythloday himself accompanied Amerigo Vespucci on three of his voyages. Accounts of these journeys provide descriptions of peoples with striking similarities to the Utopians. Thus, we learn of a society in which, as in Utopia, women accompany men into battle, an Epicurean sensibility reigns, and people \"hold their habitations in common.\" Perhaps most striking is the attitude toward gold and other objects that pass for wealth in Europe: \"They do not value gold, nor pearls, nor gems, nor such other things as we consider precious here in Europe.\" The description calls immediately to mind the Utopians' use of gold for chamber pots and shackles, as well as the marvelous anecdote of the Anemolian ambassadors (pp. 76\u201378).\n\nOf all the questions that surround _Utopia,_ the most vexing has been that of More's attitude toward common ownership of property. Character More objects to the Utopians' community of goods. Even so, it is difficult to ignore the forceful language that he assigns to Hythloday in defense of common property:\n\n. . . it seems to me that wherever there is private property, where everything is measured in terms of money, it is hardly ever possible for the common good to be served with justice and prosperity, unless you think justice is served when all the best things go to the worst people or that happiness is possible when everything is shared among very few, who themselves are not entirely happy, while the rest are plunged into misery. (p. 46)\n\nBut character More responds that private ownership is necessary as a goad, for the promise of profit motivates people to work, and too many are lazy louts without the promise of one day owning their own demesne, no matter how small. After the account of Utopian life, he intervenes again, this time with the contention that community of goods \"entirely undermines all nobility, magnificence, splendor, and majesty, which are (in the popular view) the true adornments and ornaments of a commonwealth\" (p. 134). The appeal to the \"popular view\" might raise an eyebrow or two, for More remained throughout his life critical of general opinion as a source of wisdom, as did his friend Erasmus, whose _Praise of Folly_ tells the tale. We do well to bear in mind that it was More's critical stance with regard to the popular position that got him imprisoned and killed in the end.\n\nA further complication in considering the Utopians' community of goods is its prominence in the traditions that More revered. Thus, in Plato's _Republic_ \u2014which casts a long shadow over More's text\u2014common ownership is a way of life for the Guardian class, part of the training in virtue for those who are to lead and protect. Then all we need do is shift from Athens to Jerusalem to read the second chapter of the great chronicle of the early Christian communities, Acts of the Apostles, to discover that the believers \"held everything in common, and they sold their belongings and possessions and divided them to all according as anyone had need\" (2:44\u201345). This is similar to what Hythloday has done\u2014divided up his possessions among relatives and friends\u2014thus freeing himself for a philosophic life (p. 15). More would have known some echo of the early believers' community of possessions during the four years he lived as a guest of the Carthusians at their Charterhouse in London. This sharing of goods was a well-established part of monastic tradition; the \"vice of private ownership must be uprooted from the monastery,\" St. Benedict wrote. Closer to the composition of _Utopia,_ Erasmus included in his Adagia \" _Amicorum communia omnia_ \" (\"Among friends all is held in common\"). In the 1515 edition, Erasmus gave this adage pride of place at the opening of the collection, stating, \"Since there is nothing more wholesome or more generally accepted than this proverb, it seemed good to place it as a favourable omen at the head of this collection of adages.\" Kathy Eden takes this three-word Latin adage as her point of departure in a marvelous book-length study of Erasmus and the humanists.\n\nOne of the more nuanced treatments of common ownership occurs in St. Thomas Aquinas's _Summa Theologiae._ Although Aquinas is sometimes associated with the scholastic philosophy against which the humanists inveighed, they generally regarded him not as a scholastic philosopher, but rather as a theologian and Doctor (that is, teacher) of the church. On the one hand, Aquinas set out three reasons why private ownership is helpful to human life: (1) it provides motivation to work; (2) it allows for orderliness in human affairs; and (3) it enables peaceful social relations (ST 2\u20132ae, Q. 66, A. 2). All three of these accord with the views that character More espouses. On the other hand, in describing humans' fundamental relationship to the world, Aquinas articulates a vision of communal possession:\n\nCommunity of goods is ascribed to the natural law, not that the natural law dictates that all things should be possessed in common and that nothing should be possessed as one's own: but because the division of possessions is not according to the natural law, but rather arose from human agreement which belongs to positive law, as stated above. (Q. 57, AA. 2\u20133)\n\nHence, private ownership is not incompatible with natural law, which also does not require it; rather, private ownership is an \"addition thereto devised by human reason\" (2\u20132ae, Q. 66, A. 2, Reply to Objection 1). The natural law recognizes that humans hold all the world in common. Private ownership is merely a provisional, pragmatic, and contingent means whereby humans make creative use of what is fundamentally communal. One valid reading of the _Utopia_ sees the proposition concerning community of property as a way of loosening the metaphysical grip on ownership, reminding readers that we own things in this world merely by convention, not by nature.\n\nIf Aquinas had lived in the twentieth century\u2014a speculation I may be allowed given the fictive space of utopian writing\u2014he might have joined with Paul Ricoeur in considering utopian thought alongside ideology. A working definition of ideology, cast in Thomistic terms, is the taking of the provisional and pragmatic for the metaphysical. Thus, stating a right to private ownership as a metaphysical given is an example of the false consciousness wherein Ricoeur finds ideology to function. In his reading, the best function of utopian thinking is as an antidote to ideology, for such thinking provides an opportunity to play one's identity out and away from the prison house of the here and now. As he put it, \"This function of utopia is finally the function of the nowhere. To be here, _Da-sein,_ I must also be able to be nowhere.\" Utopian thought relates to identity because part of identity is prospective, who and what we desire and strive to be\u2014\"What we call ourselves is also what we expect and yet what we are not.\" But ideology and utopia will not remain separate; they tend to interweave, and one issue worth further reflection is how the two function together as well as tend to tear apart, in _Utopia_ and elsewhere.\n\nUp for further consideration too is the place of this text in the trajectories of human consciousness in the tumultuous times of the early modern era. As already adverted to, part of the humanist movement related to shifts in awareness emerging from exploration of the planet. But other forces figured into these alterations also. One of these was the introduction of print (an innovation that the Utopians took to, as Hythloday witnesses). Working just after the incunabulum\u2014or cradle\u2014of print, the humanists were perhaps the first generation of European writers fully to embrace this technology, an important part of the era's seismic shifts in thinking and sensibility. As one scholar put it, \"As an institution the printing press represented an autonomous and cosmopolitan site for the production of knowledge free of lay and ecclesiastical control.\" Print, in other words, helped to create a new kind of imaginative space, and a new feel for how intellection happens. The printed book or pamphlet allows an impression of a free-floating island of discourse, and even though no discourse is ever really broken off from the dialogues taking place in the human lifeworld, print technology was related (though not reducible) to new ways, including more cosmopolitan and mobile ways, of imagining and conducting intellectual life. Like Cardinal Morton breaking into the speech of the ponderous lawyer (p. 26), the discourse emergent with print disrupted older styles. These changes also created tensions. Hanan Yoran has gone perhaps as far as anyone in showing the discursive tensions of _Utopia._ As he points out, nearly all symbolic action has been eliminated from this island, where even law\u2014that most contentiously symbol-laden of realms\u2014is fantasized into a commonsense reign of the obvious (p. 102). For a community of scholars to whom all of human life is interwoven with symbolic action, such a space as this is a no-place indeed. The ways in which print technology figured into these tensions, along with the creative possibilities it allowed, might be further scanned.\n\nAnother area for further study is the family resemblance between _Utopia,_ along with humanist discourse generally, and certain strains of postmodern thought. With their emphases on the performativity of human identity, the slipperiness of language, and the provisionality of all human discourses\u2014 along with their commitment to literary experimentation and serious engagement in play\u2014the humanists may be taken in some ways as precursors to Derrida and company. While the early humanists were far from deconstructionists avant la lettre, they could nevertheless have appreciated Derrida's assertion that when it comes to philosophical statement, political discourse, or ethical judgment, negotiation is always necessary, and there is always something about negotiation that \"gets one's hands dirty\" even when one is negotiating \"in the name of purity.\" More was in Flanders busy with negotiations when the opportunity to write _Utopia_ fell into his soiled hands.\n\nAfter Hythloday's description of Utopia, character More says to the reader, but not to Hythloday, that he harbors some objections to the Utopian way of life. He would prefer at this point, however, to avoid contention, so instead of arguing, he extends a hand to Hythloday: \"I took his hand and led him in to dinner, though first I said we would have another time to consider these matters more thoroughly and to confer more fully. I only wish this would happen someday!\" (p. 134). The narrative comes to its close with this gesture of friendship and a prospective note, the desire to talk more fully at some unspecified time in the future. Even with his objections, his final sentence\u2014prospective as well\u2014ends the text with wistful agreement, as he states, \"I readily confess that in the Utopian commonwealth are very many features which in our societies I would wish rather than expect to see\" (p. 135). Let us confer, then, so that we may discover what event may yet arrive out of that nowhere that is the future.\n\n## NOTES\n\n### _Introduction_\n\n. J. H. Hexter argues in _More's Utopia: The Biography of an Idea_ (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1952) and in Edward Surtz, S.J., and J. H. Hexter, eds., _Utopia,_ vol. 4 of _The Complete Works of St. Thomas More_ (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1965), pp. xv\u2013xxiii, that because there are biographical details about the speaker of Book 2 that fit the Hythloday of Book 1, the opening of Book 1 up to the point where Giles asks Hythloday why he does not serve a prince must have also been written in Flanders. He also argues that the passionate peroration of Book 2, in which Hythloday excoriates Europe and defends communism, was written in London. However probable or plausible Hexter's arguments are, More could have written all of Book 1 in London, adding biographical details in Book 2 and possibly its peroration after he finished Book 1.\n\n. The term \"dystopia\" had to be invented to accommodate the negative features of More's fantasy.\n\n. _Utopia,_ with an introduction and notes by Edward Surtz, S.J. (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1964), p. xxvi.\n\n. In my translation I have tried to reproduce stylistic elements of _Utopia_ as well as its meaning. I have borrowed and modified some passages from my article \"Style and Meaning in _Utopia:_ Hythloday's Sentences and Diction.\"\n\n. \" 'Si Hythlodaeo Credimus': Vision and Revision in Thomas More's _Utopia,_ \" _Soundings_ (formerly _The Christian Scholar_ ) 51 (1968): 271\u201389; reprinted in _Essential Articles for the Study of Thomas More,_ ed. Richard S. Sylvester and Germain Marc'hadour (Hamden, Conn.: Archon Books, 1977), pp. 290\u2013301 (p. 298).\n\n. How the other capital sins survive in the absence of pride and just which of the other capital sins cause the crimes punished by the Utopians are also difficult questions.\n\n. Valerian Paget's _More's Millennium_ (1909) was simply a modernization of Robinson's translation and has no independent value.\n\n. The translation in the Yale edition (Surtz and Hexter, eds., 1965) was a reworking of Richards' translation by Edward Surtz, but the result was usually not an improvement.\n\n### _Utopia_\n\n. More had been undersheriff since September 3, 1510. As such he presided over the court at one of the sheriff's jails, where he heard various (mostly minor) cases.\n\n. The poem, \"by the Poet Laureate Anemolius,\" was probably written by More himself. On the name Anemolius, see note 186, below.\n\n. In the first edition (Louvain, 1516) and in the running heads of the two Basel editions of 1518, this letter is described as a \"preface.\"\n\n. Peter Giles (c. 1486\u20131533) was a humanist friend of More and Erasmus. He was a corrector at the press of Dirk Martens in his native city of Antwerp and was a clerk of that city from 1512 on.\n\n. The name \"Utopia\" derives from Greek _ou_ (\"not\") and _topos_ (\"place\"), meaning \"no place\" (More also called it by the equivalent Latin name \"nusquama\"). \"Utopia\" includes a pun because the initial \"u\" may also be derived from Greek _eu_ (\"good\"). Hence Utopia is a good place which is no place.\n\n. More visited Giles in Antwerp in September 1515; together with a letter dated 3 September 1516, he sent the manuscript of _Utopia_ to Erasmus for publication.\n\n. The angel Raphael is a saving guide and healer in the biblical book of Tobias. Raphael's surname, Hythloday, is derived from Greek words meaning \"peddler of nonsense.\"\n\n. More refers to the principal divisions of rhetoric according to the classical tradition: invention (finding matter), disposition (arranging it), and eloquence (stylistic elaboration).\n\n. This description applies to most of Hythloday's description of Utopia itself, but hardly to the elaborate and often passionate eloquence of Hythloday's language in much of Book 1 and in his peroration at the end of Book 2. Almost nothing in this letter (or in _Utopia_ itself, for that matter) can be taken at face value.\n\n. More describes himself (accurately) as devoted to the active life which Hythloday rejects.\n\n. John Clement (c. 1500\u20131572), one of the first students at Colet's humanist school, St. Paul's, became a page and pupil in More's household about 1514; later he became a distinguished physician.\n\n. \"Anyder\" is coined from the Greek for \"waterless\"; \"Amaurot\" from the Greek for \"made dark or dim.\"\n\n. Sidenote: _Note the theological distinction between lying and speaking a falsehood_. Though it is apparently not found among the theologians, the distinction between _mentiri_ (tell a lie) and _mendacium dicere_ (speak a falsehood, with no intention of deceiving) derives from Aulus Gellius (11.11.1\u20134) and was well known. Erasmus, and perhaps Peter Giles, probably added the sidenotes that appeared in the margins of the original edition.\n\n. Sidenote: _A holy ambition!_\n\n. Sidenote: _Human judgments are ungrateful_.\n\n. Sidenote: _Persons with no \"nose\"_ [appreciation of wit] _he calls \"flat-nosed.\"_\n\n. Sidenote: _A saying_. See Erasmus, _Adages_ 293 in _The Collected Works of Erasmus_ (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1974\u2013), vol. 31, p. 311. _The Collected Works of Erasmus_ is hereinafter referred to as _CWE,_ followed by the volume number in italic and the page number in roman type: _CWE 31,_ 311.\n\n. The metaphor seems to be drawn from wrestling.\n\n. Sidenote: _A remarkable comparison_.\n\n. Erasmus, _Adages_ 28 ( _CWE 31,_ 76\u201377).\n\n. In August 1513 Henry's army had been victorious at the Battle of the Spurs and briefly occupied Th\u00e9rouanne and Tournai; but his French campaigns, then and later, were as futile and destructive as those of the French kings in Italy.\n\n. The difficulties were mainly connected with the wool trade between England and Flanders. They were serious enough for Wolsey to be worried early in 1515 that Charles would seize the English fleet for back taxes.\n\n. By 1515 Charles V, later Holy Roman Emperor (1519), was Duke of Burgundy and Prince of Castile.\n\n. Sidenote: _Cuthbert Tunstall_. Tunstall (1474\u20131559), bishop of London (1522) and later Durham (1530), was a close friend whom More admired throughout his lifetime. On 12 May 1516 Tunstall became Master of the Rolls and Vice-chancellor; as such he was chief of the twelve assistants to the Lord Chancellor.\n\n. Sidenote: _An adage_. See Erasmus, _Adages_ 1406\u20137 ( _CWE 33,_ 245).\n\n. Jean (or perhaps Jacques) de Halewyn, Seigneur de Maldeghem.\n\n. De Themsecke (d. ca. 1536), a doctor of the law and a member of Charles V's council at Mechlin, was employed on many diplomatic missions. (Cassel is now in northern France.)\n\n. On or before 25 July 1515.\n\n. Sidenote: _Peter Giles_. In Flemish his name is \"Gillis\" or \"Gilles,\" but the usual English translation of his Latin name (\"Aegidius\") is \"Giles.\"\n\n. Giles (1486\u20131533) was learned in the law and edited classical and humanist works. Since 1512 he had been chief clerk of the court of justice at Antwerp.\n\n. Cf. Matt. 10:16. The same combination was part of the printer's mark of Johann Froben, who printed the two 1518 editions of _Utopia_.\n\n. More left England 12 May 1515.\n\n. Palinurus, Aeneas' steersman, dozed at the helm, fell overboard, and drowned ( _Aeneid_ 5.833\u201361), unlike the alert Odysseus and observant Plato who learned much from their travels ( _Odyssey_ 1.1\u20134; Diogenes Laertius 3.6\u20137.18\u201322).\n\n. More expressed the same opinion in his _Letter to Oxford,_ in _The Complete Works of St. Thomas More,_ vol. 15, ed. Daniel Kinney (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1986), p. 143. (Works in this series are hereinafter cited as _CWM,_ followed by the volume number in italic and the page number in roman type: _CWM 15,_ 143).\n\n. In 1515 the Portuguese excelled in exploration, especially in the far east.\n\n. The voyages (1503\u20134) of the Florentine explorer Amerigo Vespucci (1451\u20131512), who was in the employ of the King of Portugal, were described in two Latin narratives (of disputed authenticity) published about 1507; one of the versions mentions the twenty-four mariners left behind in a fort at the farthest point of the voyage (Cape Frio in southeast Brazil).\n\n. Lucan, _Pharsalia_ 7.818\u201319; cf. Augustine, _City of God_ 1.12.\n\n. Sidenote: _Apophthem;_ cf. Erasmus, _Apophthegmata_ 7, Anaxagoras Clazomenus 4, and Cicero, _Tusculan Disputations_ 1.43.104.\n\n. The Portuguese had visited Calicut (a city on the west coast of India, not Calcutta) by 1487 and established a station there in 1511.\n\n. This is not an ordinary bench covered with sod. The small woodcut of the scene in the two editions of 1518 shows that it was a long wooden box filled with earth and covered on top with growing grass.\n\n. The torrid zone between the Tropic of Cancer and the Tropic of Capricorn, the northern and southern limits between which the sun's orbit was thought to move.\n\n. Scylla was a six-headed sea monster ( _Odyssey_ 12.73\u2013100, 234\u201359; _Aeneid_ 3.424\u201332); Celaeno was one of the harpies, disgusting birds with women's faces ( _Aeneid_ 3.209\u201358); the Laestrigonians were giant cannibals ( _Odyssey_ 10.17\u2013133).\n\n. It seems likely that at this point More inserted the bulk of Book 1, the dialogue about counseling kings, which was written after Book 2, when More had returned to London. (See the Introduction, p. vii, and p. 141n.1.) In this addition More does not limit himself to describing Utopian institutions but gives Raphael's narration about the Polylerites, Achorians, and Macarians.\n\n. Hythloday paraphrases a definition of liberty given by Cicero in a context similar to this one ( _De officiis_ 1.20.69\u201370).\n\n. Cf. Erasmus, _Adages_ 115, 121, 3064 ( _CWE 31,_ 158\u201360, 167\u201368).\n\n. A Cornish rebellion was crushed at the Battle of Blackheath on 22 June 1497.\n\n. More had admired Morton (1420\u20131500) since the time he was a page in his household (c. 1490\u201392). He is portrayed as skilled and shrewd in More's _Richard III (CWM 2,_ 90\u201392).\n\n. In his _Description of England_ (1587), ed. Georges Edelen (Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 1968), p. 87, William Harrison reported that in the reign of Henry VIII alone 72,000 thieves and vagabonds were hanged.\n\n. Since Hythloday was in England in late 1497 and early 1498 he may be referring to English skirmishes in France in the early 1490s. But as he speaks in 1515, he may also be thinking of the much heavier casualties in Henry VIII's futile French campaigns of 1512\u201313.\n\n. Plato uses the figure of the drones to describe an oligarchy ruled by rich men who exploit the poor and contribute nothing to society ( _Republic_ 8.552B\u2013C).\n\n. The parallel between soldiers and robbers is a frequent theme among humanists; see, for example, Erasmus, _Complaint of Peace (CWE 27,_ 317).\n\n. In the time of Francis I the French relied mostly on Swiss and German mercenaries.\n\n. The Latin \"morosophi\" (transliterated from Greek) means literally \"foolish wisemen\" (the reverse of the modern \"sophomore\"). See Lucian, _Alexander_ 40. Erasmus uses it in _The Praise of Folly,_ tr. Clarence H. Miller (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1979), p. 13; in _De copia, Opera omnia_ 1.12C; and in _Adagia_ (prol., _CWE 31,_ 23).\n\n. _Bellum Catalinae_ 16.3.\n\n. Foreign mercenaries often wreaked havoc in France during the Hundred Years' War (1337\u20131453).\n\n. The Greek historian Herodian (mentioned in Book 2 as one of the authors Hythloday brought to Utopia) describes how several emperors were murdered by the barbarian mercenaries of the Praetorian guard. After the first Punic War, foreign mercenaries revolted against their Carthaginian employers. From the thirteenth to the sixteenth century, the Mamelukes (originally mercenaries from Turkey and Circassia) ruled despotically a large empire consisting of Egypt, Syria, and other parts of the Middle East.\n\n. Especially Italy, which was often devastated by foreign mercenaries; Machiavelli, who firmly opposed the use of mercenaries, gives many examples of the harm they caused.\n\n. The English defeated the French decisively at Cr\u00e9cy (1346), Poitiers (1356), and Agincourt (1415).\n\n. Between the thirteenth and eighteenth centuries, much arable land was enclosed by hedges or ditches and used to pasture sheep. Hythloday's arguments against enclosure were widespread, and though it had its supporters (mostly because of the profitability of the wool trade), it undoubtedly caused much suffering to farm laborers and destroyed many villages.\n\n. Long before and after 1515 many sumptuary laws were passed against extravagant display, especially in clothing, but they were honored more in the breach than the observance.\n\n. During the reigns of Henry VII and Henry VIII laws were passed forbidding gaming and alehouses, limiting enclosure, restoring land from pasture to tillage, and restricting monopolies, but with little effect.\n\n. Sidenote: _This shows the Cardinal's usual way of interrupting anyone who talks too much_.\n\n. A proverbial saying (Erasmus, _Adages_ 924), derived primarily from Cicero, _De officiis_ 1.10.33.\n\n. Sidenote: _Manlian edicts from Livy_. Proverbial for \"harshly unjust\" (Erasmus, _Adages_ 987). The Roman consul Manlius executed his son for winning a victory without having permission to do so (Livy 8.7.1\u201322).\n\n. Stoics such as Zeno, Seneca, and Epictetus believed that virtue consisted in ignoring exterior forces and remaining faithful to the interior dictates of reason about what is right; such faithfulness has no degrees but is either kept or not. Cicero presents and refutes the paradox in _De finibus_ 4.10.21\u201323; Horace ridicules it in _Satires_ 1.3.113\u201324.\n\n. Exod. 20:13, Deut. 5:17. (All scriptural references are to the Vulgate text and numbering.)\n\n. Exod. 22:1\u20134.\n\n. The Mosaic law does, of course, prescribe death as a punishment for various crimes. And even under the more merciful Christian dispensation, Hythloday does not always condemn capital punishment; as the remedy of last resort, it is employed by the Polylerites and the Utopians (pp. 30, 99).\n\n. A name formed from Greek _polus_ (\"much\") and _leros_ (\"nonsense\").\n\n. Sidenote: _We should note this, since we do otherwise_. Erasmus expresses the same opinion in _The Education of a Christian Prince (CWE 27,_ 270).\n\n. Sidenote: _But nowadays the servants of noblemen find such a haircut attractive_.\n\n. Erasmus, _Adages_ 1612.\n\n. If a criminal could reach a place of asylum or sanctuary (usually a church) he could not be arrested, though during the reign of Henry VII the privilege was discussed and somewhat curtailed. It is debated in More's _Richard III (CWM 2,_ 27\u201333).\n\n. Sidenote: _An entertaining exchange between a friar and a fool_.\n\n. Cf. Erasmus, _Adages_ 113 ( _CWE 31,_ 154\u201355).\n\n. Sidenote: _A proverb frequently bandied about among beggars_. There seems to be no recorded or recognized proverb here (though it might still have been a frequent saying among beggars); there may be some allusion to the priest who passed by the wounded Samaritan (Luke 10:31).\n\n. Unordained members of religious orders were called \"lay brothers.\"\n\n. Sidenote: _He alludes to the Horatian phrase \"doused with Italian vinegar.\"_ See _Satires_ 1.7.32 and Erasmus, _Adages_ 1252 ( _CWE 33,_ 164). The phrase is here translated as \"needled.\"\n\n. John 17:12, 2 Thess. 2:3.\n\n. Luke 21:19.\n\n. Ps. 4:5. Sidenote: _How well the people in the story speak in character!_\n\n. Ps. 68:10.\n\n. Sidenote: _Apparently the friar, in his ignorance, misuses \"zelus\" as if it were neuter like \"scelus.\"_ In 4 Kings 2:23\u201325 some children mocked Elisha because of his baldness; when he cursed them two bears came out of the woods and tore forty-two of them to pieces. The friar quotes a hymn attributed to Adam of St. Victor, sung within the octave of Easter. In the ordinary pronunciation of Erasmus' time _zelus_ (\"zeal\") could sound like _scelus_ (\"crime\"). The confusion produces the following result: those who mocked Elisha . . . feel the crime of the bald man.\n\n. Prov. 26:5. But the preceding verse says: \"Do not answer the fool according to his folly lest you become like him.\"\n\n. Perhaps alluding to Ps. 7:16.\n\n. _Republic_ 5.473C\u2013D, _Epistles_ 7.326A\u2013B.\n\n. During his three sojourns at Syracuse, Plato failed in his attempt to reform the tyrant Dionysius or his son (also Dionysius); see his _Epistles_ 7 and Plutarch, _Dion_. 4.1\u20135.3, 10.1\u201320.2.\n\n. Here Hythloday launches into a 464-word sentence, suspended, unrealistically intricate, interminable (as Lupton called it), which ends with \"react to this speech.\" Though translators (with the exception of Robinson) have generally broken up this sentence to make it easier, such manipulation is unjustified: the sentence is no easier in Latin than in English. Its difficulty springs from Hythloday's difficult outlook.\n\n. In 1515, the time of More's imagined interview with Hythloday, the king of France was Francis I, who continued the policy of his predecessors Charles VII and Louis XII. All three invented claims to Milan and Naples, but their military adventures in Italy foundered in confusion and intrigue.\n\n. The French won Milan in 1499, lost it in 1512, regained it in 1515. They won Naples in 1495, lost it in 1496, regained it in 1501, and lost it in 1503.\n\n. Sidenote: _Indirectly he is discouraging the French from acquiring Italy_. At the battle of Agnadello (1509), France defeated Venice and deprived it of its territory on the mainland. By 1515, when the Venetians helped Francis I in his campaign again Milan, the French king restored Verona to his Venetian ally. Hythloday wonders if the French king is ready to turn on his recent ally once more.\n\n. After the death of Charles the Rash, Duke of Burgundy (1477), Louis XI of France tried to seize all the vast Burgundian holdings, though many parts clearly did not belong to France.\n\n. The German mercenary footsoldiers were surpassed only by the Swiss; both were despised and excoriated by Erasmus and many humanists.\n\n. Emperor Maximilian of Hapsburg, grandfather of Charles V, was usually impecunious and totally unreliable. A votive offering was normally an expensive gift left in a church or shrine in thanksgiving for a favor from God or a saint.\n\n. With the help of troops sent by a duped Henry VIII, Ferdinand II, King of Aragon and regent of Castile, occupied southern Navarre in 1512 and annexed it to Castile in 1515.\n\n. Charles V, prince of Castile and the future emperor (1519) was often affianced for dynastic reasons, especially to French brides.\n\n. Francis I did make a treaty with England in April 1515.\n\n. The Scots were traditionally allies of France against England.\n\n. The French had supported several pretenders to the English throne during the reigns of Henry VII and Henry VIII: Lambert Simnel, Perkin Warbeck, Edmund de la Pole, and his brother Richard.\n\n. Erasmus, _Adages_ 860 ( _CWE 32,_ 215).\n\n. Cf. More's epigram \"On Lust for Power\": \"Among many kings there will be scarcely one, if there is really one, who is satisfied to have one kingdom. And yet among many kings there will be scarcely one, if there is really one, who rules a single kingdom well\" ( _CWM 3\/2,_ 257).\n\n. Sidenote: _A notable example_. From Greek _a-_ (\"without\") and _choros_ (\"place, country\").\n\n. More here echoes Erasmus' _Adages_ 1401 ( _CWE 33,_ 237\u201343): \"Sparta is your portion; make it flourish.\"\n\n. Hythloday presents his second imaginary council in an even longer marathon sentence (926 words); it is just as extravagant in Latin as in this English translation.\n\n. Fraudulent manipulation of the currency was practiced by Edward IV, Henry VII, and (later) Henry VIII.\n\n. In 1492 Henry VII not only levied taxes for a pretended war against France but accepted a bribe from Charles VIII of France for not fighting it.\n\n. Henry VII's ministers Empson and Dudley were notorious for such chicanery.\n\n. The royal prerogative, the special, inherited claims of the king apart from common law, was a subject of considerable dispute even in More's time, though it became more heated in the following century.\n\n. Hythloday adapts Cicero's statement in _De officiis_ 1.8.25: \"Recently Marcus Crassus said that no amount of money is enough for one who wishes to be head of state unless it produces enough income to maintain an army.\"\n\n. Among the techniques mentioned by Aristotle by which tyrants maintain their power are keeping subjects poor and humble-spirited and pretending to rule for the advantage of the citizens ( _Politics_ 5.9.4, 8, 11, 1313b, 1314a\u2013b).\n\n. The biblical and Homeric figure of kings as shepherds was widespread; in his speech at the opening of Parliament in 1529 More compared kings to shepherds. See also his Latin epigrams against tyranny ( _CWM 3\/2,_ 162\u201365, 168\u201369).\n\n. The saying derives from Manlius Curius Dentatus (Plutarch, _Moralia_ 194F) but it was also attributed to Gaius Fabricius Luscinus by classical and medieval authors.\n\n. From the Greek _makarios_ (\"happy\"); the Greek word introduces each of the beatitudes (Matt. 5:3\u201311).\n\n. More may be thinking of Henry VII, who had an enormous sum in his treasury when he died.\n\n. Sidenote: _A proverb_. See Erasmus, _Adages_ 1387 ( _CWE 31,_ 376).\n\n. The following argument centers on the moral and rhetorical notion of decorum (Cicero, _De officiis_ 1.27.93\u201339.141, _Orator_ 21.69\u201322.74, and _De oratore_ 3.55.109\u201312). It is also based on the conflict between rhetorical persuasion, which deals with probable truths, and philosophical logic, which produces demonstrable truths.\n\n. Sidenote: _The philosophy of the schools_. In the text and sidenote this philosophy is designated \"scholastica.\" The only academic philosophy in More's time was that of the universities, which we nowadays call scholasticism, so that in this case \"academic\" and \"scholastic\" are practically synonymous. The humanists generally attacked the hairsplitting excesses of scholastic philosophy and favored a more rhetorical approach to literature and life. See, for example, More's _Letter to Dorp (CWM 15,_ 29\u201339, 49\u201370).\n\n. Sidenote: _A marvelous comparison_. _Octavia_ is a tragedy once attributed to Seneca in which Seneca discusses the abuse of power with Nero. Cf. Erasmus, _Adages_ 91, \"to be subservient to your role\" ( _CWE 31,_ 131\u201332).\n\n. Sidenote [in Greek]: _A mute role_. John Clement plays such a part in _Utopia_.\n\n. Plato allows rulers (even presumably philosopher-kings) to lie to their subjects for a useful purpose ( _Republic_ 3.21.414B\u2013415D, 5.8.459C\u2013D). Quintilian says that \"everyone must allow, what even the sternest of the Stoics admit, that the good man will sometimes tell a lie\" ( _Institutes_ 12.1.38).\n\n. Matt. 10:27, Luke 12:3.\n\n. The so-called Lesbian ruler was made of lead so as to accommodate itself to measuring curved surfaces; see Erasmus, _Adages_ 493 ( _CWE 31,_ 465).\n\n. _Adelphoe_ 1.2.145\u201347.\n\n. _Republic_ 6.10.496D\u2013E.\n\n. See p. 101.\n\n. According to Diogenes Laertius (3.23), \"the Arcadians and Thebans, when they were founding Megalopolis, invited Plato to be their legislator; but . . . when he discovered that they were opposed to equality of possessions, he refused to go.\" In the the _Republic_ Plato prescribes community of property (and of wives and children) only for the guardians (5.12.464B\u2013E), but in the _Laws_ he says that in the best state it would be observed by the whole populace (5.739B\u2013D).\n\n. More summarizes Aristotle's arguments in the _Politics_ (2.1.2.1260b\u20134.13.1267b) against Plato's advocacy of communism. Aristotle's arguments had been adopted by the medieval scholastics such as Thomas Aquinas in his commentary on Aristotle's _Politics_ (2.1\u20137).\n\n. The numerical equivalents of the Greek letters in \"Abraxas\" (the usual form, rather than \"Abraxa\") add up to 365. The name was given to the highest of the 365 heavens invented by the heretic Basilides.\n\n. Sidenote: _A greater task than cutting through the Isthmus_. Several attempts to dig a canal across the Isthmus of Corinth failed so that the attempt became proverbial for failure (Erasmus, _Adages_ 3326).\n\n. Sidenote: _Common effort lightens a burden_.\n\n. According to Erasmus, in Utopia More \"represented the English commonwealth in particular\" ( _CWE 7,_ 23.281). In 1587, according to William Harrison's _Description of England_ (1587), ed. Georges Edelen (Cornell University Press, 1968, pp. 86\u201387), England had fifty-three counties, which, together with London, make it match the citystates of Utopia. The city-states are mostly independent but loosely federated, each having its own governor; they are united only by codes and customs, as well as a triennial meeting of a senate.\n\n. Sidenote: _Likeness breeds concord_.\n\n. Sidenote: _But such a desire is the curse of modern commonwealths_.\n\n. From a Greek compound meaning \"ruler of a tribe.\"\n\n. Pliny mentions artificial incubation ( _Natural History_ 10.76.154\u201355) but it seems not to have been practiced in More's time.\n\n. That is, they do not use it to make beer or ale, as the English do.\n\n. Sidenote: _The advantage of communal labor_.\n\n. From a Greek adjective meaning \"without water.\" Amaurot resembles London in its tidal river (the Thames) and smaller stream (Fleet Ditch, except that London's stream was foul and unpleasant).\n\n. Sidenote: _The same thing happens to the Thames in England_.\n\n. Sidenote: _In this feature London is also like Amaurot_. But Amaurot has the advantage of having its bridge above the city, not below it.\n\n. Sidenote: _This is reminiscent of Plato_. See _Republic_ 3.22.416D.\n\n. Sidenote: _Virgil also praised the usefulness of gardens_. See _Georgics_ 4.116\u201348.\n\n. That is, 244 B.C., when Aegis IV became king of Sparta; he was killed because of the egalitarian reforms he wished to introduce. See Richard Schoeck, \"More, Plutarch, and King Aegis: Spartan History and the Meaning of History,\" _Philological Quarterly_ 35 (1956): 366\u201375; reprinted in _Essential Articles for the Study of Thomas More,_ ed. Richard Sylvester and Germain Marc'hadour (Hamden, Conn.: Archon Books, 1977), pp. 275\u201380.\n\n. In More's time lead was commonly used to roof important buildings. William Harrison, in his _Description of England_ (1587), ed. Georges Edelen (Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 1968), speaks of \"fine alabaster burned, which they call plaster of Paris, whereof in some places we have great plenty and that very profitable against the rage of fire,\" but he is describing the plastering of interior walls, not roofs, which he says are covered with shingles, straw, sedge, reeds, or slate (p. 196).\n\n. Glass windows were uncommon in homes during More's time; oiled linen, sheets of horn, or lattices of wicker or wood were used instead. Hythloday means that oiled linen is brighter and more impervious than linen alone, not that it is superior to glass.\n\n. Sidenote: _In the Utopian language \"tranibor\" means \"chief director.\"_ \"Syphogrant\" seems to be derived from the Greek compound meaning \"wise old man\" (or perhaps \"old man of the sty\" = steward). \"Tranibor\" seem to come from a Greek compound meaning \"plain eater.\" But other meanings have also been suggested. In fact, Hythloday continues to use the older terms \"syphogrant\" and \"tranibor,\" not \"phylarch\" (ruler of a tribe) or \"protophylarch\" (chief phylarch).\n\n. Thus there are six thousand families in Utopia, excluding the countryside (see p. 54).\n\n. Sidenote: _A remarkable way of electing officials_.\n\n. Sidenote: _Tyranny is hateful to the well-ordered commonwealth_.\n\n. Utopia is a federation of democratic republics: the households elect the syphogrants, who elect the tranibors and governor (whom they can also remove from office). The syphogrants also select the class of scholars, from which all high officials are chosen.\n\n. Sidenote: _Disputes should be settled quickly, but nowadays they are deliberately and lengthily prolonged_.\n\n. Sidenote: _Nothing should be decided hastily_.\n\n. But for the whole island of Utopia there is no single executive branch to carry out or enforce the deliberations or decisions of this council.\n\n. Sidenote: _Would that the same thing were done in our councils_.\n\n. Sidenote: _This is the meaning of the proverb \"take counsel at night.\"_ See Erasmus, _Adages 1143 (CWE 33,_ 96).\n\n. Sidenote: _Farming is an occupation common to everyone, though here it is fobbed off on a few despised workers_.\n\n. Plato ( _Republic_ 7.797A\u2013B) and Aristotle ( _Politics_ 7.15.5.1336a). Plato specifically advises that \"to make a good farmer [a man] must play [in childhood] at tilling land\" ( _Republic_ 1.643B\u2013C).\n\n. Sidenote: _Trades should be learned to satisfy needs, not luxury_.\n\n. Sidenote: _Let everyone learn the trade for which he has a natural aptitude_.\n\n. Unlike the Utopians, Plato insists that each craftsman must have only one trade ( _Republic_ 2.11.370A\u2013C, 2.13.474B\u2013C; _Laws_ 8.846D\u2013E).\n\n. Sidenote: _The idle are to be expelled from the commonwealth_.\n\n. Statutes during the reign of Henry VII required laborers to work from daybreak to nightfall in spring and summer and from before 5 a.m. to between 7 and 8 p.m. in fall and winter.\n\n. Sidenote: _The work of laborers should be kept within bounds_.\n\n. Sidenote: _But nowadays playing at dice is the sport of princes_.\n\n. More surely knew how inaccurate Hythloday is here, since women in his time had duties at least as heavy as they have now.\n\n. That is, members of the religious orders.\n\n. Sidenote: _A very perceptive observation_.\n\n. This number would be made up of the governor, the two hundred syphogrants, the twenty tranibors, the thirteen priests, the scholars, and the ambassadors.\n\n. \"Barzanes\" derives from the Hebrew for \"son of\" and the Greek Doric form for \"of Zeus.\" A Chaldean named \"Mithrobarzanes\" appears in Lucian's _Menippus_ , which More translated. \"Ademus\" derives from the Greek for \"without a people.\"\n\n. An average of twelve adults in each household would produce a population of seventy-two thousand in each city. Adding children and slaves would probably bring it to more than one hundred thousand (of whom only five hundred are exempt from work).\n\n. Hythloday's and the Utopians' rather facile justification of colonialism offers many difficulties. For example, if no one is using or occupying the land, why does anyone have to be driven from it by force? Is farming the only satisfactory use of land?\n\n. Sidenote: _Thus they avoid having a crowd of idle servants_.\n\n. That is, each of the four sides of a block has thirty houses, with a hall in the middle of each side.\n\n. Sidenote: _They always take freedom into account lest anyone act under compulsion_.\n\n. That is, without the help of servants.\n\n. Sidenote: _Praise and a sense of duty are the best way to encourage citizens to act properly_.\n\n. Sidenote: _The education of the young_.\n\n. Sidenote: _Priests above the prince, though nowadays even bishops are the lackies of princes_.\n\n. Sidenote: _Nowadays even monks rarely observe this custom_.\n\n. Sidenote: _Nowadays physicians condemn this practice_.\n\n. Cf. 2 Thess. 3:10.\n\n. Sidenote: _O holy commonwealth, worthy to be imitated even by Christians_.\n\n. Sidenote: _See how they never forget their sense of community_.\n\n. Sidenote: _What a clever fellow!_\n\n. Sidenote: _What a magnificent contempt for gold!_\n\n. Sidenote: _A very fine story_. \"Anemolian\" is from the Greek word for \"windy.\"\n\n. Sidenote: _O what a craftsman!_\n\n. Sidenote: _He calls it dubious because the gems are fake, or at least because their glitter is scanty and dim_.\n\n. Cf. Lucian, _Demonax_ 41; see also _CWM 13,_ 8.\n\n. Sidenote: _How true and well put!_\n\n. Sidenote: _How much wiser are the Utopians than the general run of Christians!_\n\n. More uses \"philosophy\" in the older, broader sense of the investigation of all the arts and sciences, including mathematics and the natural sciences (which was often called \"natural philosophy\").\n\n. They have mastered the quadrivium, the second tier of university studies (music, arithmetic, geometry, and astronomy); of the first tier, the trivium (grammar, logic or dialectic, and rhetoric), dialectic is mentioned here. Grammar and rhetoric they would learn in their literary studies.\n\n. Sidenote: _There seems to be some underlying satire in this passage_.\n\n. Peter of Spain's thirteenth-century _Little Logicbook,_ with its finespun categories and distinctions, was dissected and mocked by More in his _Letter to Dorp,_ which he wrote in 1515, near the time he wrote the second book of _Utopia_. On complicated \"rules about restrictions, amplifications, and suppositions\" see More's text and Daniel Kinney's introduction to _Letter to Dorp_ in _CWM 15,_ liv\u2013lvii, 29\u201339.\n\n. \"First intention\" refers to the intellect's direct perception of an object; a \"second intention\" is the intellect's perception of or reflection on a first intention. It has no objective existence outside the mind.\n\n. That is, the universal concept of man that applies to each man in particular. From the fourteenth century through More's time, scholastic philosophers from the camps of the Realists and the Nominalists quarreled elaborately about whether and how universals had any real existence.\n\n. Sidenote: _But nowadays these practitioners rule the roost among Christians_. More wrote a number of Latin epigrams ridiculing judicial astrology ( _CWM 3\/2,_ 158, 166, 208, 214\u201316, 348\u201349).\n\n. Sidenote: _Natural science the most uncertain study of all_.\n\n. These three categories of goods (external goods and goods of the mind and of the body) derive primarily from the Aristotelian tradition. Generally the Aristotelians applied \"good\" to all three categories; the Stoics, only to the goods of the mind.\n\n. Sidenote: _The Utopians measure happiness by honorable pleasure_. That is, they are inclined to the Epicurean position that pleasure is the highest good. Beginning with Lorenzo Valla's _The True and False Good_ (1444\u201349) and with the help of such thinkers as Ficino, Pico, and Erasmus, Epicurean philosophy had been rehabilitated and shown to consist not in mere hedonism but rather in the calm pleasures of the mind. But the Utopians differ sharply from the Epicureans, who did not believe in immortality and thought the gods were unconcerned about mankind.\n\n. Sidenote: _First principles of philosophy should be derived from religion_.\n\n. Sidenote: _The theology of the Utopians_.\n\n. Sidenote: _The immortality of the soul, about which not a few Christians nowadays have doubts_. The fifth Lateran Council (1513) affirmed as dogma the immortality of the soul. The philosopher most closely associated with the dispute concerning the immortality of the soul was Pietro Pomponazzi, whose treatise _On the Immortality of the Soul_ (1516) argued that the doctrine could not be proved by reason but has to be derived from revealed religion.\n\n. Sidenote: _Just as not just any pleasure should be sought after, so too pain should not be pursued except for the sake of virtue_. This is in keeping with the teachings of Epicurus; see Diogenes Laertius 10.130\u201332. The opposite faction is the Stoics.\n\n. Sidenote: _This is a teaching of the Stoics_.\n\n. Sidenote: _But nowadays some seek out pain, as if religion consisted in it, whereas pain is only to be borne if it occurs by natural necessity or to someone performing the duties of piety_. Seneca, whose Stoicism is often severe and uncompromising, agrees with the Utopians: \"Our motto . . . is 'Live according to Nature'; but it is quite contrary to nature to torture the body, to hate unlabored elegance, to be dirty on purpose, to eat food that is not only plain, but disgusting and forbidding\" ( _Epistulae morales,_ 5.4). Unlike some Stoics, Seneca is not entirely unsympathetic with Epicurus: \"the teachings of Epicurus are upright and holy and, if you consider them closely, austere; for his famous doctrine of pleasure is reduced to small and narrow proportions, and the rule that we Stoics lay down for virtue, his same rule he lays down for pleasure\u2014he bids that it obey Nature\" ( _De vita beata_ 13.1). The Utopians combine elements of Stoicism and Epicureanism, and add to the blend belief in divine providence, the immortality of the soul, and rewards and punishments in the afterlife\u2014doctrine not specifically Christian but not uniformly held until the advent of Christianity.\n\n. An Epicurean (not a Stoic) teaching; see Diogenes Laertius 10.138.\n\n. Sidenote: _A remarkable hypothesis, and a very apt one_.\n\n. More wrote a Latin epigram against the cruelty of hunters ( _CWM 3\/2,_ p. 123).\n\n. Sidenote: _But nowadays this is the craft practiced by godlike courtiers_.\n\n. More is probably thinking of hunting dogs.\n\n. Sidenote: _This point should be noted with special care_. In _The Confutation of Tyndale's Answer_ (1532\u201333), More argued on religious grounds that \"besides the taming of the body, fasting and our pain taken therein pleaseth god done with devotion, and serveth us for obtaining many and great gifts of grace ( _CWM 8\/1,_ p. 72).\n\n. Sidenote: _But nowadays blockheads and dolts are chosen to be educated; the most talented minds are corrupted by pleasures_.\n\n. The pupil and successor of Aristotle.\n\n. Constantine Lascaris (d. 1501) and Theodore of Gaza (d. 1475) wrote grammars of Greek. The dictionary of Hesychius (fl. ca. a.d. 400) was first published in 1514; Dioscorides (fl. ca. a.d. 50) wrote a handbook of medical and botanical terms.\n\n. Plutarch (ca. A.D. 50\u2013120) was a favorite Greek writer among Renaissance humanists, both for his _Moralia_ and for his _Parallel Lives_ of eminent Greeks and Romans. Several pieces by the satirist Lucian (b. ca. A.D. 120) were translated by More and Erasmus and first published in 1506; they were reprinted ten times in the sixteenth century.\n\n. In the early sixteenth century the Venetian printer Aldus Manutius was famous for his compact, elegantly printed editions of classical authors in both Latin and Greek. In 1508 he printed the first enlarged edition of Erasmus' huge and elaborate collection of proverbs, _Adagia,_ which brought Erasmus almost instant fame.\n\n. Thucydides and Herodotus are the leading historians of ancient Greece. Herodian (ca. A.D. 170\u2013240) wrote a Greek history of the Roman emperors who reigned from A.D. 180 to 238.\n\n. A name in keeping with that of Hythloday himself: \"tricae apinaeque\" became proverbial meaning \"stuff and nonsense\" (Erasmus, _Adages_ 143, _CWE 31,_ 184).\n\n. Hippocrates (fifth century B.C.) and Galen (second century A.D.) were the leading Greek writers on medicine. _Microtechne_ was a medieval summary of Galen.\n\n. Sidenote: _The remarkable fairness of this people_.\n\n. The non-hereditary character of Utopian slavery distinguishes it from both ancient slavery and feudal serfdom. In More's time it was generally agreed that Christians should not be enslaved, but the same was not true of African negroes and American Indians.\n\n. Such euthanasia, naturally, is contrary to Catholic teaching; at Morton's court Hythloday himself had said that God has forbidden us to kill ourselves (p. 27, above), but he also told More and Giles earlier that he did not intend to discuss whether or not Utopian moral principles are correct (pp. 91\u201392). More has a long psychological analysis of suicide in _A Dialogue of Comfort (CWM 12,_ 129\u201356).\n\n. According to canon law in More's time, girls could not marry before the age of twelve and boys not before fourteen. Plato ( _Republic_ 5.9.460E, _Laws_ 4.721A\u2013B) and Aristotle ( _Politics_ 7.14.6.1335a) set the age of marriage for women at at least twenty and for men over thirty.\n\n. Sidenote: _This practice is somewhat immodest, but it is far from imprudent_. Plato requires similar premarital inspections in _Laws_ 6.771E\u2013772A, 11.925A.\n\n. In More's time the Church permitted separation in the case of adultery but did not allow remarriage. In his commentaries on 1 Cor. 7:10\u201311 and 39 Erasmus favored relaxing the prohibition of remarriage.\n\n. See Erasmus, _Adages_ 1537 ( _CWE 33,_ 309\u201310).\n\n. The Latin for \"fool\" here is _morio,_ wordplay on More's name; Erasmus had exploited the same pun in the prefatory letter of his _Encomium Moriae (The Praise of Folly),_ which is dedicated to More. Thomas More kept a fool, Henry Patenson, in his household; Patenson appears in Holbein's sketch of More's family and is mentioned by More in his _Confutation of Tyndale's Answer (CWM 8\/2,_ 900\u2013901).\n\n. An error in the 1516 edition is corrected differently in the editions of 1517 and 1518, in both cases probably by More himself. One correction could mean that only crafty lawyers are excluded; the other must mean that all lawyers are excluded because all lawyers are crafty. The latter interpretation seems preferable.\n\n. The rulers and popes of More's time were notorious for breaking treaties or making them with the deliberate intention of breaking them. This was especially true of the popes Alexander VI and Julius II. Machiavelli said Alexander VI \"never did anything, never thought of anything other than to deceive men. . . . And never was there a man who had greater success in asserting, and with greater oaths in affirming a thing, who observed it less\" ( _The Prince_ 18).\n\n. A common false etymology derived \"bellum\" (war) from \"belua\" (beast)\u2014or the other way around. For a full account of pacificism in More and his humanist contemporaries see R. P. Adams, _The Better Part of Valor: More, Erasmus, Colet, and Vives on Humanism, War, and Peace, 1496\u20131535_ (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 1962).\n\n. One of the key texts giving the rules for fighting a \"just\" war was Cicero, _De officiis_ 1.11.34\u20131.13\u201340.\n\n. Greek compounds meaning \"cloud-born\" and \"citizens of a country without people.\"\n\n. From a Greek compound meaning \"busy sellers\"\u2014that is sellers and resellers of their military services.\n\n. Sidenote: _A people not unlike the Swiss_.\n\n. Sidenote: _Above all the commander should be assailed so as to end the war sooner_.\n\n. A ducat was a gold coin minted primarily by Venice and worth about a quarter of a pound sterling at that time. The 700,000 ducats mentioned here would be worth many hundred times that much today.\n\n. The Utopians do not have an ordinary treasury; perhaps deposits owed the Utopians and placed in the treasuries of other countries are what is meant here.\n\n. Among the ancient Persians, Mithras was the supreme deity, identified with light.\n\n. Sidenote: _Monasteries_. Communism was practiced by religious orders in More's time, as it still is; on communism among the early Christians see Acts 2:44\u201345 and 4:32\u201337.\n\n. Of the seven sacraments, only baptism and matrimony can be administered by laymen.\n\n. In sacramental theology \"character\" is a technical term meaning the indelible quality bestowed on a soul by sacraments that cannot be repeated: baptism, confirmation, and holy orders.\n\n. Sidenote: _People must be drawn to religion by hearing it praised_.\n\n. In Christian England, More approved of punishing religious dissent or heresy, but that was because the true religion had been revealed there, as it had not in Utopia; as More said in _A Dialogue Concerning Heresies (CWM 6,_ 345\u201346), \"if it were now doubtful and ambiguous whether the church of Christ were in the right rule of doctrine or not, then were it very necessary to give them all good audience that could and would anything dispute on either party for it or against it, to the end that if we were now in a wrong way, we might leave it and walk in some better.\"\n\n. Sidenote: _A remarkable opinion about the souls of animals_.\n\n. In _A Dialogue Concerning Heresies (CWM 6,_ 211, 213) More wrote concerning saints: \"For if their holy souls live, there will no wise man ween them worse and of less love and charity to men that need their help, when they be now in heaven, than they had when they were here in earth. . . . When saints were in this world at liberty and might walk the world about, ween we that in heaven they stand tied to a post?\"\n\n. Sidenote: _The active life_.\n\n. \"Buthrescae\" is a Greek word meaning \"extraordinarily religious.\" In More's Europe the adjective \"religious\" was applied to members of religious orders, who differed, however, from the Buthrescae in that they combined labor with prayer, study, and contemplation.\n\n. Hythloday must mean that the priests supervise the education of children, for in each city there are many thousands of children and only thirteen priests.\n\n. In _The Confutation of Tyndale's Answer (CWM 8\/1,_ 260\u201361) More accepts the traditional view that women may not be ordained as priests.\n\n. Sidenote: _But what a flock of them we have!_\n\n. Sidenote: _O these priests are far holier than ours!_\n\n. The first Greek compound means \"dog days\" (or perhaps \"starting days); the second means \"turning days.\"\n\n. There may be more than one service on every feastday, but even so the churches would have to be very large indeed: only thirteen of them serve about one hundred thousand inhabitants of each city.\n\n. Cf. Matt. 5:23\u201324.\n\n. Sidenote: _But among us the most defiled strive to get closest to the altar_.\n\n. Latin _superos,_ which includes the one God, the other gods believed in by some of the Utopians, and their ancestors who are in heaven.\n\n. A startling idea, but perhaps Hythloday (or the Utopians) mean that for children this tends to be true.\n\n. In his _Four Voyages_ Vespucci mentions that the American Indians made vestments of feathers.\n\n. Fr. Surtz notes that many of More contemporaries, especially Erasmus, objected to the elaborateness of church music and urged that it be composed so as to emphasize the meaning of the words ( _CWM 4,_ 555\u201356).\n\n. Hythloday is so carried away that he speaks as if he is still in Utopia.\n\n. Goldsmiths often functioned as bankers.\n\n. Sidenote: _Note this, reader!_\n\n. Sidenote: _A striking phrase_\n\n. The remora has a suck-disk on top of its head, by which it attaches itself to larger fish or ships; impressed by its tenacity, the ancients thought it could impede the progress of a ship.\n\n. What \"More\" says here is in keeping with his earlier Aristotelian arguments against community of property. Aristotle continually associates nobility and the highest virtue with wealth; he defines magnificence as \"suitable expenditure on a grand scale\" ( _Nicomachean Ethics_ 4.2.1.1122a). But many readers get the impression that More lets the mask of the character \"More\" slip to reveal a hint of irony. For a discussion of the critical disputes about this passage see Thomas I. White, _\"Festivitas, utilitas, et opes:_ The Concluding Irony and Philosophical Purpose of Thomas More's _Utopia,\" Albion_ 10 (1978): 135\u201350.\n\n. This sentence is incomplete in the Latin and has been left so in the translation.\n\n. _Andria_ 4.4.770\u201371.\n\n### _Afterword_\n\n. Clarence H. Miller, _Humanism and Style: Essays on Erasmus and More_ (Bethlehem, Penn.: Lehigh University Press, 2011), pp. 105\u20137.\n\n. Jacob Burkhardt, _The Civilization of the Renaissance in Italy,_ trans. S. G. C. Middlemore (1860; repr., Vienna: Phaidon Press, 1937).\n\n. See, for example, the following: Douglas Bush, _The English Renaissance and Humanism_ (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1939); Paul Oskar Kristeller, _Renaissance Thought: The Classic, Scholastic, and Humanist Strains_ (New York: Harper and Row, 1955); Charles Trinkaus, _The Scope of Renaissance Humanism_ (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1983); and Charles G. Nauert, _Humanism and the Culture of Renaissance Europe_ (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995).\n\n. See Bush, _The English Renaissance,_ pp. 13\u201338; Kristeller, _Renaissance Thought,_ pp. 3\u20137; Trinkaus, _Scope of Renaissance Humanism,_ pp. 3\u201331; and Nauert, _Humanism,_ pp. 1\u20137. Nevertheless, the old idea of the medieval period as a \"Dark Age\" is not without its defenders. See Jack Goody, _Renaissances: The One or the Many?_ (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010), p. 11.\n\n. See R. N. Swanson, _The Twelfth-Century Renaissance_ (New York: Manchester University Press, 1999).\n\n. Burkhardt, _Civilization of the Renaissance,_ p. 292.\n\n. Goody, _Renaissances,_ pp. 5, 7\u201342. For an interesting study of the cultural energies released by print, see Alexandra Halasz, _The Marketplace of Print: Pamphlets and the Public Sphere in Early Modern England_ (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997).\n\n. Bush, _The English Renaissance,_ p. 82. For a helpful introduction to humanism in England, see Clare Carroll, \"Humanism and English Literature in the Fifteenth and Sixteenth Centuries,\" in _The CambridgeCompanion to Renaissance Humanism,_ ed. Jill Kraye (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996), pp. 246\u201368. For a circumstantial and critical history of humanism, see Anthony Grafton and Lisa Jardine, _From Humanism to the Humanities: Education and the Liberal Arts in Fifteenth- and Sixteenth-Century Europe_ (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1986).\n\n. _The Basic Works of Aristotle,_ ed. Richard McKeon (1947; repr., New York: Modern Library, 2001), p. 1329.\n\n. See John M. Perlette, \"Irresolution as Solution: Rhetoric and the Unresolved Debate in Book 1 of More's _Utopia,_ \" _Texas Studies in Literature and Language_ 29:1 (Spring 1987): 28\u201353. Perlette reads the debate in _Utopia_ about the worth of advising a prince on public affairs as an extension of the ancient debate between Plato and the Sophists.\n\n. This is J. H. Hexter's coinage for the dialogue in Book 1 concerning the usefulness of advising a prince. See his _More's \"Utopia\": The Biography of an Idea_ (New York: Harper and Row, 1952), p. 102.\n\n. Thomas More, \"Letter to Martin Dorp,\" in _In Defense of Humanism: Letter to Martin Dorp; Letter to the University of Oxford; Letter to Edward Lee; Letter to a Monk, with a New Text and Translation of Historia Richardi Tertii,_ ed. Daniel Kinney, vol. 15 of The Complete Works of St. Thomas More (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1986), pp. 26\u201339.\n\n. Lorenzo Valla, _On the Donation of Constantine,_ trans. G. W. Bowersock (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2007), p. 73.\n\n. Harvey Cox, _The Feast of Fools: A Theological Essay on Festivity and Fantasy_ (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1969), pp. 82\u201397. For helpful studies of the centrality of play to human life, see Johan Huizinga, _Homo Ludens: A Study of the Play Element in Culture_ (Boston: Beacon Press, 1955), and Hugo Rahner, _Man at Play: Or, Did You Ever Practice Eutrapelia?_ trans. Brian Battershaw and Edward Quinn (London: Burns and Oates, 1963).\n\n. Nauert, _Humanism,_ pp. 5\u20136.\n\n. Peter Ackroyd, _The Life of Thomas More_ (New York: Doubleday, 1998), p. 32.\n\n. Ibid., pp. 71\u201380. See also Richard Marius, _Thomas More: A Biography_ (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1984), pp. 71\u201378.\n\n. Ackroyd, _Life of Thomas More,_ pp. 82\u201395; Marius, _Thomas More,_ pp. 83\u201387, 153.\n\n. See Hexter, _More's \"Utopia,\"_ p. 99.\n\n. Alan F. Nagel, \"Lies and the Limitable Inane: Contradiction in More's _Utopia,\" Renaissance Quarterly_ 26:2 (Summer 1973), pp. 175\u201377).\n\n. See the essay \"Editions of _Utopia_ \" by Edward Surtz, S.J., in _Utopia,_ ed. Edward Surtz, S.J., and J. H. Hexter, vol. 4 of The Complete Works of St. Thomas More (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1965), pp. clxxxiii\u2013cxciii; and R. W. Gibson and J. Max Patrick, _Thomas More: A Preliminary Bibliography of His Works and of Moreana to the Year 1750 with a Bibliography of Utopiana_ (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1961), pp. 3\u201357.\n\n. It is striking that in his early twenties, More delivered a series of lectures on St. Augustine's _City of God._ See Ackroyd, _Life of Thomas More,_ pp. 104\u20136.\n\n. See Hexter, _More's \"Utopia,\"_ pp. 85\u201396; Marius, _Thomas More,_ pp. 67\u201369; and Ackroyd, _Life of Thomas More,_ p. 99. Hexter clarifies that there are also groups within Utopia who live a professed life that more closely resembles monasticism.\n\n. _The Rule of St. Benedict,_ trans. Anthony C. Meisel and M. L. del Mastro (New York: Image Books, 1975), p. 106.\n\n. More's Latin, along with a prose translation, appears in Clarence H. Miller et al., eds., _Latin Poems,_ vol. 3, part 2, of The Complete Works of St. Thomas More (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1984), pp. 238\u201341.\n\n. The quotation comes from the Arden edition of Shakespeare's _The Tempest,_ ed. Frank Kermode (London: Methuen, 1954), 2.1.153\u201354.\n\n. In his _More's \"Utopia\"_ (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2000), Dominic Baker-Smith emphasizes More's concern with what modern theology has identified by the term \"social sin,\" the distortions of human values woven into the social fabric. See pp. 115\u201316.\n\n. The phrase comes from Bernard Lonergan, _Insight: A Study of Human Understanding_ (1957; repr., Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1992).\n\n. Lewis Mumford, _The Story of Utopias_ (New York: Peter Smith, 1941), p. 78.\n\n. Besides his introduction to this edition, see also Clarence H. Miller, _Humanism and Style,_ pp. 71\u201379.\n\n. Elizabeth McCutcheon, \"Denying the Contrary: More's Use of Litotes in the _Utopia,_ \" in _Essential Articles for the Study of Thomas More,_ ed. R. S. Sylvester and G. P. Marc'hadour (Hamden, Conn.: Archon Books, 1977), p. 263.\n\n. Stephen Greenblatt, _Renaissance Self-Fashioning: From More to Shakespeare_ (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1980), pp. 22\u201326.\n\n. See Miller's _Humanism and Style,_ pp. 71\u201379.\n\n. Ibid., 76.\n\n. Ibid., 72.\n\n. William Roper, _Sir Thomas More,_ in _Two Early Tudor Lives,_ ed. Richard S. Sylvester and Davis P. Harding (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1962), p. 198. With regard to More's devotion to the theatrical metaphor, see Greenblatt, _Renaissance Self-Fashioning,_ pp. 26\u201337. See also Thomas More, _The History of Richard III,_ ed. George Logan (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2005), pp. 94\u201395, 126\u201328.\n\n. See Dominic Baker-Smith, \"' _Civitas philosophica_ ': Ideas and Community in Thomas More,\" in _A Companion to Thomas More,_ ed. A. D. Cousins and Damian Grace (Madison, N.J.: Fairleigh Dickinson University Press, 2009), pp. 165\u201377.\n\n. The use of the term \"relationism\" as a way of understanding the sociology of knowledge emerged in the work of Karl Mannheim; see his _Ideology and Utopia: An Introduction to the Sociology of Knowledge_ (New York: Harcourt, Brace and Company, 1936), pp. 71\u201378 and passim. Among more recent scholars, the one who has done the most, as far as I know, to develop the implications of the term is Walter J. Ong; see his _Fighting for Life: Contest, Sexuality, and Consciousness_ (1981; repr., Amherst: University of Massachusetts Press, 1989), pp. 29\u201334; and \"Hermeneutic Forever: Voice, Text, Digitization, and the 'I,'\" _Oral Tradition_ 10 (1995): 3\u201326. See also my \"Ong, Evolution, and the Method of Dialogue,\" _Explorations in Media Ecology_ 9:1\u20134 (2010): 103\u201318.\n\n. For further considerations, see Charles Trinkaus, \"The Question of Truth in Renaissance Rhetoric and Anthropology,\" in _Scope of Renaissance Humanism,_ pp. 437\u2013449.\n\n. Bernard Lonergan, _A Second Collection,_ ed. William F. J. Ryan, S.J., and Bernard J. Tyrrell, S.J. (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1974), pp. 1\u20139. See also Anthony Grafton, _What Was History? The Art of History in Early Modern Europe_ (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007).\n\n. For helpful insights into such dialogue, see David M. Bevington, \"The Dialogue in 'Utopia': Two Sides to the Question,\" _Studies in Philology_ 58:3 (July 1961): 496\u2013509.\n\n. Martin Waldseem\u00fcller, _Cosmographiae Introductio,_ trans. Joseph Fischer and Franz von Wieser (University Microfilms, 1966), pp. 91\u201397.\n\n. Ibid., p. 98.\n\n. Roper, _Sir Thomas More,_ p. 198. See also Ackroyd, _Life of Thomas More,_ pp. 96\u2013101.\n\n. _Rule of St. Benedict,_ ch. 33.\n\n. _Collected Works of Erasmus: Adages Ii1 to Iv100,_ trans. Margaret Mann Phillips (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1982), p. 29.\n\n. Kathy Eden, _Friends Hold All Things in Common: Tradition, Intellectual Property, and the \"Adages\" of Erasmus_ (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2001).\n\n. All references to Aquinas are to _Summa Theologica,_ 3 vols., trans. Fathers of the English Dominican Province (New York: Benziger Brothers, 1947).\n\n. Paul Ricoeur, _Lectures on Ideology and Utopia,_ ed. George H. Taylor (New York: Columbia University Press, 1988), p. 310.\n\n. Ibid., p. 311.\n\n. Ibid., p. 312.\n\n. See Walter J. Ong, S.J., _Interfaces of the Word: Studies in the Evolution of Consciousness and Culture_ (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1977), pp. 166\u201381; and Halasz, _Marketplace of Print._\n\n. Hanan Yoran, _Between Utopia and Dystopia: Erasmus, Thomas More, and the Humanist Republic of Letters_ (New York: Rowman and Littlefield, 2010), p. 63.\n\n. Ibid., pp. 177\u201386.\n\n. See Walter J. Ong, _Ramus, Method, and the Decay of Dialogue: From the Art of Discourse to the Art of Reason_ (1958; repr., Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2004), pp. 307\u201318.\n\n. For a fine introduction to these and related themes in the work of Jacques Derrida, see his \"Structure, Sign, and Play in the Discourse of the Human Sciences,\" in _Writing and Difference,_ trans. Alan Bass (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1978), pp. 278\u201393.\n\n. Jacques Derrida, _Negotiations: Interventions and Interviews, 1971\u20132001,_ trans. Elizabeth Rottenberg (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2002), pp. 13\u201314.\n\n. I would like to thank Amanda Joyce, Mike Smolinsky, and Mary Szybist for their helpful comments, as well as my students Charlotte Markle and Justine Minette for their hours of helpful conversation about More's _Utopia._ The errors and folly are mine.\n\n## SUGGESTIONS FOR FURTHER READING\n\nUPDATED BY JERRY HARP\n\n### BIOGRAPHIES\n\nAckroyd, Peter. _The Life of Thomas More_ (New York: Doubleday, 1998). The most reliable full biography.\n\nChambers, R. W. _Thomas More_ (London: Jonathan Cape, 1935; repr., Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1958). A classic biography, well informed and beautifully written, but it neglects the polemical works.\n\nGuy, John. _Thomas More_ (New York: Oxford University Press, 2000). Emphasizes especially the political struggles. Guy acknowledges that some issues that have exercised More biographers cannot be resolved based on the available evidence; thus, as he points out, each reader tends to make More over into his or her desired image.\n\nMarius, Richard. _Thomas More: A Biography_ (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1984). The biography that makes the most extensive use of the full range of More's writings. Marius performed a helpful service by writing against the grain of the hagiographic tendencies of past More biographies, though his conclusions occasionally overreach the evidence; he rides his hobbyhorse a bit vigorously at times.\n\nRoper, William. _Sir Thomas More,_ in _Two Early Tudor Lives,_ ed. Richard S. Sylvester and Davis P. Harding (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1962). A handy edition of the first biography of More, written by his son-in-law\u2014personal and poignant.\n\n### BIBLIOGRAPHIES\n\nGeritz, Albert. _Thomas More: An Annotated Bibliography of Criticism, 1935\u20131997_ (Westport, Conn.: Greenwood Press, 1998). Excellent, very full. Pages 215\u2013309 are devoted to _Utopia_ alone.\n\nGibson, R. W., and J. Max Patrick. _Thomas More: A Preliminary Bibliography of His Works and of Moreana to the Year 1750 with a Bibliography of Utopiana_ (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1961). Early editions and translations of _Utopia_ up to 1750.\n\nLakowski, Romauld Ian. \"A Bibliography of Thomas More's _Utopia,_ \" . This excellent Internet bibliography, devoted exclusively to _Utopia,_ also exists in a printed form: _Early Modern Literary Studies_ 1.2 (August 1995).\n\nWentworth, Michael D. _The Essential Sir Thomas More: An Annotated Bibliography of Major Modern Studies_ (New York: G. K. Hall, 1995). Entries 380\u2013640 are devoted to _Utopia_ alone.\n\nThe indices of the journal _Moreana_ will provide a plethora of articles on _Utopia._\n\n### EDITIONS\n\n_Utopia: Latin Text and English Translation,_ ed. George M. Logan, Robert M. Adams, and Clarence H. Miller (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995). A reliable and usable Latin text, with a compact introduction and notes.\n\n_Utopia,_ ed. Edward Surtz, S.J., and J. H. Hexter, vol. 4 of The Complete Works of St. Thomas More (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1965). Full-fledged edition with elaborate introduction, textual variants, and a very full commentary.\n\n_L'Utopie de Thomas More,_ ed. Andr\u00e9 Pr\u00e9vost (Paris: Mame, 1978). The French equivalent of Surtz's edition, with a facsimile of the edition of November 1518, an elaborate introduction, a French translation, and a very full commentary.\n\n_Utopia,_ trans. Ralph Robinson, Everyman's Library (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1992). The first English translation. This edition includes a helpful introduction by Jenny Mezciems.\n\n### STUDIES OF _UTOPIA_\n\nBaker-Smith, Dominic. _More's Utopia._ (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2000). A multidimensional introduction. Baker-Smith discusses the historical background and literary precedents in detail. He shows the continuing relevance of the work, especially with regard to what he terms social sin, the injustices woven into the social fabric.\n\nBevington, David M. \"The Dialogue in 'Utopia': Two Sides to the Question,\" _Studies in Philology_ 58:3 (July 1961): 496\u2013509. Emphasizes the open-endedness of the dialogue that _Utopia_ invites the reader to join.\n\nCave, Terence (Ed.). _Thomas More's \"Utopia\" in Early Modern Europe: Paratexts and Contexts_ (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2008). Provides studies of the material\u2014e.g., prefaces, poems, essays, letters\u2014that accompanied early editions of _Utopia_ in a variety of languages.\n\nCousins, A. D., and Damian Grace (Eds.). _A Companion to Thomas More_ (Madison, N.J.: Fairleigh Dickinson University Press, 2009). Brings together studies ranging from the early epigrams to the Tower works.\n\nGreenblatt, Stephen. _Renaissance Self-Fashioning: From More to Shakespeare_ (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1980). Explores the unstable and distorted relationship between the two books of _Utopia,_ which Greenblatt also connects to More's role-playing.\n\nHexter, J. H. _More's \"Utopia\": The Biography of an Idea_ (New York: Harper and Row, 1952). A detailed study of the evolution of _Utopia._\n\nLogan, George. _The Meaning of More's \"Utopia\"_ (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1983). Provides a close reading of _Utopia_ as a product of Northern humanism, with constant reference to the classical and medieval antecedents, as well as contemporary influences.\n\nLogan, George M. (Ed.). _The Cambridge Companion to Thomas More_ (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011). A collection of essays on More's life and writings, by some leading More scholars.\n\nMcCutcheon, Elizabeth. \"Denying the Contrary: More's Use of Litotes in the _Utopia,_ \" in _Essential Articles for the Study of Thomas More,_ ed. R. S. Sylvester and G. P. Marc'hadour (Hamden, Conn.: Archon Books, 1977), 263\u201374. Demonstrates the significance of More's frequent use of litotes in _Utopia._ As a figure of discourse, litotes allows a more complex understanding than simple affirmation or negation can accomplish.\n\nMcCutcheon, Elizabeth. _My Dear Peter: The \"Ars Poetica\" and Hermeneutics for More's \"Utopia\"_ (Angers: Moreanum, 1983). An excellent study of litotes and the oblique style of _Utopia._\n\nMiller, Clarence H. \"Style and Meaning in More's _Utopia:_ Hythloday's Sentences and Diction,\" in _Humanism and Style: Essays on Erasmus and More_ (Bethlehem, Penn.: Lehigh University Press, 2011). Demonstrates the significance of the shifts of style in Hythloday's Latin.\n\nNagel, Alan F. \"Lies and the Limitable Inane: Contradiction in More's _Utopia,_ \" _Renaissance Quarterly_ 26:2 (Summer 1973), pp. 173\u2013180. A consideration of the contradictions, tensions, and impossibilities woven into More's text.\n\nNelson, William (Ed.). _Twentieth Century Interpretations of Utopia: A Collection of Critical Essays_ (Englewood Cliffs, N.J.: Prentice-Hall, 1968). Provides a broad range of commentaries and perspectives.\n\nPerlette, John M. \"Irresolution as Solution: Rhetoric and the Unresolved Debate in Book 1 of More's _Utopia,_ \" _Texas Studies in Literature and Language_ 29:1 (Spring 1987): 28\u201353. A reading of the Dialogue of Counsel as an extension of the ancient debate between philosophy and sophistry.\n\nSylvester, Richard S. \"'Si Hythlodaeo Credimus': Vision and Revision in Thomas More's _Utopia,_ \" _Soundings_ 51 (1968): 271\u201389. Reprinted in _Essential Articles for the Study of Thomas More,_ ed. R. S. Sylvester and G. P. Marc'hadour (Hamden, Conn.: Archon Books, 1977), pp. 290\u2013301. The best brief introduction to the ironies of _Utopia._\n\nSylvester, R. S., and G. P. Marc'hadour (Ed.). _Essential Articles for the Study of Thomas More._ (Hamden, Conn: Archon Books, 1977). A collection that lives up to its title.\n\nYoran, Hanan. _Between Utopia and Dystopia: Erasmus, Thomas More, and the Humanist Republic of Letters_ (New York: Rowman and Littlefield, 2010). A study of the early humanists' desire to create a virtual community transcending national boundaries and institutional affiliations, and the impossibility of doing so. Yoran provides a reading of _Utopia_ in light of this impossibility.\n\n## INDEX\n\nAbraxa. _See_ Utopia\n\nAchoria (ideal kingdom), xii, xv,\n\nAdams, Robert M., xxii\n\nAdemus (ruler of Utopia), , , n169\n\nadultery, , , n227\n\nage, , ,\n\nagriculture, \u201324, , \u201355, ,\n\nAlaopolitans (enemies of Utopia),\n\nAmaurot (Utopian city), , , , n12; description of, \u201357; resemblance to London, nn138\u201340\n\nambassadors, \u201378\n\nAnemolians, \u201378\n\nAnemolius,\n\nanimals, , , ,\n\nAntwerp, xxv,\n\nAnyder (Utopian river), , , , n12\n\nApinatus, Tricius,\n\nAristophanes,\n\nAristotle, , n110, n157, n267\n\nartisans, ,\n\nastronomy,\n\nBarzanes. _See_ Ademus\n\nbeggary, , , \u201333, ,\n\nbribes, ,\n\nbrothels, ,\n\nBruges, xxvi,\n\nBrussels,\n\nBurnet, Gilbert, xxi, xxii\n\nButhrescae, , \u201381n249\n\ncapital punishment, viii, , \u201332, , ; for adultery, x, ; for foreign wrongdoers, ; religion and, , n68; for theft,\n\nCarthage,\n\nCelaeno (monster), , n42\n\ncelibacy,\n\nCharles V (Holy Roman Emperor), xxvi, , n23, n96\n\nchildren, viii\u2013ix, \u201361, , ; and books, ; and gemstones, , \u201378; obligation to reproduce, ; and religion, \u201324, , n250; of slaves, ; warfare and,\n\nChrist, , ,\n\nChristianity, , . _See also_ religion\n\nchurches, , \u201328\n\nCicero, vii, , n65, n109\n\ncities, , , ; city-states, xvi, xvii; description of, , \u201358; enemy, \u201315; social relations in, \u201367\n\ncivilization,\n\nClement, John, , n11\n\nclothing, , , , \u201385\n\ncolonialism, ix, xvi, , n171\n\nColt, Joan (More's first wife), xxv, xxvi\n\ncommunism, viii, ix, x,\n\nconformity, xviii\n\ncontemplation, vii\n\ncraftsmen,\n\ncrime: bribes and, ; causes of, \u201320, ; money and, ; priests and, ; punishment of, xvi, \u201334, , \u2013101\n\ndeath, \u201321\n\ndeath penalty. _See_ capital punishment\n\nDelcourt, Marie, xxi\n\ndestitution. _See_ poverty\n\n_Dialogue of Comfort Against Tribulation, A_ (More), xxviii\n\nDionysius, , n87\n\nDioscorides,\n\ndisabled persons,\n\ndisease, , , , ; old age as, ; pain and, ; rarity of, ; treatment of the sick, ; warding off,\n\ndisputes, settlement of,\n\ndivorce, viii, xvi, ,\n\nDonnelly, John P., xxii\n\neducation, , \u201380, , \u201324\n\nElisha (biblical), , n83\n\nenclosures, , n59, n61\n\nEngland, , , n131; crime and punishment in, \u201334; Hythloday in, \u201319; peace treaties and, ; relations with France, ; trade with Flanders, n22\n\nErasmus, Desiderius, xix, xx, n13, n93, n218\n\nethics, \u201383\n\nethnic cleansing, x\n\nEuripides,\n\nEurope, xi, xv, xxii\n\neuthanasia, viii, xvi, \u201397, n224\n\nexcommunication,\n\nexile, as punishment,\n\nexports, ,\n\nfalconry,\n\nfamilies, xiv, \u201368\n\nfarming, xiii, xiv, xvii, ; enclosures and, ; Plato on, n157; tenant-farmers, ; war veterans and, ,\n\nfeastdays, , , n255\n\nfood, \u201372, ; health and, , , ; money and, \u201333\n\nfools, , n229\n\nFrance, , , , n49,\n\nFrancis I (king of France), xxvi, n89, n91\n\nfreedom,\n\nFroben, Johann, xx\n\nGalen, , n221\n\ngambling, , , n61\n\ngames, , ,\n\ngardens, \u201358,\n\ngemstones, , \u201378,\n\nGiles, Peter, , , nn29\u201330; on government, ; meeting with Hythloday, \u201312; More's letters to, xx, xxii, \u20137, \u201339; and printing of _Utopia,_ xix; qualities of,\n\nGod, , , . _See also_ religion\n\ngold, , , ; as bribe, ; Utopian use of, \u201376, \u201379\n\ngoods, equality of, xvi, ,\n\ngovernment, xvi, xx; in ancient Rome, ; antiquity of, ; wise men and,\n\nGreek (ancient), , , , \u201395\n\nhappiness, \u201382, , ,\n\nhealth (physical), \u201389,\n\nHenry VIII (king of England): Charles V and, ; French wars of, n21, n49; laws under, n61; More in service of, vii, ix, xxvi, xxvii\n\nHerodian, , n56, n219\n\nHerodotus, , n219\n\nHesychius,\n\nHippocrates, n221\n\n_History of Richard III, The_ (More), xxvi\n\nHoly Roman Empire, xxvii\n\nHomer,\n\nhonors, bestowing of, xiv\n\nhospitals, \u201369\n\nhouseholds, , \u201368\n\nhumanists, xix, n117\n\nhunting, \u201387,\n\nHythloday, Raphael (advocate of Utopia), , , ; Anemolius and, ; bipolarity of, x; characteristics of, x\u2013xi; diction of, xvi\u2013xviii; language of, xxii\u2013xxiii; learning of, , ; qualities of, \u201312; significance of name, viii, x, ; syntax of, xi\u2013xii, xv; travels of, \u201314\n\nidleness, , , ; injustice and, \u201331; travel and,\n\ninjustice, viii, , ; class differences and, \u201332; Hythloday's stand against, x, xix\n\ninstitutions, xvii, , , ; absurdity of, ; paradox of, xvi, xviii\n\nItaly, , , n21, n57\n\njustice, , , \u201331\n\nkings, , , , n111; philosopher-kings, ; power of, \u201341; warfare and, \u201340. _See also_ princes\n\nlabor, , \u201366; common good and, ; dispensation from, ; injustice and, \u201332; as punishment, , \u201330, ; religion and, \u201322; transportation and, ; travel and, \u201373; workday in Utopia, ,\n\nLaestrigonians (monsters), , n42\n\nlanguage, xvii\n\nLascaris,\n\nLatin, xi\u2013xii, xviii, , , ; early editions of _Utopia_ in, xx\u2013xxi; philosophy and, \u201312; translation of, xxi\u2013xxiii; works by More in, xxvi\n\nlaws, xvii, , , \u20132; antiquated (disused), , ; injustice and, 131, ; private property and, , ; punishment of thieves, \u201332; religion and, ; scorn for,\n\nlawyers, xiii, , , \u20132\n\nlivestock, , \u201324, ,\n\nLogan, George, xxi\n\nLucian, xx, , n217\n\nLupset, Thomas, xx\n\nLupton, J. H., xi, xxi\n\nLuther, Martin, xxvii\n\nLutheranism, xxvii\n\nluxury, ,\n\nMacaria (ideal kingdom), xii, xv,\n\nmagistrates, \u201360, , , ; dining arrangements and, \u201371; election of, ; and euthanasia, ; honor of, ; Utopians as magistrates for other peoples, \u20133\n\nmarriage, \u201399,\n\nmedicine, ,\n\nmen, , , ; in church, ; husbands, , , ; idleness and, ; military training and,\n\nmercenaries: employed by Utopia, , \u201311, ; in European wars, , , n93. _See also_ soldiers\n\nMichels, V., xxi\n\n_Microtechne_ (Galen),\n\nMiddleton, Alice (More's second wife), xxvi\n\nmoney, , , ; abolition of, , ; buying off enemies with, , ; given to prisoners, ; precious metals and, , ; private property and, ; royal treasury and, \u201343; theft of, \u201327; value of currency, ; war reparations,\n\nmonks, \u201334\n\nmonsters,\n\nmorals\/morality, , ,\n\nMore, Thomas, vii, xviii, , ; business activities of, ; chronology of life, xxv\u2013xxviii; death of, xxviii; as lawyer, vii; letters to Peter Giles, \u20137, \u201339; marathon sentences of, xi\u2013xii; on religious heresy, n245\n\n_Moriae Encomium_ (Erasmus), xix\n\nMorton, Cardinal John: on crime and punishment, viii, xii, \u201334, , \u201332; More and, xxv, , n47\n\nMoses (biblical),\n\nmurder, xvi, \u201328\n\nmusic, , , n261\n\nMythras (god), ,\n\nnature, \u201383, , ; gifts of, ; religion and, ; science and,\n\nNephelogetes (allies of Utopia),\n\nnoblemen, \u201322; injustice and, , ; as landlords, ; peace treaties and, ; retainers of,\n\nnuns,\n\noffice seeking, xiii, xiv, xvii,\n\nOgden, H. V. S., xxii\n\n_On Plants_ (Theophrastus),\n\npain, ,\n\npapacy, xvii, , , n231\n\n_Parva logicalia,_\n\npassports,\n\nPersia,\n\nPersian language,\n\nphilosophers\/philosophy, , \u201380, n117, n192; ethics, \u201383; philosopher-kings, ; on pleasure, n201\n\nphylarchs, , ,\n\nPlato, , , \u201336, , n120; dialogues of, vii; Dionysius and, , n87; on farming, n157; on government, ; on laws, ; on oligarchy, n50; _Republic,_ 44, n126\n\nPlautus,\n\npleasure, , \u201384, n201; false, \u201387; true, \u201391\n\nPlutarch, , n217\n\npolice, absence of, xvi\n\nPolylerites, \u201331, n68\n\nPortugal, ,\n\npoverty, , , \u201333, , ; power of kings and, ; pride and,\n\nprayers, , , \u201329\n\nPr\u00e9vost, Andr\u00e9, xxi\n\nprices: abundance of goods and, ; of food, , ; of livestock, \u201324\n\npride, xv, , ,\n\npriests, xv, , , , ; dining arrangements and, ; election of, ; and euthanasia, , ; and idleness, ; insignia of, ; religious education and, \u201324, n250; reputation of, \u201325; vestments of, \u201328\n\nprinces, \u201317, ; dispensations and, ; enemy, , ; and philosophy, ; and stolen goods, ; treaties of, ; and warfare, , . _See also_ kings\n\nprinting, \u201395\n\nprivate property, xv, ; abolition of, ; absence of, ; equality of goods and, \u201348; money and,\n\npublic service, vii\n\npunishment, of crime, \u201334, , \u2013101,\n\nreason, , , , ,\n\nreligion, x, , , \u201384, ; capital punishment and, , n68; children and, \u201324, , n250; labor and, \u201322; laws and, ; nature and, ; of Utopia, \u201329. _See also_ Christianity\n\n_Republic_ (Plato), , n126\n\n_Responsio ad Lutherum_ (More), xxvii\n\nRestoration, xxii\n\nretainers, idle, , \u201322\n\nRich, Richard, xxviii\n\nRichards, G. C., xxii\n\nRobinson, Ralph, xi, xii, xxi\n\nRome, ancient, , ,\n\nsacrifices,\n\nSallust,\n\nsatire,\n\nscience,\n\nScylla (monster), , n42\n\nseamanship, \u201314,\n\nseduction,\n\nSeneca, , , n118, n207\n\nsexual activity, ,\n\nSheehan, John, xxii\n\nsheep, , \u201324, , n59\n\nshortages,\n\nsilver, , \u201376,\n\nsin, ,\n\nslaves, , \u201331, \u201370, \u201396; character of Utopian slavery, n223; in country households, ; execution of, ; golden chains of, , \u201378; as hunters and butchers, ; prisoners of war as, ; slavery as punishment, , \u201396,\n\nsocial classes, xix, \u201334\n\nsocial relations, \u201372\n\nsoldiers, xiii, xiv, \u201321; priests and, ; as thieves, \u201321, n51; Utopian military practices, , \u201315. _See also_ mercenaries\n\nSolomon (biblical),\n\nSophocles,\n\nSpain, king of,\n\nStoics, , n65, n207\n\nsuicide, \u201397\n\nsuperstition,\n\nsurpluses,\n\nSurtz, Edward, x, xii, xxi, xxii,\n\nSylvester, Richard, xii\n\nsyphogrants. _See_ magistrates\n\nSyria,\n\ntaverns,\n\ntaxes, , n106\n\nTerence, ,\n\nThemsecke, George de,\n\nTheophrastus,\n\nthieves: causes of theft, , , \u201325; punishment of, xii, , , \u201332, n48; soldiers as, \u201321, n51\n\nThucydides, , n219\n\ntradition (custom),\n\ntranibors (chief magistrates), , , , n146\n\ntranslations, xi, xxi\u2013xxiii, n88\n\ntravel, \u201395\n\ntreaties, xv, \u201337, \u20135, n231\n\nTunstall, Bishop Cuthbert, xxvii, , n24\n\nTurner, Paul, xxii\n\nuniversalism, xvii, xviii\n\nUtopia, , ; absence of central authority in, xvi, n153; agriculture in, \u201355; allies and friends of, , \u20136; alphabet of, ; cities of, \u201354, \u201358; comparison with Europe, xv; Hythloday in, ; laws in, ; meaning of name, ix, , ; military practices in, \u201315; occupations in, \u201366; physical description of, , , \u201354, \u201358; religions of, \u201329; slavery in, \u201396, n223; social relations in, \u201372; travel in, \u201395; visitors to,\n\n_Utopia_ (More): criticism of, ; early editions of, xix\u2013xxi; Latin text of, xx\u2013xxi; publication of, xxvi; translation of, xxi\u2013xxiii\n\nUtopus (conqueror-founder of Utopia), viii, , , ,\n\nvagabonds, , , n48\n\nVespucci, Amerigo, , n36, n260\n\nvices, , , ; eradication of, ; punishments for,\n\nvirtues, , , , , ; rewards for, ; Stoics on, n65; treaties and,\n\nwarfare, ix, x, xvi, , ; colonialism and, ; corruption of morals and, ; crippled veterans of, \u201320; priests and, , ; princes and, ; slavery and, ; thieves as soldiers, \u201321; Utopian military practices, \u201315; women and, \u201312\n\nwealth, , \u201386,\n\nwomen, x, , , ; age at marriage, , n225; in church, ; idleness and, ; and meal preparation, ; and military training, ; occupations of, ; as priests, , n251; warfare and, \u201312; wives, , , ,\n\nZapoletes (Utopian mercenaries), x, xv, \u201311\n\nZiegler, T., xxi\n","meta":{"redpajama_set_name":"RedPajamaBook"}} +{"text":"\n\n### HOT MAMA\n\nby\n\n### Jennifer Estep\n\nBook Two in the Bigtime series\n\nHOT MAMA\n\nCopyright 2007, 2011, 2012, 2013 by Jennifer Estep\n\nExcerpt from **Jinx**\n\nCopyright 2008, 2011, 2012, 2013 Jennifer Estep\n\nThis is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual or fictional characters or actual or fictional events, locales, business establishments, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. The fictional characters in this story have no relation to any other fictional characters, except those in works by this author.\n\nAll rights reserved by the author.\n\nSmashwords Edition\n\nISBN: 9781465797452\n\nCover Art by The Killion Group\n\nDigital Formatting by Author E.M.S.\n\n# Other books by Jennifer Estep\n\nThe Bigtime series\n\nKarma Girl\n\nHot Mama\n\nJinx\n\nA Karma Girl Christmas (holiday story)\n\nNightingale\n\n~\n\nThe Elemental Assassin series\n\nBooks\n\nSpider's Bite\n\nWeb of Lies\n\nVenom\n\nTangled Threads\n\nSpider's Revenge\n\nBy a Thread\n\nWidow's Web\n\nDeadly Sting\n\nHeart of Venom\n\nThe Spider\n\nPoison Promise\n\nE-novellas\n\nThread of Death\n\nKiss of Venom\n\n~\n\nThe Mythos Academy series\n\nBooks\n\nTouch of Frost\n\nKiss of Frost\n\nDark Frost\n\nCrimson Frost\n\nMidnight Frost\n\nKiller Frost\n\nE-novellas\n\nFirst Frost\n\nSpartan Frost\n\n# Table of Contents\n\nCopyright\n\nOther books by Jennifer Estep\n\nHot Mama\n\nDedication\n\nPART ONE\u2014WEDDING BELLS\n\nChapter 1\n\nChapter 2\n\nChapter 3\n\nChapter 4\n\nChapter 5\n\nChapter 6\n\nChapter 7\n\nChapter 8\n\nChapter 9\n\nChapter 10\n\nChapter 11\n\nChapter 12\n\nChapter 13\n\nChapter 14\n\nChapter 15\n\nPART TWO\u2014THE HONEYMOON'S OVER\n\nChapter 16\n\nChapter 17\n\nChapter 18\n\nChapter 19\n\nChapter 20\n\nChapter 21\n\nChapter 22\n\nChapter 23\n\nChapter 24\n\nPART THREE\u2014BREAKUP BLUES\n\nChapter 25\n\nChapter 26\n\nChapter 27\n\nChapter 28\n\nChapter 29\n\nChapter 30\n\nChapter 31\n\nChapter 32\n\nEpilogue\n\nExcerpt from JINX\n\nAbout the Author\n\n# HOT MAMA\n\nFiona Fine is the hottest fashion designer in Bigtime, N.Y.\u2014literally. That's because she moonlights as Fiera, a superhero with superstrength and volatile, fire-based powers. As Fiera, she's also a member of the Fearless Five, the city's most powerful and popular superhero team.\n\nHowever, Fiona's been through a lot lately, including the death of her fianc\u00e9, who was murdered by an ubervillain. But Fiona is ready to move on with her life, so it seems like good karma when she meets sexy businessman Johnny Bulluci at a friend's wedding.\n\nBut Fiona has little time to think of love thanks to Siren and Intelligal\u2014the city's newest ubervillains who crash the wedding and then go on a city-wide crime spree. Fiona doesn't know exactly what the ubervillains are up to, but if she doesn't figure it out, she's the one who just might go up in flames this time....\n\n# Dedication\n\nTo my mom, the best person I know.\n\nAnd to Andre, who coined the phrase \"So, are you going to eat that?\"\n\n# PART ONE\n\nWEDDING BELLS\n\n# Chapter One\n\nMy wedding day.\n\nIt was supposed to be the happiest day of my life. A time of joy and celebration and new beginnings. The day every girl dreams of from the time she's old enough to play dress-up in her mother's clothes.\n\nIt was exactly that sort of day.\n\nJoy. Hope. New beginnings.\n\nBut it wasn't _mine_.\n\nCarmen Cole twirled in front of the full-length mirror. Her white satin wedding dress swung out in an arc then gathered back in on itself. Thousands of crystals dotted the fitted bodice and full skirt, giving the dress a shimmering, ethereal air. A matching crystal necklace sparkled like a ring of stars around her neck.\n\n\"How do I look, Fiona?\" Carmen turned her blue eyes to mine.\n\nI hated to admit it, but Carmen looked fantastic. Absolutely fantastic. A rosy flush tinted her cheeks. Excitement brightened her eyes. Even her auburn hair glistened underneath her simple lace veil.\n\n\"You look fabulous. After all, you're wearing a Fiona Fine original.\"\n\nCarmen frowned at her reflection. \"I know it's one of your more subdued designs, but I still think it's a little much.\"\n\nI crossed my arms over my chest. An errant spark flew from my thumb and landed on the beige carpet. I squashed it with my stiletto. A little much? Please. If Carmen had gotten her way, she would have worn holey jeans, worn-out sneakers, and a ratty T-shirt with some cutesy saying on it to the wedding.\n\nLuckily, hotter heads had prevailed. Mine. Then again, it was easy to get your way when you had the ability to shoot fire out of your fingertips. Getting my way was one of the prime benefits of being a superhero. My favorite benefit.\n\nJust because I moonlight as a superhero doesn't mean that I can't be a little selfish **\u2014** or enjoy the perks of having superpowers. Usually, I'm perfectly happy just being Fiera, one of many superheroes in Bigtime, New York, fighting evil, cracking skulls, and making life miserable for all those pesky ubervillains who want to take over the city, then the world. But every once in a while, I enjoy showing off my fiery skills, especially when it's for the greater good, such as making sure Carmen didn't look like a bag lady at her own wedding.\n\nA knock sounded on the door, the knob turned, and Lulu Lo zipped her motorized wheelchair into the room. A royal-blue dress covered her slender form, bringing out the smoothness of her porcelain skin and the cobalt streaks in her spiky, black hair. Since we were both bridesmaids, I wore a matching gown, but with a few modifications\u2014a lower bodice, a tighter fit, and a higher slit up the side.\n\n\"Nice dress, Sister Carmen.\" Lulu whistled. \"That'll make Sam sit up and take notice.\"\n\nCarmen grinned. Another spark shot out from my thumb. Sam had already taken plenty of _notice_ of Carmen, despite my efforts to the contrary. The two of them were always sneaking off to have wild sex in some corner of the manor house.\n\n\"Of course Sam will notice,\" I snapped. \"I designed the dress. Ours too, if you'll remember. They're all fabulous.\"\n\n\"Well, you do look very _hot_ , Fiona.\" Lulu laughed.\n\nI glowered at Lulu. Just because I was a member of the Fearless Five, one of the most esteemed superhero teams in the world, didn't mean that I didn't get snarly from time to time\u2014or that civilians like Lulu had the right to poke fun at me.\n\nOf course, none of this would be happening if Carmen, aka Karma Girl, hadn't insisted that we tell Lulu our secret superhero identities. Carmen had argued that Lulu deserved to know the truth since she'd helped save us from the Terrible Triad, a group of ubervillains. Lulu was also the main squeeze of Henry Harris, aka Hermit of the Fearless Five, and he'd wanted to tell her the truth as well. The other two members of the Fearless Five, Sam \"Striker\" Sloane and Sean \"Mr. Sage\" Newman, had agreed with Carmen.\n\nSo the four of them told Lulu everything, despite my protests. Once the shock wore off, Lulu ingratiated herself with the rest of the Fearless Five. Now, everybody else treated her like one of the gang. She even had her own room in the top-secret, underground compound with the rest of us.\n\nI ignored Lulu whenever possible. It was bad enough that she knew our real identities. I didn't want to invite her any more into our lives. Lulu was a computer hacker. She did all sorts of highly illegal things, like breaking into the FBI mainframe and swapping corporate secrets, but nobody cared except me. Not even my father, the esteemed police chief of Bigtime, as well as a member of the Fearless Five.\n\nIn return for my blatant hostility, Lulu zinged me with heat-related puns whenever we crossed paths. _Fiona's hot. Fiona's smokin'. Fiona's on fire._ Like I hadn't heard them all a hundred thousand times before. Ha, ha, ha, ha. Lulu could have at least come up with something original, if she was going to mock me on a daily basis.\n\nMy eyes fixed on Lulu's hair. I could turn those blue streaks red in a heartbeat. Heat pulsed through my body. My fingers twitched. Just one little spark...\n\n\"Fiona,\" Carmen warned. \"There will be no flare-ups today. You promised Sam.\"\n\nI had promised Sam. And my father. And Henry. And even Carmen. Three times each. I let go of the fire coursing through my veins and banked it deep inside me. It didn't matter anyway. Carmen would have just done her empathy thing and used the ambient energy in the room to buffer Lulu and herself from my heat. Carmen had the ability to tap into other people and use their own energy against them. I hated her power, mainly because I hadn't figured out a way to counteract it yet. Most of the time, I either punched or flamb\u00e9ed my way through danger. But I couldn't do that with Carmen, because she gave just as good as she got.\n\nLulu smirked at me and motored away. She'd probably max out my credit cards or do some other devious, identity-theft thing as soon as the wedding ended. I didn't know what Henry saw in her. Maybe he was just glad that he'd finally found someone who understood all the techno-babble he spouted on a daily basis.\n\nLulu left the door open, and classical music drifted in, along with the murmur of distant conversations. I eyed the clock on the wall. Five minutes to go. Good. The sooner this spectacle was over with, the better. I wasn't in the mood for a wedding today. Not any day. Not anymore.\n\nCarmen picked up on my dark thoughts and stared at me in the mirror. \"I know this has been hard for you, Fiona. The engagement, the wedding, everything. I'm sorry. I wish things were different. I wish Tornado were still here...\"\n\nHer soft, Southern twang trailed off under my hot gaze. Hard for me? She had no idea.\n\nIt'd been more than a year since my fianc\u00e9, Tornado, had been murdered. Carmen had exposed the superhero's secret identity as Travis Teague to the world, including our archenemies, the Terrible Triad. The ubervillains had killed Travis and used Carmen to get to the rest of us. We'd been captured, stuffed in glass tubes, and almost sucked dry of our superpowers before Carmen had saved us by getting dumped into a vat of radioactive goo and developing superpowers herself.\n\nSometimes, I couldn't believe the irony of it. Carmen exposing superheroes, becoming one herself, and now marrying one. Things never seemed to turn out the way you thought they would, especially in Bigtime.\n\nMostly though, I still couldn't believe that Travis was gone. Forever. My heart twisted, and the burning fire inside me flickered and dimmed. My eyes dropped to the square, diamond engagement ring on my finger. Travis had given it to me a week before he'd died. I hadn't taken it off since.\n\n\"Fiona? Are you okay?\" Carmen asked.\n\nI wasn't. Not even close. But this was Carmen's big day, and I didn't want to ruin it for her.\n\n\"I'm fine,\" I lied. \"In fact, I was thinking that it's time for me to get out and start dating again. I've done the men of Bigtime a cruel, heartless injustice, depriving them of my fabulous company all this time.\" I tossed my long, blond hair over my shoulder for effect.\n\nCarmen's face lit up like I'd just hit her with a fireball between the eyes. \"That's wonderful, Fiona! Just wonderful!\"\n\nHer blue eyes grew cloudy and distant, the way they always did when she was listening to the strange whispers in her head. Carmen called them her inner voice, her instincts. I thought she had more than a few loose rocks rattling around in all that empty space.\n\n\"Maybe you'll meet somebody at the reception,\" she murmured.\n\nI huffed. Please. I'd been active on the social scene ever since I'd moved to Bigtime some fifteen years ago, and I knew everybody invited to the wedding. There wasn't a man among them that I'd date, let alone sleep with.\n\nI twisted the ring on my finger. The silver solidium band heated up on my hot hand, and the diamond glowed like a tiny moon. Still, I would like to find somebody. It'd be nice to be part of a couple again. To laugh and talk and have dinner with someone who wasn't a relative or an employee or a fellow superhero. To find somebody who looked at me the way that Sam looked at Carmen.\n\nPlus, I liked sex. A lot. It sucked to go without.\n\nMy hand stilled. Maybe that's what I should do. Get drunk at the reception, have a one-night stand with some anonymous guy to take the edge off, and then start looking for someone suitable. Someone more long-term. The only problem with my plan was that it would take an ocean of champagne to get me drunk, given my fast-burning metabolism. Well, it was a good thing Sam was richer than almost everyone else on the planet put together. He could afford a couple hundred thousand dollars' worth of bubbly if it meant me getting lucky.\n\nThe music quickened and swelled, and the conversations faded away. The air hummed with energy and anticipation.\n\n\"Time to go.\" Carmen smoothed down her billowing skirt. Her hand trembled just a bit.\n\nI picked up her long train, careful not to singe the fabric with my fingers. I'd spent too much time sewing the damn thing to ruin it now. Carmen turned and grabbed my arm.\n\n\"Do you think this is the right thing to do? Do you think we should go through with it? Do you think we're ready? You know how badly my last wedding turned out.\" Panic filled her blue eyes.\n\n_Badly_ was the understatement of the century. Right before the wedding, Carmen had found her fianc\u00e9 boinking her best friend and discovered that the two were her town's resident superhero and ubervillain. That, of course, had set Carmen off on her little mission to expose the identity of every superhero and ubervillain who crossed her path. Which, of course, was how Carmen had met Sam and the rest of us. Karma, she called it. Destiny, kismet, fate. I just thought of it as bad luck on our part.\n\nBut I bit back the sarcastic retort I'd been ready to let loose. The nosy reporter had grown on me, despite my best efforts. And she had saved my life and everyone else's. I owed her for that. Plus, it was my solemn duty as a bridesmaid to support the bride **\u2014** even if Carmen occasionally made me want to put my fist through a wall.\n\n\"Do you love Sam?\"\n\nCarmen nodded. Some of the tension left her body. \"With all my heart.\"\n\n\"Then, it'll be fine,\" I said. \"Sam loves you, and you love him. You're going to have a fabulous wedding, a fantastic honeymoon, and a wonderful life together. Plus, you're wearing a Fiona Fine original couture gown. And what could possibly be better than that?\"\n\n# Chapter Two\n\nAfter Carmen calmed down, we made our way through Sublime, Sam's mansion on the outskirts of Bigtime. Roughly the size of a small country, the manor house contained just about every antique and art object known to man and superhero. Polished suits of armor, colorful paintings, detailed sculptures, exquisite tapestries. Even though I'd been prowling the halls for years now, the rich furnishings still impressed me. And it took a lot to impress me.\n\nCarmen tiptoed her way through the manor, struggling to stay upright in her towering heels. I stalked along behind, holding up the train so it wouldn't get snagged on a piece of furniture, and wishing the bride-to-be would move a little faster. I could always zing Carmen with a hot flash. That would get her moving. But I couldn't risk ruining the gown. Not now. I'd already had to redo it twice because of some temperamental flare-ups on my part.\n\nCarmen stumbled on the edge of an Oriental rug and almost fell on her face.\n\n\"Stupid shoes,\" she muttered, glaring at me.\n\nHer three-inch strappy sandals had been another hotly contested point between us. Carmen had wanted to wear these ugly, flat, ballet slippers that had gone out of style twenty years ago. I'd told her point-blank that she wasn't wearing those monstrosities with a Fiona Fine wedding gown. She wasn't ruining my hard work with her fashion faux pas. Of course, I had to roast most of Carmen's worn-out tennis shoes before she agreed to wear the sandals, but the important thing was that I, and designer fashion, had triumphed yet again.\n\n\"I don't see how you walk in these things,\" Carmen said, tugging on one of the white straps wrapped around her ankle.\n\n\"It's easy,\" I snapped. \"Millions of women do it every day. Now quit whining and walk. You've got a superhero to marry.\"\n\nCarmen gave me another annoyed glance, but she shuffled forward. Despite Carmen's time covering the Bigtime society beat, fashion wasn't her forte. That was my domain. And I knew, like all good designers know, that no outfit is complete without a pair of killer shoes, preferably stilettos. The higher, the better.\n\nAfter a couple more stumbles and a string of curses, we stopped in front of a pair of doors that led outside. Lulu sat there waiting, along with Chief Sean Newman. Sunlight streamed in through the glass, warming the alcove where we stood. The ceremony was taking place in the luscious gardens that surrounded the enormous estate, as befitting a traditional May wedding.\n\nI peeked through the doors. Henry Harris, the best man, and Sam Sloane, the anxious groom, had already taken their places in front of the minister at the far end of the long aisle.\n\n\"Carmen, Fiona,\" Chief Newman rumbled in his deep Irish brogue. \"You both look beautiful.\"\n\n\"Chief.\" I kissed my father on the cheek.\n\nI'd always called my father _chief_ , ever since I was a little girl and had first seen him in his police uniform. It was a habit I continued out of necessity. Nobody knew about our family connection, except the other members of the Fearless Five and now Lulu. It was safer that way. Since people, and more importantly ubervillains, didn't know about our relationship, they couldn't kidnap and use us against each other, either in our real lives or as our superhero alter egos, Fiera and Mr. Sage.\n\nThe first notes of the classic wedding march sounded, and the hundreds of guests outside rose to their feet.\n\n\"Here we go,\" Carmen whispered, her face pale and slightly sweaty.\n\n\"Heaven help us all,\" I muttered.\n\nTwo ushers stepped forward, and the double doors creaked open. The chief took Carmen's arm, while Lulu motored out. I waited for her to get halfway to the end before stepping outside and strolling along the rose-covered aisle.\n\nA thick, white carpet stretched three hundred feet toward a raised dais, which stood beneath an enormous trellis strung with silver roses and purple pansies. Oak and elm trees hovered in the background, providing splashes of green to the scene. Men and women dressed in dark tuxedos, sparkling gowns, and flashing jewels stood on either side of the aisle, adding even more color to the gardens. The sweet, thick scent of the flowers mixed with the men's and women's spicy colognes and heady perfumes. A full orchestra sat on one side of the dais, but their instruments couldn't quite drown out the low, steady drone of bumblebees in the distance. The sun hung like a ball of orange sherbet in the evening sky, and a faint breeze ruffled my long hair. Late spring was a perfect time for a wedding.\n\nMy blue eyes traced over the area, drinking in the sights and sounds. Everything that I'd wanted for my own wedding was right here. Everything except Travis. I clutched my bouquet of roses and turned my engagement ring around.\n\nI took my place next to Lulu and winked at Sam, trying not to look as sad as I felt. I was happy for him and Carmen, truly I was. But I couldn't stop the pang of longing and jealousy that stabbed my heart with every beat of the soaring music.\n\nThe businessman-superhero gave me a nervous grin and tugged on his sleeves. With his dark hair and light, grayish eyes, Sam looked like he'd just stepped out of a men's magazine.\n\nSo did Henry, for once. His glasses gleamed in the late-afternoon sunlight, along with his mocha skin. He flashed me a shy smile and yanked on his tie. Like Carmen, Henry would have worn his usual attire to the wedding\u2014a rumpled sweater vest, plaid pants, and a polka-dot bow tie\u2014if I hadn't intervened. I'd had to melt a couple of the wires attached to his precious computers, but Henry had eventually seen things my way. Most people did, sooner or later. Especially when I turned up the heat.\n\nThe music swelled to a thundering crescendo, and Carmen stepped into view. Sam's face grew soft and dreamy and dopey at the sight of her. I smiled. Too much? Please. Score another one for Fiona Fine Fashions.\n\nMy father escorted Carmen down the aisle. She beamed like a neon light. If she got any happier, she'd blow a bulb. A few people tried to catch her gaze, but the only one Carmen acknowledged was her friend Jasper, Bigtime's resident mad bomber. Then, Carmen turned her attention to Sam, and the rest of the world fell away. She only had eyes for him, and he for her. The two of them couldn't stop staring at each other. Cold envy frosted over my aching heart.\n\nThe music faded away, and the minister stepped forward.\n\n\"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today...\"\n\n* * *\n\nThirty minutes later, Carmen and Sam professed their true and undying love for each other. They kissed, everyone cheered, and the wedding ended. I half expected to see white doves and fluffy bunnies stampede down the long aisle, but thankfully, people just blew soap bubbles at the happy couple.\n\nThe blushing bride, handsome groom, and other members of the wedding party stayed in the garden to pose for the all-important, post-ceremony pictures. Meanwhile, the rich, distinguished guests drifted out onto the mile-wide lawn where hundreds of tables, gallons of champagne, and thousands of pounds of chicken cordon bleu and other choice foodstuffs had been set out. Waiters and caterers zipped through the crowd, dishing up food and drinks as fast as they could.\n\nI spotted Kyle Quicke among the caterers. I'd gone to Bigtime University with Kyle, and his family owned Quicke's, one of my favorite restaurants in Bigtime. I watched Kyle cut a slice of chocolate cake and hand it to a waiting guest. My stomach rumbled. I could use some food. A lot of food.\n\n\"Come on, Fiona. It's time for the pictures,\" the chief murmured in my ear, dashing my hopes of a stealthy getaway.\n\nI rolled my eyes and turned back toward the dais.\n\n* * *\n\nForty-five minutes later, I tapped my fingers on my arm. \"How many pictures are you going to take?\" I snapped at the photographer. Patience was not one of my virtues. In fact, I didn't think it was any sort of virtue at all.\n\nThe short, fat man wilted under my hot gaze. Most everybody did. My eyes went to his digital camera. One little flare-up, and it would look like something that came out of a kiln. There'd definitely be no more pictures then....\n\n\"Fiona.\" The chief's blue eyes narrowed in warning.\n\nI shot him a sour look and dampened my temper. That was the problem with your father being a psychic superhero. You could never get away with anything.\n\n\"Actually, I'm done with the wedding party. I just want to get a few more shots of the bride and groom,\" the photographer said.\n\n\"It's about bloody time,\" I muttered.\n\nI stomped out of the garden and onto the lawn. My stilettos sank into the damp earth, but I yanked up my feet and kept going. Another benefit of having superstrength. Henry, Lulu, and my father followed at a more sedate pace.\n\nMost of the male guests had settled down at the tables and were busy stuffing themselves with chicken, spring vegetables, and fancy sourdough rolls baked in the shape of curling vines and flowers. Not so for the women. Every woman under sixty gathered around the wide, long bar, downing glass after glass of champagne. Some stared at nothing in particular. A few snuffled into their crystal flutes, while others dabbed at their runny mascara. They weren't tears of joy. Quite the contrary. Three hundred women's dreams of becoming Mrs. Sam Sloane had just been dashed by a lowly society reporter. It was more than enough to make the stoutest society matron weepy, depressed, and drunk as a skunk.\n\nI shoved my way through the crowd, zapped a few people with hot flashes to make them move, and grabbed the biggest champagne glass I could find. Bubbles fizzed up in the golden liquid. I drained the glass and twitched my nose to ease the sudden tickling sensation. I didn't need to sneeze flames in front of a thousand people.\n\n\"Fiona! Fiona Fine!\"\n\nI turned at the sound of my name and spotted Joanne James fluttering her hand at me. Joanne was a tall, skinny woman with a rather large chest and too-smooth features. Hair blacker than shoe polish brushed her slender shoulders, contrasting with the ropes of pearls that encircled her gaunt neck.\n\nOh boy. I was going to need something a lot stronger than champagne. I ordered a gin and tonic from one of the bartenders and downed two doubles before Joanne sashayed her way through the crowd to my side.\n\n\"Fiona, darling!\"\n\n\"Joanne, darling!\"\n\nWe air-kissed the way that society women are supposed to. My eyes raked over Joanne's outfit, a gunmetal-gray halter dress with a slinky, sequined skirt. Not bad, but it wasn't one of mine. Joanne also sized me up, her gaze critiquing everything from my shoes to my chandelier earrings. Standard operating procedure among the women in Bigtime. Once that was out of the way, we made polite chitchat about how fabulous and thin we both looked before Joanne got down to business.\n\n\"I'm getting married again next month. I was wondering if I could come in and talk to you about another gown.\"\n\nI almost choked on my drink. \"What will this one be? Number five?\"\n\nJoanne James went through husbands like they were tissues\u2014she used one up and then tossed him aside for another.\n\n\"Six actually.\"\n\n\"Who's the lucky fellow?\" My lips only twitched a little. It was amazing the things you could say with a straight face.\n\n\"Berkley Brighton, the whiskey billionaire.\"\n\n\"Of course.\"\n\nJoanne James didn't waste her time on small-time fish. She only went after the big, big catches. She was Bigtime's resident black widow, but she didn't kill her husbands. Instead, Joanne bled her hubbies dry, added their money to her own considerable fortune, and somehow managed to wiggle out of paying for anything\u2014even her own divorce attorneys. In a way, it was her own personal superpower. Joanne was a legend in Bigtime, and more than a few society mamas urged their daughters to emulate her marriage merry-go-round.\n\n\"I thought you would have asked Bella Bulluci to design your gown. She did your last two, didn't she?\" I couldn't resist the dig. Joanne had gone to Bella after complaining that my services were too expensive. As if. Fashion genius like mine was priceless.\n\nJoanne swallowed some champagne. \"To be honest, I did ask Bella first, but she turned me down.\"\n\n\"Really? Why?\"\n\nJoanne waved her hand, and I squinted at the sudden glare. The diamond boulder on her finger could easily feed the people of a third world country for years. \"Oh, she said she was taking some time off to concentrate on family affairs because of her father's death. I think she just didn't want to bother with it.\"\n\nBella Bulluci was one of Bigtime's most popular designers, next to me, of course. Bella had plenty of talent, but I'd always thought her creations were a bit conservative, tame even. Bella was very fond of solid colors and subtle pinstripes. I was more of a polka-dot, plaid, and leopard-print girl. All rolled into one. With neon sequins and a feather boa to match.\n\nI signaled the bartender and ordered another drink. I didn't like being anyone's second choice, but my eyes strayed back to Joanne's ring. That thing had to be at least ten flawless carats.\n\nBeing a superhero had plenty of perks, but there was one major drawback\u2014it was a pricey occupation. We all had to pitch in to keep the Fearless Five out and about fighting crime. Carmen and Henry didn't contribute much to our annual budget. They couldn't with the pitiful paychecks they earned as newspaper reporters at _The Expos_ _\u00e9_. My father wasn't much better off. Even though he was the chief of police, his salary wasn't what it should be, mainly because most of the city's budget went to repairing the municipal buildings, bridges, and overpasses that us superheroes and ubervillains obliterated during our epic battles.\n\nThat left Sam and me to shoulder the monetary load. With his various business interests and billion-dollar bank balance, Sam gave the most for the greater good. But I chipped in at least five million every year. Sometimes more. Outfitting Joanne James with wedding gown number six would keep us all in black leather and orange-red spandex for the foreseeable future.\n\n\"Have your assistant call the store, and we'll set something up for later this week,\" I promised and downed my third gin and tonic.\n\nJoanne smiled, her lips lavender against her pale face. \"Fiona, darling, it's always a pleasure doing business with you.\"\n\nWe air-kissed again and exchanged more meaningless pleasantries. Then, Joanne strutted back through the crowd to Berkley Brighton, a short, square man who'd made his fortune selling Brighton's Best whiskey. Joanne latched on to his arm, and the pretty young things who'd been clustered around the boisterous billionaire scattered like minnows fleeing a hungry barracuda. Joanne wasn't someone you wanted to mess with\u2014especially when she was husband hunting. Berkley actually beamed at Joanne, happy to see his honey.\n\nI snorted. Poor guy. He might as well just sign over his family's secret whiskey recipe to Joanne right now. It would save him a lot of trouble and hefty lawyers' fees down the road.\n\nWhile I'd been talking to Joanne, Carmen and Sam had joined the festivities. They walked from table to table, greeting the wedding guests and basking in the afterglow of the ceremony. After paying their respects to the bride and groom, people finished their dinners and drifted out onto the tile dance floor that had been planted on the lawn for the grand occasion. A twelve-piece band to one side of the floor played a loud, brassy version of \"The Right Thing To Do\" by Carly Simon, Carmen's favorite singer.\n\nMy eyes scanned the glittering crowd. Joanne and Berkley. Carmen and Sam. Henry and Lulu. Even my father was dancing with one of Bigtime's rich, lonely widows. Couples, couples, everywhere. But no Travis.\n\nNo Travis.\n\nThe happy society scene and all the couples burned me out. I needed some peace and quiet. Now.\n\nI shoved through the crowd, wrenched open a side door, and stomped inside the manor. The usual rich, shiny trappings greeted me, but for once, I didn't pay attention to them. Sam wouldn't like it if I accidentally melted some ancient knight's suit of armor or fried another one of his Monets. The mood I was in, they'd go up like dry newspaper.\n\nThe music and laughter and happy sounds faded away, replaced by the _thwack_ of my heels on the hardwood floors. I walked into one of the many game rooms that populated the manor and sank down onto the smooth leather couch. A big-screen TV took up one wall, while a pool table crouched in the middle of the floor. Dart boards and various other sports-like contraptions filled the rest of the area, but I didn't really see them. I didn't see any of it.\n\nI twisted the ring on my finger. It wasn't nearly as big as Joanne James's was, but it meant the world to me, even now. Travis. My heart squeezed like a dishrag being wrung out.\n\n\"A beautiful bridesmaid alone by herself. What a sad, sad clich\u00e9,\" a low, cultured voice called out.\n\nI looked up. A man stood in the doorway. He topped out at just over six feet, with a mane of tawny blond hair that curled around the collar of his impeccable tuxedo. Flashing green eyes contrasted with his golden skin, making him look like a sleek lion in the gathering shadows. He strode into the room, his black suit flowing with easy grace around his perfect figure. It fit him well. Then again, just about anything would have looked good on him.\n\nMy eyes widened. If Sam resembled a male model, then this guy was the Goliath of male models. Yummy.\n\nThe man stared at me, and his eyes crinkled in amusement. The merriment dancing in his sharp gaze made him look that much better, even if he seemed to be making fun of me. I didn't like people making fun of me, and I especially didn't like being looked down on. I got to my feet and tossed my long hair back. With my stilettos, he only had half an inch on me.\n\n\"I'm not a clich\u00e9,\" I snapped.\n\n\"Really? You were one of the bridesmaids, right?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"And you're sitting here all alone.\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"And you certainly are beautiful.\"\n\n\"Oh, yes.\"\n\nModesty is another one of my nonexistent virtues. On a scale of one to ten, I'm a solid eight and a half. With my blond hair, blue eyes, and up-to-there legs, I've got the Barbie look men love down pat. The only problem is they think I'm as dumb as one of the plastic dolls. The same thing goes for my alter ego, Fiera. But more than one ubervillain had gotten badly burned by underestimating me.\n\nStill, the compliment pleased me. Every woman likes to be told she's beautiful, but coming from Mr. Model, it sounded...better. Truer. Sexier.\n\n\"If all that's not a clich\u00e9, then I don't know what is.\" His voice was deep with a hint of an accent I couldn't quite place. White teeth gleamed in his tan face, adding to his already staggering sex appeal.\n\nI crossed my arms over my chest and flipped through my mental Rolodex of Bigtime society players. No match. He must be new in town. I certainly would have remembered him. My eyes drifted over his suit, which draped perfectly over his broad shoulders and chest. Oh yeah. I would have remembered him.\n\nI suddenly realized that I was twisting the ring on my finger. Bloody hell. I'd gone from pining over Travis to ogling a complete stranger in the space of a minute. I really did need to get lucky before my hormones made me have a total meltdown. Literally.\n\nThe man continued. \"You certainly looked sad and lonely sitting there, staring into space.\"\n\n\"I was doing nothing of the sort.\"\n\nI couldn't tell him that I'd been looking at the ring my murdered fianc\u00e9 had given me before he'd died. My pain was my own. I didn't go blabbing about it to strangers. Besides, no one except the Fearless Five had even known Travis and I were engaged. It was another little secret we'd decided to keep to ourselves.\n\n\"I was just taking a break from the festivities,\" I replied in my best cool, bored society voice. \"All that happiness can be a bit grating after a while.\"\n\n\"Really? You know we could create our own festivities, you and me.\"\n\nI stifled a laugh. That was one of the lamest lines I'd ever heard. \"Really? And how could we do that?\"\n\n\"Let me show you.\"\n\nHe flashed me a devilish grin, pulled me into his arms, and planted his lips on mine.\n\n# Chapter Three\n\nFor a moment, I couldn't believe it. Who the bloody hell did this jerk think he was, kissing me? I was Fiera, for crying out loud. Superhero du jour. Protector of the innocent. Defender of democracy. I could snap his neck like a pretzel stick. I could light his ass up like a firecracker with a mere thought.\n\nI thought of doing both\u2014at the same time. Then, something strange happened.\n\nI realized that I liked kissing him.\n\nA lot.\n\nA whole lot.\n\nHe had fantastic lips. Soft, firm, smooth. He tasted like fizzy champagne and smelled of some subtle, spicy soap. The combination made my head spin more than the three drinks I'd just had.\n\nAt five foot nine, I'm no small, petite thing, but I felt dwarfed by him. His sculpted chest felt like sun-warmed stone under my hands, and his heart thumped under my clenched fingers. His arms held me securely in place. I opened my mouth to tell him something, I wasn't quite sure what, and he dipped his tongue in. The taste of him, the feel of his mouth, his tongue on mine overwhelmed my senses. I felt like I'd been zapped with a couple dozen stun guns\u2014all weak and twitchy.\n\nHe plundered my mouth like a pirate seeking buried treasure. Nibbling my lips. Skimming my teeth. Probing with his tongue. I couldn't resist him, and I didn't really want to. I'd been thinking about having a one-night stand. Let's see how Mr. Model measured up.\n\nSo I opened my mouth wider, and my tongue met his. Then, I went on the offensive. Nibbling on _his_ lips. Skimming _his_ teeth. Probing with _my_ tongue. He pulled me closer until I thought we would melt into each other. I certainly felt like I was on fire in more ways than one.\n\nHis fingers skimmed my neck and traced down to the tops of my breasts. He slid his hand inside the scooped neckline and stroked my chest. My nipples sprang to attention. His other hand went through the slit in the side of my dress and moved up my leg with quick, sure purpose. Damn, he didn't waste any time. Smooth, sexy, and bold. I loved it. Absolutely loved it.\n\nA warm, pleasant tingling started between my thighs and spread throughout my body. My stomach quivered the tiniest bit, and my breath came in soft gasps. My hormones had already kicked into overdrive. If he kept this up much longer, I'd have to throw him onto the couch instead of through the wall. Or on the floor. Or maybe on the pool table. It looked sturdy enough\u2014\n\n\"Ahem.\"\n\nA cool, feminine voice dampened the liquid fire burning inside me.\n\n\" _Ahem_.\"\n\nThe man sighed in disappointment against my mouth. He pressed his lips to mine once more, withdrew his hands, and stepped back. I tried not to stagger. I felt like I was drunk. And I never got drunk.\n\n\"Hello, Bella,\" the man said. Regret tinged his deep voice, and his hot green gaze burned into me.\n\nThe intensity of his stare made me shiver, a rare thing for me.\n\nI turned my head. Bella Bulluci hovered just inside the door. A forest-green dress of her own design clung to her curvy body, while a simple silver necklace accentuated her graceful neck. A small pair of angel wings dangled from the end of the chain. Bella's foot tapped out a rapid pattern, smacking onto the wooden floor.\n\n\"Fiona.\"\n\n\"Bella.\"\n\nI not-so-discreetly yanked the bodice of my dress back into its proper place. It didn't have far to go, really.\n\nBella's hazel eyes flicked to the man beside me. \"Well, I see you've met Johnny.\"\n\n\"Johnny?\" So that's what his name was.\n\n\"Johnny Bulluci. My older brother.\"\n\n\"Your brother?\"\n\n\"Guilty as charged, I'm afraid.\" Johnny strolled over to his sister and planted a chaste kiss on her cheek.\n\nMy eyes zipped back and forth between them. Side by side, the resemblance was obvious. Same tawny hair, same golden skin, same killer cheekbones. The only difference was their eyes. Bella's were a soft hazel while Johnny's were as green as polished jade. Johnny also had almost a foot on his sister. Bella was a bit on the short side.\n\nBella looked at me, then her brother. She shook her head and looped an arm around his waist. \"Seducing another unsuspecting bridesmaid, brother dear?\" she asked in a teasing tone.\n\n\"Make a habit of it, do you, Johnny?\" I asked, smoothing down my skirt.\n\n\"Only with the exceptionally beautiful ones.\" He winked.\n\nI crossed my arms over my still-tingling chest. His sister had just caught us making out like a couple of sex-starved teenagers, and the man still had the nerve to wink at me. Johnny Bulluci had no shame. I rather liked that about him.\n\n\"Johnny's moved back home from Greece,\" Bella explained. \"He's been looking after our business interests overseas.\"\n\nSo that's why I hadn't seen him around Bigtime before. It explained the accent too.\n\n\"He arrived in town several weeks ago, and I thought the wedding would be a perfect opportunity for him to meet and mingle. I didn't know he was going to disappear. I should warn you, Fiona, my brother is a notorious playboy. Always has been.\" Bella's voice was light, but there was a hint of disapproval to it. Her foot kept up its annoyed, tapping pattern.\n\n\"No harm done,\" I said in a cool voice and flipped my hair over my shoulder. \"Johnny and I were just getting better acquainted.\"\n\n\"Indeed,\" Johnny said, his eyes catching mine again. \"Indeed\u2014\"\n\nFrantic screams slashed through the air. A bright white light flashed outside, followed by a crack of thunder. The ground trembled as though it were going to split open beneath our feet.\n\nWe stood there, stunned.\n\n\"Grandfather!\" Bella shouted.\n\nShe ran out the door. Johnny gave me another quick, regretful look and rushed after her.\n\nI stuck my head out into the hall to make sure that they weren't going to double back and drag me with them, but the pair had already disappeared from sight. Damn, Bella could scoot in those heels. Carmen could definitely learn a thing or two from her.\n\nI locked the door to the game room, ran to the pool table, and twisted a knob hidden underneath one of the corners. The green felt top slid back with a whisper, revealing a row of neatly folded costumes, masks, and shoes. The pool table was one of many objects throughout the manor that held more than just a good time.\n\nIt took me about thirty seconds to ditch the bridesmaid dress, stilettos, and earrings and shimmy into my costume. The orange-red spandex molded to my body like plastic wrap, familiar and comfortable as always. I shoved my feet into my chunky, steel-toed, kick-ass boots and slapped on my flame-shaped mask. Then, I stuffed my dress and heels into the pool table and twisted the knob. The hidden compartment disappeared from sight.\n\nThe screams had quieted down, but cracks of thunder ripped through the air like gunfire. My hands curled into fists. Sparks flared to life in my hair. Flames licked at my fingers.\n\nUnless I missed my guess, it was time for Fiera to go kick some ubervillain ass.\n\nGoody.\n\n* * *\n\nI ran through the halls until I reached the doors that led outside, zoomed down the white carpet that had served as the aisle, and sprinted to the edge of the garden. A row of thick holly bushes separated the lush, flowering plants from the smooth lawn. I slid to a halt and peeked through one of the small gaps in the glossy greenery.\n\nBigtime's finest stood on the lawn, blank looks on their faces. They seemed not to notice the overturned tables, broken dishes, spilled food, and general chaos that surrounded them. Acrid smoke snaked up from an oak tree that had been split in two. Smoldering, snapped branches and shredded leaves littered the singed grass.\n\nA woman dressed in a neon blue suit stood in the middle of the dance floor. Siren. She had a tangle of black curls and an hourglass figure that would make even a blind monk look twice at her. The silver zipper on her suit was open almost to her navel, showing off enough buoyant cleavage to raise the _Titanic_. A mask in the shape of a zigzagged lightning bolt covered her bright blue eyes.\n\nBut she wasn't alone. A woman in a shiny silver suit hovered next to Siren in a floating chair. Intelligal. Thick, black goggles highlighted her dark eyes, making them seem as big and round as quarters. A silver cowl clung to her egg-shaped head, hiding her hair from sight, and her suit was zipped up to her neck. It was a good thing too. Intelligal didn't have the body to pull off the evil sexpot look. She had about as many curves as a board.\n\nSo, our new neighborhood ubervillains had decided to crash the wedding. I wasn't terribly surprised. Siren and Intelligal had come to town about six months ago, right after the members of the Terrible Triad had disappeared. The two had been raising hell ever since. Breaking into computer companies, stealing electronic and media equipment, robbing anyone and everyone they could get their hands on.\n\nBut even worse than the general mayhem the pair caused were their powers. It was bad enough that Siren could create powerful lightning bolts and energy balls with her bare hands. But her real weapon was her voice. One throaty whisper from Siren was all it took to turn most people into mindless, willing slaves. Her power especially seemed to work on men. Naturally. Of course, her looks didn't hurt either when it came to turning men into helpless puppets.\n\nIntelligal didn't seem to have any superpowers of her own, but she really didn't need them. Her Intellichair did the work for her. The device was a flying, open-topped tank that wrapped around the ubervillain's legs and torso. Equipped with heat-seeking missiles, machine-gun turrets, and a force field, the chair was like something out of a James Bond movie. Only better. The Intellichair was also scratch-proof, fire-proof, and virtually indestructible. Most things made out of solidium were. I knew. I'd been trying to melt and smash the chair to pieces for months with no success. I hadn't even been able to put so much as a dent in the dull gray metal.\n\n\"Ladies and gentlemen, I'm terribly sorry if I frightened you, but I'm afraid my invitation to the wedding got lost in the mail,\" Siren cooed into the microphone she'd taken from the band leader. \"And I just couldn't miss _the_ social event of the season.\"\n\nHer voice was low and husky and throaty. To the men, it whispered of sexual fantasies come to life. To the women, it was the conspiratorial tone of a trusted friend and confidant. Just about everyone in the crowd nodded their heads, accepting Siren's explanation for her little lightning storm.\n\nSiren's dulcet tones curled through the air, seeking out everyone within hearing distance. I felt the humming melody in her voice coiling around me like a boa constrictor, trying to squeeze my will into hers. Trying to make me one of her mindless lackeys. But I was too strong-willed and too temperamental to be manipulated by the likes of Siren. I grabbed on to the roaring fire inside me and concentrated on the heat. The coils burned away, and my head cleared.\n\nSo was Carmen. The blushing bride eyed the busty ubervillain with open hatred. Soot streaked her white dress, and her auburn hair had tumbled out of its elegant updo. Carmen's fingers twitched, and I knew she wanted to tap into Siren's powers and give the ubervillain a taste of her own medicine. But she couldn't. Not without blowing her cover as Karma Girl and ruining what was left of her wedding.\n\nI looked for the other members of the Fearless Five. Sam and Henry both wore slightly vacant, dazed expressions. Sam's tie had come undone, and Henry's glasses dangled on the end of his nose. They'd been getting better at resisting Siren's call, but her hypnotic voice still affected them. I snorted. Men. Please. They really were the weaker sex, in every sense of the word. The first time we'd gone up against her, Siren had convinced Sam aka Striker to attack me. It had taken one of my fireballs to the chest to bring him back to his senses. But since Striker regenerated, the only thing my fireball had really hurt was his pride.\n\nMy father looked bemused and a bit pained by the whole thing. Siren purred into the microphone again, and the chief massaged his temples. With his psychic powers, he was well beyond Siren's call, although her voice always left him with one hell of a headache.\n\nLulu sat next to the chief and gazed at Intelligal's chair. A calculating expression filled her smooth face, and her fingers tapped against the arm of her wheelchair like it was a keyboard. The computer hacker was probably wondering how she could get Henry aka Hermit to make her a similar contraption. I didn't blame her. Although I had little use for gadgets, given my natural superpowers, even I had to admit the Intellichair was a cool, deadly gizmo. Especially since it had been kicking our asses for the last six months.\n\n\"I do hope you all will forgive my rude outburst,\" Siren continued. \"I really want to make a good impression on everyone, being so new in town. I've heard such lovely, lovely things about Bigtime and all of you. I just want to fit in.\"\n\nI rolled my eyes. Good grief, she was simpering now. Did the woman have no pride? She was giving ubervillains everywhere a bad name. As much as I hated evildoers like Malefica, the Wallflower, and Hydra, at least I had some respect for them. They would never have lowered themselves to play to a crowd of civilians.\n\n\"Oh, get on with it, Siren. Quit showing off,\" Intelligal snapped and crossed her arms over her flat chest. The geeky ubervillain had little use for her partner's sexy antics. That was two of us.\n\n\"You always spoil my fun.\" Siren stuck her lip out and pouted.\n\n\"I'll kill her for you, Siren!\" one of the wealthy businessmen volunteered.\n\n\"Me too!\"\n\n\"And me!\"\n\n\"No, let me do it!\"\n\nSiren smiled, and several of the older men in the crowd clutched their chests, ready to have coronary episodes if she so much as crooked her pinky. \"Thank you, darlings, but that won't be necessary.\"\n\nI thought she muttered the word _yet_ , but I couldn't be sure. The two ubervillains might work together, but they definitely were not the best of friends. Too bad they wouldn't take each other out and save me the trouble.\n\n\"Intelligal is going to come over to you now. If you'll be so kind as to put your necklaces, watches, rings, and other valuables into her bag, we would greatly appreciate it.\"\n\nSiren's husky voice wrapped around me again, and I burned away the tight, grasping tendrils. Intelligal zoomed into the glassy-eyed crowd. She hit a button, and the side of her chair opened up. A mechanical arm holding a soft, cloth bag stretched out.\n\nThe ubervillain floated through the crowd, robbing Bigtime's richest, while Siren cooed into the microphone and kept them in line. Although I wanted to lob a fireball or three her way, I couldn't risk it. There were too many people around. Frying civilians was not good for my image. Or for sales of my action figures, calendars, and other officially licensed merchandise.\n\nIntelligal motored round and round, collecting millions in jewels, watches, and other baubles. Of course, there were a few willful holdouts who weren't under Siren's spell and didn't want to give up their precious shinies. Joanne James was among them. Intelligal had to threaten to shoot Berkley with the machine guns mounted on her chair before Joanne parted with her pearls and enormous engagement ring. Even then, it took her a while to decide between imminent, bloody death and going without her status symbols.\n\nTo my surprise, Johnny Bulluci was also among the people who resisted Siren's throaty call. Unlike the others, he didn't have a blank look on his face. He and Bella hovered protectively over an old man in a navy tuxedo. That must be the grandfather they'd rushed out to save. What was his name? Something with an R. Reed, Reynolds, Richards, Roger, Rob, Roberto! That was it. Roberto Bulluci. Bobby for short.\n\nIntelligal drifted their way, and Johnny's eyes narrowed to slits. He shifted his stance, and his jacket opened up, exposing his white shirt. I remembered the solid feel of his chest next to mine. His lips on mine. His hands on my body. I could still smell his spicy scent. My temperature roared up a few hundred degrees. The man was sexy, there was no doubt about that. None whatsoever. Even now, I was thinking about how we could pick up where we'd left off earlier. But I pushed that thought aside. My duty as a superhero came first\u2014pummeling ubervillains whenever possible.\n\nIntelligal stopped in front of the Bullucis. Johnny stepped forward to shield his family from the ubervillain. His hands clenched and unclenched into fists, and Johnny looked like he wanted to leap onto Intelligal's chair and punch her over and over again. The old man put a wrinkled, restraining hand on Johnny's arm and shook his head. Johnny shot his grandfather an annoyed look, but he relaxed just a bit. To my surprise, Bella's lips tightened into a thin line, and her hazel eyes glittered with rage. Bella? Angry? The mild-mannered designer never got angry, not even when she lost out on the Bigtime Fashion Designer of the Year Award to me. Despite his age, Bobby was just as worked up as his grandchildren. Even he shot the ubervillain a look of disgust and loathing.\n\nJohnny handed over a thick watch and his engraved cufflinks. Bella took off her silver chain and charm and threw them into the bag, while Bobby passed over a diamond pinky ring. Intelligal moved on to her next victims, but all three of the Bullucis kept their eyes on her, wishing that looks could kill.\n\nAfter about twenty minutes, Intelligal finished her mission. The mechanical arm clamped down on the bag, securing it and the goodies inside. She floated back to the dance floor, where Siren waited.\n\n\"Well, ladies and gentlemen, it's been a real pleasure. But I'm afraid it's time for us to leave.\"\n\n\"Siren, don't go!\"\n\n\"Please stay!\"\n\n\"We'll do anything you want!\"\n\nMen and a few women called out to the ubervillain, pleading with her to stay.\n\nSiren smiled. \"I know you will, darlings, but I really must go before the Fearless Five show up. Now, why don't you all do me a favor and talk quietly among yourselves for, say, ten minutes? That would make me _so_ happy. And you want to make me happy, don't you?\"\n\nJust about everyone in the crowd immediately turned to each other and began chatting about the weather, the wedding, and how fabulous Siren looked. Siren tossed the microphone back to the befuddled bandleader and hopped onto the arm of Intelligal's chair. The two of them zoomed up off the dance floor.\n\nAh, my cue at last.\n\nI grabbed the fire pulsing through me, and my body exploded into flames.\n\n# Chapter Four\n\nI plowed through the prickly holly bushes and pointed my finger. Flames arced outward, and a line of fire roared up between the ubervillains and the crowd. A few people snapped out of their trances, but most just stared at the flames. I pointed my other finger. Another line of fire sprang up, cutting off the ubervillains' escape route. I sprinted forward through the flames toward the evildoers.\n\nSiren and Intelligal froze. The chair hovered in midair, and their heads snapped around to me.\n\n\"You!\" Siren screamed.\n\nHer voice morphed from sultry and simpering to sharp and jagged in an instant. It felt like cold razors slicing into my brain. I clapped my hands to my head, trying to block out the horrible sound.\n\nA bluish energy ball popped into her hand, and Siren reared back to throw it at me. But a streak of lightning cut through the air and slammed into Siren's back. Shocked, the ubervillain flew off the arm of Intelligal's chair and hit the ground. Behind her, Carmen waved at me and smiled.\n\n\"Get her, Intelligal!\" Siren shrieked through a mouthful of dirt. The harsh tone in her voice cut through me again.\n\nIntelligal zoomed up over the dancing flames and punched some buttons on her floating chair. Two flaps opened on the front of the metal contraption, and missiles rocketed out\u2014straight at me. I waited until they were in range, lobbed two fireballs at them, and rolled out of the way. My fireballs slammed into the missiles, and they exploded in midair. The thunderous roar and resulting shockwave jolted the rest of the crowd out of its sheep-like state. People screamed and stampeded and sprinted down the lawn toward the metal gates a mile away. Smoke, soot, and ash darkened the spring sky.\n\nSiren scrambled to her feet and sent a lightning bolt my way. I ducked it and retaliated with a fireball. Intelligal zipped back and forth over us, trying to get a clear shot at me with some more of her pesky missiles.\n\nOut of the corner of my eye, I spotted Johnny Bulluci. He ran through the wall of flames and launched himself onto Intelligal's chair like it was something he did every day. What the hell did he think he was doing? I was the hero here, not him. The fool was going to get himself killed, and me along with him.\n\nBut I was too busy trying to dodge Siren's energy balls and fry her alive to pay much attention to Johnny. I tried to get close enough to touch Siren, but she kept flinging lightning bolts at me. She was too smart to let me get within arm's reach. Siren knew I could crush her to goo with my bare hands. I would, given half a chance. I'd wrap my hands around her neck and squeeze her like an orange.\n\nAfter a few minutes of back-and-forth action, I started to wear Siren down. Her lightning bolts grew weaker, shorter, and slower, and she started backing away from me. I crouched down, ready to pounce on her, when something smacked into me.\n\n\"Oof!\" I hit the ground so hard my flame-shaped mask left an impression in the smoldering grass.\n\nIt took me a second to realize Johnny Bulluci had fallen on top of me. Intelligal must have shaken him off her chair. Johnny didn't look like it, but the guy weighed a ton. I knew. That's what I bench-pressed.\n\n\"Move, move, move!\" I roared.\n\nJohnny rolled off me, onto his feet, and pulled me up in one smooth motion. I shoved him aside and raced toward the ubervillains. Too little, too late.\n\nSiren hopped back onto Intelligal's chair. A helicopter rotor sprang up from somewhere inside the device and started to whine and whir. Good grief, how many gadgets did the woman have on that thing? The two of them motored up, up, and away. I tossed a couple fireballs in the air, but Intelligal easily steered clear of them. Seconds later, the ubervillains disappeared from sight.\n\nDamn. Just when I was getting warmed up.\n\n\"Fiera! Fiera!\" someone shouted.\n\nI turned. Chief Newman pointed at the lines of fire still burning on the lawn and threatening to scorch the gardens. I concentrated, pulling the heat back into my own body, and the flames snuffed out. The chief and the others started forward to see if I was injured. I waved them off and marched over to Johnny, who was staring into the sky as if he could see where the ubervillains had gone. Bella and Bobby Bulluci stood next to him, alternating their gazes between Johnny and the wild blue yonder.\n\n\"What the hell did you think you were doing? You almost got yourself killed,\" I snapped.\n\n\"I was trying to take back what was mine and everybody else's,\" Johnny growled, not the least bit intimidated by the orange-red flames surrounding my body.\n\nI leaned forward and focused my anger\u2014and heat\u2014on him. \"That's not your job, your responsibility. That's what I'm here for. And I didn't just go a couple of rounds with some ubervillains so you could try to play hero and die a horrible, static-charged death.\"\n\n\"As you can see, I'm fine.\" His green eyes narrowed. \"And if I want to _play hero_ as you put it, it's no business of yours. Just because you're a superhero doesn't mean you can tell the rest of us what to do.\"\n\nThat's exactly what it meant, at least to me. Putting life and limb on the line for the fine citizens of Bigtime entitled me to a few perks. Bossing people around was one of them.\n\nJohnny continued to glare at me. My hair sparked and crackled with fire. Arrogant man. First, he tried to seduce me, and now he thought he knew how to do my job better than I did. Johnny Bulluci didn't know how close he was to getting strangled. I also had the oddest desire to singe his clothes off, yank him toward me, and kiss him until his eyeballs melted. Well, I'd stop before the eyeball-melting part. That could get a little icky.\n\nI opened my mouth to berate Johnny some more when a white blur zipped by.\n\nSwifte stopped in the middle of the lawn and struck a heroic pose. Hands on his hips, chest out, chin up. He was a tall, thin man who reminded me of a string bean. As his name suggested, Swifte was built for speed, not strength. The afternoon sun hit his back, and all the colors of the rainbow shimmered in the superhero's opalescent spandex suit. Silver sparkles glittered on the edges of the wing-shaped mask that covered his face. I eyed him with distaste. Swifte's getup was rather over the top, even for me. Superheroes, especially men, should not wear head-to-toe white. Ever. He so needed a makeover.\n\nThe superhero was so quick that he didn't even stir up any of the sooty dust or hot embers that coated the grass. A black bag dangled from his gloved hand.\n\n\"You're a little late, aren't you, Swifte?\" I sniped. \"The party's over.\"\n\nThe superhero relaxed his media pose. He shrugged. \"I was around. I heard the commotion and thought you might need a hand, especially since none of your friends showed up to help. Where's the rest of the F5 gang?\"\n\n\"Oh, they're around somewhere,\" I replied in a vague voice.\n\n\"Of course they are,\" Swifte murmured, looking at Carmen.\n\nI thought Carmen blushed. But it was probably just the heat lingering in the air that painted her cheeks a bright pink.\n\nSwifte gazed out at the smoke and debris. \"Well, you acquitted yourself nicely, Fiera. Even without your friends' help.\"\n\nI flipped my hair over my shoulder. \"I always do.\"\n\n\"Well, I'll just drop these off and be on my way.\" Swifte shoved the bag at me and tipped his head to Carmen and Sam. \"My congrats to the happy bride and groom.\"\n\nThe superhero put his hands back on his hips and struck another pose. Then, he disappeared. One second he was here, the next he was halfway to Cypress Mountain.\n\nI hefted the bag. The telltale clink and rattle of jewels and chains sounded.\n\n\"Is that what I think it is?\" Henry asked, pushing his soot-streaked glasses up his nose.\n\nI opened the bag and peered inside at the gleaming gems. \"Yep. Somehow, Swifte lifted the stolen jewels off Intelligal's chair.\"\n\n\"That's pretty impressive,\" Lulu chimed in. \"I didn't even see him.\"\n\n\"Swifte is quick, I'll give him that,\" I said.\n\nHe was also rather annoying, popping up when you least expected him to, sort of like a zit. And he always zoomed off before you had a chance to talk to him. The only people who ever got to say more than twenty words to Swifte were the reporters from the Superhero News Network and other media outlets. He always had plenty of time to stop and talk to them. Showboat.\n\n\"Well, now that everything's settled, can I have my watch back?\" Johnny said.\n\nI couldn't believe his nerve. He'd gotten in my way, let the ubervillains escape, and now he wanted his shinies back? How shallow. Even for a rich, spoiled playboy.\n\n\"I don't think so,\" I snapped. \"Not after the way you behaved. You can wait. The Fearless Five will get your items back to you in a few days.\"\n\nIt was standard operating procedure in cases like this. We'd sort through the items, determine what belonged to whom, and mail them back to the rightful owners. It kept people like Joanne James from claiming that certain pieces of jewelry belonged to them when they really didn't.\n\nJohnny's face hardened, his lips forming a tight line. I tore my gaze away from them and tried not to think about just how firm and warm they'd been earlier.\n\n\"Let's go, Johnny. Now.\" Bella's voice was sharp as a stiletto and twice as pointed.\n\n\"Yes, come along, Johnny,\" Bobby Bulluci added. \"I hardly think Fiera's going to keep anything for herself. We can get the watch back later.\"\n\nI eyed the grandfather. Even though he was over seventy, Bobby Bulluci was still a handsome man. He stood straight and tall, with a trim body. His hair was a burnished silver, but his eyes were the same remarkable green that Johnny's were. If Bobby was what Johnny would look like in another forty years, then the younger Bulluci was one lucky devil.\n\nJohnny stared at his sister and grandfather. He turned back to me and took a deep breath. \"The watch was my father's. I'd like it back. Please. It has a lot of sentimental value to me, to my whole family.\"\n\nI started to say no, but something in his eyes stopped me. A bright flash of pain I knew all too well. The pain of losing someone you loved. I remembered what Joanne had told me about Bella's father dying.\n\nI held out the bag. \"Take it.\"\n\nJohnny reached for the bag. Our fingers brushed, and I felt the need to blow off some steam. A few sparks flew out of my fingertips and landed on Johnny's torn, dirty tux. He paused and patted them out.\n\n\"Sorry about that,\" I said. \"Job hazard.\"\n\n\"No problem.\"\n\nJohnny dug through the fancy baubles until he found what he was looking for\u2014a simple silver watch. All that decorated the timepiece's black face were a pair of wings, inlaid in mother-of-pearl. No diamonds, no jewels, nothing fancy. It wasn't even a Rolex. Odd. Given how much he wanted it back, you'd think the watch would have been made out of solid platinum.\n\nJohnny fastened the timepiece around his left wrist. \"Thank you.\"\n\n\"No problem.\"\n\nJohnny took his grandfather's arm, and the Bullucis headed toward the gates, where the rest of the wedding guests milled about, waiting for their stretch limos to come take them home. That left just the six of us.\n\nThe chief put a concerned hand on my shoulder. \"Are you all right, Fiona? That was a pretty nasty fight.\"\n\nI stretched my arms over my head and did a mental inventory of my body. I felt a little sore in places, but that was it. With my superstrength, it took a lot to hurt me.\n\n\"Oh, I'm fine. It's nothing a little liquor won't cure. I need a drink. Fighting ubervillains is thirsty work.\"\n\nI strolled over to the bar, which had somehow survived the fires and explosions and lightning bolts, and grabbed a bottle of champagne. I yanked the cork out, took a long swig of the warm, bubbly liquid, and raised the bottle to the others. \"Cheers.\"\n\n# Chapter Five\n\n\"Are you sure we don't need to stay here?\" Carmen asked.\n\nI rolled my eyes. \"If you ask me that again, I'm going to burn your tongue.\"\n\nThe five of us, plus Lulu, were down in the secret library underneath Sublime. Superhero Central, Carmen called it. To me, it was our War Room, despite the books and magazines and encyclopedias that clustered in the floor-to-ceiling shelves.\n\nAfter calming down the frantic wedding guests and escorting them off the grounds, the Fearless Five had gone into full-fledged superhero mode. We'd spent the last couple hours in the library trying to track down Siren and Intelligal. With no luck.\n\n\"Intelligal must have some sort of cloaking device on that chair,\" Henry muttered.\n\nHe was using his power, mind-melding with his supercomputer, to try and locate the ubervillains. A soft, bluish-white glow connected his fingers to the keyboard. The monitor reflected numbers and letters onto his round glasses, making them gleam. The symbols flashed by too fast for me to follow, but Henry had no trouble deciphering them with his photographic memory.\n\n\"There's no trace of them. Not even a heat signature on the radar.\"\n\n\"I'm sure you'll find her, babe,\" Lulu said, pounding away on her own computer nearby. \"You always do.\"\n\n\"Maybe we should stay here,\" Carmen repeated.\n\n\"And abandon your honeymoon plans?\" Chief Newman said. \"There's no need for that.\"\n\nCarmen paced around the room. She picked up one of her Rubik's Cubes and turned it round and round in her hands as she slid the plastic rows of colors back and forth. \"I feel like Siren and Intelligal are up to something. Something big.\"\n\n\"Aren't they always? It's sort of what ubervillains do.\" I leaned back in my chair and put my feet up on the round table that dominated the middle of the room. My black stilettos rested on top of the giant _F5_ insignia carved into the heavy wood.\n\nCarmen shook her head. \"This feels bigger than that. Like world-domination big.\"\n\n\"Chief?\" I asked my father.\n\nHe laced his fingers together. \"I think Carmen's right. They're definitely up to something. They took a big risk crashing the wedding, and I've got the headache to prove it.\"\n\n\"See? We should stay. Besides, those bitches ruined my wedding. They should pay.\"\n\nCarmen's eyes flashed neon blue with rage. They only did that when she was very, very angry. Even I didn't like to go up against Carmen when she was angry.\n\nSam put an arm around her shoulder and hugged her to him. Carmen's eyes brightened, taking on a different sort of glow.\n\n\"Don't worry, they will,\" Sam said. \"The chief and the others will take care of them. You don't want to cancel our trip, do you?\"\n\nAn extravagant, no-holds-barred, month-long honeymoon around the world was Sam's wedding present to Carmen. She'd be a fool to cancel on him just to track down a couple of measly ubervillains. But if she did, I'd be happy to take her place, and eat and shop my way around the globe. I could use a vacation, especially after today. As much as I loved being a superhero, there were times when the epic battles got a bit old. Unfortunately, ubervillains were a dime a dozen in this town, and somebody was always up to something. Which meant we superheroes always had to be on the lookout for trouble with a capital T.\n\n\"No, of course not,\" Carmen said, leaning into Sam that much more. \"But you know how I worry.\"\n\n\"There's nothing to worry about, Sister Carmen,\" Lulu said. \"Henry will track them down, and then Fiona will fry their asses.\"\n\n\"Sounds like a plan to me,\" I said. \"I'm always up for a good barbecue.\"\n\nIn the end, Carmen gave in. She and Sam got into a limo and headed for the Bigtime Airport, where Sam's private jet was waiting to take them to London. They didn't even make it out of the driveway before they tinted the windows and started canoodling in the backseat.\n\nAfter seeing them off, in more ways than one, the rest of us talked for a few more minutes about the ubervillains and what they might be up to. But nobody had any bright, earth-shattering ideas, so we sorted through the stolen jewelry and packed it up to mail back to its rightful owners. Then, we closed down shop for the night. Too tired to make the drive back to my apartment in the city, I went to my suite down the hall.\n\nOur underground lair beneath Sublime took up almost as much space as the manor house did aboveground. Wing after wing contained training rooms, gyms, kitchens, sick bays, and everything else a superhero could ever want or need. My suite was an enormous area, bigger than most apartments, and featured a bedroom, bathroom, living room, and kitchen all rolled into one, along with a pitifully small closet. The others' suites all had a similar setup except for one thing\u2014mine boasted three oversized refrigerators.\n\nI rustled around in one of the metal behemoths and came up with a platter of cold cuts, three kinds of cheese, and a loaf of crusty French bread. I made myself seven sandwiches and downed them with a six-pack of lemon-lime soda and a box of chocolate snack cakes. Due to my fiery metabolism, I could eat whatever I wanted to, whenever I wanted to, and never gain an ounce. A whole pizza for breakfast, ten burgers and a bucket of fries for lunch, a couple of steaks and a pound of pasta for dinner. The only downside was that I constantly had to eat to keep up my strength. It got a little tiring sometimes. Not to mention grossed people out. My father and Travis were the only ones who didn't seem disturbed by my never-ending hunger and enormous appetite.\n\nTravis. An icy hand squeezed my heart. I plopped down on the king-sized bed and picked up the picture of him on my nightstand. Blond hair, brown eyes, terrific smile. Travis Teague beamed at me. I'd missed him today. A lot. Carmen and Sam's wedding had only reminded me of what I'd lost when Travis had been killed over a year ago. Of what I should have right now. I turned my ring around on my finger.\n\nBut as I looked at Travis's picture, my thoughts drifted back to Johnny Bulluci and our encounter in the game room. The man could kiss, that was for sure. A couple of sparks flew from my fingertips and landed on the tile floor. If Johnny could work with his hands as well as he did with his lips and tongue, well, he could seduce me anytime.\n\nJohnny Bulluci could be my rebound guy, I decided. Someone to have a little fun and a lot of steamy sex with before I started looking for the next Mr. Right. Travis had been my Mr. Right, but he was gone now. I would always miss him, but he wouldn't want me to be a nun the rest of my life. Travis had been generous to a fault. He would understand me moving on. He'd encourage me to. I put Travis's picture on the nightstand and carefully positioned it so he was smiling at me.\n\nYes, it was time to get out and live a little.\n\nIt was time for Fiona Fine to get back into the dating game.\n\n* * *\n\nThe next morning, I drove my convertible into the city. I put the top down, stepped on the gas, and let the warm wind whip my blond locks into a tangled mess. The sporty car had been my present to myself for my thirtieth birthday a couple months ago. I loved the sleek design, the smooth ride, the fire-engine-red color. The four hundred horses under the hood weren't too shabby either.\n\nBefore work, I swung by my apartment, located in the penthouse in Tip-Top Tower, one of the most expensive and exclusive buildings in Bigtime. I opened the door, flicked on the lights, and tossed my keys onto a table. My apartment featured ivory-colored granite floors and walls, fireproof up to three thousand degrees. No thick, shag carpet for me. I'd ruined too much of it in my life to risk having it in my home. No chintzy curtains either. Instead, metal screens covered the tall windows like blinds, giving me privacy from prying eyes, without being a fire hazard.\n\nI walked into the living room. A long sofa the color of Bing cherries sat against one wall, flanked by four black armchairs. The rest of the furniture was done in various shades of red, black, and white. Sometimes all three. Paintings behind shatterproof and fire-resistant glass added even more color to the pale walls.\n\nI took a quick shower, dried off in about two seconds, and moved to my favorite part of my apartment\u2014my closet. I flicked on the lights in the walk-in closet, which took up more than two thousand square feet. Rack after rack of shirts, skirts, slacks, shoes, and more, along with drawers full of jewelry and handbags, crouched inside the massive space. The bright fabrics, outrageous patterns, and bold colors always brought a smile to my face. Life was too short for drab beiges and tame taupes and basic blacks. Give me electric blue and lime green and shocking purple any day.\n\nNow, on to the most important question of the day. What to wear? So many color combinations, so little time. I flipped through the racks of clothes, choosing a short, hot-pink skirt and a sleeveless, black, V-necked top with huge pink polka dots. A pair of matching kitten heels, a heart-shaped bag, and plastic, hoop earrings finished off the look.\n\nI left the convertible in the building's parking garage and walked the few blocks to my store. It was just after nine, and most folks were grabbing a last cup of coffee and a doughnut before heading off to work. I stopped in front of Bryn's Bakery, eyeing the delectable-looking bear claws through the windows. The bag of blueberry bagels, tub of cream cheese, and quart of apple juice I'd had for breakfast were already long gone.\n\nA siren screamed out, and a brigade of fire trucks roared by. I squinted into the morning sun. Black smoke boiled up from a building a couple of blocks away. I stood on the sidewalk, torn between the bear claws and whipping my spare Fiera costume and boots out of the special, air-compressed compartment in my purse.\n\n\"Out of my way! Move it! Now!\"\n\nA woman dressed in a formfitting, ebony jumpsuit strutted by me. Green and gold snakes curled around her arms like bracelets, hissing and snapping at people to get them to move out of the way. More snakes writhed on top of her sky-high headdress. Ah, Black Samba was coming to the rescue today.\n\nBlack Samba marched into the street and held out her hand. She chanted in an odd, sibilant language. Five seconds later, a city bus rounded a corner and stopped in front of her. Along with the snakes, Black Samba had some sort of magic voodoo powers I didn't really understand. I preferred a simpler style, punching and smashing and frying to get things done. But the mumbo-jumbo worked for her.\n\nBlack Samba leapt up onto the hood, told the driver to head toward the fire, then scampered up onto the roof. Bus tops were her preferred mode of transportation around the city. For some reason, her snakes didn't like the subway. At least, that's what I'd heard through the superhero grapevine.\n\n\"Wait for me!\" an older, feminine voice called out.\n\nA diamond-topped walking stick snapped against the sidewalk, and the crowd parted to let Granny Cane through. She looked like your average grandmother, except for the flowered purple mask that covered her face and the cape-like flow to her matching angora sweater. Granny Cane prowled the streets of Bigtime, getting thieves to try to mug her before wailing on them with her enormous handbag and walking stick and dragging them to the police station. Granny was a lot stronger and sturdier than she looked.\n\n\"Hurry up, old woman!\" Black Samba snapped, stalking up and down the top of the bus. Her snakes hissed in time to her footsteps.\n\n\"Don't make me wash your mouth out with soap, missy.\" Granny pointed her cane at the other superhero. \"There's no need to be disrespectful to your elders.\"\n\nGranny hopped onto the bus, and it pulled away into traffic. Well, with Black Samba and Granny Cane on the way, there was no need for me to get involved. They could handle a simple fire-and-rescue operation. Besides, too many superheroes on the scene wasn't really a good thing. Everybody always wanted to get in on the drama. When there wasn't enough danger to go around, the stronger superheroes tended to assert themselves, which often led to ego-bruising and spats. We all wanted to be the best\u2014and most popular. It was sort of like being back in high school. With superpowers, a good image, and action-figure sales to maintain **\u2014** instead of a cool quotient, high grades, and clear skin.\n\nI did, however, still need to get to work. So, I forced myself away from the bakery and walked on.\n\nFiona Fine Fashions sat in the middle of Retail Row in the heart of Bigtime's downtown shopping district. The front of the multistory building housed the runway and store, while workers sewed garments and more in the back. A huge, marble F towered three stories above the sidewalk and announced the store's presence to shoppers.\n\nI breezed through the front door. A bell chimed, letting everyone know that I had arrived. The inside of the store was rather like my apartment, in that it featured white marble walls and floors. Everything was simple and clean and colorless, the better to focus attention on my bright, bold, daring clothes. Racks of the Fiona Fine originals sat throughout the store, while a long runway cut through the middle of the open space. Models in various shapes and sizes trotted up and down the catwalk, showing off the latest, greatest designs to customers, who sat on plush leather chairs munching on champagne and gourmet chocolates. Techno music pulsed out a snappy, happy beat through the sound system. Clerks bustled back and forth, fetching food and taking orders. I waved to them and to the society women I recognized. They fluttered their hands at me and kept on eating and drinking. I'd learned a long time ago that society ladies felt they deserved to be pampered, so I catered to their whims.\n\nMy eyes traced over the store with pride. The gleaming marble and pricey clothes were a long way from the simple home where I'd grown up in Ireland. Like so many others, my father had moved the family here in search of the American dream. I was one of the lucky ones who'd gotten mine. I sewed until my fingers bled to get to the top of the fashion world, and I did everything I could to stay there.\n\nI strolled through the store, punched in the security code on the back door, and headed for the factory floor. The whine and whir of sewing machines, ringing phones, and other equipment replaced the pulsing music. Men and women sat in colorful, ergonomically designed cubicles and sewed dresses, tops, skirts, and more. Some placed dainty crystals on supple leather handbags, while a few worked with sapphires, rubies, and emeralds. The gems glistened and sparkled under the white lights. My jewelry line was launching this fall, and it was going to be just as fabulous as everything else I designed.\n\nMore than a few folks called out and waved to me, and I answered them in kind. My workers earned top dollar and excellent benefits for their time, diligence, and quality craftsmanship. I could afford to be generous. Most of my creations retailed for at least five thousand dollars, and everything was backordered for six weeks. The only other designer who commanded similar prices was Bella Bulluci.\n\nJohnny Bulluci's handsome face flashed through my mind. I'd have to ask around and get some more dirt on him. I remembered the suave way he'd kissed me at the wedding. A spark sizzled on the tip of my thumb. Oh yes. I definitely wanted my rebound relationship to ramp up as soon as possible.\n\nI put that thought away and stepped into Piper Perez's office, which was next to mine. Piper typed away on a keyboard and murmured into a headset attached to one side of her cats-eye glasses. She was an average-sized woman with glossy black hair, tan skin, and warm, brown eyes.\n\nPiper also was my chief financial officer and anal to a fault. Everything on her desk was arranged from tallest (her computer monitor) to shortest (a pink sticky pad) and sorted by color, shape, _and_ times used during the day. Piper was insanely proud of her straitlaced, obsessive tendencies. She should be. Her organizational and accounting skills earned her more than most CEOs.\n\n\"Morning, Piper.\"\n\nPiper said her goodbyes to her caller, punched a button on her headset, and ended the conversation. \"Morning, Fiona.\"\n\nShe stopped typing and handed me a stack of papers. \"The front desk gave me your latest messages by mistake. I went ahead and placed the oldest ones on top so you can return those calls first. I also put the cost-comparison reports about the fabric and gemstone suppliers on your desk. And Joanne James called me personally, demanding to know when you would be available. Her highness wants to come in for a fitting.\"\n\nI groaned, tempted to burn the message and drop the charred remains in Piper's spotless steel trash can. Then, I thought about that flashing rock on Joanne's finger. I really could use a couple of new Fiera suits, and the flame-proof fabric I had to make them out of wasn't cheap. I might be rich, but I wasn't going to turn down a hefty payday, even if I had to deal with the black widow of Bigtime. \"All right. Have somebody set it up. But be sure we have plenty of champagne on hand that day.\"\n\n\"For Joanne?\"\n\n\"No, for me. I'm going to need it.\"\n\n\"If you think you're going to need it then, just wait a minute,\" Piper said.\n\n\"What? What did you say?\"\n\n\"Oh nothing,\" Piper chirped in a cheery voice that didn't fool me for a minute.\n\nMy eyes narrowed. \"What are you up to?\"\n\nPiper blinked. \"Nothing. Nothing at all, Fiona.\"\n\nAt times like this, the chief's mind-reading powers would so come in handy. I thought about sweating the truth out of Piper but decided against it. She'd just spend the rest of the morning in the bathroom touching up her makeup until it was perfect again. Piper was as obsessive about her appearance as she was about her desk. I gave her a last suspicious look, opened the door to my office, and stepped inside.\n\nWords escaped me.\n\nFlowers, flowers, and more flowers covered every inch of my desk, surrounding shelves, and windowsills. Roses, tulips, orchids, and more painted the room in a wild, vivid rainbow of color. My nose twitched at the heady, rich scents all mingled and mashed together.\n\nPiper leaned against the doorframe. \"They've been arriving every half hour since eight this morning.\"\n\n\"Where and who did all these come from?\" I fingered the petals on a blue orchid. I loved flowers, especially orchids, but I never bought them for myself. Unfortunately, they had a tendency to go up like smoke around me.\n\nPiper pulled out a card embossed with silver filigree. _Fiona. So sorry we got interrupted yesterday at the wedding. Dinner tonight? I'll pick you up at seven at your apartment. Johnny Bulluci_.\n\nI managed not to squeal. Instead, I took the card from her and read it myself. Three times.\n\n\"Who's the guy?\" Piper asked. \"I haven't heard you mention him before. Then again, I haven't heard you mention anyone in a long time.\"\n\n\"Bella's brother. He's new in town,\" I said in an absent tone, my eyes still fixed on the card, which was made out of thick, creamy paper. I traced over the silver letters with my finger, careful not to scorch the stationary.\n\n\"Bella? As in Bella Bulluci? Our archrival in the design world?\"\n\n\"The one and the same.\"\n\nI read the card again. Tingles spread through my heated body. Johnny Bulluci liked me. Enough to want to see me again. Either that or he just thought I was extremely easy. I remembered his spicy smell, his firm hands on my feverish body, the way I'd offered no resistance to his skillful advances. Yeah, he probably thought I was easy. Didn't bother me any.\n\n\"You know, I don't remember seeing you with this guy at the wedding. So what exactly were the two of you doing yesterday? And where?\" Piper's dark eyes sparkled. \"Or should I even ask? It must have been something to get this kind of enthusiastic response.\"\n\nI flipped my long, blond hair over my shoulder. \"Why, Piper, don't you know? It's always something with me.\"\n\nPiper just snickered.\n\n# Chapter Six\n\nI spent the rest of the day working on my new fall lines. Fiona Fine Fashions was an empire unto itself, and I had my fingers in everything from evening wear for society matrons to couture wedding gowns to sportswear to baby clothes. Yes, baby clothes. It was never too early to start teaching kids about fabulous fashion.\n\nToday, though, my main focus was on Fine Finds by Fiona, an affordable businesswear collection for professional women debuting in stores across America later this year. I was taking the basic, black work suit and dressing it up with stripes, plaids, paisleys, and most importantly, color. Your job might be boring, but your clothes should never be.\n\nAt least, I tried to work. I kept staring at the flowers clustered around me. It was like sitting in my own personal jungle. My eyes traced over the kaleidoscope sprays with their soft, velvety petals. Inspired, I fished a large pad out of my messy desk and started sketching. Two hours later, I had over a dozen drawings, each one bigger and bolder and better than the last. I'd been looking for a theme for next year's spring line. _Flower power_ would be perfect. After all, flowers featured everything that I loved\u2014wild patterns, brilliant colors, sleek designs.\n\nA knock on the door interrupted the flow of my creative juices.\n\nPiper held up three white paper bags that looked like they were ready to pop. \"I went to Quicke's for a meeting and thought you might be hungry. I got you a couple of grilled chicken sandwiches, a Caesar salad, large fries, a dozen cookies, and the biggest raspberry tea I could find.\"\n\nI glanced at the clock. Three in the afternoon already. My stomach rumbled. \"Thanks, Piper. You're a lifesaver.\"\n\nPiper deposited the bags on my crowded desk. She'd long ago grown used to my enormous appetite, although she thought I had some sort of eating disorder, like binging and purging. Every so often, I'd come into the office to find pamphlets on anorexia and other eating-disorder clinics and programs on my desk, courtesy of Piper. I reduced them to ash, ignored Piper's prying looks, and continued to eat like there was no tomorrow. I couldn't exactly tell her the truth\u2014that I was a superhero with a superhigh metabolism. Piper was my friend, but I had a secret identity to protect. The Terrible Triad had taught me the importance of anonymity.\n\nI polished off the food in about fifteen minutes under Piper's watchful eyes. She stuck her head into my office several times that afternoon, probably hoping to catch me hurling into one of the empty paper bags, but I disappointed her by slaving away at my desk.\n\nIn addition to my work as head of Fiona Fine Fashions, I also had to attend to my duties and business as Fiera. Being a superhero was just as much about public relations as it was about saving kittens from trees and babies from burning buildings. Most of us had our own websites, merchandise, fan clubs, and more so we could control who did what with our image. The same went for the ubervillains. Unfortunately, evil appealed to just as many folks as good did.\n\nSome superheroes, namely Swifte, really hammed it up. They blogged and did webcasts and wrote tell-all biographies, regaling the masses with their latest daring adventures and narrow escapes. I and the other members of the Fearless Five were much more restrained. We had a simple website where folks could e-mail us and sign up for our newsletter, as well as buy our merchandise, namely copies of my annual calendar and latest action figures. The others didn't have action figures. At least not officially sanctioned, royalty-paying ones. They weren't so into the marketing end of things, especially Sam. The man would have been a shadow if he could.\n\nBut I didn't keep any money I made as Fiera. Neither did the rest of the Fearless Five. Not a penny. We split the profits evenly and donated them all to worthy causes. My cut went to a charity that helped burn victims get reconstructive surgery and to the Bigtime Municipal Building Restoration Fund. After all, if you tear it down, you really should help rebuild it. And I'd destroyed more than one building in Bigtime over the years.\n\nOf course, some folks like Gentleman George and the Baseballer spurned the spotlight, preferring to keep to themselves and avoid the hoopla. Sometimes, I thought about going that route. Taking down the website, discontinuing my annual calendar, canceling my few public appearances. But part of me liked the attention. Modesty wasn't one of my virtues, and I enjoyed being recognized for saving the city every couple of weeks. My father had taught me long ago that I had special gifts that I must use to help others. He called it my duty, my purpose in life. I just thought it was fun. At least, it was most of the time.\n\nI logged into my Fiera accounts and checked on sales of the calendar and a few other things that needed my attention. All of the money flowed from the website through untraceable, numbered overseas accounts to our favorite charities. Sam was a real whiz at setting up things like that. Plus, Henry had put tons of security gizmos on my computer, ensuring that only I could access the Fiera files hidden on my hard drive.\n\nOnce that was done, I switched over to my e-mails. I got dozens of e-mails and instant messages every day, most of them from fanboys who wanted me to autograph their inflatable Fiera dolls or their tighty-whities\u2014sometimes both. I usually ignored those. I also got a lot of letters from kids asking me to find their lost puppies or to please, please, _please_ bring their pet hamster back to life. Those I answered as best I could. Despite my superpowers, I couldn't help everybody, couldn't save everybody. I did what I could, when I could. That was another thing my father had taught me. You could be a hero, do your duty, and still have a life outside the masks and capes and spandex costumes. If you didn't, you'd drive yourself crazy.\n\nBy the time I finished my sketches, returned messages, and caught up on my paperwork, superhero-related and otherwise, it was after five. Time to go home and get ready for my night out on the town with the delectable Johnny Bulluci.\n\nGoody.\n\n* * *\n\nI walked home in record time. Thankfully, there were no more fires or other emergencies to distract me. After grabbing a couple of apples from the fruit bowl on the kitchen counter, I strolled into the bathroom, peeled off my clothes, and ran some water into the claw-foot tub. While I chomped on the tart fruit, I fluttered my fingers, heating the water until it was nice and toasty. Then, I did the whole _I-have-a-hot-date-and-might-even-have-sex-tonight_ routine. Lathered up with some vanilla-scented soap. Washed my hair. Shaved everything.\n\nI dried off in about three seconds, went into the bedroom, and flicked on the light in my closet to begin my search for the perfect first-date outfit. I wanted something cool, something sophisticated, something that said, _We'll probably have sex if you behave yourself and buy me a nice, big dinner first_. After flipping through three racks, I picked a tight scarlet dress covered in matching sequins that set off my blond hair and rosy skin. Heavy black eye shadow, red lipstick, a ruby solitaire pendant, and red stilettos polished off the outfit. The dress didn't have too many buttons down the back, and the short skirt would provide easy access, if desired. I closed my eyes and thought of Johnny's lips on mine. There would probably be some desire tonight. Maybe even some satisfaction, if Johnny was a very good boy. Or a very bad one, depending on your point of view.\n\nI twirled around in front of the mirrors that lined one wall of the bedroom. I looked hot. Smokin' even, as Lulu would say. I put my hands on my hips, admiring my reflection. My engagement ring caught the light and flashed it back to me. I twisted it around on my finger. My good mood vanished.\n\nShould I really be doing this? Going out with somebody else? Thinking about sleeping with someone else? Travis was gone, but I still loved him. I always would. I didn't know if there was room in my heart for someone else. If I could even love somebody again. If I really even wanted to.\n\nIf you loved someone, you gave him power over you. Power to hurt you, whether he did it on purpose or not. I didn't ever want to feel the way I had when Travis died. Alone. Grief-stricken. Helpless. Numb. Maybe I should wait awhile longer to get back into the social scene. Maybe I should cancel\u2014\n\nThe phone rang, interrupting my troubled thoughts.\n\n\"Fiona Fine.\"\n\n\"It's me,\" the chief's voice rumbled through the receiver. \"I just wanted to check in with you. I'm on call tonight.\"\n\nEach member of the Fearless Five took turns sitting in the underground library and monitoring SNN and the local police scanners in case an ubervillain decided to wreak havoc or some natural disaster tore through Bigtime. The rest of us were equipped with cell phones, ready to respond in case bad stuff went down. With Carmen and Sam gone on their honeymoon, the chief, Henry, and I would be pulling double duty for the next month.\n\n\"How are things at the manor? Any sign of Siren and Intelligal yet?\"\n\n\"Not a trace of them so far. Everything's quiet. Henry and Lulu are working on tracking them down. Carmen and Sam called earlier. They're having a wonderful time in London, although Carmen's still worried about the ubervillains.\"\n\nI was surprised the happy couple had found time to call or to actually see any of London. You'd think they would have spent all day in bed, given their propensity for doing so at Sublime. Their happiness was so annoying sometimes.\n\nMy father paused. \"Have fun on your date tonight. Make sure he treats you right.\"\n\nI rolled my eyes. \"How many times have I asked you not to peer into my mind?\"\n\n\"I'm your father, Fiona. I'll be doing it until the end of time.\"\n\n\"Just because you're psychic doesn't give you the right to use your powers on others whenever you want. Remember that lecture? You used to give it to me whenever I'd singe one of the bullies in my class with a fireball or pick them up and spin them around until they screamed for me to stop.\" I'd gotten more than a few of those talks.\n\nThe chief chuckled. \"I remember you spent more time in the principal's office than a classroom full of kids.\" His voice grew serious. \"You should go out, Fiona. Travis would want you to get on with your life.\"\n\nI looked at the ring on my finger. \"I know he would. But it's easier said than done.\"\n\n\"Go out. Have fun. Be your usual charming self.\"\n\nI sniffed. \"I'm always that.\"\n\n\"I know. Now, I need to go. Henry wanted me to look over some new computer program he's invented to track Siren and Intelligal's crimes.\"\n\nHenry and his computer programs. Sometimes, I wondered if the man was even human or just a robot in disguise. If he were a robot, though, you'd think his designer would have given him some fashion sense. Polka-dot bow ties and sweater vests were not the stuff women's dreams were made of. Except maybe Lulu's.\n\n\"Well, you two be careful tonight. Call me if you need me. I love you.\" I always ended our conversations like this now. I'd learned the hard way that just because we were superheroes didn't mean we were invincible. Quite the opposite, unfortunately.\n\n\"I love you, too,\" the chief rumbled.\n\nI hung up. For a moment, I stared at my engagement ring. Then, my eyes went to the mirror. I smoothed my dress down and turned sideways. I did look good tonight. Damn good. Self-esteem was another area where I didn't have a lot of problems.\n\nI let out a long, hot breath. I might as well go out. The chief was right. It was time for me to move on, whether I thought I was ready to or not.\n\nBesides, it'd be a shame to get all dressed up for nothing.\n\n* * *\n\nThe doorbell rang at exactly seven o'clock, just as I was powdering my nose. My date had arrived right on time. I loved punctual men.\n\nI opened the door to find another bouquet of orchids outside. These were picture-perfect and more beautiful than all the rest combined. They made the ones in my office look like cheap, plastic imitations. I could just make out Johnny's green eyes through the exquisite purple-and-white petals.\n\n\"Do you know where I might find a beautiful bridesmaid?\"\n\nHis voice was just as rich and cultured as I remembered. His faint accent sounded sophisticated, sultry, and utterly sexy. I'd always been a sucker for accents.\n\n\"I'm not a bridesmaid anymore,\" I said, stepping back to let him inside.\n\n\"But you're still beautiful.\"\n\n\"Aren't you the charmer?\"\n\nHe winked. \"Always, Fiona. Always.\" Johnny tossed the flowers onto a nearby table and swept me into his arms. The man didn't waste any time, that was for sure.\n\nHis lips covered mine, and all thought vanished. I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled him closer. He opened his mouth, and I slid my tongue inside the hot depths. He tasted like mouthwash, tart and tangy. His spicy soap wafted up my nose, and I breathed in, enjoying the aroma. Whatever that scent was, it complemented him perfectly. Johnny's hands traced circles up and down my back as I explored his mouth with my tongue. It was a long, slow, lingering kiss. The sort that whispered of even better, slower, longer, harder things to come.\n\nAfter a good two minutes, we came up for air.\n\n\"You know, we could just order in,\" Johnny murmured, pressing a kiss to the hollow of my throat. My pulse roared under his lips.\n\n\"Dinner first,\" I said, stepping back.\n\nI had an image to maintain, and I didn't want him to think I was too eager. Or know that single kiss had me ready to toss him over my shoulder, carry him back to the bedroom, and ravish him from head to toe. Three times over.\n\nThe truth was the intense attraction unnerved me. One look, one kiss, one minute alone with him, and I was all hot and bothered. At least, more so than usual. I'd never believed in love at first sight, but lust was another matter. Or was it? Did Johnny Bulluci really have that much of an effect on me? Or were my hormones just hot to trot because of the long drought?\n\nI didn't know the answers to my questions, so I concentrated on him. His tawny mane of hair glistened under the dim lights, and his eyes were as green as polished turquoise. Johnny wore a navy-blue suit with a faint pinstripe. It looked fantastic on him. Or he looked fantastic wearing it. I couldn't decide which one it really was. Maybe I should get him to model some designs for me, provided I could lure him away from Bella. With him in the store, sales would go through the roof. If I could stop the society types from tearing off his clothes, something I was dangerously close to doing myself.\n\n\"Well, I suppose you're right,\" Johnny said. \"We really should eat dinner first, before getting to dessert.\"\n\nJohnny smiled. A sly, impish, wicked sort of grin spread across his face, while his eyes devoured me from head to toe. I had no doubt what he meant by dessert. I shivered, something I never did, not even when Frost hit me with his freezoray gun.\n\nJohnny offered me his arm, and away we went. A limo waiting downstairs took us to Quicke's, a restaurant famous for its speedy service, reasonable prices, terrific food, and most important, generous portions. A blue neon light flashed on and off above the revolving door, announcing the restaurant's name. Quicke's was located downtown, a couple of blocks from my store, and it was one of my favorite places to get a fast burger or ten for lunch. I practically kept the place in business with my massive orders.\n\nJohnny opened the door for me, and when I stepped through, he put his hand on the small of my back to guide me inside. Some women would have been insulted by this, but not me. Maybe it's because I moonlight as a superhero, but I like strong, take-charge men. They're the only ones who can keep up with me.\n\nKyle Quicke was working as the host tonight, the latest in a long line of Quickes to run the restaurant. With his chestnut hair, light eyes, and thin physique, Kyle was cute in a boy-next-door sort of way. We'd gone to college together, back when we'd both been penniless nobodies. I, of course, had made my fortune in fashion, while Kyle had gotten his business degree and taken over the family restaurant. During his tenure, Quicke's had increased its already healthy profits so much that the restaurant had opened a number of smaller caf\u00e9s and eateries throughout Bigtime.\n\n\"Hello, Kyle.\"\n\n\"Fiona Fine. Always a pleasure.\"\n\nI threw my long hair over my shoulder. \"Of course it is. And you as well. Loved the food you did for the wedding.\" What little of it I'd gotten to eat had been delicious as always.\n\n\"Thanks. I aim to please.\" Kyle's eyes flicked over us. \"Table for two?\"\n\n\"Obviously.\"\n\n\"This way.\"\n\nKyle grabbed a couple of leather-bound menus and zipped through the crowded restaurant, darting around tables and bustling waiters with a grace I didn't know he possessed. I followed, and Johnny put his hand on my back again. Another shiver swept through me. A girl could get used to that strong, firm touch. In all sorts of places.\n\nThe inside of Quicke's looked like your typical bar and grill, only a bit nicer. Round tables covered with white linen tablecloths took up most of the first floor and part of the second. Roses perched in tall vases on every table, along with skinny votive candles. A bar with a gleaming brass rail and mirror behind it ran the whole length of the building. Shouts and curses drifted out from behind the swinging doors that led to the kitchen, along with the sizzle of frying meat and the yeasty aroma of baking bread. My stomach quivered in anticipation at the mouthwatering scents.\n\nThe restaurant's patrons wore everything from torn jeans and sneakers to designer ball gowns and tuxedos. Quicke's catered to all segments of Bigtime's population, including superheroes and ubervillains. Framed posters, newspaper clippings, and autographed pictures of heroes and villains covered the brick walls. Action figures crouched in mock-fighting positions on the shelves behind the bar, along with car replicas and plush toys. I was pleased to note there were more than a few Fiera figures among the mix, including one scene where a six-inch-tall version of me pummeled Scorpion. I smiled.\n\nI scanned the tables, but I didn't see any neon-colored costumes among the crowd. Quicke's was one of the few places considered to be neutral territory in Bigtime. Both superheroes and ubervillains could eat here without worrying about being hit with heat rays or thrown through the plate-glass windows. In fact, with its fast turnaround time, more than one superhero and ubervillain grabbed a sandwich or salad at Quicke's before heading out to do battle for the night. Or even in the middle of a fight. Debonair, a sometimes hero, sometimes thief with teleportation powers, was particularly fond of doing that.\n\nKyle seated us at a cozy table in back next to one of the windows that fronted part of Paradise Park. The colorful lights of the carousel spun round and round in the distance like a never-ending comet. Shrieks and shouts of glee penetrated the window, along with the jingle and jangle of the various other rides and attractions at the park.\n\nKyle gave us our menus and went back to his post at the front of the restaurant. A fat waiter named Ray came over to fill our water glasses and take our orders. Johnny decided on a black-pepper-seasoned steak with the usual trimmings, and the waiter turned to me.\n\n\"Your usual, Miss Fine?\" Ray asked. Most of the staff at the restaurant knew me by name.\n\nI started to say you betcha, but caught myself just in time. My usual consisted of half a dozen various sandwiches, five jumbo orders of fries, onion rings, hot 'n' spicy buffalo wings, two bowls of soup, a couple liters of soda, and the cake of the day. Three of them.\n\n\"I'll have the grilled chicken special.\" It came with only a couple of measly sides. It wasn't going to be enough food. I tried not to cringe.\n\nThe waiter looked at me, waiting for the rest of my order.\n\n\"That's all.\"\n\n\"That's all? Are you sure, Miss Fine?\"\n\n\"Positive.\" I snapped the menu shut and gave it to him.\n\nThe waiter gave me an odd look, but he bowed and walked away.\n\nJohnny grinned. \"They seem to know you pretty well here, Fiona.\"\n\nI shrugged. \"My store's a couple blocks over. I eat here a lot. I was rather surprised you decided to bring me here for dinner. I expected Chezanne's or one of the other fancy French places.\"\n\n\"Why's that?\"\n\nI stared at his expensive attire, then at the rough brick walls and simple bar that made up the restaurant. \"This place seems a little tame for you.\"\n\nIt was his turn to shrug. \"I like good food. And Quicke's has the best in town from what I remember.\"\n\n\"From what you remember?\"\n\nJohnny nodded. \"I've spent the past few years mostly overseas looking after our European interests, but I grew up in Bigtime and went to college here.\"\n\nFrom what I'd read and heard on the society circuit, Bulluci Industries was a massive corporation. The Bullucis had immigrated from the Mediterranean region a couple of generations ago, and they'd achieved the American dream of owning their own business and becoming fabulously wealthy. Besides Bella's fashion empire, the Bullucis had several oil wells, mining interests, olive oil plants, and even a couple of automotive and motorcycle factories.\n\n\"You went to Bigtime U? I don't remember you.\" And I certainly would have. My eyes traced over his firm body. Oh yeah. I would have remembered. And done everything in my power to make sure he remembered me too.\n\n\"I think it was a little before your time. I'm seven years older than Bella. You were probably still in high school when I was at Bigtime U.\"\n\nActually, I was probably still in Ireland at the time. We hadn't come to America until my mother died after a long battle with breast cancer. Seven years older than Bella? Let's see. That would make him about thirty-six, thirty-seven. Not too old. That was another mark in his favor, along with his surprisingly good choice of restaurant.\n\nI opened my mouth to ask Johnny another question, when a soft, breathy voice cut in.\n\n\"Well, if it isn't Fiona Fine, designer to the rich and famous.\"\n\nMy eyes narrowed. I knew that voice, and I didn't like the person it belonged to one bit. I looked up to find Erica Songe hovering over us. Erica was a news reporter for SNN, the Superhero News Network. She was one of SNN's rising stars, having gone from being the substitute late-night weather girl on the weekends to an evening news on-air personality in a matter of months.\n\nNow, I don't like reporters in general. They're always getting in the way when I'm trying to roast some ubervillains, shoving a camera in my face afterward, or attempting to uncover my real identity, just like Carmen had done. Why did they have to be so nosy and demanding all the time? I couldn't understand why reporters just didn't stay away and let me do my kick-ass thing. It would work out better for everyone. At least the photographers and videographers knew enough to steer clear of me. Or at least stay a couple hundred feet away. Ruin a few five-thousand-dollar cameras and people weren't so eager to take your picture anymore.\n\nBut Erica Songe was the worst of the worst. Just because she was on television, she thought that made her special. Erica had come into my store when she'd first gotten into town and ordered several pricey suits for her on-air appearances. The clothes she wanted were on backorder, along with everything else. The reporter had hit the roof when I told her that she'd have to wait just like everyone else. She thought she deserved special treatment just because she was a member of the media. Please.\n\nErica Songe had acted more spoiled than Joanne James ever dreamed of being. Screaming. Yelling. Threatening the staff. Demanding that we treat her like the princess she was. Or else. It had taken every bit of patience I had not to drop-kick Erica out onto the sidewalk. I'd settled for ripping up her orders and barring her from the store. For life. She tried to act cool about it, always coming up and speaking to me and being as sweet as honey whenever we crossed paths. But I knew she hated me. The feeling was mutual.\n\n\"Nice to see you too, Erica.\"\n\n\"Who's your handsome friend?\" she asked, her eyes zeroing in on Johnny.\n\nErica had long, black hair, blue eyes, and lips that had so much collagen in them they looked like they were about to explode. Her size-two figure was poured into a black dress that showed off as much tanned flesh as it concealed. Erica had a sultry, sex-kitten vibe to her that turned more than one head in the room, not all of them male.\n\n\"My handsome date is Johnny Bulluci.\" I reached over and put my hand on top of Johnny's, staking my claim for the evening.\n\nHis warm thumb drew lazy circles on the back of my hand. I looked up. Johnny's eyes were on me, not Erica. Score another one for Johnny Bulluci. I loved attentive men.\n\n\"Care if I join you?\" Erica asked.\n\n\"Actually, we were right in the middle of a very intense, very private discussion. We don't really feel like company tonight. Sorry, Erica. I'm sure you understand.\"\n\nA tight, annoyed smile curved Erica's oversized lips, and I knew she wanted to wrap her purse strap around my throat and strangle me with it. But her face smoothed over after only a few seconds. Nothing rattled her for long.\n\n\"Of course, Fiona.\" Erica drew a small piece of paper out of her handbag. \"Just let me leave my card with Johnny. In case he ever gets tired of...well, whatever.\" She licked her lips and gave him her best I'm-so-slutty-I'll-do-you-under-the-table stare.\n\nI snatched Erica's card out of her hands before Johnny could even reach for it and tore it into pieces. \"So sorry, Erica. The only number Johnny needs to remember tonight and for the foreseeable future is mine.\"\n\nErica's mouth opened and closed. She seemed shocked that someone would spoil her fun when she was trying to be cute and coy and seductive. Erica turned on her heel and stalked off. I watched her sashay over to the bar, where Kelly Caleb, another SNN reporter, perched on a round stool.\n\nThe two of them couldn't have been more different. While Erica's barely there clothes screamed trashy whore, Kelly wore a navy dress with a modest neckline that brushed the tops of her ankles. Kelly's blond hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and her face was free of the heavy makeup she wore on television. Erica had enough lipstick and eyeliner on to paint a clown's face.\n\nErica snapped her fingers, and the bartender rushed to get her a drink. Erica turned to Kelly, gesturing wildly and no doubt saying all sorts of horrid things about me. Kelly's gaze met mine, and her eye twitched, almost in a wink. The blond woman's wide lips quivered, as though she was trying not to laugh at Erica's tirade.\n\nI didn't particularly care for Kelly either. She was, after all, a reporter and thus the enemy, but I waved at her and smiled. Erica might think that she was the baddest bitch in the room, but she had nothing on me. I was Fiona Fine, for crying out loud. I'd been playing the society game in Bigtime before she'd even thought about having fat stuffed in her lips or saline in her breasts.\n\n\"Well that was interesting.\" Johnny leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. \"I take it she's not a friend of yours.\"\n\n\"I can't stand that woman. Something about her just rubs me the wrong way.\" Actually, it was everything about her.\n\n\"Well, I'm glad you got rid of her. You're the one I asked to dinner, not her.\"\n\nJohnny's eyes met mine. My heart fluttered.\n\nOur food arrived, and we spent the next half hour eating, talking, and laughing. Johnny Bulluci had a teasing, devilish sense of humor I found refreshing after all the posing, pretentious playboys that populated the Bigtime society scene. He was frank, honest, and not above telling humiliating stories about himself. I particularly enjoyed the one about him stealing his father's car when he was thirteen and taking Bella to ride on the carousel in Paradise Park. And he had the most fantastic laugh, warm and throaty and deep. It made me smile, something I hadn't done much of in a very long time.\n\nThe only problem was that I polished off my grilled chicken, vegetables, a side salad, and half a bottle of wine before Johnny was even halfway done with his steak, baked potato, and cheddar cheese soup. And he didn't seem too interested in his food. He'd put his fork down ten minutes ago and was listening intently to everything I said. Now, I didn't really mind that, as it was always nice to be the center of attention, especially when that attention was coming from a handsome man. But ignoring a black-pepper-seasoned steak from Quicke's? That was just criminal.\n\n\"So, are you going to eat that?\" I asked, eyeing his half-finished steak.\n\nJohnny stared at the meat, then at me. My stomach chose that moment to let out an ominous rumble. Mount St. Fiera needed some fuel. I cringed. My enormous appetite and related bodily functions were the only things that ever really embarrassed me.\n\n\"Sorry,\" I said. \"I didn't have any lunch today.\" Lame, but it was the only excuse I could think of.\n\nJohnny laughed and pushed his plate over to me. \"I don't mind. I like a woman with a healthy appetite.\"\n\nHealthy appetite? Please. If he only knew.\n\nI polished off Johnny's steak, a basket of sourdough rolls, and an enormous chocolate souffl\u00e9.\n\n\"Didn't have lunch, eh?\" Johnny asked, amused by the stacks of plates, glasses, and silverware littering the table.\n\n\"Or breakfast either,\" I lied.\n\nWe finished with our meal. Johnny insisted on paying, which I found to be very old-fashioned and charming. I might be a modern, liberated woman, but it was nice to be treated to an evening out every now and again, especially since my big hunger pangs led to so many big bills. It was another point in his favor.\n\nOnce the check was squared away, we went out through the restaurant's side exit. We stood there in the warm twilight, listening to the cheery carousel music from the park. Now came the tricky part of the evening. Did I really want to invite Johnny back to my apartment? Sure, we'd made out at the wedding and shared a steamy kiss earlier this evening, but did I want to go the rest of the way? Was I ready to do that? Especially with someone I'd known only two days? It had seemed like a terrific idea at the wedding, but now, I wasn't so sure.\n\nOh, I liked sex, and I wasn't ashamed of it. I'd had my share of ill-advised, torrid affairs in college, including a couple of one-night stands. But with Travis, sex had come to mean something else entirely. It had been making love, sharing my body with someone who cared about me as much as I cared about him. Not to mention the fact that we'd been together five years. I wasn't sure I knew how to be with anybody else. My hand crept to my engagement ring. Or if I even wanted to, sex or no sex. There was always self-fulfillment, so to speak.\n\n\"How about a stroll through the park?\" Johnny suggested.\n\n\"That'd be nice,\" I said, relieved I wouldn't have to make a decision just yet.\n\nWe crossed the street and entered Paradise Park, one of Bigtime's biggest tourist attractions. The park featured just about every carnival ride and game in the known universe. A carousel, Ferris wheel, ring tosses, water guns, strength tests. Even now, after nine in the evening, thousands of people crowded into the park to eat funnel cakes, get dizzy and sick on the spinning rides, and try to win overpriced stuffed animals for their honeys.\n\nThe air smelled of popcorn and grease. Still hungry, I got the biggest cone of cherry-flavored cotton candy the vendor had. The pure, spun sugar melted on my tongue and quieted my stomach. There was nothing better than sugar for a quick boost of energy. It was why I kept an emergency stash of candy bars in my desk at work.\n\nJohnny and I wandered arm-in-arm through the park, just another couple taking in the sights and sounds. To my surprise, he seemed content to stroll along the gum-littered pavement alongside the harried parents, shrieking children, and bawdy vendors. All the other men on the society circuit would have blown up like a balloon if they so much as scuffed their polished wingtips. They would have sneered in disdain at the noisy families and demanded that the park be closed down just for their visit. Not Johnny.\n\n\"You know, this doesn't exactly strike me as your kind of scene,\" I said.\n\n\"Why not?\"\n\n\"From all appearances, you seem to be just another rich, spoiled playboy.\" Subtlety was another area where I was lacking. \"Yet here you are walking through a park instead of some posh art gallery.\"\n\n\"Oh, I'm all of those things,\" Johnny said. \"Rich, spoiled, a playboy. But I happen to like parks. Posh art galleries are so boring. Besides, you're one to talk.\"\n\n\"Oh?\"\n\n\"You seem...different from the other women I've met in Bigtime,\" he said.\n\n\"Different? Different how?\"\n\nHe shrugged. \"Like you've got more on your mind than what you're going to wear to the latest society bash. Sometimes, you look almost...sad.\"\n\nSad? My cool, haughty mask must be slipping. \"Sad?\" I forced myself to laugh. \"I'm a fabulously wealthy woman who designs fabulous clothes. What do I have to be sad about?\" Just because my fianc\u00e9 had been murdered by ubervillains was no reason to feel blue. Yeah right.\n\nJohnny stared at me with his gorgeous green eyes. \"I don't know. But I can see it.\"\n\nI didn't respond.\n\nJohnny bought two tickets for the Ferris wheel. We climbed on board and sailed up into the night sky. We went round and round and up and down. Finally, the ride stopped to let the lovers on board have a little private time with each other. Our cart was near the top of the ride, giving us a spectacular view of the park and the city lights. Everything looked fresh and clean from this height, and the lights resembled twinkling, colored stars that had fallen from the sky.\n\n\"It's just as beautiful as I remember,\" Johnny said. \"My father, James, used to bring Bella and me here at least once a week to ride the carousel and visit the animals in the zoo.\" A sad, wistful tone crept into his voice.\n\nI remembered what Joanne James had said about Bella's father dying. \"He passed away recently, didn't he? Your father.\"\n\nJohnny's eyes hardened. \"He was murdered. A couple months ago.\"\n\n\"I'm so sorry.\" I put a hand on his arm. \"I know what it's like to lose someone you love so brutally.\"\n\n\"Is that why you wear an engagement ring, even though there's no fianc\u00e9 around?\"\n\nSurprised, my thumb sparked. I clenched my fist to keep it from igniting. \"How do you know that?\"\n\n\"I asked around. There's no fianc\u00e9 or boyfriend in the picture. In fact, no one even knows who you were engaged to, according to Bella.\"\n\nI dropped my hand from his arm and twisted the ring around on my finger. Nobody had known about my engagement to Travis because we'd thought it would be safer that way. But he'd still died. Travis deserved better than to remain some anonymous, faceless figure from my past.\n\n\"I was engaged to a wonderful man. His name was Travis. He was murdered too.\"\n\n\"I'm sorry,\" Johnny said in a quiet voice. \"I didn't mean to pry.\"\n\n\"No, it's good to talk about him. My friends are afraid to ask me about him, to even mention his name. They don't want to stir up bad memories.\"\n\nJohnny put his arm around me, and I leaned into him. His shoulder felt warm and solid under my cheek. \"Tell me about him, Fiona. Tell me about Travis.\"\n\nSo I did. I told him how kind and caring Travis was, how much I loved him, our plans and hopes and dreams. The only thing I left out was our nighttime occupation as Bigtime's resident superheroes and how it had led to his death.\n\n\"What happened to the person who killed him?\" Johnny asked when I wound down.\n\nThe image of Malefica plunging into a vat of radioactive goo flashed through my mind. \"Oh, she got what she deserved in the end. What about your father? What was he like?\"\n\n\"He was a lot like your Travis. Kind, caring, considerate. He was a wonderful father. The only thing we ever argued about was\u2014\" Johnny cut off his words.\n\n\"Was what?\"\n\nHe hesitated. \"My taking over part of...the family business.\"\n\n\"I thought you'd done that already.\"\n\n\"Most of it, yes. But there was one area I wasn't particularly interested in. That's where my father and I disagreed. In fact, I hung up on him the last time we talked about it. It was the last time I ever spoke to him.\" Sadness and guilt tightened his handsome face.\n\nI squeezed his hand. \"Have the police caught the person responsible for his death?\"\n\n\"The police are useless. They can't do anything about it. But I can. And I will. The people responsible are going to pay. More than they ever dreamed of.\" The vehemence in his voice startled me. His eyes glittered with anger and a deadly promise.\n\nJohnny turned to me, and some of the anger melted away. \"But let's think about happier things. Here we are stuck on top of a Ferris wheel, the whole city at our feet. It would be a shame to let the view go to waste, wouldn't it?\"\n\nJohnny pulled me toward him. His eyes glowed like a lion's in the twilight, illuminating the chiseled planes of his face. My heart quickened. My lips parted. I leaned forward. He did the same. And then\u2014\n\nMy cell phone rang.\n\n# Chapter Seven\n\nWe stared at each other, frozen in an almost-kiss. My phone kept ringing out the old song \"Light My Fire,\" by The Doors. The loud, blaring rock tune could mean only one thing. Fiera was needed. My desire to kiss Johnny warred with my duty and responsibilities as a superhero. It was a short, tough battle, but duty won out. Drat. Why did my father have to raise me to always do the right thing?\n\n\"Please excuse me.\" I dug through my purse, grabbed my phone, looked at the caller ID, and tapped the screen. \"This better be good, Henry.\"\n\n\"Sorry to interrupt, Fiona, but we've got a tip on a possible location for Siren and Intelligal. The chief wants you here ASAP. We're going to go after them and see if we can shut them down.\"\n\nI was about to respond when Johnny's phone started to ring. I recognized the tune as \"I Won't Back Down,\" by Tom Petty. He gave me a sheepish grin and answered the call. Johnny listened for a moment, then turned away from me and started speaking in a low, hushed voice.\n\nI focused on Henry. \"All right, I'll be there as soon as I can. But tell the chief that he's going to pull one of my shifts for interrupting my date.\" Sometimes, I wondered whether my father used his psychic radar to monitor me a little too closely, especially now that Travis was gone.\n\n\"You're out on a date? That's wonderful, Fiona!\" I could almost see Henry beaming at me through the phone. \"It's about time you started dating again. Are you having a good time? Did he take you somewhere nice? He should try to make a good impression on the first date. Did he bring you flowers? Or chocolates?\"\n\nI rolled my eyes. Ever since he'd hooked up with Lulu, Henry thought he knew a thing or two about love. Like most men, the computer geek would be forever clueless.\n\n\"He made a terrific impression. See you soon.\" I hung up.\n\nJohnny finished his call and turned to me.\n\n\"That was Henry. He...keeps an eye on the store for me at night. There's a problem with one of my suppliers. I'm afraid I'm going to have to cut the evening short and go deal with it.\"\n\nJohnny shook his head. \"This seems to be the night for emergencies. Bella called. One of my business managers is concerned about a potential investor. Seems he wants to back out of a previously negotiated deal. I'm afraid I have to leave as well.\" Regret tinged his voice, as though he didn't want the evening to end.\n\nI didn't either. To my surprise, I'd been having a wonderful time, memories of Travis and all. There was more to Johnny Bulluci than just a handsome face and hard body. A lot more. I wanted to see him again. Soon. So, I told him.\n\n\"I'd like to see you again too, Fiona. Why don't we meet up Monday night?\" Johnny asked. \"Unfortunately, I have to work this weekend, or I would suggest we get together sooner.\"\n\nTonight was Thursday. Monday, Monday. I flipped through my mental calendar. Work in the morning, followed by an afternoon of PR as Fiera, then a benefit that night.\n\nI shook my head. \"I can't. I have to attend the annual fundraiser for the Bigtime Observatory. It'll be so boring, all those scientific, astronomer types talking about star charts and aliens and whatnot, but I already sent in my RSVP.\"\n\nIn addition to always doing my duty as a superhero, my father had also drilled it into my head how important it was to keep the promises I made, no matter how small or trivial they might seem. But that didn't mean I still couldn't have some fun with Johnny.\n\n\"You could meet me there, and we could sneak out afterwards,\" I suggested.\n\n\"It's a date.\"\n\nHe grinned, and my heart fluttered. The man had one hell of a smile. And great eyes. And a terrific body. And... The list went on for quite a while.\n\n\"So I guess this is good night,\" Johnny said.\n\n\"I guess so.\"\n\nI stared into Johnny's eyes. Then, I leaned in and pressed my lips to his. He put his arms around me and pulled me closer. This kiss wasn't like the others. Oh, it was still hot and passionate. But there was a gentle sweetness to it, a sense of letting down our cool, guarded, society fa\u00e7ades. The rich, charming playboy and the bitchy fashion designer were getting to know each other, faults and all. The Ferris wheel jerked and began to drift downward. We kissed until the ride stopped.\n\n* * *\n\nI had Johnny drop me off outside my store to keep up appearances. I waited until the limo's taillights disappeared, hailed a cab, and went back to my apartment to get my convertible.\n\nTwenty minutes later, I got off the interstate and turned onto a pothole-filled dirt road that seemed to end in the middle of the woods. I kept my foot on the gas, plunging the car into a dark stand of pine trees. My tires fell into a well-worn track, and my headlights bounced off a rock wall up ahead. I flicked them on and off five times in rapid succession. The wall slid aside, and I drove into a lighted tunnel, which stretched out for another mile before expanding into an underground garage.\n\nThe garage, like the rest of the underground Fearless Five compound, was hollowed out of the extensive network of caverns beneath Sublime. Wrenches, screwdrivers, and other tools lined the garage walls, along with cans of oil, wires, and other automotive parts. Five black vans huddled together inside the open space. They were our preferred mode of transportation when we went out into the city at night to fight crime and help with natural disasters. The vans resembled the one from the old _A-Team_ television show, only the F5 vehicles had more computer equipment and electronic gizmos stuffed inside them than collagen in Erica Songe's pouty lips. Thanks to Sam's money and Henry's technological genius, the vans were also bullet-, bomb-, and ubervillain-proof.\n\nHenry's small, white scooter was also parked inside the garage, along with my father's city-issued sedan. So was Lulu's van. I frowned. What was the computer guru doing down here this late at night? She should be at home trying to hack into the CIA mainframe or hijack the SNN nightly newscast or something equally geeky.\n\nI parked my convertible and strolled over to the metal door set into the far wall. The lights flickered, reminding me that I had only thirty seconds left before the garage would be filled with a potent sleeping gas. I punched in 555, the security code, on the blinking keypad and stepped inside. The door whooshed shut and locked behind me, another layer of security. If someone ever stumbled into the garage from the outside, she wouldn't be able to go any farther into the compound without the code. And once the gas took effect, we could transport her out of the garage without her ever being the wiser. At least, that was the theory. No one had ever breached our defenses before, except Carmen, and now Lulu.\n\nI strode down the halls until I reached the double doors that led into the library. The others were gathered inside, costumes on. My father wore a green-and-white outfit with a flowing cape that transformed him into Mr. Sage, while Henry's black-and-white uniform and matching goggles morphed him into Hermit. Lulu wore her usual getup of designer jeans and a Bulluci fleece pullover. The cobalt streaks in her hair gleamed under the flickering screen mounted on one wall. Blueprints winked on and off like a pair of bloodshot eyes blinking at me.\n\n\"Finally. We've been waiting almost an hour,\" Hermit said.\n\nI flipped my hair over my shoulder. \"I came as fast as I could. I had to get rid of my date first, you know. I couldn't just fire up and come running.\"\n\n\"Was he a little too hot for you to handle, Fiona?\" Lulu joked.\n\nI glared at the computer hacker. Another heat-related pun. Ha, ha, ha, ha. One of these days I was going to show her just how hot under the collar I could get. My fingers curled into loose fists. Red-hot sparks landed on the Persian rug under my feet.\n\nMy father stomped them out and put a restraining hand on my arm. \"Go get changed and meet us back in the garage. There's no time to waste.\"\n\nLulu zoomed out of the room, followed by Henry and my father. I jogged down to the equipment room, punched in the code, and went inside. I grabbed one of my many superhero suits hanging behind a pair of glass doors along one side of the room and the rest of my gear from another compartment. While I shimmied into the spandex, I glanced at a rack of swords sitting in the middle of the room. I thought about taking them along but decided against it. Weapons were Sam's\u2014Striker's\u2014thing. Not mine. My flames and fists were enough.\n\nFiera costume on, I retraced my route to the garage, stopping when I got to the kitchen. I glanced down the hall. Another minute wouldn't hurt. Besides, I needed to keep up my strength in case I got to toast Siren and Intelligal tonight. It was hard to do my sacred superhero duty on an empty stomach. I grabbed three bags of chocolate chip cookies from one of the kitchen counters and continued on to the garage.\n\nHermit was already in the driver's seat in one of the vans. The side door was open, and the engine idled. I started to get into the van when I realized Lulu was strapped inside. In my seat.\n\n\"She's coming?\"\n\n\"Of course,\" Hermit said, turning around. \"She helped me track down Siren and Intelligal. Since Karma Girl and Striker are on hiatus, I asked her to come along and man the van and comm links, while I help you guys in the field.\"\n\n\"Oh, goody.\"\n\nI slid into Karma Girl's usual spot in the very back and crossed my arms over my chest. Lulu ignored my hot stare, pulled out her laptop, and started banging away. My father turned around in his seat and gave me a look, clearly wanting me to play nice. That was something else I'd never quite learned to do. At least, not very well. Being an only child, I was used to getting my way. All the time. And I liked it.\n\nI rolled my eyes. But parental guilt could still make me do funny things sometimes, like be polite to a criminal mastermind. \"So where are our two ubervillains at?\" I asked, attempting to be marginally friendly.\n\n\"Right now, they're holed up in an abandoned warehouse on the edge of town, a couple of miles away from the old Snowdom Ice Cream Factory. Or what's left of it.\"\n\nIn other words, the ubervillains were squatting next to a big pile of rubble. The Fearless Five had spent some time at the factory last year during our run-in with the Terrible Triad. The factory had paid the price for being the site of a superhero-ubervillain battle. Not to mention the fact that Carmen had stuffed enough explodium bombs in the building to decimate the whole city.\n\n\"How did you find them?\" I asked. \"I thought they were untraceable or some such nonsense.\"\n\nHermit glanced at me in the rearview mirror. \"I created a new computer program to track the exhaust fumes from Intelligal's chair. It's powered with a combination of electricity, gas, and some sort of radioactive isotope I haven't identified yet. The point is that it lets off a particular combination of fumes and radiation.\"\n\n\"Clever as always, Hermit,\" Mr. Sage said.\n\n\"I couldn't have done it without Lulu's help,\" Hermit said.\n\nLulu smiled at her honey's praise, a goofy grin spreading across her heart-shaped face. She stared at his back, her eyes soft and dreamy. Her obvious affection for him almost made her part of the team. Almost.\n\n\"So what do you think they're doing at that factory? Braiding each other's hair?\"\n\nI snickered. More than likely, the two ubervillains were trying to pull it out. For partners in crime, they didn't seem to get along too well.\n\n\"I have no idea. Their crime wave doesn't make any sense,\" Hermit said. \"One day, they're stealing electronic equipment. The next, they're loading up on computer chips. The day after that, they're taking jewels from Bigtime's finest. I can't figure out what they're up to.\"\n\nI shrugged. \"Does it really matter? They're bad, we're good, and we're going to stop them.\" Being a superhero had always been rather black-and-white to me. No gray allowed. Nobody looked good in gray, especially superheroes.\n\nHermit drove through the streets of Bigtime, stopping at a red light. Suddenly, Swifte was there. The speedy, iridescent-clad superhero skidded to a stop in front of the van. He waved at us and dashed away to do whatever it was he did all by himself late at night. Before the light changed, three police cars hauled ass in the same direction. A white van bearing the SNN logo zoomed by a couple seconds after that.\n\n\"What's the problem?\" I asked.\n\n\"Big traffic accident on the southbound side of the interstate. Looks like fifty cars involved. Injuries, gasoline fires, people trapped in their vehicles, the usual,\" Lulu explained, staring at her computer screen.\n\n\"Should we divert?\" Mr. Sage asked.\n\nLulu pounded a few more keys. \"Nah. Swifte's already there, along with the Invisible Ing\u00e9nues. It looks like they've got things under control.\"\n\n\"How can you tell the Ing\u00e9nues are on the scene?\" I asked.\n\n\"Because they're not quite so invisible when they're covered with soot and ash. Look.\"\n\nLulu turned the screen around. Sure enough, I spotted two shapely outlines pulling people out of burning, crumpled cars.\n\n\"Good for them. Who knows? Maybe they'll finally get the recognition they deserve, and not be so _invisible_ anymore.\" I laughed. Lulu wasn't the only one who could do bad puns.\n\nThe others looked at me like I'd just sprouted a third eye. Lulu shook her head and went back to her typing. Mr. Sage stared out the window, while Hermit concentrated on his driving.\n\nI ignored them. It was funny. Johnny would have laughed at my joke. Johnny. My hands crept up to my lips. I could still feel his lips on mine, still smell his rich, exotic scent. Maybe I'd call him when I got home. Rich, spoiled playboys kept late hours. It might not be too late for a booty call\u2014\n\n\"We're here,\" Hermit said, stopping the van and killing the headlights.\n\nI peered out the front. We sat at the end of a long, deserted street. Buildings squatted all around us. Even though it was dark, I could see the graffiti on the walls and the broken doors and windows. Trash and debris cluttered the streets and alleyways, spilling out of the tops of metal cans and Dumpsters. A few streetlights flickered on and off, as though in pain.\n\n\"Where are we?\" I asked.\n\n\"About two miles east of Good Intentions Lane,\" Lulu said.\n\nThat explained it. Good Intentions Lane made a mockery of its own name. It was one of the worst streets in Bigtime and the major hangout of drug-running gangs like the Westsiders. Every couple of weeks, we had to come down here and clean out the riffraff. The gangbangers were like cockroaches, though. You could never get them all, and they always scuttled back out from their hiding places when the lights were turned off **\u2014** or when there were no superheroes or cops around.\n\n\"The factory's a block ahead on the right,\" Hermit said. \"I figured you could go through the front, Fiera, while Mr. Sage and I went in through the back.\"\n\n\"Works for me.\" We always sent the muscle in first. Me.\n\nWe piled out of the van. Hermit, Mr. Sage, and I activated the cameras in the _F5_ insignias on our costumes and shoved miniature two-way transmitters into our ears.\n\n\"Check, check,\" Lulu said, her voice crackling in my ear.\n\nWe checked back to her.\n\nLulu's slender fingers danced over the keyboard, and her laptop whirred and sputtered. \"All right. You guys are online. I've got visual and audio on all of you.\"\n\n\"Then let's rock 'n' roll,\" I said.\n\n\"Be careful,\" Lulu said.\n\nHermit squeezed her hand. \"Always.\"\n\nWe locked Lulu in the van and crept down the block. Discarded candy wrappers and empty soda cans littered the street, crackling under our boots. Enormous rats scurried back and forth in the debris, their eyes red pinpricks of light in the semidarkness. I glared at the odious little monsters. Maybe if I barbecued a couple, the others would get the message and run away. Probably not. Rats were nasty, tenacious creatures. Rather like ubervillains.\n\nThe wind shifted, whipping trash into the air and gusting down the street toward us. The smell of rotten garbage, wet fur, and fresh dirt filled the night. I also caught a whiff of something sickeningly sweet, almost like perfume. My nose twitched. For a second, I felt slow and limp and languid, like my body wasn't my own to command. Then, the scent was gone, overpowered by the filth around us. The weak sensation faded. My eyes scanned the street, but I didn't spot anything moving among the piles of trash, except for the foot-long rodents.\n\nWe rounded the corner of a building. A cracked parking lot stretched out in front of us, leading to a low, square building set back from the dilapidated street a couple hundred yards.\n\n\"This is it. This is where I tracked Intelligal's chair to. It used to be a television factory way back when.\" Hermit hit a few buttons on his handheld supercomputer. \"Here are the entrances and exits. You should go in through the front _here_ , Fiera. Mr. Sage and I will come in back _here_ , and we'll meet in the middle _there_.\" He pointed to various squiggles on the screen.\n\n\"Front door. Got it.\"\n\nWe huddled together in the shadows. Our eyes went to each other's faces. Despite our powers, we knew that one night all of us might not come back. It had happened before when we'd least expected it. And it could happen again. I put my fist over my heart. Mr. Sage and Hermit followed suit. Courage, all.\n\nThen, one by one, we eased toward the factory and the ubervillains inside.\n\n* * *\n\nI waited for Mr. Sage and Hermit to slip into the dark alley that ran along the side of the building before I scurried across the parking lot. I made it to the entrance without incident and glanced over my shoulder. Nothing.\n\nA set of uneven steps led up to the front door, which was boarded over with rotten-looking two-by-fours. I paused. Looking. Listening. Nothing. I started up the steps, which shrieked and groaned like a woman in labor under my weight. I winced. Good grief. I bet they heard that in the next time zone. I might have a variety of superpowers and skills, but moving quietly wasn't one of them. So, I did what I do best **\u2014** I put a little muscle into the situation.\n\nI yanked the boards off the building and tossed them over my shoulder. The door followed three seconds later. Darkness spilled out from the interior, and I stepped inside. I made my way through a series of abandoned offices that lined the front of the building. Moonlight shimmered in through the broken windows, painting the square, empty rooms with an eerie gray glow. The usual assortment of crushed cigarettes, empty beer bottles, and used condoms covered the floor. How romantic.\n\nI found a set of metal doors that led into the factory and peered through the grimy windows on them. The doors opened up into one enormous room. Assembly lines, pipes, and more snaked through the open space. I couldn't see the back wall for all the metal zigzagging everywhere. I couldn't see very far into the factory at all.\n\n\"Anything, guys?\" I whispered.\n\n\"Nothing so far, Fiera. We're at the back door ready to come inside,\" Hermit said in my ear.\n\n\"Lulu?\" I asked.\n\n\"Everything's fine, as far as I can tell.\"\n\n\"All right. Here I go.\"\n\nI tried the metal knob. Locked. Not for long. I gave it a good tug, pulled the knob off, yanked the door open, and stepped through. I paused. Waiting. Watching. Listening. Everything was still and quiet and hushed inside. I moved slowly, staying in the shadows and trying to keep my chunky boots from clacking too loudly on the hard floor. I went a hundred feet, then two hundred, then three. Pipes, pipes, and more pipes. The place seemed endless.\n\nI stumbled and almost cracked my head on a metal support beam. I muttered a curse and looked down. A power cable curled around my feet. Unlike everything else in the building, it wasn't coated with a layer of gray dust and cobwebs. It looked brand-spanking-new.\n\nAt last. A clue.\n\nKeeping one eye on the black cable, I moved farther into the factory. I realized it was getting brighter. There was a light up ahead.\n\n\"I think I've got something,\" I whispered. \"Lights in the factory.\"\n\n\"Then go with your hot self,\" Lulu replied.\n\nI rolled my eyes and kept moving. I rounded the edge of one of the assembly lines and stopped. I'd finally gotten to the belly of the beast, as it were. Halogen bulbs illuminated the scene. Computers, power cables, and more clustered together. Bits and pieces of metal littered the floor and a couple of steel tables. Soldering irons, wire cutters, and other tools crouched on wooden stools and plastic milk crates. Blueprints and schematics and weird diagrams hung on a corkboard. It was your usual ubervillain, mad-scientist lab. Intelligal was hard at work on something.\n\nSome sort of giant, radio-karaoke-like thing stood in the middle of the makeshift workshop. I spotted a cordless microphone, a bunch of wires, and what looked like a flat-screen plasma monitor. I squinted. Where those diamonds lining the thin screen?\n\n\"Are you getting this, Lulu?\" I whispered.\n\n\"Every last pixel,\" the computer hacker muttered. \"Although I don't have a clue as to what that thing is or does.\"\n\nI didn't really care what it did. When in doubt, smash. That was my philosophy. I raised my fist and focused, ready to punch through that metal like it was a piece of paper. Suddenly, I realized the hairs on the back of my neck were standing straight out. Not good.\n\nI hit the ground rolling. A blue lightning bolt zigzagged over my head and rattled off into the darkness. Now, I don't have my father's psychic abilities or even Carmen's inner voice, but after some fifteen years as a superhero, I know when an ubervillain's trying to get the drop on me. Siren had been quiet as death, but the electrical charge in the air from her powers had given her away.\n\nI popped up on my feet and turned around, a fireball in my hand. \"Hello, Siren. So nice to see you again.\"\n\nThe ubervillain stood behind me, looking as voluptuous as ever in her electric-blue suit. For once, the zipper was at a reasonable level, showing just a hint of cleavage. Evidently, Siren knew her charms would be utterly wasted on me. That or she was just cold.\n\n\"I wish I could say the same, Fiera. You and yours just keep showing up wherever Intelligal and I go,\" Siren purred. \"Wouldn't you much rather put those nasty fireballs away and have a nice talk with me? I'm sure we have a lot in common, being such strong, powerful women.\"\n\nHer husky tone wrapped around my body, slowly tightening its grip. I concentrated on the fire inside me, burned away the coils, and ignored the hypnotic pull of her voice. That trick was really wearing thin. I hated women who relied solely on their bodies to get them through life. I wasn't above using my feminine wiles to work things to my advantage every once in a while, but I also used my brains, brawn, and general bitchiness in equal parts as well. Besides lightning bolts, all Siren seemed to have was her body. What would the ubervillain do when her voice went? Or when her bazooka boobs started to sag? She wouldn't be nearly so alluring then.\n\n\"Honey,\" I said. \"You're going to have to do a lot better than that. Your two-bit persuasive thing might work on weak-willed, sex-starved men, but not me. Where'd you learn that trick anyway? Hookers High?\" When in doubt, taunt the enemy. It always worked on the society circuit.\n\nSiren's eyes glittered with rage. A crackling energy ball popped into her hand. Her white, French-tipped nails curled around it like she was caressing her lover. \"I could just electrocute you.\"\n\nMy body burst into flames. \"You could try.\"\n\nA loud roar filled the air, cutting off Siren's clich\u00e9d retort. Good grief. It sounded like a couple of tanks were rolling my way. The floor trembled beneath my feet.\n\n\"Lulu, what the hell is that?\" I shouted.\n\nLulu squawked something in my ear, but I couldn't hear her over the rumbling. Ten seconds later, I got the answer. A sleek, silver-and-black motorcycle grumbled to a stop in between Siren and me. A motorcycle? In the middle of a factory?\n\nA figure clad in black leather pants sat astride the huge vehicle. Angel wings shimmered on the back of his tough-guy jacket. Johnny Angel. He was a minor player in the superhero-ubervillain scene in Bigtime, not really on one side or the other. Angel was more intent on riding his motorcycle around the city late at night and raising hell than anything else. The local motorcycle gangs loved him and often tagged along, whooping and hollering and making pests of themselves.\n\nBut Angel wasn't all bad. Sometimes, he helped out people who needed it. Damsels in distress mostly. Women about to be mugged. Women who were carjacked. Women fleeing abusive boyfriends. To them, he was an angel. To the Fearless Five, he was a minor blip on the radar screen.\n\n\"Well, if it isn't Johnny Angel. Back from the dead so soon?\" Siren cooed. \"And here I thought Intelligal had finished you off for good with her heat-seeking missiles.\"\n\nI frowned. What the hell was Siren talking about? Johnny Angel wasn't dead. He was sitting right there between us\u2014\n\nAngel swung one leg over his bike, and I caught a glimpse of his face. His smooth, unlined face. With a start, I realized that he was around my age. Usually, this wouldn't be of any importance, as most superheroes and ubervillains fell in the twenty-to-forty age range, with a few exceptions like my father, who was creeping up on fifty-five, or the Tween Terrors, who hadn't hit puberty yet. But the last time I'd seen Johnny Angel, he'd been limping down an alley, struggling to keep up with the thug he'd been chasing. Lines and sweat had painted his strained, red face. Gray had glistened in his brownish hair. He'd moved slowly, as though every step hurt.\n\nHe'd been an older man, just like my father.\n\nNot this guy. He moved with a loose, easy confidence. Blond hair. Tan face. Light eyes. Black-and-silver, wing-shaped mask. That was all I saw before Angel turned to face Siren. I frowned. Johnny Angel might not be an ubervillain, but he should know better than to turn his back on me. I was Fiera, for crying out loud. I could melt his ass like a candle, if I wanted to.\n\n\"There's a new Angel in town,\" he snarled in a low, throaty voice. \"And you're going to pay for what you did to my predecessor.\"\n\nSiren put her hands on her hips and laughed. The dulcet tones rang like church bells, all sweetness and light. \"Now why would you want to hurt little ole me?\" Siren lowered the zipper on her suit, exposing more of her buoyant chest. She focused her eyes on Angel like a snake trying to hypnotize a helpless bunny. \"I'm just a simple girl who's trying to make a name for herself in the big, bad city.\"\n\nYeah right. And I was the freaking Tooth Fairy.\n\nAngel stilled, struggling against the pull of Siren's voice. Since the ubervillain's attention was focused on Angel, her tone didn't bother me as much as usual. I circled to one side, easing to the left of them.\n\n\"Are you guys hearing this?\" I muttered.\n\n\"Every word,\" Mr. Sage whispered in my ear. \"We're almost there to back you up. Let them keep talking.\"\n\nSiren and Angel stared at each other, ignoring me. I took the chance to study the man. He was taller than his predecessor, his skin darker, his hair longer. My gaze swept lower, tracing over his leather jacket and the pants he'd poured himself into. And he was definitely in much better shape than the previous Angel. The old guy had a bit of a potbelly.\n\nNow, I'd run into my fair share of superheroes and ubervillains over the years. I'd seen more buff bodies, rippling abs, and bulging biceps in skintight spandex than I could remember. But Angel gave buns of steel a whole new meaning. I frowned. But there was something strange about his skin. It almost looked hard\u2014\n\n\"Am I interrupting something?\" a tight, cold voice cut in.\n\nMy head snapped up. Intelligal hovered over us in her chair. Damn. I'd forgotten about her during my perusal of Johnny Angel's new, improved body.\n\n\"It's about time you got here,\" Siren snapped. \"Take care of them. Now.\"\n\nIntelligal hit a button, and two missiles spewed out of the depths of her chair.\n\nRight at Angel and me.\n\n# Chapter Eight\n\nI immediately hurled a fireball at my incoming missile. The two met in midair and exploded. Smoke, ash, and sharp bits of flying silver metal filled the factory. I ignored the smoldering debris and turned to help Angel. But it was too late. The missile was bearing down on him. Angel was going to get blown to hell and back in two seconds.\n\nBut he didn't run or duck or even try to leap out of the way. Instead, Angel curled his hands into fists, held them down by his legs, and flexed. Please. All the chiseled muscles in the world weren't going to save him from a rocket. The missile hit him in the chest and exploded.\n\nI threw up my hands to ward off the bloody man-chunks and brain matter that were coming my way. To my surprise, nothing hit me, except a few bits of metal shrapnel that stung my hands and arms. Dust and soot hung like thick clouds in the air. I waved the smoke away from my face and squinted through the soupy fog.\n\nMy mouth gaped open. Johnny Angel stood in the exact spot where the missile had hit. He was still alive, although his bike was a smoldering piece of melted junk now. Incredible.\n\n\"Is that all you've got?\" Angel mocked.\n\nThe explosion had ripped into his white T-shirt, black leather jacket, pants, and boots, but the man himself didn't seem to have a scratch on him. His hair wasn't even mussed. Now _that_ was a neat trick.\n\n\"Do you care to explain this, Intelligal?\" Siren hissed, taking a few steps back.\n\n\"He...he should be dead!\" Intelligal sputtered. \"Those are hundred-load explodium missiles! He should be nothing but a stain on the floor!\"\n\nAngel kicked aside his melted motorcycle and stepped forward. \"Well, I guess it's a good thing I have a superstrong exoskeleton then, isn't it?\"\n\nMy eyes narrowed. Wait a minute. The old Angel hadn't had any superpowers that I'd known of, just a souped-up motorcycle. It looked like this guy was the new and improved model. My eyes strayed back to the hard body. In more ways than one.\n\n\"Don't just hover up there!\" Siren screeched. \"Gas them, you fool!\"\n\nI started forward to body slam Siren into next week when a puff of light blue smoke exploded in my face. I coughed and gagged and tried not to retch. It was the same odd smell that I'd inhaled before outside the factory. The sweet, noxious stench worked its way down my throat and into my lungs. My arms and legs felt like gelatin, all loose and wobbly. Beside me, Angel choked and sputtered. We both slid to the ground, caught in a cloud of blue gas. I tried to focus. Where were Hermit and Mr. Sage?\n\n\"Hurry up! Get it loaded!\" Intelligal's voice drifted through the fog.\n\nMetal screeched. Something hit the floor. Siren cursed.\n\nSomehow, I rolled over onto my hands and knees. Those bitches didn't know who they were dealing with. I was Fiera. Member of the Fearless Five. Protector of the innocent. Superhero du jour. A little knockout gas wasn't going to keep me from kicking their asses. Slowly, very, _very_ slowly, I crawled forward. Metal dug into my hands and scraped my knees, but I ignored the pain and kept going. After about twenty feet, I broke free of the cloud. I drew in a deep breath of soot-filled air. I still felt weak and disjointed, but some of the feeling returned to my arms and legs.\n\nToo late. Siren stuffed something in the side of Intelligal's chair and hopped on the arm. The helicopter rotor popped up out of the back, and the chair whirred and flew right over me. I pointed my finger at them, but I couldn't find the strength to muster up so much as a single spark. I couldn't even roast a marshmallow, the shape I was in right now.\n\nA pair of familiar green boots flashed in front of my face. \"Fiera! Are you all right?\" Mr. Sage asked, his eyes bright with concern.\n\nI coughed some more. \"Johnny Angel...still...in...there,\" I wheezed. My tongue felt like I'd eaten a whole tube of sugar-flavored toothpaste, sticky and gooey sweet. Yuck.\n\n\"I'll get him,\" Hermit said.\n\nHe took a breath, held it, and plunged into the blue gas.\n\n\"A little help, please!\" Hermit called out. \"He's too heavy for me!\"\n\nMr. Sage reached into the cloud and helped drag Angel free of the fumes. I got to my feet, wobbling back and forth like a newborn fawn. The others weren't in much better shape.\n\nSomething smacked against the front of the building. The windows that weren't already busted out shattered with a collective roar. The factory quivered and trembled like a feather floating on the breeze.\n\n\"Intelligal's firing explodium missiles at the factory! The whole place is going to come down on top of you! Get out! Get out now!\" Lulu screamed in my ear.\n\nI took another breath. My head cleared, and most of my strength returned. I put my arm under Johnny Angel's shoulder, and my knees threatened to buckle. Hermit was right. He was heavier than he looked. The other superhero and I half carried, half dragged Angel toward the back of the factory.\n\n\"Back there!\" Hermit shouted, pointing toward a door a couple hundred feet away.\n\nMr. Sage stopped long enough to grab some of Intelligal's weird schematics and drawings, then followed us.\n\nA hundred feet to go. More explosions ripped through the building. Pipes creaked and snapped like dry twigs, while the floor ripped and bucked like water.\n\nFifty feet. Fire shot through the air above our heads. Smoke seared my lungs.\n\nTwenty, ten, five...\n\nWe stumbled out the door and down some steps. The night air, still reeking of garbage, revived me the rest of the way, and the fire inside me flared back to life. Behind us, the building moaned and creaked. The front section collapsed with a low, long groan, and the resulting shockwave threw us fifteen feet forward. We scrambled up and kept hobbling along, trying to get clear of the dust and debris.\n\nAbout a quarter mile away, we lunged out into the street and stopped. Angel slumped against the side of a nearby building. Hermit put one knee on the ground, while Mr. Sage rested a hand on his shoulder. I put my hands on my hips, trying to get my breath back. Superstrong exoskeleton indeed. Superheavy was more like it. The four of us stood there, gulping down air.\n\nAfter a few minutes, Johnny Angel straightened. His eyes swept over us. Then, he turned and started to walk away.\n\n\"Hey! Come back here!\" I grabbed his arm.\n\n\"Let go of me!\" he snapped.\n\nHe tried to shake me off, but I tightened my grip. It was like trying to squeeze a cement block, but I held on. Superstrength came in handy sometimes.\n\n\"Who are you? What happened to the old Johnny Angel?\"\n\n\"None of your damn business.\"\n\nI pointed a smoking finger at his chest. His skin felt like solid steel through the thin fabric of his ripped, blackened T-shirt. \"When you waltz in when I'm trying to apprehend two ubervillains and almost get my friends and me blown to smithereens, then you make it my business. What the hell did you think you were doing in there?\"\n\nHis face hardened. Angry gold flecks sparked in the depths of his eyes, which glowed a rich green. \"None of your damn business.\"\n\n\"We're not going to hurt you, if that's what you're worried about,\" Mr. Sage said in a calm, soothing voice. \"We only want to talk.\"\n\nHermit nodded. Smoke smudged his thick goggles.\n\nJohnny Angel stared at the three of us. Outnumbered. He nodded. \"All right. We'll talk.\"\n\nHe stared down at my hand on his arm. I dropped it, even though I didn't want to let go.\n\nAngel leaned back against the side of the pockmarked building. From his pants pocket, he fished out a pack of cigarettes and a black lighter that had somehow survived Intelligal's missile. Silver angel wings gleamed on the dark surface. He lit his cigarette, drew in a long drag, and blew smoke out his nostrils, showing us what a badass he was. Please. One snap of my fingers, and that cancer stick would blow up in his face like a grenade. I should light up the cigarette anyway. Didn't he know those things would kill you? Or perhaps his lungs were as hard as his chest. And his head.\n\nAfter another couple of puffs of his cigarette, Johnny spoke. \"I'm the new Angel. I have been for a few months now, ever since Siren and Intelligal killed my predecessor.\"\n\n\"We hadn't heard. How did it happen?\" Mr. Sage asked, his voice soft and kind. My father. Always the diplomat.\n\nAngel stared at the ruined factory, which smoldered behind us. \"The two muscled in on some of the High Riders' territory. The motorcycle gang asked the old Angel to get rid of them. He owed the gang a favor, so he took the job. It was going to be his last gig, since he'd been training me to take over as Angel. One night, he tracked down the ubervillains and confronted them. He told them to get out of town or else. They just laughed at him, and Intelligal fired off some of her heat-seeking explodium missiles. He tried to outrun the missiles on his motorcycle, but he never had a chance.\" Sad, bitter anger colored his low, throaty voice.\n\n\"Because he didn't have superpowers,\" Hermit said.\n\nAngel nodded. \"All he had was his bike. It wasn't fast enough.\"\n\nI stood to one side and listened to the question-and-answer session. Generational superheroes and ubervillains were rare, but not unheard of. Fathers and mothers who moonlighted for the greater good or evil often passed down their powers or some variation thereof to their children. When the old folks got tired of fighting or creating crime, the youngsters donned the cape and spandex and took up the family mantle. It didn't even have to be a family member. More than one aging hero and villain had plucked a young orphan off the streets, trained her, and introduced her to Bigtime and the world as the new whomever. Pistol Pete and Hangglider were classic examples. If I remembered correctly, Johnny Angel had been around in three incarnations now, counting the new guy.\n\n\"But you have powers, don't you?\" Mr. Sage asked. \"I believe you mentioned something about an exoskeleton?\"\n\nAngel rolled up the sleeve of his tattered T-shirt and flexed his bicep. At first, I couldn't see the difference between his bicep and anybody else's. Well, it might have been a bit more defined than the average superhero's. But when I looked closer, I realized there was a hard look to his skin, almost like it was stretched over steel. Plus, I could just make out a faint, weblike pattern in it.\n\n\"When I concentrate and focus on what I want to do, I'm impervious to pretty much everything. Missiles, guns, grenades, lasers.\" Angel's eyes flicked to me. \"Fire.\"\n\n\"Fascinating,\" Hermit murmured, tapping a few buttons on his computer and angling the camera embedded in his suit for a closer look.\n\n\"We're very sorry for your loss,\" Mr. Sage said. \"Believe me, we know how hard it is to lose a member of your team. But killing Siren and Intelligal won't bring back your friend and mentor. And it won't ease your pain. We need to capture them and turn them over to the police before they hurt someone else. That's what superheroes do. It's our duty. Dishing out your own brand of vigilante justice isn't the way.\"\n\n\"Turn them over to the police? Why? So they can spend a couple of weeks in prison before they break out and come back to Bigtime? The police in this town are useless. They always have been, and they always will be,\" Angel scoffed.\n\nOuch. I glanced at Mr. Sage. His face was smooth and unreadable, but his eyes glittered. Being the chief of police, he didn't think his men were useless. Quite the opposite. They provided valuable support to the superheroes in town, as well as taking care of the more ordinary, mundane crimes.\n\n\"I'm going after Siren and Intelligal, and there's nothing you can do to stop me.\" Angel's green eyes shimmered in his tight face. \"Get in my way, and you'll be sorry.\"\n\n\"What are you going to do?\" I asked. \"Kill us too?\"\n\n\"If you get in my way\u2014yes. I will kill you, superheroes or not. I won't hesitate. Not for a second. Remember that. Or suffer the consequences.\"\n\nWith those words, Angel turned and stalked into the darkening night.\n\n# Chapter Nine\n\n\"Can you believe the nerve of that guy? Telling us, the Fearless Five, to stay out of his way or he'll kill us? He must have a pair of steel balls on him to go along with that exoskeleton,\" I snapped.\n\n\"Fiona,\" my father chided. \"There is no need for such language.\"\n\n\"Well, he must,\" I muttered.\n\nAfter Johnny Angel huffed and puffed and stormed away, Lulu had brought the van around, and we'd gone back to Sublime. Now, we were gathered in the underground library, reviewing the mission and planning our next move. The others clustered in front of the film screen, staring at the footage from inside the factory. I sat in the corner, munching on the cookies I hadn't had a chance to eat in the van, along with a couple of cheese burritos, a tray of tortilla chips and hot salsa, Spanish rice, refried beans, and a gallon of raspberry iced tea. The fight with the ubervillains and dragging Mr. Two-Ton Ego around had zapped a lot of my energy, so I'd made Henry stop at Ol\u00e9, an all-night Mexican joint, before we headed home.\n\n\"Right now, I'm more worried about that doomsday-looking contraption the ubervillains were building. Not to mention whatever it was they gassed you with, Fiona,\" Lulu said.\n\n\"Gas, missiles, flying chairs, weird inventions. It comes with the territory.\" I took another bite of my cheese burrito. Spicy Monterey Jack cheese melted in my mouth. Ah, so good.\n\n\"Speaking of the gas, I collected a sample for the chief to analyze,\" Henry said, holding up a glass tube full of light blue fumes. \"I got it while I was trying to drag Angel out of the cloud. It looks like a fascinating chemical compound.\"\n\nOnly Henry would stop in the middle of a battle to take a scientific sample of the enemies' weapon of choice. I rolled my eyes. I loved him like a brother, but he was such a complete geek.\n\n\"Judging from the effect the gas had on Fiona, I'd say it contained some sort of superpotent muscle relaxer,\" Chief Newman said, lacing his long fingers together. \"Perhaps even a power inhibitor.\"\n\n\"Smelled like cheap perfume to me,\" I said. \"As befits Siren.\"\n\nMy nose twitched. I'd taken a steamy shower and washed my hair twice, but I could still smell the gas. It clung to my body like Joanne James on a widowed billionaire's arm. Even the extra onions and hot sauce on my burritos couldn't quite overpower the sweet, jaw-locking taste in my mouth.\n\n\"Whatever it is, I need to make some sort of antidote for it,\" the chief continued. \"Especially since it didn't seem to affect Siren and Intelligal in the slightest.\"\n\nI looked at my father. \"Whatever you do, just make sure it doesn't taste like toothpaste.\"\n\n* * *\n\nI spent the next few days working. During regular business hours, I finished up the business-wear line for fall and took care of a thousand other fashion-related details. Then, at night, it was time to suit up as Fiera, answer my fan mail, and squash the evildoers who crossed my path.\n\nThe rest of the Fearless Five worked just as hard as I did at their day jobs, and at night, we all focused on Siren and Intelligal. The chief started cooking up some antidote to neutralize the stuff they'd gassed us with, as well as putting the final touches on some earplugs to block Siren's hypnotic voice. But Henry couldn't figure out what their radio-like device did, and Lulu couldn't find whatever abandoned building they were holed up in.\n\nStill, we searched, prowling the streets in the F5 van. A few times, Johnny Angel zoomed by on a new, shiny, silver bike. We tried to flag him down, but he always ignored us, the hardheaded, egotistical snot. We even gave chase in the van a couple of times, but he was always too quick for us to catch or darted into some narrow space where we couldn't follow. Show-off.\n\nAs for the other Johnny, Johnny Bulluci, I didn't see him, since we were both so busy with work. That didn't stop me from thinking about him, though. I replayed our date over and over again in my head. He was a rich, spoiled playboy. Smooth, suave, used to getting his own way. But he'd also been kind, considerate, and caring. How many guys would have sat there listening to a woman gush about her dead fianc\u00e9? Not many. We'd clicked, connected that night in the park. I was beginning to think maybe Johnny Bulluci had potential beyond being Rebound Guy.\n\nJohnny hadn't forgotten about me, either. The day after our date, he had a black-pepper-seasoned steak from Quicke's delivered to my office. I'd squealed so loudly when I opened the package that Piper thought I'd gotten a box full of diamonds or something equally expensive. I'd returned the favor by sending two tickets to the Ferris wheel and a funnel cake to Bulluci Enterprises. Two hours later, I'd received a stick of cotton candy and a stuffed purple rabbit. We exchanged gag gifts the rest of the day. A sense of humor was another thing I liked in a man. Life was too short to be taken seriously. Especially when you went around town wearing body-hugging, orange-red spandex and shooting fire out of your fingertips.\n\nMonday rolled around. I left the final details of the fall collection in Piper's capable, anal-retentive, obsessive-compulsive hands and went home early to get ready for my latest public appearance as Fiera.\n\nEvery couple of months, SNN, _The Expos_ _\u00e9_ , _The Chronicle_ , and the other media outlets in the city sponsored _Meet Bigtime's Superheroes_ in Paradise Park. The events were a chance for regular folks to mix and mingle with their favorite superheroes and learn about our powers, as well as raise money for some worthy causes. The members of the Fearless Five took turns attending the functions, and I was the lucky superhero today. I didn't mind too much, though. It was fun to show off in front of people. Kids, in particular, always got a kick out of my fireball-juggling skills.\n\nOnce I was suited up, I flipped a switch just inside the door. It looked like any other light switch, but it was a special feature Henry had installed for me when I'd moved into the apartment. The switch sent out a signal that scrambled the building's security cameras and locked down all the elevators except for the one I used for five minutes. Since I had the whole floor to myself, I didn't have to worry about nosy neighbors\u2014just about getting out of the building without being seen.\n\nI rode the elevator down to the fifth subbasement, the very bottom of Tip-Top Tower. The doors pinged open, revealing a dark space filled with metal trash chutes and overflowing dumpsters. Black mold covered the damp walls, and the air smelled of rotten pizza, greasy French fries, and overripe fruit. Tip-Top Tower might be one of the most exclusive buildings in Bigtime, but it still had to have a place to collect tenants' trash, just like every other apartment complex. Nobody, not even the maintenance men, came down here unless they absolutely had to. Lucky for me.\n\nI walked to the very back corner of the subbasement, where a metal door stood. The lock and knob were long gone, and the door had a smushed look to it, like a bag of chocolate that had been out in the sun too long. I pointed my finger at the door, letting out a steady stream of concentrated flame, and traced along its borders. The metal heated up in seconds, casting a red-hot glow onto the rotting trash. I pulled the door open, stepped through, and repeated my welding process, sealing it behind me. The building managers thought the door had been melted shut by a long-ago gas explosion. They didn't know it was my secret way out of the building. Slipping out of my apartment in my costume unseen by the other tenants was a necessary skill that I'd perfected over the years, especially since I couldn't just go up to the roof and fly away like Hangman and Rocket Ron and the other winged types.\n\nI strolled through the dark passageway, using my flaming hand as a torch. The passageway twisted and turned underneath a couple of city blocks. It was part of a network of old tunnels that ran under most of the downtown area and was one of the main reasons I'd chosen to live in Tip-Top Tower.\n\nA pinprick of light flashed up ahead, and I dimmed my hand. The tunnel opened up into an alley close to the Bigtime Public Library. A few weeds and some loose bricks cluttered the entrance, along with the backside of a metal Dumpster. I shimmied through the space between the Dumpster and the alley wall. I peeked around the corner of the metal container, but I was the only person in the alley. With its Dumpsters, bits of smelly garbage, and cracked pavement, the alley wasn't the sort of place most people would willingly walk into, even during the middle of the afternoon.\n\nThere were other ways out of my apartment building, but I'd found this to be the quickest and safest. Even if someone moved the Dumpster and stumbled into the passageway, they'd never get through the door at the far end without some sort of superpower. Even then, there was nothing in the tunnel that could be traced back to me. I wasn't dumb enough to leave costumes lying around or stupid enough to write FIERA WAS HERE on the walls.\n\nOnce I was satisfied that no one was watching, I slipped out into the main street with the city's other citizens. Most folks didn't give me a second look. There were so many superheroes in Bigtime these days that people didn't get too excited unless we were going fist-to-fist with ubervillains on top of a skyscraper somewhere. Still, a few people stopped and asked me for autographs, which I graciously signed.\n\nI made my way to Paradise Park. An enormous banner across the front entrance proclaimed that it was _A_ _Super Day for Superheroes!_ Thousands of people, parents with kids mostly, along with the requisite fanboys, crowded into the park anxious to see their heroes in the flesh and fur. And of course, some folks from _Slaves for Superhero Sex_ had shown up. _SSS_ was a cult group whose members put themselves in danger in order to get close to heroes and villains. You could spot them a mile away. They always thought they had to dress up in cheerleading, French maid, and other costumes to attract the attention of their favorite hero. I thought they were all fruitcakes.\n\nI headed for the check-in station, where a twentysomething woman carrying an enormous clipboard barked orders at her teenage underlings. A headset clung to the side of her square sunglasses, while pens, paperclips, a stun gun, and more hung in the mesh khaki vest that covered her chest. Abby Appleby. She stabbed a pen at a boy who didn't look old enough to shave yet.\n\n\"You! Go take the Caffeinator a fresh supply of chocolate bars and coffee. Now!\"\n\nThe poor kid grabbed a box of candy and a bag of beans and scurried off to do her bidding like he had jets attached to his sneakers.\n\nAbby zeroed in on me and plastered a smile on her face. \"Fiera. Glad you could make it. If you'll follow me, I'll show you to your booth. Everybody else is here already.\"\n\nAbby Appleby was one of the premiere event planners in Bigtime. She did everything from weddings to birthday parties to funerals. Abby had a reputation for throwing fantastic events, as well as bringing everything in on time and under budget\u2014no matter how many toes and legs and other things she had to break to get it done. She was also one of Piper's best friends. It was no wonder, given how tightly the two of them were wound.\n\n\"Here we are,\" Abby said, stopping in front of a wooden booth decorated with orange-and-red cardboard flames and the _F5_ insignia.\n\nNext door, a tall, Nordic-looking woman created snow cones with her bare hands, covered them with sugary, blue goo, and dished them out to a line of anxious kids. A giant snowflake flashed like a strobe light on her ice-blue costume.\n\n\"You're putting me next to Wynter again?\"\n\nWynter looked up from her snow cone making. Her blue eyes frosted over at the sight of me. Fire and ice never mixed, and Wynter and I had never gotten along. She was a bit cold and distant for my liking. I'd never once seen her smile or laugh, not even when she was taking out Hot Stuff, her archenemy.\n\n\"Sorry,\" Abby apologized, pointing to another booth. \"The only other spot I have is down at the end with Halitosis Hal, and you know I can't put the two of you together.\"\n\nI followed her finger and spotted the other superhero. Halitosis Hal was a short guy with a wide but solid frame. His costume was a putrid green color, but it worked with his dark skin and hair. He was busy handing out gas masks to the folks lined up in front of his booth, which was decorated with cardboard cutouts of garlic, anchovies, and other smelly things.\n\nNo, Abby couldn't put me down there. As his name suggested, Halitosis Hal's superpower was his superbad breath. One whiff of it could stop the strongest ubervillain in his tracks. In addition to smelling like something that died two months ago, Hal's breath also contained a mixture of nitrous and other flammable gases. Whenever we got too close to each other, things blew up. And not in a good way.\n\n\"I understand,\" I said, slipping into the booth.\n\nFor the next three hours, I juggled fireballs, made my fingers flash like sparklers, bench-pressed parents, and scampered around in my skintight spandex costume, much to the delight of shrieking kids and fawning fanboys. I, of course, was among the more popular superheroes in attendance. Folks lined up three-deep around my booth to see me light myself on fire, get autographs, and snap up official Fiera merchandise.\n\nEverything was going fine until Kelly Caleb arrived. She had her game face on today\u2014a smart red suit, perfect makeup, flawless hair. She was like a blond version of Erica Songe, except her suit wasn't slit down to her bellybutton and up to her hips. Kelly wandered through the rows of booths with her SNN cameraman, chatting and shaking hands with the superheroes like they were her close, personal friends. She even hugged Halitosis Hal and Pistol Pete. Hugging. Please. Superheroes did not _hug_ people. At least, not this superhero.\n\nThe news reporter stopped in front of my booth and gestured for her cameraman to shoot some video of me juggling fireballs. I thought about using one of them to melt the television camera but decided against it. I'd promised my father that I wouldn't set anything on fire at the park today. I supposed that included nosy news reporters.\n\n\"Fiera.\"\n\n\"Kelly.\"\n\n\"I was wondering if I could have a moment of your time.\" The news reporter gave me her trademark toothy grin.\n\n\"I'm sort of busy right now.\"\n\nMy pointed tone didn't faze her. \"It will only take a few minutes. You and the other members of the Fearless Five haven't given me an interview in months, ever since you introduced Karma Girl as your new member. I'm beginning to think you're ignoring me on purpose. And I'd hate for that to be the case. Heroes like Swifte give me all the interviews I want. Since you're so busy, maybe I should go see if he's here. I'm sure he'd love to be the featured lead on the evening news, especially since he's got that new video game to promote. From what I hear, it's selling extremely well. Even better than your action figures.\"\n\nKelly's voice was mild, but her tone was just as sharp as mine had been. The message was clear\u2014play nice or else. If it had just been me, I would have ignored her. But I had a duty to the rest of the F5 team to make us look good **\u2014** whether I wanted to or not. Unfortunately, duty was about doing a lot of things you didn't want to.\n\nSo, I snuffed out the fireballs and plastered something that resembled a smile on my face. \"Well, I suppose I can give you a few minutes.\"\n\nKelly shoved a microphone at me and peppered me with questions. What I and the other team members had been up to. How Karma Girl was fitting in with the rest of the Fearless Five. If we'd heard anything from Malefica and the other members of the Terrible Triad. She skillfully moved from one topic to the next and crammed in more questions in five minutes than most reporters could get to in half an hour. Even I couldn't deny that Kelly was good at her job. She was still a reporter, though. One that I didn't like, no matter how fabulous she looked in the suit that I'd designed.\n\nAfter another round of nosy questions, Kelly wrapped up the interview and told her cameraman to stop shooting.\n\n\"Now, that wasn't so bad, was it?\" Kelly asked.\n\n\"No,\" I muttered. \"I suppose not. It could have been worse. Erica Songe could have been here.\"\n\nI hadn't meant for Kelly to hear me, but she did. The reporter's face tightened at the mention of the other woman.\n\n\"Not a fan either?\" I asked.\n\n\"You know we're all just one big, happy family at SNN.\" Kelly smiled, although it looked more like a grimace. \"Erica has her uses.\"\n\nI couldn't resist twisting the knife a little. \"Like covering Black Samba and Granny Cane rescuing those trapped firefighters a couple days ago? I saw the news and was surprised to see Erica on the scene. I thought superheroes and ubervillains were your exclusive beat at SNN. Or is that one of Erica's uses?\"\n\nIce filled Kelly's eyes, turning them the same cold blue color as Wynter's snow cones. \"I know what you're implying, but nobody muscles in on my territory. I'm the number one superhero reporter in this city, and I plan on keeping it that way\u2014whatever it takes. Now, if you'll excuse me, Fiera, I need to get this on the air for the six o'clock news. Thanks for the interview.\"\n\nKelly jerked her head at the cameraman, and the two of them left the park. Sometimes, I thought corporate politics were just as dangerous as superhero-ubervillain battles, although without the building-leveling explosions. I shook my head and returned to my fans.\n\nAfter Kelly left, the event wound down, and the other superheroes started packing up, ready to go out and prowl the streets for the night. I gave my regards to Abby, who was now barking orders at the cleanup crew, and headed for home.\n\nI started to walk back to the alley next to the library. On an impulse, I cut through a row of pine trees that marked the park's borders and headed for Bigtime Cemetery. A wrought-iron gate surrounded the sloping, green expanse, and marble tombstones, pinnacles, and angel statues dotted the manicured lawn. The wild carousel music and shrieks of glee from the park faded away to mere whispers.\n\nMy steps grew slower, heavier as I headed for my destination, but I pushed on until I reached a white marble tombstone. The words _Travis Templeton Teague. Beloved by all_ flowed across the marker. A few wilted flowers and cracked, faded, weather-worn action figures surrounded the gravesite. People didn't leave as many flowers and cards as they used to. Superheroes and ubervillains came and went in Bigtime, and most folks were slowly forgetting about Travis aka Tornado.\n\nNot me. I would never forget him. Never. I crouched down, straightening the action figures and arranging the flowers into a tidy pile. I did that for a long time, thinking about him and how much love there had been between us. My heart ached, and hot tears steamed off my flushed cheeks.\n\nTravis had been taken from me before his time. It was cruel, unfair, and there was nothing I could do about it. But he was in a better place now, watching over me. I knew he was. I twisted my engagement ring around my finger. I would give anything for Travis to be here with me now. But that would never happen.\n\nIt was time to move on. To date again. To laugh again. To fall in love again. My father was right. I couldn't live in the past forever, and Travis wouldn't want me to. He would want me to be happy, to be with someone who made me happy, whether it was Johnny Bulluci or someone else further down the line. I quit twisting my ring and stood.\n\n\"I love you, Travis. I always will.\" I pressed a kiss to my hand and put it on top of the tombstone. The sun-warmed marble felt smooth as glass under my fingers.\n\nThen, I turned and walked away.\n\n# Chapter Ten\n\nAfter leaving the cemetery, I slipped back into my apartment, stripped off my superhero suit, and got ready for the observatory benefit.\n\nI took extra care with my _I-might-have-sex-tonight_ beauty rituals. Daydreaming about Johnny all weekend had fired up my hormones even more than usual. I liked him. He liked me. Why shouldn't we have a little fun after the party tonight?\n\nThen, it was time to pick my dress for the evening. I hadn't seen Johnny in a few days, and I wanted to remind him just how fabulous I was. I walked up and down the rows of clothes in my massive closet, pulling things out, tossing them aside, grabbing even more outfits. After about thirty minutes of contemplation, I decided on a jade-green ball gown with a high neck, long sleeves, and a skirt that reached to my ankles.\n\nFrom a distance, the dress looked very prim and proper, but the back was completely exposed, showing off my shoulders and muscles, while the sequined fabric clung to my body, hinting at what lay beneath. I pulled my hair back into a smooth, coiled bun. Strappy silver stilettos and long, dangly emerald earrings completed the sophisticated look. Perfect.\n\nI eyeballed my purse. Something was missing from the mess inside. Lipstick, compact, cell phone, credit cards. I remembered what I'd forgotten. I rummaged around in my nightstand drawer and drew out a couple of dust-covered condoms. I stared at the foil packages, and the old, nagging doubt flared up inside me.\n\nDespite my visit to the cemetery, I couldn't quite shake the feeling that I was betraying Travis by moving on. But Travis would want me to be happy. He would. And Johnny made me happy. For the moment. He might turn out to be a loathsome little toad tomorrow, but tonight, he was Mr. Right.\n\nI pushed aside my guilt and stuffed the condoms in my purse. If you were going to play around, you should be safe doing it. I was already on the pill, but a girl couldn't be too careful, even if she was a superhero. Better to have the condoms and chicken out than push ahead without them.\n\nI drove my convertible to the benefit, top up to preserve my hair, handed the keys to a tuxedo-clad valet, and walked up the curving steps to the observatory. Situated on a towering hill on the outskirts of town, the Bigtime Observatory was the highest point in the city, farther up than even the gleaming skyscrapers downtown. A museum to all things star-related sat on top of the hill, along with the round, white dome that housed the observatory's powerful telescope and other sensitive scientific equipment. The observatory was also connected to a nature center and park, where people could come and get up close and personal with smaller woodsy animals like owls, otters, and foxes. A manmade river flowed down the steep hill, through the woods and animal habitats that surrounded the observatory, forming a waterfall and small lake, before continuing its journey toward the city and out into Bigtime Bay.\n\nEvery spring, the scientists who ran the observatory and nature center put away their pocket protectors, telescopes, and black glasses, and threw a party to raise enough money to keep operating for another year. In addition to scientific research, the observatory was a favorite with Bigtime teachers, who brought thousands of students to the facility every year to stargaze, visit the animals, and swim in the lake. Science wasn't my favorite thing, not by a long shot, but my pockets were deep enough to get me invited to the party every year.\n\nI gave my engraved invitation to the guy working the door and stepped inside. The observatory featured square, white rooms, sharp angles, and high ceilings. Scientific instruments with names too long to pronounce, detailed star charts, and planetary images adorned the walls, along with interactive displays about physics and astronauts and trips to the moon. The displays had already captivated some of Bigtime's finest, who were pushing buttons and staring at the flashing lights like kids high on sugar.\n\nI walked to the museum's main auditorium, where most of the school programs were held. The semicircle of hard, wooden chairs had been replaced with circular tables, and big models of planets dangled from the ceiling. A band played swing tunes on the stage at the far end of the room, while waiters dispensed food to the hungry crowd. Through it all, the observatory's scientists tried to blend in with the suave, sophisticated businessmen and women. But it was easy to tell who was who. The scientists kept tugging on their too-tight ties and ill-fitting dresses.\n\nI grabbed a glass of champagne and roamed through the crowd looking for Johnny Bulluci. All the usual partygoers were in attendance, with Joanne James and Berkley Brighton holding court in the middle of the auditorium. The sparkle from Joanne's engagement ring would blind a bat at thirty paces. My father stood near them, schmoozing with a couple of lonely widows. I caught his eye and waved.\n\nTo my surprise and displeasure, news reporter Erica Songe was also on the scene. She stood at the far end of the room next to a short, slender woman. The contrast between the two was striking. Erica's voluptuous form was poured into a pink dress that looked like transparent pieces of tissue sewn together. The flimsy garment exposed far more than it covered up, and more than a few men had their eyes firmly fixed on Erica's cleavage. How trashy.\n\nThe other woman wore a black, kimono-style garment that covered her from neck to feet. The bulky fabric swallowed her up, hiding any hints about her figure. Her mousy, brown hair was pulled back into a tight bun, and a scowl painted her pasty face. Tortoiseshell glasses perched on her nose, which was set rather high in the air. She might as well have had NERDY SCIENTIST tattooed on her chest. A tall, fat cameraman hovered nearby, downing champagne like he was dying of thirst. I didn't blame him. I'd drink too if I had to work with the likes of Erica Songe.\n\nA familiar motorized whir caught my ear, and I zeroed in on Henry and Lulu. Henry had traded in his usual polka-dot bow ties for one of my classy tuxedoes, while Lulu wore a scarlet dress that showed off her pale skin and blue-and-black hair. The two huddled in a corner by themselves, engaged in an intense conversation. Henry held on to Lulu's hand and said something, almost pleading with her. Lulu shook her head. Henry dropped her hand, turned on his heel, and stalked away. Lulu stared at his retreating back. What was that about?\n\nDetermined to find out, I marched over to the other woman. \"Trouble in paradise?\"\n\n\"You'd like that, wouldn't you, Fiona?\" Lulu looked away, but not before I caught the gleam of tears in her dark eyes. \"For Henry to dump me.\"\n\nThe hurt tone in Lulu's voice made me hesitate. I didn't like the computer hacker. I'd made no secret of that. We'd come too close to getting killed last year to take any more chances than necessary. Letting Lulu Lo, one of Bigtime's computer geniuses and not-quite-aboveboard citizens, in on our secret identities wasn't the smartest thing we'd ever done.\n\nBut Carmen trusted her, and Henry loved her. And Lulu loved Henry, from what I'd seen. I loved Henry too, and I wanted him to be happy. If Lulu made him happy, well, I supposed I could live with her. After all, I'd come to live with Carmen. So, I decided to put my personal feelings aside and do my duty to support Henry\u2014and his hacker honey.\n\n\"No, I don't want Henry to dump you.\"\n\nLulu snorted. \"Oh, come off it, Fiona. You can't stand me.\"\n\nI ignored her comment. \"Why would Henry dump you? Are the two of you fighting? The two of you never fight.\" In addition to having superstrength, I was also supertenacious, especially when it came to the people I cared about.\n\n\"It's nothing. Absolutely nothing,\" Lulu muttered. She hit a button on her wheelchair and zoomed away.\n\nI started to melt her tires to get her to stop, when a low voice sounded behind me.\n\n\"Hello, beautiful.\"\n\nMy heart fluttered. I put my most dazzling smile on my face and turned around. Johnny Bulluci stood behind me, wearing a perfectly fitted tuxedo that showed off his golden hair and bronze skin. My eyes zipped up and down him. The man looked yummy enough to eat. And I was always hungry. For all sorts of things.\n\nJohnny leaned in and planted a kiss on my cheek. His lips felt warm even against my flushed skin. I closed my eyes, drinking in his spicy aroma.\n\n\"Hello yourself, handsome.\"\n\nJohnny's eyes raked over me in a slow fashion. He let out a low whistle. \"Nice dress.\"\n\nI smoothed down the slinky fabric. \"I thought you might like it.\"\n\n\"I do. A lot.\" He gave me a wolfish grin and took my hand. \"Come on, I want you to meet my grandfather.\"\n\nJohnny led me through the chattering crowd. More than a few eyebrows rose when we passed, and hushed whispers broke out in our wake. Gossiping about everyone and everything was one of the main activities in Bigtime society. Actually, in Bigtime in general. Tomorrow, we'd be the talk among the city's matrons, more than a few who'd probably like to foist their daughters off on Johnny. Too bad. The man was mine. At least for tonight. I tightened my grip on his hand. And I was planning on keeping him all to myself.\n\nJohnny strolled over to a table set against the wall, where Bella sat with their grandfather. Tonight, Bella wore a simple, peach-colored, satin sheath dress that brought out her tan skin. Pearl combs glinted in her amber-colored hair, while her usual silver angel charm hung around her throat. The two of them rose at our approach.\n\n\"Fiona.\"\n\n\"Bella.\"\n\n\"Nice dress,\" we said in unison.\n\nWe looked at each other, not sure if we were being catty or not. A slow smile spread across Bella's face. I grinned in return, and we laughed.\n\nJohnny drew me forward. \"Grandfather, this is Fiona Fine. Fiona, this is my grandfather, Roberto.\"\n\n\"I've long been a fan of your work, Miss Fine.\" Roberto Bulluci's voice was just as rich and cultured as Johnny's, except his accent was far more pronounced. He bowed low, pressed a kiss to my hand, and gave me a sly wink that would have been right at home on a much younger man. \"And please call me Bobby. All my friends do.\"\n\nI laughed. \"Well, I see where Johnny gets his charm from.\"\n\n\"Johnny has told us quite a bit about you, including your fondness for steaks. You must come have dinner with us one evening, Miss Fine,\" Bobby said. \"Perhaps Bella will let me have some red meat and wine if you do.\"\n\nBella's lips pursed as though she'd bitten into a lemon. \"Grandfather, you know the doctor said you shouldn't eat\u2014\"\n\nBobby Bulluci waved his hand. A silver ring set with diamonds sparkled on his pinkie. \"Bah! I'm seventy-two years old, Bella. If I want to eat steak and drink fine wine in my golden years, then I should be able to **\u2014** no matter what any doctor says. They're all fools anyway.\"\n\nBella put her hands on her hips. \"Not if you want to live to see seventy-three.\"\n\nBobby eyed his no-nonsense granddaughter. \"Just like your father, you are. Everything must always be by the book.\" His tone was light and teasing.\n\n\"Well, perhaps if he were here, I'd have an easier time keeping you in line and out of trouble,\" Bella said.\n\nHer words hit a little too close to home. A cold shadow fell over the three of them at the mention of James Bulluci. Johnny's hand tightened around mine.\n\n\"Let's get some champagne,\" I said, trying to lighten the darkening mood.\n\nIt worked. Just like always. A waiter came around, and we grabbed tall flutes filled with bubbling, golden liquid. I kept up a steady stream of chatter, and slowly but surely, the darkness faded away and the ice broke. Then again, it usually did when I was around.\n\nBella and I talked about our fall lines. I was going for a hip yet preppy look. Lots of bright, multicolored plaid. Lots of blazers. Lots of chunky jewelry. Bella, meanwhile, had chosen to focus on every Bigtime woman's favorite color\u2014black. How boring. I was sure her clothes would be exquisitely made and very beautiful, but the girl really needed to mix it up a bit. She needed some color in her life\u2014in more ways than one.\n\nAfter we exhausted the world of fashion, Bella drifted off to speak to one of the society types about her latest dress, leaving me alone with the men. After a couple of false starts, the boys and I found a topic we could talk about\u2014soccer.\n\n\"Soccer is the true football,\" I said. \"Americans really don't know what they're missing. Anybody can kick a ball with his foot. Bouncing it off his head is what takes _real_ talent.\"\n\nBobby's green eyes lit up. \"Ah! A woman after my own heart.\"\n\nWe chatted about various European leagues and teams and the latest scandals, and Johnny jumped in with his thoughts. After about half an hour of sports talk, Johnny took my arm again.\n\n\"I'm sorry to leave you alone, but we really need to mingle for a while, Grandfather,\" Johnny said. \"I'm sure Fiona has some friends that she'd like to say hello to tonight.\"\n\n\"Of course, of course. Just as I have some lovely ladies that I would like to speak to as well.\"\n\nBobby winked and pointed at a group of older women standing by the bar. The spry septuagenarian strode off, his walk tall and strong. He strolled right into the midst of the women, and more than a few of the elderly ladies perked up at his presence.\n\n\"Your grandfather is a real character,\" I said. \"Very charming, very lively.\"\n\nJohnny smiled. \"He's always up to something. That's why I love him.\"\n\nWe moved off into the crowd and made a circuit of the auditorium, speaking to people we knew, including Chief Newman. My father's eyes grew dark and curious when I introduced him to Johnny.\n\n\"I've heard a lot about you, Mr. Bulluci,\" my father said, shaking Johnny's hand.\n\nJohnny looked at me. \"I hope it's been good.\"\n\n\"So far. So far, my boy.\"\n\nThe two of them started talking about manly things, like cars and sports and fine cigars. Johnny turned out to be quite an expert on the last subject, giving my father tips about what cigars to buy and where to get them from.\n\n\"I didn't know you smoked,\" I said.\n\nJohnny shrugged. \"Occasionally. Not so much since I came back to Bigtime. Americans are very uptight about it, far more so than Europeans. It takes the fun out of it. Plus, Bella won't let me smoke in the house. She's a real stickler for things like that.\"\n\nAs the conversation progressed, my father kept lacing his fingers together and peering into Johnny's eyes, as though deep in thought. His own eyes seemed to be glowing ever so faintly. I frowned. Johnny moved off to speak to one of Bella's friends, and I grabbed my father's arm.\n\n\"Stop that!\" I hissed.\n\n\"Stop what?\"\n\n\"Trying to read his mind.\"\n\n\"Would I do something like that?\"\n\nMy father smiled and tried to look innocent. Please. I didn't have to be a psychic to know he was faking.\n\n\"You've always done it, ever since I started dating boys in high school. Remember the guy who took me to the prom? I thought he was going to have a heart attack when you started asking him about the hotel room he'd booked for the two of us for after the dance.\"\n\nMy father chuckled at the memory. I rolled my eyes.\n\n\"So what's the verdict?\" I asked.\n\nMy father frowned. \"I'll get back to you on that.\"\n\nJohnny returned before I could interrogate Chief Newman further about his cryptic comment. A widow dripping with jewels wiggled in between us and pulled my father onto the dance floor. Johnny and I made another lap around the room. It was close to midnight, and I was ready to move on to the next part of the evening\u2014whatever it might entail.\n\n\"Are you ready to blow this joint?\" I asked.\n\nJohnny opened his mouth to reply, when a low, sultry voice cut in.\n\n\"Mr. Bulluci. Hello. So nice to see you again.\" Erica Songe batted her long, black lashes at Johnny. They were fake, just like her lips and boobs. \"Oh, Fiona. I didn't see you there.\"\n\n\"Erica,\" I said through gritted teeth. Up close, the reporter's filmy dress was practically transparent, giving everyone a view of all her charms, including Johnny. \"That's a nice little dress you're wearing.\"\n\n\"Isn't it just fabulous?\"\n\nErica put her hands on her curvy hips and preened. The woman actually thought I was being serious and giving her a genuine compliment. Please.\n\n\"Actually, I prefer a more understated look on a woman.\" Johnny smiled and put his arm around my waist. \"It leaves more to the imagination.\"\n\n\"But sometimes the real thing's so much better than your imagination,\" she purred.\n\nI rolled my eyes. The woman had no shame and zero class. Slut.\n\nJohnny's cool green eyes flicked over her. \"Not in this case, I think.\"\n\nErica's mouth opened and closed as though she couldn't believe there was a man alive who didn't want her. Who could resist her. She pouted, sticking her lower lip out as far as it would go. If she kept that up much longer, her whole face would explode.\n\nBut I had to give Erica credit, she recovered quickly. She brushed off Johnny's comment like it was nothing more than a piece of lint sticking to her see-through dress. She gestured to her cameraman, who was still guzzling champagne, and whipped out a microphone. The guy wobbled over and pointed his video camera in our general direction.\n\n\"Well, while I have you cornered, what do you think about the benefit? I'm covering this tonight for SNN.\"\n\n\"Really? Why?\" I asked. \"Shouldn't you be out chasing down superheroes and ubervillains like Kelly Caleb?\"\n\n\"Kelly is a bit limited in what she can do, poor girl. The network wants to broaden its horizons beyond just superheroes. I'm the go-to girl for the more high-profile assignments these days,\" Erica replied in a smooth tone.\n\nIn other words, Erica had somehow wrangled the assignment away from the other reporter. I didn't like reporters much, but Kelly Caleb was good at her job. If there was any scoop to be had, she was the one who knew about it. I wondered who Erica had to sleep with to beat out the other woman. That was the only way I could imagine that she'd one-upped Kelly.\n\n\"Care to comment about the benefit, Johnny?\" Erica shoved the microphone and her chest in Johnny's face.\n\n\"Well,\" he said, keeping his eyes fixed on Erica's face. \"I think the observatory is an important asset to the community...\"\n\nWhile Johnny expounded on the virtues of the Bigtime Observatory, nature center, and sundry related programs, I wandered away and grabbed a couple of crab cake appetizers from a passing waiter. I would have taken the whole tray away from the guy, but there were too many witnesses.\n\nInstead, I polished off the batter-dipped bites, licked the crumbs off my fingers, and watched Erica interrogate Johnny. A scuffle sounded, and the kimono-clad scientist I'd spotted with the reporter earlier stopped next to me. The woman stared at the curvaceous news reporter. A disapproving frown covered her white, makeup-free face.\n\n\"Not enjoying the show?\" I asked.\n\n\"Oh, preening for the camera and throwing herself at men is what Erica does best.\" The woman sniffed. \"After a while, the spectacle gets old.\"\n\n\"You sound like you know her pretty well.\"\n\n\"Unfortunately,\" the woman replied, \"we share the same gene pool.\"\n\nI eyed her. With her headache-inducing bun and buttoned-up-to-there dress, the woman didn't look a thing like Erica _I'm-so-slutty_ Songe. \"Cousins?\"\n\n\"Sisters. Unfortunately.\"\n\n\"I'm Fiona Fine, and you are...\"\n\n\"Irene Songe.\"\n\nWe shook hands. Irene's grip felt as cold and passionless as an ice cube. It matched her pale face. We stood there drinking champagne and watching Erica do her best to let Johnny Bulluci know she was up for anything, anytime. After about five minutes, Johnny managed to extricate himself from Erica's clutches and head back to me. Erica trailed along behind him, not quite ready to admit defeat. The cameraman grabbed some more champagne. It was a wonder the guy could still stand **\u2014** or that his liver didn't burst.\n\nErica stopped short when she spotted her sister talking to me. \"Enjoying yourself, Irene?\"\n\n\"Of course,\" Irene replied.\n\nThe two women looked at each other with barely disguised hostility. Definitely no love lost there. One sister an exhibitionist, the other a repressed, wound-up scientist. I couldn't imagine why they didn't get along.\n\nErica turned to Johnny and flashed him another smile. She opened her mouth to proposition Johnny yet again, but he beat her to the punch.\n\n\"It was so nice talking to you, Erica. But if you'll excuse us, Fiona and I have somewhere we need to be. Now.\"\n\nJohnny offered me his arm, and we walked away. I looked back over my shoulder and smiled at Erica. Her face reddened, and her hands clenched into fists, as though she wanted to stab me with her microphone. Let her try. I could kick her ass blindfolded. Irene whispered something to her, and Erica turned and snapped at her sister.\n\n\"Forget about her,\" Johnny said. \"You're the only woman I have eyes for tonight.\"\n\nI smiled at him. \"Smooth. Very, very smooth.\"\n\n\"Let's get out of here,\" Johnny said, his eyes burning into mine. \"And go somewhere a bit more private.\"\n\nMy stomach quivered. \"Let's go,\" I said.\n\nHe pulled me toward the door.\n\n# Chapter Eleven\n\nWe strolled out the back of the auditorium and onto a stone balcony that overlooked the gardens and nature preserve that surrounded the observatory. Acres of flowers, grassy knolls, and low bushes stretched out before us into the dark night before melting into the black woods. A few other couples stood on the balcony, whispering, drinking, and enjoying the scenic view.\n\n\"Care to go for a walk in the moonlight?\" Johnny asked.\n\n\"I'd love to.\"\n\nWe picked our way down the stone steps and onto one of the crushed-shell paths that wound through the tame jungle. Antique streetlamps lit the way, along with the moon and stars above. A steady breeze blew from the north, pushing a few wisps of clouds across the sky and bringing with it the heady scent of roses, orchids, and more. But all I was aware of was Johnny walking next to me. His spicy cologne tickled my nose, and his body felt warm and solid next to mine.\n\nWe strolled in silence, leaving the noise and gaiety and lights of the benefit behind. Crickets chirped in the dew-covered grass. A bullfrog let out a loud bellow. Doves cooed and fluttered in the trees above. We crossed a stone bridge that arched over the manmade river. Water gurgled below our feet.\n\n\"Come on,\" Johnny said. \"Let's take a detour.\"\n\nHe took my hand and led me down a path that curved back under the bridge. After going under the bridge, the river tumbled down a hill, forming a small, fifteen-foot-high waterfall. The water pooled into a shallow lake a little less than two miles across before rushing on down the hillside. Fiberglass picnic tables and stone benches dotted the lake's edge. Brilliant moonlight bounced off the water's surface, making it shimmer like liquid silver. Cattails and other vegetation surrounded the water's edge, and a few water lilies floated in the pool, bouncing up and down on the rippling waves.\n\n\"It's beautiful,\" I whispered.\n\n\"Want to go for a swim?\"\n\n\"Now? In the middle of the night?\"\n\nI loved to swim, loved to lose myself in cool, soothing water and rhythmic strokes. But coming up to the lake for some late-night swimming, skinny-dipping, and a little necking was a popular pastime for local teens and college students. When Johnny had said he wanted to go somewhere more private, I'd been thinking about my apartment, specifically my bed.\n\nJohnny grinned, his teeth flashing in the darkness. \"Why not? There's nobody around but the two of us. I won't tell if you won't tell.\"\n\nHe slipped off his jacket and shoes and put them on a nearby bench. His shirt and pants soon followed. All I could do was stare at the man before me. I'd thought there was a body to die for under those clothes, but I had no idea how deadly it was. Sculpted biceps. Rippling abs. Solid muscles. My eyes dipped lower. Everywhere. Yummy. Johnny Bulluci was one fine-looking man. I closed my hands to keep unwanted sparks from shooting out of my fingertips.\n\nI ogled him a minute longer, then laughed. \"Cherubs?\"\n\nJohnny put his hands on his hips, proud of his boxers. Fat, happy-looking cherubs frolicking on puffy clouds decorated the slick, silk fabric. \"Just because I'm no angel doesn't mean I can't wear them. Now, are you coming or not?\"\n\nI hesitated, twisting the ring around my finger. The time for being wishy-washy was long gone. I stopped and let out a long, hot breath. \"I'm coming.\"\n\nI stripped off my dress and high heels, folding the fabric into a neat pile. It would have a million wrinkles in it, but I could always make another one just like it. In a moment, I was standing there in a lacy green bra and matching panties. I always wore the good underwear when there was a chance of someone else taking it off.\n\nJohnny's eyes traced over my body. \"You know, I think Erica was right. The real thing is so much better than my imagination.\"\n\nI smiled and lifted my chin up. \"Of course it is, when I'm involved.\"\n\nWe strolled down to the water's edge and plunged into the frothy spray. We treaded water a few minutes, letting our bodies adjust to the cool temperature. Even though it was the middle of May, the water hovered around seventy degrees, a bit chilly for most people. Not Johnny, though. He swam and dove like a duck. If anything, the water invigorated him. Or perhaps it was just the sight of me in my wet skivvies. Yeah, that's what I was going with.\n\n\"Is the water too cold for you?\" Johnny asked.\n\n\"No.\" I was never cold. But the hunger in Johnny's eyes made me shiver.\n\nWe swam back and forth in the pool, shrieking and splashing water and pulling each other under like a couple of teenagers. After about half an hour, we headed for shore. We flopped onto the grass and stared at the smattering of stars high above.\n\n\"It's so peaceful here,\" I murmured. \"So beautiful.\"\n\n\"Not as beautiful as you,\" Johnny whispered in a husky voice.\n\nI stared into his eyes. This was it. Decision time. The old guilt flared to life inside me. But Travis was gone, and Johnny was here. Now. With me.\n\nSo, I kissed him. His tongue met mine, and I was lost.\n\nMy bra and panties disappeared before I knew what had happened. So did Johnny's boxers. Everything else faded away until there was nothing but the soft grass below us, the stars above, and Johnny's hands on me.\n\nWe lay there for a long time. Kissing. Stroking. Caressing.\n\nJohnny pulled back. He pushed a wisp of hair off my face and stared into my eyes. His own glistened like jewels in the moonlight.\n\n\"I want to do something for you, Fiona,\" Johnny said. \"Do you trust me?\"\n\nI went quiet and still. I wasn't good at trusting people. I'd gone through too many battles with too many ubervillains to give my trust lightly to anyone. But there was something about Johnny that made me want to trust him. Made me want to lower my defenses. Made me want to believe in him. \"Yes, I do.\"\n\n\"Then roll over onto your stomach.\"\n\nI did, and to my surprise, he started to massage me. There was nothing overtly sexual about it. Just Johnny's firm hands kneading my body with the detachment of a large Swedish woman. He started at my feet, moving up my calves to my thighs. His fingers worked on my ass, molding, sculpting, before going up to my lower back and shoulders. He even worked on my head, loosening my hair from its wet bun and massaging my scalp.\n\nHeaven. Sheer heaven.\n\n\"Now, the other side,\" Johnny whispered.\n\nI turned over onto my back, eager for more. Much, much more. Johnny repeated the process, this time starting with my neck and working his way down. His fingers pressed gently into me, soothing away my doubts and fears. His sure hands moved to my breasts, massaging each one in turn. My nipples hardened under his touch, but Johnny ignored them and went on with the massage, focusing on my stomach, before sliding lower.\n\nI trembled when he reached my pelvic area. I thought he might slip his fingers inside me, but Johnny moved on as though he wasn't the least bit interested in that part of my anatomy. He worked on my thighs, then calves, then feet. Slowly, the fireball of guilt and tension in my stomach faded away, replaced by a different, though no less dangerous, sort of liquid heat.\n\n\"That was wonderful,\" I sighed when he finished. \"Absolutely wonderful.\"\n\nJohnny grinned. A devilish light sparked in his eyes. \"Baby, if you thought that was wonderful, how about this?\"\n\nHe eased my thighs apart and lowered his mouth to me. I gasped at the sudden, unexpected sensation.\n\n\"Do you like that, baby?\" he asked.\n\nI buried my fingers in his hair and whimpered.\n\n\"I'll take that as a yes.\"\n\nJohnny delved into me like I was a delectable dessert just waiting to be sampled, and he was a sugar addict. His tongue. His fingers. Stroking. Caressing. Driving me crazy.\n\nSweet, painful pressure built up in my body, and I thought my hair would catch fire from the sensation. But I'd learned long ago to dampen down the physical manifestation of my power during sex. To let all that fire melt into liquid desire coursing through my veins.\n\n\"Johnny...I...can't...wait...much...longer,\" I panted, fingers clenching the grass.\n\n\"You don't have to, baby,\" he murmured. \"I'm ready for you.\"\n\nWe kissed, then I rolled Johnny onto his back. I reached for my purse and pulled out one of the condoms. Johnny tried to take it from me, but I pushed him back against the ground.\n\n\"Let me,\" I whispered, tearing the packet open with my teeth.\n\nI trailed my fingers up and down his long length before slipping the condom over him. Johnny's eyes widened at the sensation, and he hissed.\n\nThen, I got on my knees and straddled him, taking his stiff shaft deep inside my fiery body. Johnny was so much more than just ready for me. _Hard_ didn't do the man justice. Even _steely_ couldn't quite describe it.\n\n\"Oh, baby, you're so tight,\" Johnny murmured. \"So tight and hot and wet.\"\n\nI rocked back and forth, thrusting against him. Johnny's hands stroked my breasts as I rode him, squeezing my nipples until they ached and throbbed along with the rest of me. It only made me want him that much more. All that sweet liquid fire bubbled up in my veins like a volcano about to erupt. A moment later, it did. An orgasm tore through my body, and I cried out. So did he, and we rode up into the stars together.\n\nSometime later, I slumped over Johnny with him still inside me.\n\n\"That was fantastic,\" I said, nuzzling his neck. Sweat covered my body, and my heartbeat slowly returned to normal. Smoke puffed away from the ends of my fingers, but you could barely see it in the darkness.\n\n\"That was fantastic, but we're not done yet,\" Johnny said.\n\nHe eased me off him and got rid of the condom. Then, he pulled me to my feet and led me down into the lake. The water washed away the slick sweat and cooled my feverish body, as much as it could. Johnny kissed the back of my neck while his hands slid around and covered my breasts, rubbing my nipples until they were hard and aching once more.\n\n\"Come on,\" he whispered, withdrawing his hands.\n\nI followed him. Johnny walked up the bank and tugged me over to one of the picnic tables that flanked the lake.\n\n\"This looks about right,\" he said.\n\n\"Yes, it does.\"\n\nJohnny reached for me, but I eluded his grasp, grabbing another condom from my purse. Then, I went down on my knees and took his shaft in my mouth. Johnny gasped in surprise. He staggered, and his back went against the table.\n\n\"You're not the only one who likes to be shocking,\" I said.\n\nI ran my tongue up and down his penis while my fingers stroked him. Johnny twitched and trembled with every flick of my hot tongue. Now, I was the one in control. Just the way I liked it.\n\nNot for long, though. Johnny reached down and plucked the condom from me, unrolling it in record time. Then, he picked me up and placed me on top of the picnic table. My legs locked around his waist. Johnny leaned over me, bracing his hands on the cool fiberglass. He stared into my eyes for a heartbeat. Then, he thrust into me. His hungry mouth covered mine, hushing my cries and moans of pleasure.\n\nJohnny plunged into me over and over again. My hands were everywhere. His hair. Neck. Chest. Abs. Our tongues dueled back and forth even as we pushed together. I couldn't get enough of him. I urged him on, wanting him to go deeper and deeper.\n\nSo, he did.\n\nAnd I loved it.\n\nEvery fantastic, pleasurable, white-hot second.\n\n# Chapter Twelve\n\nAfterward, we lay there on the cool grass for a long time, looking at the stars and lying in each other's arms.\n\n\"This is perfect, absolutely perfect,\" I said.\n\n\"Yes, yes it is,\" Johnny replied in a soft tone.\n\n\"So where do we go from here?\"\n\nJohnny propped his elbow up and stared into my eyes. \"I want to keep seeing you, Fiona, if that's what you're asking. I might be a rich, spoiled playboy, but I have been known to engage in actual relationships, every now and then. Especially with such an incredible woman like you.\"\n\nIt was exactly what I was asking\u2014and exactly the response I wanted.\n\n\"Good. I might be a bitchy fashion designer, but I've also been known to indulge in relationships\u2014with certain equally fabulous people.\"\n\n\"And do I fit that bill?\" Johnny asked.\n\n\"Absolutely. I want to keep seeing you too.\" I trailed my fingers down his abdomen. \"All of you.\"\n\nJohnny grinned and reached for me again.\n\n* * *\n\nEventually, we put on our clothes and headed back to the observatory. It was closer to morning than midnight now, and the birds and bugs and bullfrogs had quieted down to sleep. Only a few drunken stragglers remained at the benefit, sitting at tables and guzzling down what was left of the champagne, along with the science types who had organized the event. But they were too busy counting money and tallying up checks and contributions to notice Johnny and me and our disheveled appearance.\n\nJohnny walked me outside, and a sleepy-looking valet retrieved my convertible. I threw my purse in the car and turned to face Johnny.\n\n\"Dinner tomorrow night?\" he asked, cupping my cheek in his hand.\n\nI hesitated. I liked Johnny, I really did, but the sex hadn't been as casual as I thought it would be. Quite the opposite. I'd been looking for a rebound guy, not somebody long-term. But this felt like the beginning of something big, something serious. Despite our earlier promises to keep seeing each other, I didn't know exactly how I felt about the sexy businessman. Other than hot and bothered.\n\n\"Come on. You promised grandfather you'd come. You wouldn't want him to miss out on his steak and wine, would you? He was really looking forward to it,\" Johnny wheedled.\n\nI laughed. \"Far be it from me to let your grandfather down. Dinner tomorrow night. Or rather, tonight. Eight o'clock?\"\n\n\"It's a date.\" Johnny flashed me another sexy grin, leaned in, and kissed me.\n\nIt was another fifteen minutes before I was able to get in my car and drive away.\n\n* * *\n\nI entered my apartment at six in the morning. I tossed my purse on a table and sank onto the scarlet-upholstered sofa. A smile spread across my face. Tonight had been fabulous. Completely, wonderfully, absolutely, perfectly fabulous. I stretched my arms over my head. The dry spell was over. I was totally satisfied. Johnny Bulluci should have been a sculptor instead of a businessman. The things that man could do with his hands. And tongue. And lips...\n\nMy thoughts strayed for a little while, replaying the evening over and over again in my mind. But my stomach rumbled, and I realized that I was starving. Sex really was great for burning calories, not that I had any problem in that department anyway. And it was definitely a lot more fun than exercise.\n\nI was halfway through a gallon of strawberry cheesecake ice cream when the phone rang. I frowned. Who could be calling me at this hour? Johnny? My heart quickened.\n\n\"Fiona Fine.\"\n\n\"Well, it's about time you got home,\" Carmen said. \"I left you a message hours ago.\"\n\nI looked at the answering machine. Sure enough, the red light blinked on and off. I'd been so busy thinking about Johnny that I hadn't even noticed it. \"Sorry. I was out.\"\n\n\"Don't worry. I didn't want anything important. But tell me, how was your date?\"\n\n\"What date?\" I mumbled through a mouthful of melted ice cream.\n\n\"The hot date that ended in you having fantastic sex.\"\n\nThe spoon slipped from my fingers. \"How do you know that?\"\n\n\"I can hear it in your voice. You're practically purring, Fiona. And the chief called and said you disappeared with some hot new guy you've been seeing. That the two of you were looking at each other a certain way. I just put two and two together.\"\n\nI cursed and picked up my spoon. Carmen's inherent nosiness could be so annoying sometimes, especially when coupled with her new empathic powers. Didn't I have any secrets from anybody anymore?\n\n\"I'm happy for you, Fiona. That you found somebody you like. I really am. It's time you got back out there again. Now, if only I could get Lulu to\u2014\" Carmen cut off her sentence.\n\n\"Get Lulu to what?\"\n\n\"Nothing. Never mind.\"\n\n\"What's going on with Henry and Lulu?\" I asked. \"It looked like they were fighting at the benefit.\"\n\nCarmen was silent. \"You'll have to ask Lulu about that.\"\n\n\"I did. She told me to buzz off. She almost ran over my feet with her wheelchair.\" I scraped the bottom of the ice cream carton.\n\n\"Well, I wouldn't worry about it. The two of them will work things out. Eventually.\"\n\nThe last luscious bite of ice cream melted in my mouth. Gone already. Damn. I should have gotten the grocery service to deliver more than just one gallon. \"Well, if they do break up, can I finally set Lulu's hair on fire?\"\n\n\"Fiona! That's not very nice.\"\n\n\"What?\" I asked. \"She's always telling me how _hot_ I am. I'd like to show her how right she is. Just once.\"\n\n\"Henry and Lulu are not going to break up. They're just having a little problem right now.\"\n\n\"But you're not going to tell me what it is.\"\n\n\"No. It's not my place to say anything.\" Carmen switched gears. \"Now, back to you and the hot guy. How was it? I want all the juicy details.\"\n\nI sat back against the cushy sofa. Carmen was the closest thing to a girlfriend that I had, and I couldn't exactly talk to my father about this. Plus, I felt like bragging. Just a little bit. All right. A lot. Who wanted to be modest when Johnny Bulluci was in the picture?\n\n\"Wonderful. Absolutely wonderful. The man knows how to use his hands very well, if you know what I mean. As well as other parts of his anatomy.\"\n\n\"So, who is the mystery guy?\"\n\n\"Johnny Bulluci. Bella Bulluci's brother.\"\n\n\"I didn't know Bella had a brother.\"\n\n\"Well, she does. I met him at the wedding. He was the guy who thought he could take out Siren and Intelligal by himself.\"\n\n\"You met him at the wedding? Really?\"\n\nI rolled my eyes at the note of triumph in Carmen's voice. \"Yes, really.\"\n\n\"Tell me about him,\" she said.\n\nSo I did. I told Carmen how funny and charming and wickedly sweet Johnny was. How he made me laugh. And how he had reduced me to a puddle of oozing mush.\n\n\"He sounds terrific,\" Carmen said.\n\n\"He is,\" I admitted. \"I just don't know what to do about it.\"\n\n\"What do you mean?\"\n\n\"Well,\" I said. \"At first, I was just going to have a fling with him to get my feet wet again, so to speak. But I really like him. A lot more than I thought I would. That's complicated enough by itself. Then, there's the whole secret-identity thing. I've never figured out how you tell a guy, O _h, by the way, I moonlight as one of the most famous superheroes in the world. I can create fireballs with my hands and bench-press a couple thousand pounds._ It's not exactly pillow talk. Most guys are intimidated by things like that, especially the superhuman strength part.\"\n\n\"You're not thinking about telling him that you're Fiera, are you? You've only known the guy a few days!\"\n\nI wanted to point out that Carmen hadn't even known Sam's real identity before she'd slept with him, but I was too relaxed and mellow to quibble over that fact. Right now, anyway.\n\n\"Of course I'm not going to tell him that I'm Fiera. How stupid do you think I am? I've been a superhero a long time now. It's not something you just blurt out to people.\"\n\nIt'd be a long, long, _long_ time before I told Johnny what I did in my spare time. If ever. I'd had more than one guy dump me as a result of my nighttime escapades. Guys had one of two reactions when they learned about my secret identity\u2014they freaked out and broke up with me, or they got totally kinky and wanted me to dress up in the Fiera costume for them. It was rather embarrassing when you had to get your father to mind-wipe your boyfriend because he couldn't handle the fact that you could break his arm like a peppermint stick or barbecue him with a thought. Or when he wanted you to play dress-up in the bedroom all the time.\n\n\"Well, whenever you tell him, if Johnny can't understand your other job, he's not worth having. Just take it one day at a time. That's what Sam and I did in the beginning.\" Carmen hesitated. \"But you need to be careful, Fiona.\"\n\n\"Why's that?\" I got off the couch and opened the refrigerator door, still hungry.\n\n\"The chief told me about your run-in with Siren and Intelligal the other night. Those two are up to something, I'm sure of it. Something big. Something dangerous.\"\n\n\"Is that what the voices in your head are telling you?\" I snickered.\n\n\"Yes,\" Carmen snapped. She tended to get a little touchy about her powers sometimes, just like newbie heroes always did. \"That's what the voices in my head are telling me.\"\n\n\"All right, Mom, I'll be careful.\" I pulled a frozen pizza out of the refrigerator, tore off the wrapper, and put it on a baking sheet.\n\n\"Good.\"\n\nI wiggled my fingers, spreading flames over the ham, pineapple, and cheese concoction. \"So how's the honeymoon going? Where's Sam at?\"\n\n\"Right here beside me.\"\n\nMy eyes narrowed. \"Are you guys still in bed? Isn't it like noon over there by now?\"\n\n\"Eleven o'clock actually,\" Carmen said in a cheery voice. \"You didn't think you were the only one who got lucky last night, did you?\"\n\n* * *\n\nAfter eating my pizza, a bag of chips, three cinnamon buns, and washing it all down with a six-pack of soda, I went to bed. Due to my late night out, I didn't get to work until almost noon. Good thing I owned the place, or I would have been so fired. I strolled into Piper's dust-free office, and she gave me a sly smile.\n\n\"Someone must have had a good time last night,\" Piper said, her eyes sparkling. \"A _very_ good time.\"\n\n\"Why do you say that?\"\n\nShe jerked her head at my office. I opened the door to find more flowers and chocolates crammed into the room than I'd seen in my entire life. There were three times as many as before, and they covered every single surface, even the floor. It looked like the Petal Pusher had set up her evil, flower-filled lair inside. I picked up one of the boxes scrunched next to a towering bouquet of white roses. Chocolate truffles filled with raspberry. Johnny Bulluci definitely had good taste.\n\nPiper leaned in the doorway. \"Like I said, you must have had a _really_ good time last night.\"\n\nI just grinned.\n\nI spent the rest of the day working. At least I tried to. It took almost an hour to clear out some of the flowers so I could actually get to my desk. More often than not, I ended up mentally replaying last night with Johnny. I'd catch myself staring at the flowers and chocolates and smiling. Well, at the flowers anyway. The chocolates didn't last past twelve-thirty.\n\nEventually, I buckled down and got busy. I okayed Piper's final pricing suggestions on the fall line and contacted the necessary fabric suppliers. I called a few of Bigtime's rich society types to let them know their orders would be available for pickup next week and signed a variety of forms and initialed them in triplicate. I even answered all my outstanding Fiera e-mails.\n\nPiper came in my office around three, bearing bags full of burgers, soups, salads, and desserts from Quicke's.\n\n\"You're a lifesaver,\" I said, unwrapping a double cheeseburger as fast as I could without burning off the cellophane. I bit into the warm, cheese-covered bun. Mayonnaise, chargrilled meat, tomatoes, onions, and more exploded onto my tastebuds. Ah, heaven.\n\n\"I know. You should give me a raise. A big one.\" Piper snitched a French fry from one of the bags.\n\nI nodded, too caught up in my burger to protest or smack her hand away from the fries. I didn't like people messing with my food, especially eating what was mine. That was how nasty, fire-filled accidents happened.\n\n\"And don't forget. Joanne James is coming in at four to talk about her next wedding dress.\"\n\nI groaned. \"Is that today?\"\n\nPiper nodded. \"Yep. You told me to set it up, remember?\"\n\nI groaned again and stared at the white paper bags. \"So that's why you brought me all this food. You were softening me up. Trying to bribe me with burgers so I wouldn't weasel out of the appointment.\"\n\n\"Guilty as charged,\" Piper said, breezing out. \"But it worked, didn't it?\"\n\nI just took another bite of my burger.\n\n* * *\n\nJoanne James arrived at exactly four. She glided through the front door like she was the queen of Bigtime, even though she wouldn't officially get that title until she married Berkley. She wore a sleek, lavender Bulluci suit and matching heels that set off her blacker-than-black hair. Amethysts bigger than small potatoes ringed her thin throat. They looked like something out of a Cracker Jack box. Except I knew the gems were real. The necklace had to weigh a ton. I didn't see how Joanne held her neck up with that thing strung on it, much less walked around. When you factored in her golf-ball-size engagement ring, the jewelry she wore probably weighed more than her scrawny body. Like most women on the society circuit, Joanne was painfully thin.\n\n\"Fiona, darling!\" she cried out, removing a pair of oversized black sunglasses studded with diamonds.\n\n\"Joanne, darling!\"\n\nWe air-kissed and told each other how fabulous we both looked. Once the fake pleasantries were out of the way, I led Joanne to one of the many spacious consultation rooms that branched off the storefront. The area featured plush chairs, a low settee, flowers, and sample books of all the garments I'd designed, along with trays of fabric swatches. A round, raised dais and three-sided mirror stood in the middle of the area. It was everything I needed to outfit the fabulously wealthy\u2014and unbelievably picky.\n\nA knock sounded on the door, and one of the clerks came by with a tray of vanilla-cr\u00e8me-filled gourmet chocolates and champagne. Joanne nibbled on one of the sweet confections, while I gulped down two glasses of the bubbly.\n\n\"Leave the bottle, and keep the booze coming,\" I muttered to the clerk. \"Slip me something stronger, if you've got it.\"\n\nShe nodded with sympathy. She'd had a few run-ins with Joanne. The clerk left, and Joanne settled herself on the settee, sitting up smartly as to not wrinkle her five-thousand-dollar suit.\n\n\"First of all, let's talk price,\" I said.\n\nIt was always better to lock down the money up front. That way, I wouldn't spend my time and energy coming up with something fabulous only to have some penny-pinching rich bitch try to stiff me on the bill. Joanne was particularly notorious for doing that. Sometimes, I thought she should have gone into business instead of trolling for husbands. She was a tough negotiator.\n\nJoanne waved her hand. The sparkles from her ring made my eyes hurt. \"Money is no problem. Charge whatever you want for the dress. Berkley is footing the bill for everything. It's his wedding gift to me. I told him that I wanted the wedding of my dreams, and he is more than happy to give it to me. He's very sweet that way.\"\n\n_Sweet_ wasn't the word I would use. _Complete, utter, blind fool_ would be more appropriate. But if Berkley Brighton wanted to blow his whiskey millions on the wedding and throw some of that money my way, who was I to argue? Still, I couldn't stop myself from asking the painfully obvious question.\n\n\"Haven't you already had the wedding of your dreams? You have been married five times now.\"\n\n\"Of course. The first one left a lot to be desired, but the last four were absolutely wonderful. But there's always room for improvement, Fiona.\" Joanne polished off her chocolate. \"Now, on to the color. I was thinking of something in a rich red. Burgundy maybe, or perhaps scarlet.\"\n\n\"Scarlet?\" I said. \"Are you sure? What about white? Or maybe a nice ivory or pale pink?\"\n\n\"I look like a ghost in white and utterly washed out in ivory. Pale pink? Disgusting. Besides, it's not like I'm some quaking virgin who's never been with a man. I've been around the block, several times, and we all know it.\"\n\nDespite her other faults, Joanne didn't mince words or pull punches, not even at herself. I admired that small part of her personality.\n\n\"All right, red it is,\" I said, pulling out a thick book.\n\nFor the next half hour, Joanne looked at fabric swatches. She settled on a crushed velvet in a deep, wine-red color that contrasted nicely with her blacker-than-black hair and pale skin. Next, it was on to the dress itself. I showed her some preliminary sketches I'd done for various lines.\n\n\"No, no, no, no.\" She flipped through the pages. \"Too poofy. Too saccharine. Too much tulle. Too many sequins. Wait a minute. This. Now this, I like.\"\n\nJoanne pointed to a sketch, and I snorted. I should have known she'd pick that one. The dress featured a long, flowing, almost transparent silk skirt and a lace-up, leather bustier. The dress was a little too slutty for your traditional brides, looking more hooker than virgin. I'd actually been thinking of adding it to my lingerie line for next year.\n\n\"Are you sure?\" I asked. \"I was going to use that garment for a more intimate line of apparel.\"\n\n\"Absolutely. That will look marvelous on me.\" Joanne's voice rang with certainty.\n\nLingerie for a wedding dress? Well, it'd certainly look good in red.\n\nJoanne stripped down to her undies so I could take her measurements. I couldn't really tell how old Joanne was, giving her ageless-looking face and rumored propensity for plastic surgery. But she still had a fabulous body, trim and toned, if a bit on the bony side. Tiny amethysts sparkled on her lilac-colored underwear, matching the jewels around her neck. Talk about flaunting your wealth.\n\nOnce that was done, I draped a piece of white muslin over her and started shaping it into the dress she'd picked out so she could see how it would fit and look.\n\n\"The wedding's in two months. When will you have the dress done?\" Joanne asked.\n\n\"We'll do the final fitting in a couple of weeks.\"\n\n\"Good.\" Joanne's eyes met mine in the mirror. \"I want this dress to be especially fabulous, Fiona. The best thing you've ever done for me. This is going to be my last wedding, and I want to look my very best.\"\n\nI stifled a giggle. \"Your last wedding? Are you sure about that, Joanne?\"\n\nA dreamy, faraway look crept over Joanne's unnaturally smooth face. \"Oh yes. Berkley is everything I've ever wanted in a man. Kind, caring, sweet, richer than a sultan, fantastic in bed. He's a very generous lover, the best I've ever had.\"\n\nI almost swallowed a pin. The woman looked as besotted as a teenager with a movie star. Joanne James truly in love? A scary, scary thought.\n\n\"He always makes sure that I'm satisfied, and he does the most marvelous thing with his...\"\n\nSomehow, I managed to focus on the dress and block out most of the details of Joanne's sex life with Berkley. Those were mental images I definitely did not need.\n\n\"...then again, you'd know how important the bedroom is in a relationship, wouldn't you, Fiona?\"\n\n\"What? What did you say?\" I mumbled through a mouthful of pins.\n\n\"I'm talking about you and Johnny Bulluci.\" Joanne gave me a sly look in the mirror. \"The two of you looked quite cozy at the observatory benefit last night. Until you disappeared, that is. Tell me, are the waterfall and lake still as beautiful as I remember?\"\n\n\"I wouldn't know,\" I replied in an even tone, resisting the urge to stick a sharp pin in Joanne's bony ass.\n\nI'd known we'd be the talk of town after slipping out of the benefit, but Joanne's catty tone still irked me. What I did with Johnny was nobody's business but mine. Especially since I wasn't quite sure what I was doing with Johnny yet. Other than having amazing sex.\n\n\"Now, now, Fiona. We're all friends here. Like father, like son.\"\n\nI shook my head. \"I really have no idea what you're talking about.\"\n\n\"I'm talking about the fact that James Bulluci and I used to meet at the observatory, go down to the waterfall, and become otherwise engaged for several hours. I hadn't realized Johnny had taken up his father's bad habits until I saw you two slip away from the party last night.\"\n\n\"You knew Johnny's father?\"\n\n\"Oh yes. James Bulluci and I were quite the item at one time, although he was several years older than me.\" Joanne preened. \"I was in high school, and he was finishing up his second business degree at Bigtime U when we started dating. He was such a sweet boy. He even gave me his college football ring. I wore it until when we broke up shortly before he graduated. I hated to give it back, though.\"\n\n\"Why? Was it covered with diamonds?\" I couldn't resist the dig.\n\n\"Oh no. It was made out of silver and onyx, if you can believe that. Completely worthless. But it had the most beautiful design of wings on it.\"\n\nI frowned. Wings? On a college class ring? I flashed back to Johnny's cherub boxers and his silver watch, and Bella's necklace. The Bullucis seemed to have a strange fascination with winged, angel-like spirits. One that bordered on obsession. Who knew? Maybe they were the ones who supplied Angel with all his embossed gear.\n\nA vague unease filled me at that odd idea. I couldn't quite put my finger on why connecting Angel to the Bullucis upset me. But it did. For a moment, I felt like Carmen listening to the voices in her head. That couldn't be good.\n\n\"James was very, very good with his hands, from what I remember. We spent many hours down by that waterfall skinny-dipping and doing other things...\"\n\nJoanne chattered on about James Bulluci and his magnificent hands, chasing my stray thought away. I finished pinning up the dress, and Joanne twirled around and looked at the rough copy.\n\n\"You've outdone yourself again, Fiona. This will be perfect, absolutely perfect.\"\n\nIt'd come with a perfect price tag too. I'd make sure of that. Joanne slipped out of the dress and back into her suit. She fluffed out her hair and put on a fresh coat of lavender lipstick.\n\nJoanne eyed me in the mirror. \"Come on, Fiona. Everybody saw you with Johnny at the benefit. Give me something, some little detail to share with the girls at the spa.\"\n\nI stared at Joanne. Then, I smiled. \"Like father, like son.\"\n\n# Chapter Thirteen\n\nI finished up with Joanne James and sped home. I was due at the Bulluci manor at eight, leaving me less than two hours to get my fabulous self ready. Of course, I always looked fabulous, but I really wanted to knock Johnny's socks off. Along with the rest of his clothes.\n\nI took a shower and dried my hair in a nanosecond. Then, I paced back and forth through my closet, trying to find the perfect dress to wear, while I scarfed down a couple bags of key-lime cookies. The gown couldn't be too casual\u2014or too revealing. I wouldn't want to give Bobby Bulluci a heart attack by shoving my cleavage at him \u00e1 la Erica Songe. Although from the way the old man had worked the crowd at the benefit the other night, maybe I was the one who should watch out. Charm seemed to run in the family, except for Bella, who was far too serious and uptight for her own good.\n\nI decided on a short, sleeveless, silver lam\u00e9 number with lots of cowgirl-like fringe in strategic places. The requisite stilettos and bag polished off the look, along with large diamond studs and a matching tennis bracelet. Joanne James wasn't the only one who could sparkle like an electrified disco ball when she wanted to.\n\nBy the time I was dressed, it was creeping up on seven-thirty. I put the gas pedal to the floor and roared across town in my convertible to the Bulluci manor in record time, traveling fifteen miles through heavy traffic in about ten minutes. Swifte couldn't have done much better himself.\n\nTires squealing, I took an exit off the interstate and threaded my way through more traffic before pulling onto Lucky Way. Old, twisted cypress trees and Spanish moss hung over Lucky Way, bathing it in long, soft shadows. Lawns as smooth as carpet led up from the street to some of the priciest homes in Bigtime. We were talking castles here, turrets, moats, and all. Joanne James had a mansion in the area. So did Berkley Brighton, Nate Norris, Wesley Weston, and all the other power players.\n\nI double-checked the address Johnny had given me and turned into a driveway that curled up a steep hill. The wrought-iron gates swung open at my approach. The black pavement curved into a circle that went by the front of the house before looping back around on itself and flowing down the hill. I pulled up to the front steps, got out of the car, and paused to stare at the massive building. I'd been to the mansion a couple of times before during some of Bella's fashion shows, but it still wowed me. It wasn't as large as Sublime, but the house had an old-world feel to it that I admired. The red-tile roof, wide stone arches, and numerous balconies and patios reminded me of a villa on the coast of Italy or Greece. Perhaps Bobby Bulluci had built it to remind himself of his homeland. Either way, the manor had a bright, cheery feel. In the light of day, it would be even more impressive.\n\nA tuxedo-clad butler greeted me at the front door, crooked his finger, and beckoned me to follow him. We moved deeper into the house, and my eyes roamed over the rich furnishings. In a way, it was exactly like Sublime. Tapestries covered the walls, and statues and other pricey knickknacks clustered in curio cabinets.\n\nBut as I looked around, I noticed there was a definite, odd pattern to the finery. Almost every single item had some sort of angel-like figure on it. Fat cherubs smiled from frescoes on the walls. Wings adorned the backs of tall chairs. Miniature halos dangled from a pair of crystal wind chimes. Even the light fixtures looked like marshmallow clouds drifting by. I'd have to ask Johnny about his family's strange obsession.\n\nWe reached a massive wooden door. The butler knocked once before pulling it open. My gaze went to the knob, which was shaped like angel's head, halo and all. It was kind of creepy.\n\n\"Miss Fiona Fine.\" The butler bowed and left the room.\n\nI strode inside. Johnny, Bella, and Bobby sat on a long sofa staring at an enormous plasma-screen television. Soccer players shouted and screamed and slammed into each other on the flickering monitor.\n\n\"Johnny. Bella. Bobby.\"\n\nThey echoed my greeting, but Johnny and Bobby's eyes remained glued to the television. I snorted. Men. Bella rose and walked over to me. She wore a shimmering dress of the palest pink imaginable. Despite Joanne James's hatred of it, the color looked wonderful on Bella, and the embroidery on the bodice was exquisite and dainty. I peered closer at the pattern. Tiny angels ran along the high-fitting neckline, and the usual silver angel charm ringed Bella's throat. What was it with these people and angels?\n\n\"Sorry about them,\" Bella said, rolling her eyes at her male relatives. \"I told them that you'd be here at eight sharp, but they just had to check out the highlights from today's games. Didn't you, Johnny?\" Bella leaned over the couch and mussed her brother's tawny locks.\n\nJohnny swatted her hand away. \"Fiona likes soccer too. She completely understands. Don't you, Fiona?\"\n\nHe looked and sounded like such a little boy that I had to laugh. \"Believe me, I understand. My friend Sam never leaves the house without seeing what the latest football and hockey scores are.\"\n\nAfter several more loud, jovial, clich\u00e9d comments, the sportscaster bid his captivated audience good night, and Johnny clicked off the television. \"Now it's over.\"\n\nBobby came around the couch and bowed to me. \"And now we can properly entertain our lovely, lovely guest.\" The old man pressed a dry kiss to my hand.\n\n\"All right, that's enough of that,\" Johnny growled in a playful tone. He took my hand away from his grandfather.\n\n\"Afraid the old man might be too smooth for you, eh, Johnny boy?\" Bobby elbowed his grandson in the ribs and shot me a playful look.\n\n\"Of course not,\" Johnny replied in an even tone. \"I not only have my father's charm, I have my mother's good looks as well. No woman can resist the combination.\"\n\nBella crossed her arms over her chest. \"I don't think Fiona will be as easily swayed as that.\"\n\n\"Oh, I don't know. I think I've made considerable progress so far. We had a wonderful time at the observatory benefit, didn't we, Fiona?\" Johnny grinned.\n\nThe feel of Johnny's hands, his lips, his tongue on me, in me flashed through my head. For the first time in a very long time, I blushed. \"Yes, we did,\" I murmured, catching his dancing eyes. \"Yes, we did.\"\n\nBella looked back and forth between me and her brother, frowning. She really needed to lighten up. Bobby clapped his hands together.\n\n\"Come! Let's eat! I want my steak and wine and chocolate.\" Bobby beamed at me. \"And not necessarily in that order.\"\n\n\"Grandfather...\" Bella warned.\n\nBobby pulled himself up to his full height. \"We have a guest tonight, Bella. I will not insult her by eating that tasteless gruel the doctor calls food in front of her. The chef has prepared an excellent meal, and we will all dine well tonight.\"\n\nBella sighed, giving in to the old man. I didn't envy her. Bobby Bulluci was quite a handful, even if he was on the downhill side of seventy. I put my hand on Johnny's arm, and he escorted me to the dining room. It was a long, narrow room with a long, narrow table that looked like it could seat five hundred people and then some. More tapestries lined the walls, including one that featured more fat, happy cherubs shining their gleaming halos on puffy clouds.\n\nThe more I stared at the cherubs, the more I wondered why the Bullucis had so many of them. So, I asked.\n\n\"You guys seem to have a thing for angels. Everywhere I turn, there they are. Is your family crest a halo or something?\"\n\nBella's mouth dropped open. Bobby's step faltered. Johnny's arm tensed under my fingertips.\n\n\"I'm sorry, did I say something wrong?\"\n\nMy eyes flicked back and forth between the three of them. What was _that_ about? You'd think I'd just uncovered a skeleton in the hall closet or their secret identities as superheroes or something.\n\nSecret identities as superheroes... I frowned. I'd seen a lot of angels lately, mostly adorning the clothes and sundry gear of Johnny Angel. Could the Bullucis be connected to him? If so, how? Bobby and Bella certainly weren't the motorcycle rider. And it wasn't like Johnny could actually be Angel...could he?\n\nNo, I decided. Johnny didn't have Angel's attitude problems. Besides, Johnny hadn't even been in the country until recently, and Angel had been around Bigtime for years. At least, his old incarnation had been. I didn't know how long the new guy had been prowling the streets.\n\nJohnny forced himself to relax. \"Of course not. Angels aren't our...family crest.\" He looked at his grandfather. \"But we all like them. It's sort of a family...tradition to collect them.\"\n\n\"Oh.\"\n\nI didn't quite believe his explanation, although there was no real reason for me not to. But I decided to let the matter drop. I wasn't as nosy and paranoid as Carmen. I didn't think everyone was harboring a secret identity or wearing a spandex suit underneath his tuxedo. In fact, I didn't really care who was who, as long as they stayed out of my way.\n\nWe sat down at one end of the table. Servants hustled in, bringing with them tempting dishes that smelled like they'd come down from heaven itself. My stomach rumbled, and I forgot about my unease and suspicions. The bags of cookies were long gone.\n\n\"Grilled filet mignon, roasted potatoes, fried zucchini, Italian bread, butter, a Caesar salad, and enough olive oil to grease a car.\" Bella looked at her grandfather. \"Going all out, aren't we?\"\n\nBobby smiled. \"Well, I had to make sure we had enough food for our guest. Johnny told me that she has quite the healthy appetite.\"\n\nBella's eyes flicked to me. For the second time that evening, I found myself blushing. My stomach gurgled again, this time loud enough for everyone to hear. Bella looked shocked by the grumbling sound, while the men seemed amused.\n\n\"Guilty as charged,\" I said, reaching for the nearest dish.\n\n* * *\n\nWe spent the next hour dining and making small talk. The Bullucis were a delightful bunch, merry and funny with no hints of the self-importance and pretentiousness that plagued so many on the society circuit. They didn't take themselves or anyone else too seriously. Even Bella loosened up a bit and let me see that she had a dry, biting sense of humor under her by-the-book fa\u00e7ade. She was the straight woman who kept the men in line. As much as she could anyway.\n\nBut I was most impressed by the food. Everything was just as scrumptious as Bobby had promised it would be. The vegetables were fresh, crisp, and perfectly seasoned. The bread was warm and chewy. And the steak was so tender I could have cut it with a toothpick.\n\nI took big portions of everything and wolfed them down in about fifteen minutes. Then, I went back for seconds. I finished those up about the time the others had washed down their first helpings with a superb bottle of wine. I eyed the platters, wondering if I dared to take any more food. I didn't want to come across as a total glutton. Johnny saw me eyeing the potatoes with barely restrained desire.\n\n\"Let me guess. You didn't have breakfast or lunch again today,\" Johnny said, sliding his half-eaten steak over to me.\n\nI looked down at the juicy, medium-well steak. A man who gave up his food for me? I could get used to this. Quite easily. The thought startled me, but not enough to make me turn down the meat. I stabbed my fork at him. \"You guessed it.\"\n\nSo, I ate the rest of his steak.\n\nAnd the bread.\n\nAnd the potatoes.\n\nAnd the wine.\n\nIn the end, I gobbled down more than the three of them put together. Bella looked back and forth at me and the now-empty platters. Then, she turned her gaze to her brother. Johnny shrugged. Bella probably thought I had an eating disorder, just like Piper did. I'd probably find more pamphlets on my desk in the morning. Ah, well. The steak alone had been worth it.\n\nMore servants appeared to clear the dishes away and present us with a monstrous three-tiered cake. The flavor came as a bit of a surprise to me, although it really shouldn't have.\n\nIt was angel food, of course.\n\nThe cake, topped with cherries, chocolate sauce, and whipped cream, was just as wonderful as everything else had been. I ate four big pieces and put my fork down in contentment. Steak and potatoes were wonderful, high-calorie, filling, stick-to-your ribs food. I'd be all right until I got my midnight snack.\n\n\"Well, I don't know about you young folks, but this old man is ready for bed,\" Bobby announced, pushing his chair away from the table. \"Too much wine and food make me sleepy these days.\"\n\nBella also rose to her feet. \"I'll help you, Grandfather.\" She looked at Johnny and me. \"I'm sure Johnny and Fiona would like some time to themselves.\"\n\nJohnny turned to me. \"I'll show you around the house.\" The devilish glint in his eyes told me that the tour would probably end up in his bedroom. I wasn't sure quite how I felt about that. Other than hot and panting.\n\nBella and Bobby disappeared up a flight of stairs, while Johnny led me down a series of wide hallways. Strolling through the house was a little like walking through a church. More angels decorated everything from paintings to furniture to even the carpet under our feet.\n\nWe reached a hall filled with large oil paintings. Smiling, similar-looking people sat in the portraits, their eyes filled with light and joy. I didn't need Johnny to tell me that I was staring at pictures of the Bullucis through the centuries.\n\nJohnny tugged me down the hall, stopping at a portrait of a middle-aged man on a motorcycle. \"This is my father, James. I wasn't sure if you remembered him or not. He wasn't much for the society scene, preferring to concentrate on looking after our business interests. He rarely attended events, preferring to leave that to Bella and Grandfather.\"\n\nI stared at the picture. Blue eyes. Tan skin. A mane of chestnut hair. James Bulluci had been a handsome man. But the more I looked at the picture, the more it bothered me. There was something else very familiar about James Bulluci. Something in his eyes and the set of his jaw reminded me of\u2014\n\n\"And this is my mother, Lucia,\" Johnny continued, pointing to the next portrait.\n\nMy tremulous thought fled. Johnny hadn't been bragging earlier when he'd said he'd inherited his mother's good looks. Blond hair. Green eyes. Fabulous figure. Tawny skin. Lucia Bulluci was a goddess in mortal form.\n\n\"Funny, I don't remember her either,\" I said, staring at the picture.\n\n\"She died when I was a teenager,\" Johnny said. Sadness colored his voice, a sadness I recognized.\n\n\"My mother died when I was young too,\" I said, squeezing his hand.\n\n\"What about your father? You don't talk about him much.\"\n\nI hesitated. I couldn't tell Johnny who my father really was, but I didn't want to deceive him either. \"Oh, he's...around. His work takes up a lot of his time, and we don't see as much of each other as we'd like.\"\n\nIt wasn't a complete lie. The only times I got to see the chief these days were when we went out as Fiera and Mr. Sage to do battle with Bigtime's ubervillains or braved the society crowd at the latest benefit.\n\n\"What does he do for a living?\"\n\n\"He's in, ah, security.\" Another half-truth.\n\n\"Like a bodyguard?\"\n\n\"Sort of.\" Did protecting the citizens of Bigtime from ubervillains qualify you to be a bodyguard? I supposed it did.\n\n\"What's his name?\"\n\nFinally, an easy one. \"Sean.\"\n\n\"Sean? That's very Irish.\"\n\nI laughed. \"We're a very Irish sort of family. My mother's name was Finola.\"\n\n\"Irish, huh? Does that mean if I kiss you, I'll have good luck for the rest of the year?\"\n\nI tossed my hair over my shoulder. \"I don't know about having good luck in the future, but you just might get lucky tonight.\"\n\n\"Well, then, let's test your theory out right now,\" he murmured.\n\nJohnny dipped his head forward and kissed me. His lips felt like liquid fire on my own. I opened my mouth, and Johnny darted his tongue inside. He tasted like chocolate and wine, and his spicy scent filled my nostrils. Yummy.\n\nJohnny eased me up against the wall. We kept kissing, our tongues moving back and forth. I raised one leg around his waist. Johnny's sure, confident hands moved up and down my body. Kneading. Caressing. Sculpting. He moved from my breasts to my stomach down to the junction between my thighs. I hissed as he stroked me through my silken panties, and a warm, heavy wetness pooled between my legs.\n\n\"Would you care to continue the tour? Say, upstairs?\" Johnny nibbled on the side of my neck.\n\nTingles of pleasure shot through me. My neck was _very_ sensitive. I dug my fingers into his hair and pulled him closer. \"Is that where your bedroom is?\"\n\n\"Mmm-hmm.\" Johnny continued to kiss my neck as one hand cupped my breast. \"So what do you say?\"\n\nBreathless, I couldn't speak. I raised his head and stared in his shimmering green eyes. I opened my mouth to respond, but Johnny swooped in and cut me off with another hot kiss.\n\nThen, the worst thing in the world happened.\n\nMy cell phone rang.\n\n# Chapter Fourteen\n\n\"That's becoming a rather annoying habit of yours,\" Johnny said, his lips still touching mine.\n\n\"Sorry,\" I muttered. \"It's one I'm trying to break.\"\n\nJohnny stepped back and dropped his hands. I bit my lip. All worked up and no relief in sight. The things I gave up for my city. Stupid superhero duty.\n\nI dug through my purse, grabbed my phone, and answered the call. \"What _is_ it, Henry? I'm right in the middle of something.\"\n\n\"We've got a lead on Siren and Intelligal,\" Henry replied, not the least bit put off by my fierce growl. He'd long ago grown used to it. \"We're heading out soon to see if we can track them down and stop them. The chief wants you here ten minutes ago.\"\n\nI stared at Johnny, who leaned forward and pressed another kiss to my neck. I closed my eyes. Mmm. \"Do I have to?\" Whining just a bit.\n\n\"Well, you don't _have_ to, of course,\" Henry replied. \"We could go after the ubervillains by ourselves. But since you're the strongest and since we're down two members, it might be a good idea for you to come in. You do have the most firepower, after all.\"\n\nI snorted. \"Firepower? You've been hanging around Lulu too long.\"\n\n\"I have not,\" Henry snapped back. \"And you should be nicer to her, Fiona. If I get my way, Lulu will be part of the team permanently.\"\n\nI narrowed my eyes. Permanently? I didn't like the sound of that. What was up with Henry and the computer hacker? \"What do you mean by that?\"\n\n\"None of your business at the moment. Now, are you coming in or not?\" he asked.\n\nJohnny's hand slipped under my short skirt and started creeping upward. He stroked my thigh. For a moment, I couldn't speak.\n\n\"I'll be there as soon as I can.\" I ended the call.\n\n\"Let me guess. Henry has more problems at the store.\" Johnny arched an eyebrow.\n\n\"Unfortunately.\"\n\n\"Perhaps you should think about getting another night manager. He always seems to call you at the most inappropriate moments,\" Johnny said.\n\n\"You're telling me. I'm sorry I have to go, Johnny. I was having a fabulous time.\" Regret tinged my voice. It had been wonderful spending the evening with Johnny and his family. And then being alone afterward with the man himself.\n\n\"I know, and I understand. But since you have to leave, we should make the most of this brief time we have together, shouldn't we?\"\n\nJohnny flashed me a wicked, wanton grin and sank to his knees in front of me. Johnny stroked my thighs with his fingers. I gasped at the sensation.\n\n\"Tell me to stop, and I will,\" he said in a quiet voice.\n\nI couldn't say a word, and I didn't want to. For a moment, Travis's face flashed through my mind. Then, Johnny moved his hand, and the image disappeared.\n\n\"Go ahead.\" My voice was thick and husky with passion, desire, need.\n\nBefore I knew what he was doing, Johnny had pushed my skirt up and my panties down. I stepped out of the filmy lace and kicked them down the hall. Johnny hooked one of my long legs over his shoulder. Then, he leaned forward and put his mouth on me.\n\nLicking. Tasting. Teasing. Driving me insane.\n\nI dug my hands into his shoulders. \"Johnny!\" Begging him to stop. Wanting him to go on.\n\nJohnny chose to think of my strangled cry as one of encouragement. He quickened his pace, his tongue probing deeper and deeper with every sure stroke, as though he wanted to lick his way to the very core of me. Liquid desire flowed like thick lava through my veins. Pressure built deep in my stomach. My whole body trembled.\n\nAnd then\u2014\n\nAn eruption of epic proportions. But in a good way.\n\nI just stood there, wrapped in the soft blanket of sexual bliss. Afterglow, people called it. I felt as warm and fuzzy as a fleece blanket that had just tumbled out of the dryer.\n\n\"Wow!\" That was all I could say.\n\n\"I aim to please,\" Johnny said, rising to his feet. \"Again...and again...and again...\" He planted more kisses on my throat. His tongue flicked over my rapid, throbbing pulse.\n\n\"I have to go,\" I said in a weak tone, even as I drew him closer.\n\nWe kissed long and slow and deep. Johnny's hands moved up and down my body. I kneaded his back, his chest, his abdomen with my grasping fingers. I wanted to touch him. All of him. Over and over again until we were both sweaty, satisfied, and utterly spent. And then some. But Johnny had other ideas.\n\n\"Oh, I think we have a little more time left,\" he said, grinning.\n\nJohnny went down on his knees again.\n\n* * *\n\nIt was close to midnight by the time I reached the underground garage at Sublime and parked my convertible next to one of the Fearless Five vans. It'd been almost half an hour since I'd left Johnny, and I couldn't stop smiling. I'd even been humming on the drive across town. Humming! I never hummed. Superheroes did _not_ hum.\n\nI made my way to the equipment room and changed into my orange-red Fiera outfit. I felt good tonight, charged, pumped up. Like I could take on Siren and Intelligal with one hand tied behind my back. And it was all thanks to Johnny. Oh, the things that man could do with his tongue...\n\nA loud squawk sounded, cutting through my sexual daydreams.\n\n\"Fiona, are you almost ready? You've been in there almost twenty minutes.\" The chief's voice cracked over the underground intercom system.\n\n\"Coming.\"\n\nSince my dinner had been burned away by my time with Johnny, I stopped by the kitchen, made myself ten tomato-and-cheese sandwiches, and grabbed a two-liter soda before heading to the library. The others waited inside.\n\n\"Hello, all,\" I said in a cheery tone. \"Ready to go kick some ubervillain ass?\"\n\nThey just stared at me.\n\n\"What?\" I asked. \"What's wrong? Why are you all looking at me like that?\"\n\nThe chief cleared his throat. \"You're glowing, Fiona.\"\n\nI looked down. Sure enough, a soft, orangey glow enveloped my entire body. I hadn't even noticed it, and I was pretty good about keeping my flare-ups in check. Even when I let myself go, most of the time I emanated more of an angry red. I glowed orange only when I was extremely relaxed or very, very happy. I was both right now.\n\n\"Well, well, someone must have gotten lucky tonight,\" Lulu drawled. \"Did we have a _hot_ date, Fiona?\"\n\nI narrowed my eyes at the computer hacker. A spark flew from my fingertip. My orange glow took on a reddish tint. One day I was going to get her for those stupid heat-related puns. One day soon...\n\nMy father cleared his throat again.\n\nBut not today. Too many witnesses around. So instead of frying Lulu from the inside out, I tossed my hair back.\n\n\"As I matter of fact, I did have a _hot date_ tonight. Unlike you two. Let me guess. You've been sitting here all night pounding away on your keyboards trying to track down ubervillains. Is that your idea of a good time, or are the two of you still not over your tiff from the benefit?\"\n\nLulu's lips tightened into a thin line. Henry stopped typing. The two of them looked at me, then each other, then back at their computers. I stared at my father. He shook his head, his way of telling me not to butt in. I glared at him. Lulu had just shoved her way into my business, but I couldn't get a little get-back? _So_ not fair.\n\nI learned long ago there was only one thing to do when life wasn't fair. So, I marched over to the table with its _F5_ insignia, put my feet up, cracked open my soda, and started eating my melted, cheese-and-tomato sandwiches.\n\n# Chapter Fifteen\n\nWhile I polished off my midnight snack, Henry and Lulu used one of their umpteen computer programs to pinpoint Siren and Intelligal's exact location. Surprise, surprise, the ubervillains were holed up in another dilapidated warehouse. This time, though, they were near the downtown area. So, we loaded up the van, exited the garage, and headed toward Bigtime.\n\nWe'd just gotten on the interstate when Lulu frowned.\n\n\"Uh-oh,\" she said.\n\n\"What?\" I asked. \"What's wrong now?\"\n\n\"SNN just cut into their charity benefit. Halitosis Hal and Pistol Pete were engaging in a mock fight to raise money for the children's hospital. Pete would fire his pistol at Hal, but his breath would stop the bullets in midair. Funny stuff.\"\n\n\"But now...\" I prompted.\n\n\"They're live at the construction site where the city's building the new sports complex. The whole thing's collapsed.\" Lulu stared at her laptop. \"Kelly Caleb's on the scene. She's saying that Swifte got trapped inside while he was trying to rescue some of the construction crew.\"\n\n\"Why is a construction crew working on a building after midnight?\" I asked.\n\n\"It's a city contract, and the sports complex is two months behind schedule due to the snow we had this winter. They've been working round-the-clock shifts for the last six weeks to try to get back on track,\" Mr. Sage said. \"Is anyone else on the scene besides Swifte? Anyone providing security or backup for him?\"\n\nLulu shook her head. \"Not yet. The police, fire, and rescue squads are there, but no other superheroes.\" She hesitated. \"It looks pretty bad.\"\n\nShe turned the laptop around to us. The skeleton dome of the sports complex had folded in on itself, like a deck of cards knocked over by a gust of wind. Hoarse screams and shouts could be heard over Kelly Caleb's clipped voice. Sirens flashed blue and red in the distance while dust drifted through the air, obscuring the camera's view. Lulu was right. It looked bad.\n\nI stared at my father. His was face smooth, but his eyes glowed neon green. He was reaching out with his psychic powers, trying to tap into people's vibrations, emotions, fears. \"It is bad. The worst accident we've had in some time. Turn around, Hermit. We need to go help.\"\n\n\"What about Siren and Intelligal?\" I asked.\n\n\"They'll have to wait,\" Mr. Sage said. \"This is more important. Agreed?\"\n\nI'd been looking forward to getting another chance to wrap my hands around Siren's scrawny neck and squeeze until her head popped off her overinflated body. But I'd just have to settle for moving rocks around and saving sweaty construction guys instead. It wasn't a bad trade-off. \"Agreed.\"\n\nHermit whipped a U-turn, and we headed back toward the collapsed building. You could see the smoke and dust miles away, billowing into the night sky like a mushroom cloud.\n\n\"Hermit?\" Mr. Sage asked.\n\n\"I know,\" he answered. \"Step on it.\"\n\nHermit's hands tightened around the wheel, and we made it to the construction site in less than seven minutes. He might be unnaturally fond of computers, but Hermit could drive when he put his mind to it. I thought it was one of his most useful skills.\n\nWe stopped the van in a dark alley about two blocks from the construction site. Lulu outfitted us with two-way earpieces and turned on the cameras in our suits. Once we were set up, Hermit, Mr. Sage, and I jogged over to the scene, while Lulu stayed in the van to monitor us and the news channels.\n\nPeople were everywhere, like ants running around a pool of hot honey. They crowded into the streets, climbed onto parked cars, and hung out apartment windows high above to get a better view of the action. They chattered like magpies, their voices building to a cacophony of high-pitched, excited sound.\n\nI plowed into the crush, trying to clear a path. \"Excuse me, excuse me, coming through. Now. Move, please. Thank you.\" I kept up a steady stream of patter as I zinged people with hot flashes to get them out of the way.\n\nFinally, though, someone took notice of us.\n\n\"Look! It's Fiera!\"\n\n\"And Mr. Sage and Hermit!\"\n\n\"The Fearless Five are here!\"\n\nClaps, cheers, and whistles sounded. People got the message and stepped aside to let us by. I smiled and shot a few sparks off my fingertips, my signature move. Folks roared in response. It was always nice to be recognized. That was another perk of being a superhero. People knew you wherever you went, and you never had to wait in line for anything.\n\nA woman darted through an opening in the crowd and clutched at my arm. \"Please! Please! You've got to help them! My husband is trapped in there!\"\n\nI'm used to such tearful pleas. I've heard thousands of them during my time as a superhero. But the raw panic in her eyes touched my heart. I'd felt the same way about Travis aka Tornado every time he'd gone out on a mission. Panicked and worried and slightly crazed.\n\n\"I'll do my best, ma'am.\" I patted her arm, careful not to burn her, and gently shook off her hand.\n\nThe three of us made our way to the police barricade, where the esteemed members of the press waited. My eyes scanned over the crowd, and I spotted reporters from _The Chronicle_ , _The Expos_ _\u00e9_ , and of course, SNN. Word of our arrival had already spread, because Kelly Caleb was ready and waiting for us. She shoved her microphone in my face the second we approached the cops. The white lights of her television camera cranked up like headlights in my face. I squinted against the blinding glare.\n\n\"Fiera! Fiera! Have you come to help? What's the status of the trapped workers? Do you think you're too late already?\"\n\n\"Later, Kelly,\" I snapped and kept moving. Unlike Swifte, I didn't have time to give interviews _before_ I saved people.\n\nBesides, reporters were always so difficult. Why couldn't they just leave us alone to do our jobs? Public's right to know, my ass. All the public needed to know was that I would do my superhero duty\u2014to protect and serve\u2014no matter what.\n\nWe went around the police barricade and entered the construction site, which was cordoned off from the street by a metal chain-link fence topped with razor wire. Cranes and bulldozers and backhoes sat behind the fence, along with tin trailers, cement mixers, trucks, and portable toilets.\n\nPolice, fire, and other emergency rescue officials hovered around the back of a pickup truck, where a beefy guy with a dirt-covered face sat. His arm was in a makeshift sling, and cuts and bruises dotted his bulging body. He looked like he'd just barely escaped the collapse himself, but he was busy looking at several papers.\n\nThe police let us through, just like they always did, and Mr. Sage headed straight for Beefcake.\n\n\"What's the situation, sir?\" Mr. Sage asked in a calm but strong voice.\n\nSome of the tension dribbled out of the cluster of people around us. That was my father for you. He could calm down a hurricane if he wanted to. He'd done it many times before.\n\n\"I'm Jim, the foreman. I was overseeing the night shift when she came down. Scariest thing I've ever lived through.\" His eyes flicked to the destroyed building.\n\n\"Any idea what caused the collapse?\" Hermit asked, punching some buttons on his handheld computer. No doubt he was accessing the building's blueprints, looking for structural weak spots and the like.\n\n\"Not a clue.\" Jim hesitated. \"But right before she came down, I heard this...sound. Sort of like purring or something. It was the oddest thing.\"\n\nSome of the policemen chuckled. A few meowed. The foreman shot them angry stares.\n\n\"Well, that's what it sounded like to me,\" he growled. \"Instead of just standing around, why don't you boys in blue get in gear and get my folks out?\"\n\nThat shut the cops up real quick. I gave Jim an encouraging nod.\n\n\"Please. Let us offer our assistance,\" Mr. Sage cut in.\n\nJim nodded. \"I've been going over the blueprints. We've got some folks in sector two.\" The foreman pointed to the area in question. \"Swifte arrived about two minutes after she went down, but more of the building gave way and sealed off the entrance. He went in there, but he hasn't come back out. Neither has anyone else.\"\n\n\"All right,\" Mr. Sage said. \"The first thing we need to do is shore up that section so it won't cave in on us when we go in. Fiera, you move the big pieces out of the way. I'll use my telekinesis to help and make sure that everything doesn't come falling down on you.\"\n\nI nodded. Standard operating procedure. This wasn't the first collapsed building we'd seen in Bigtime. We'd run into and dug our way out of more than a few ourselves.\n\n\"Let me help too,\" a cool voice cut through the air.\n\nI snapped my head around. Johnny Angel stood behind us, looking like his usual badass self in his shiny black leather.\n\n\"What are you doing here?\" I snapped. \"I thought you were busy with your vengeance mission. Shouldn't you be plotting ways to run down ubervillains with your bike?\"\n\n\"I heard about the collapse on television. I just want to help,\" he said in a quiet, defensive tone.\n\n\"Us too,\" a pair of feminine voices chimed in.\n\nMy eyes darted over the crowd. I couldn't see them, but I knew they were there. Finally, I spotted two pairs of footprints in the dirt about ten feet away. I squinted and could just make out the faint outlines of two curvy figures. It was like I was looking at something through cloudy water.\n\n\"The Invisible Ing\u00e9nues. It's been a while since we've seen you girls.\" I'd been hanging around Lulu too long. I just couldn't seem to stop with the bad puns.\n\n\"Oh, we've been around...\"\n\n\"Just like always.\"\n\nThe Ing\u00e9nues were sisters who had a strange habit of finishing each other's sentences. I'd wondered more than once if they were joined at the hip. I couldn't tell, though, since they were invisible.\n\nI looked at Hermit, who shrugged. I turned to Mr. Sage. His eyes glowed for half a second, and he nodded.\n\n\"All right, Angel, Ing\u00e9nues,\" Mr. Sage said. \"We can use all the help we can get. Let's move, people.\"\n\nJim told us a few more pertinent details. Some of his folks had called in sick, and he'd been working with a skeleton crew. \"There were thirteen of us inside when she went down. Me and five others made it out. That leaves seven, plus Swifte.\"\n\nOnce we got all the information we could from Jim, we stepped through the police barricade and approached the building. The sports center\u2014what was left of it\u2014looked like a doll's house that had been upset by a child's angry tantrum. Steel beams as thick as my body stuck up at weird angles. Bricks, concrete blocks, wires, cables, and more spilled down from the towering heap of metal. Every once in a while, something deep inside the structure would moan and creak and groan.\n\n\"Right here,\" Hermit said. \"That's where the entrance was.\"\n\nSteel beams and pieces of building the size of small cars covered the exit. Nothing I couldn't handle. I cracked my knuckles and did a few stretches to limber up. It was always important to stretch before undertaking big tasks. I might be a superhero, but I could still blow out my knee or tear my biceps.\n\n\"Which side do you want, Ing\u00e9nues?\"\n\nLike most superheroes, the girls had some muscle on them, especially when they worked together.\n\n\"We'll take...\"\n\n\"The left side.\"\n\n\"Good. I've got the right then.\"\n\nI looked over my shoulder, making sure no one was behind me so they wouldn't get hit by the boulders I was about to toss back. Then, I went to work.\n\nSo did Johnny Angel. In addition to having a superhard exoskeleton, Angel was stronger than average. After twenty minutes, the four of us had cleared a space big enough for a couple of people to walk through. I peered into the darkness. More beams lay inside crisscrossed over each other like the teeth of a zipper. Whoever went in would have to be very, very careful. It would be worse than walking through a maze of razor wire **\u2014** one that could come down on your head and crush you at any moment.\n\n\"It might work better if Fiera and I went inside together. She can hold up the roof and move things as needed, while I drag the people out,\" Angel suggested. \"As long as I keep concentrating on my exoskeleton, the debris won't hurt me.\"\n\nMr. Sage peered into the dark hole. \"You're right. Hermit and I will stay here with the Ing\u00e9nues and monitor the building from the outside. I'll use my telekinesis to try to steady some of the structural points. Be careful. Both of you.\"\n\nI pressed my fist to my heart. Mr. Sage and Hermit did the same. The Ing\u00e9nues had seen the salute before, but Angel stared at us. Curiosity glimmered in his eyes.\n\nI turned to him. \"All right, Angel. Follow me.\"\n\nI took a deep breath and stepped inside the collapsed building.\n\n* * *\n\nThe inside was even worse than the outside. The main support beams had crumpled in on each other like cheap tinfoil. Dust hung in the air like a wet blanket, and debris littered the uneven ground. Rocks slid and shifted under our feet with every step we took. It would have been safer to walk through a minefield, but we plunged inside anyway. We had to. People were counting on us. I wrapped myself in flames to light the way, careful not to burn too bright, so I wouldn't ignite whatever gas or chemicals might be in the air.\n\nI didn't have many fears, but being in a small, unstable space was one of them. I could feel the weight of the building hovering over my head. All that metal. All that steel. All that concrete. Just waiting to come crashing down and bury me forever. It reminded me of the unbreakable glass tube I'd been stuck in last year when the others and I had been captured by the Terrible Triad. I'd felt the tube pressing in on me in the exact same manner. I panted for air.\n\n\"Just take deep breaths,\" Angel said, touching my arm. \"It'll help.\"\n\nI stiffened, hating myself for letting my nervousness show. Still, the feel of his hand reminded me that I wasn't alone in this. And that there were eight people somewhere in here that were in much worse shape than me. I had a duty to help them. I couldn't afford to chicken out now.\n\nI drew in a breath and let it out slowly. My nerves steadied.\n\n\"Fiera, turn left. According to the heat-sensing camera in your suit, there's a thermal image about a hundred yards ahead of you,\" Hermit's voice crackled in my ear.\n\n\"Copy that.\" I jerked my head at Angel. \"This way.\"\n\nWe eased through the metal maze. Ten yards in, twenty, fifty, a hundred. I upped the dimmer on my body and peered into the darkness, trying to see something, anything that resembled a human form. A flash of shimmering white caught my eye. \"Swifte!\"\n\nI eased over to the superhero. Now I knew why he hadn't made it back out of the building. Two metal beams had crashed down on him. One lay on his leg, the other on his back. His costume was torn in several places, and blood blackened the dirt under his body. For a moment, I thought he was unconscious or maybe even dead, but Swifte turned his head to stare at my boots.\n\n\"Hey, Swifte. What's shaking?\" I asked.\n\nThe superfast superhero grinned into the dirt. \"Not much at the moment.\" His voice was raspy and strained. The beam must be pressing down on his lungs, making it hard for him to breathe.\n\n\"You know, I've never seen you like this before. Usually, you just zip in and zip out of these situations,\" I said, being my usual bitchy self to lighten the mood.\n\nHe shrugged. Or at least, he tried to. He got about halfway there before stopping in pain. \"Normally I do. But it's a little more difficult when there's a thousand beams raining down on you at once.\"\n\n\"Well, hold still. We're going to get you out of here.\"\n\nSwifte shook his head an inch. \"Get the others out first. I'm all right.\" He grimaced.\n\n\"Are you sure?\" Angel asked. \"Because you look pretty messed up to me, man.\"\n\n\"Get the others out first,\" Swifte wheezed. \"They're only a couple hundred yards up ahead.\"\n\n\"Noble to the end, huh, Swifte?\" I said.\n\n\"Just doing my job, Fiera. Just doing my job.\"\n\nI could respect that. While we talked, I heard the sound of buttons being punched in my ear.\n\n\"Swifte's right. I've got more images about two hundred yards farther in,\" Hermit said.\n\n\"All right. We're going to get the others out. But we'll be back for you in a few minutes. Okay, Swifte?\"\n\nThe superhero chuckled. \"Of course. Unfortunately, I'm not going anywhere at the moment.\"\n\nI nodded to Angel. \"Let's go.\"\n\nHermit guided us through the remains of the ruined building. It was slow going, but ten minutes later, we stumbled onto the rest of the construction crew. They huddled together in a space about the size of a large desk that was amazingly free of debris. Other than cuts and scrapes, a few broken bones, and having a decade or so scared out of them, the men and women were in remarkably good shape. Somebody upstairs had been smiling on them tonight.\n\nAngel surprised me again. One by one, he pulled the men and women to their feet. He spoke to them in soft, soothing tones and guided them back through the metal maze. If I hadn't known better, I would have thought that Johnny Angel was one of Bigtime's finest superheroes. I stayed behind to help calm the others while they waited for their turn. Every other minute, the building creaked and shrieked like a tree caught in a hurricane, but it stayed up, thanks to my father and his mind of steel.\n\nAngel put his arm around the last construction crew member, and the three of us headed back to Swifte. I picked up the beams pinning down the speedy superhero, and Angel pulled Swifte out from under them. The superhero's suit was in tatters, and blood stained the opalescent fabric a dark scarlet. A long, deep gash decorated his right thigh where shrapnel had cut into him. I winced. Blood didn't bother me, but Swifte's wound looked nasty and painful.\n\n\"I don't think you'll be running any marathons anytime soon,\" Angel said, staring at the superhero's leg.\n\n\"That's what you think,\" Swifte said.\n\nHe took a step as though to dart away. I caught him before he smacked into the ground.\n\n\"Easy, big boy,\" I said. \"There'll be plenty of time to disappear on us later.\"\n\nSwifte mumbled something under his breath.\n\n\"You're welcome,\" I replied.\n\nI picked up Swifte and carried him outside, while Angel took care of the construction guy. The four of us emerged from the building, and the crowd erupted into wild, happy cheers. Cameras flashed. Sirens sounded. People whistled and clapped and yelled until they were hoarse. The roar was deafening.\n\nI put Swifte down in the back of an ambulance and struck my best, classic superhero pose. Hands on hips, stomach in, breasts out. The crowd cheered even louder. I smiled and shot more sparks off my fingertips. A little good press never hurt anyone. There were so many heroes in Bigtime these days it was hard to stand out from the crowd.\n\nA couple of paramedics came over to treat Swifte. Mr. Sage and Hermit moved to stand beside me.\n\nMr. Sage put a hand on my shoulder. \"Good work, Fiera.\"\n\n\"Thanks, Dad,\" I said in a soft voice only he could hear.\n\nMy gaze went to the people we'd pulled from the rubble. I stared at the worried husbands and wives who hovered over their injured spouses as the paramedics checked them out. I thought of Travis. He would have loved to have been part of such a successful rescue. But he wasn't here. And he would never be again.\n\nBut the thought didn't make me feel so empty, so hollow, as it usually did. I could remember the good times now, instead of just the aching pain of Travis's loss. I knew Johnny Bulluci had a great deal to do with that.\n\nSpeaking of Johnnies, I drifted over to Angel, who was standing next to his motorcycle smoking a cigarette. I didn't really want to say _thank you_ , especially to someone who'd threatened to kill us if we got in the way of his pursuit of Siren and Intelligal. But I had to. My silly superhero honor wouldn't let me not do it. \"Thanks for helping me out in there. I don't do so well in tiny spaces.\"\n\n\"No problem. I'm glad you let me help.\" Angel's eyes wandered over to the construction-crew members, who were busy hugging and kissing their weeping spouses and children. \"We did a good thing tonight.\"\n\n\"Yes, we did.\"\n\nWe exchanged a smile, in sync for once. Angel turned and got on his motorcycle.\n\nSomething clinked, and a spot of silver on the black pavement caught my eye.\n\n\"Hey, wait! You lost your watch.\" I leaned down, picked up the silver watch, and turned it over so I could see what time it was. It had to be almost three in the morning by now\u2014\n\nI froze.\n\nA pair of silver angel wings decorated the watch's black face. I recognized it immediately. It was the same watch Siren and Intelligal had stolen at Carmen's wedding. The same watch I'd handed back to Johnny Bulluci.\n\nJohnny Bulluci.\n\nJohnny Angel.\n\nMy eyes flew to his face. And I knew they were one and the same.\n\n\"Thanks,\" he said, taking the watch from my sparking fingers. \"I'd hate to lose this.\"\n\nAngel snapped the timepiece around his wrist and gave me a mock salute. Then, he fired up his motorcycle and rumbled away into the night.\n\nAll I could do was stare at his retreating form.\n\n# PART TWO\n\nTHE HONEYMOON'S OVER\n\n# Chapter Sixteen\n\nAfter shaking hands with everyone, working the crowd, and reluctantly giving interviews to reporters from SNN and the two newspapers in town, _The Chronicle_ and _The Expos_ _\u00e9_ , we piled into the van and headed back to Sublime.\n\nThe others chattered about the rescue and wondered who or what could have brought down the massive sports complex. I sat in the back and stared out the tinted windows. Brooding.\n\nJohnny Bulluci was Johnny Angel. I was still trying to figure out what it meant. How I felt about it. The guy I'd been having a hot fling with was actually a...a what? He wasn't a hard-core ubervillain like Malefica, but Angel was no, well, angel. At least, his last incarnation hadn't been.\n\nJohnny's anger over his father's death. Angel's vow of revenge on Siren and Intelligal for killing his predecessor. All those freaking angels in the Bulluci mansion. I hated to admit it, but Carmen was right. We superheroes weren't the brightest bunch when it came to disguising our real identities. I could have firebombed myself for not seeing Angel's real identity sooner. Say, before I'd gone and slept with him.\n\n\"You're awfully quiet, Fiona,\" the chief said in his thick brogue. \"Is something wrong?\"\n\n\"I'm just tired.\" I was tired. And cranky. And famished. Not to mention the shock I'd just received.\n\n\"Well, I don't want to pry, but if you want to talk about it, I'm here for you.\"\n\nGrateful that he wasn't going to read my mind tonight, I nodded and returned to my brooding.\n\n* * *\n\nI crashed in my underground suite at Sublime and didn't get up until almost four the next afternoon. I hadn't slept well. In my dreams, Johnny Bulluci had kept morphing into Johnny Angel and back again until I couldn't tell where one man started and the other ended. Not the most pleasant dream to have about your lover. Especially when you moonlighted as a superhero who was supposed to fight crime, and your honey was out to kill a couple of ubervillains, no matter what. And it was your responsibility to stop bad things like murders from taking place, no matter how much someone might deserve it.\n\nGrumbling, I got out of bed, showered, and went to the kitchen. I wolfed down five pizzas, three hamburgers, a twelve-pack of soda, two chocolate cheesecakes, an apple pie, and three gallons of vanilla ice cream. I always ate more when I was angry or upset. Johnny's secret identity was more than enough to make me both.\n\nAfter polishing off my late lunch, I went to the library looking for Henry. I wanted him to get me all the information on Johnny Bulluci that he could find. I opened the double doors and stopped short. Instead of Henry, Lulu sat inside the spacious room. The fan in her laptop whirred to life at my arrival.\n\n\"Oh, you're here\u2014\" I started to say _again_ , but I caught myself.\n\n\"Nice to see you too, Fiona,\" Lulu replied.\n\n\"Where are the others?\"\n\nLulu hit a few buttons on her computer. \"The chief had some big city meeting he had to go to about the collapse of the sports complex. Evidently, the powers that be want to know why it happened and how much it's going to cost to clean it up and get the project back on track.\"\n\nNo big shock there. Assessing the damage was the first thing the Bigtime city government did the morning after accidents like last night's incident. They set aside one morning a week to devote to all the buildings, cars, and streetlights the city's superheroes and ubervillains destroyed. Epic battles might have been bad for the historic structures in the city, but they kept the local construction companies in business. There was always a building boom of one kind or another in Bigtime.\n\n\"And Henry?\" He was the one I was really interested in at the moment.\n\n\"He's down at the Complete Computer Company trying out some new microprocessor for his technology column in the newspaper. He won't be back until late tonight.\"\n\nDamn. Where was the computer geek when I needed him? There was nothing I could do about it, though, short of calling Henry and demanding that he torpedo his job to help me. I knew from past experience that wouldn't work. For some strange reason, Henry actually liked his crummy day job at _The Expos_ _\u00e9_. He would play hooky from work only if one of the Fearless Five was in mortal danger\u2014or his precious computer was about to explode.\n\nI sat down in my usual seat at the F5 table and drummed my fingers on the top. Sparks flew everywhere, adding more scars to the scorched wood. My stomach rumbled. Lunch was gone already.\n\n\"Do you need something, Fiona?\" Lulu asked.\n\n\"Why do you ask?\"\n\n\"Because you look just like Carmen did when she was hot on the trail of a superhero she was about to expose. All tense and twitchy and bothered.\"\n\nBeing compared to Carmen aka Karma Girl Cole didn't help my sour mood. But I stopped drumming my fingers. Lulu would find out about Johnny when I told Henry and the chief. I might as well tell her what I wanted and get the information now. I didn't want to wait a second longer than necessary to get the goods on Johnny Bulluci. I wasn't good at waiting. Patience was something else I'd never seen the virtue in.\n\n\"I need everything you can dig up on Johnny Bulluci.\"\n\nLulu arched an eyebrow. \"Why is that? Is he your new honey?\"\n\n\"Yes, he's my new honey,\" I snarled.\n\n\"Mmm-hmm.\" Lulu shot me a coy look. \"So that's who had you all _hot and bothered_ last night.\"\n\nI rolled my eyes at her obvious pun. \"Yes, that's who had me all _hot and bothered_ last night. But there's more to it than that.\"\n\n\"Sure there is,\" Lulu smirked.\n\nShe was getting on my last nerve, so I did my best to shut her up. \"Oh, there's a lot more to it. I'm pretty sure he's really Johnny Angel. You know, the guy who rides around on the motorcycle? The one who threatened to kill us?\"\n\nLulu stopped typing. Her head snapped up. \"No way!\"\n\n\"Way.\"\n\nI told her everything. About Johnny's anger over his father's death, the family obsession with angels, the watch. All of it.\n\nLulu let out a low whistle. \"So you've been getting hot 'n' heavy with the guy who's vowed to destroy Siren and Intelligal, and the Fearless Five if you get in his way.\"\n\nI shot my finger at her. \"You've got it.\"\n\n\"And I thought I had problems,\" Lulu muttered.\n\nMy eyes narrowed. \"What do you mean by that? What's going on with you and Henry?\"\n\nLulu looked at her computer screen and refused to meet my hot, searching gaze.\n\n\"Oh, come on,\" I snapped. \"I spilled to you, now you spill to me. I won't laugh, if that's what you're worried about.\" At least, I'd try not to.\n\n\"Henry asked me to marry him,\" Lulu said in a soft tone.\n\nStraight arrow, geek-to-the-max Henry aka Hermit Harris had proposed marriage to one of the most notorious computer hackers in Bigtime. A woman who could expose us with a click of her mouse. Fabulous. Just fabulous.\n\n\"When?\"\n\n\"Three weeks ago.\"\n\nI thought back. \"Wasn't that the weekend you guys went to that big ubergeek conference in Ashland?\"\n\nLulu glared at me. \"It was not an ubergeek conference. It was a computer symposium about Internet security.\"\n\nI snorted. \"Like there's a difference.\"\n\n\"Anyway,\" Lulu continued with her story. \"We stayed at this quaint little bed-and-breakfast just outside the city and went to the conference during the day. One night when we came back to the room, everything was covered in rose petals. There were flowers and champagne. Henry had hidden the ring in a chocolate cake. He had it made in the shape of a laptop. It was so romantic.\" Lulu's eyes went all soft and dreamy.\n\nRose petals? Champagne? A ring hidden in a computer-shaped chocolate cake? Henry was more of a romantic than I'd given him credit for. In a completely geeky sort of way.\n\n\"Well, that's wonderful, isn't it?\"\n\nMy voice didn't come out too strangled. I, of course, thought Henry was making a terrible mistake, just like I'd thought Sam had been making a terrible mistake when he'd started boinking Carmen when the Terrible Triad was after us. But I forced myself to be polite. For once. For Henry's sake.\n\nLulu stared at me like I'd just said the dumbest thing in the world. Maybe I had. A superhero and a computer hacker? Not a good combo.\n\n\"Look at me, Fiona. I'm in a wheelchair, in case it's escaped your notice. It's not all hearts and flowers, you know.\"\n\n\"So? Lots of people are in wheelchairs. It doesn't seem to bother Henry any, so why should it bother you?\"\n\nLulu sighed and pushed a wisp of black-and-blue hair out of her face. \"You wouldn't understand.\"\n\n\"Is it because of sex?\" In relationships, just about everything came back to sex in the end. Sex or money. Or both. \"The two of you do have sex, don't you?\"\n\n\"Of course we have sex,\" she snapped. \"Just because I'm in a wheelchair doesn't mean I don't have needs. That Henry doesn't have needs. In fact, Henry and I have sex quite frequently\u2014\"\n\nI held my hand up. \"Don't tell me. I don't need the mental image of you two supernerds going at it. It's bad enough Carmen and Sam do the nasty in every corner of the manor imaginable. I don't want to hear about anyone else or I'll never be able to sit on the furniture again. So if sex isn't the problem, what is?\"\n\nLulu stared at her still legs. \"I'm not just paralyzed. I can't have kids either,\" she mumbled.\n\n\"What?\" I asked, straining to hear her. \"What did you say?\"\n\n\"I can't have kids. I can't marry Henry because I can't have kids. There. I've told you what's wrong. Are you happy now?\" Tears shimmered in Lulu's dark eyes.\n\n\"So what?\"\n\nHer mouth gaped open. \"So what?\"\n\nI shrugged. \"So what? So you can't have kids. Lots of women and men can't have kids. Besides, do the two of you even want kids right now? Aren't you a little young for that? You're not even thirty yet.\"\n\n\"No, we don't want kids _right now_. But someday we would, and I can't give them to Henry.\" More tears puddled in her eyes, threatening to spill down her cheeks.\n\n\"You could always adopt,\" I pointed out. \"There are lots of great kids out there who need a good home.\"\n\nLulu shook her head. \"It wouldn't be the same.\"\n\n\"Why the hell not?\"\n\nLulu stared at me as if the answer should be obvious. I was getting rather tired of that look. I wasn't a mind reader like my father was. I couldn't discern someone's innermost thoughts with a single, soul-searing gaze. Beat it out of them, yes. Fry them alive? Always. But glean pertinent information with a quick look? No, not so much.\n\n\"Because of Henry's power.\"\n\n\"What does Henry's power have to do with you not being able\u2014Ah.\" The lightbulb switched on inside my head. \"If you can't have kids, then Henry couldn't pass his mind-melding power on to the next generation of Lo-Harrises.\"\n\n\"Bingo. If we adopted a kid one day, we'd love her to death, but she wouldn't have Henry's power.\"\n\n\"But you don't even know that Henry's kid would get his power anyway. Or that it would manifest in the same way. Sometimes, these things skip a couple of generations.\"\n\nMy father and I were a prime example. It had been my mother and her fiery temper that had influenced my power, not my father's calm sensibility. Johnny and James Bulluci were another pair that proved my point. Johnny had a power his father had probably never dreamed of. But that's what happened when you battled ubervillains on a regular basis. The villains always seemed to live in the nastiest places, surrounded by acres of radioactive waste. The goo wasn't good for your skin or hair\u2014or for your genes. More than one hero had had her powers altered by being exposed to radioactive waste over the years. And if it didn't get you, then it would more than likely get your kids and change them in some way\u2014either good or bad.\n\n\"I don't think Henry would care about whether or not his kid had powers. He'd love him or her just the same.\"\n\nLulu shook her head. \"I've run the numbers. There's a good chance the kid would either have Henry's power or some other manifestation of it. I don't want to take that chance, that opportunity, away from Henry.\"\n\nRun the numbers? Lulu was making decisions about her love life based on some statistics a computer program had spit out. How romantic.\n\nThe other woman eyed me. \"Haven't you ever thought about having kids? About passing your powers on? Isn't that what you would want?\"\n\nI thought about it. I'd been a fire-starting hellion when I was a kid. Everyone on the street where we'd lived in Ireland had thought that I was an arsonist and hopped up on steroids. Only the fact that my father was a policeman had kept me out of juvenile detention. Even as a kid, I had a tendency to beat up bullies.\n\nTravis and I had talked about having children, about the fact that we might pass our powers on to them. Travis had been thrilled with the idea, but I was more ambivalent about it. Don't get me wrong. I loved having superstrength and the ability to zap a pizza with my eyeballs. But powers weren't the beat-all, end-all of the world, as Carmen was so fond of reminding me. Sure, superheroes got plenty of perks, but being one was a lot of hassle too. The long hours and late nights. The constant beatings and narrow escapes. The continual drain on my finances. Having to make nice with the likes of Kelly Caleb, Erica Songe, and other members of the press. My constant need to eat everything in sight. It got old sometimes.\n\nBut the most important thing I'd learned over my years of being a superhero was this\u2014having powers couldn't keep you safe from all the big, bad things out there in the world. Travis's death was proof of that.\n\nI answered Lulu. \"It'd be nice to pass my power on, but it wouldn't determine if I loved my kid or not. And it sure as hell wouldn't keep me from being with the man I loved.\"\n\nI opened my mouth to further argue my point, but Lulu snapped her hand up.\n\n\"I don't want to talk about it anymore,\" she said through gritted teeth. \"Talking won't fix anything, especially not my shriveled-up ovaries and useless legs. Let's get back to your problem.\"\n\nShe pounded away on her laptop, signaling the end of our conversation. For now.\n\nI started drumming my fingers on the table again while Lulu typed and clicked and muttered under her breath.\n\n\"Oh, go hoover down a pizza or something,\" Lulu snapped about five minutes later. \"I can't concentrate with you giving me the laser gaze. All those heat waves make my computer freak out.\"\n\n\"Fine,\" I sniffed, threw my hair over my shoulder, and flounced out of the library.\n\nI stalked to the underground kitchen, but I didn't _hoover_ down a pizza as Lulu had so indelicately suggested. Instead, I ate three boxes of Oreos and drank two gallons of milk. I was just finishing up when Lulu's voice bellowed out of the intercom.\n\n\"I've got the information. You can come back to the library now.\"\n\n\"Gee, thanks,\" I said, draining the last of my milk.\n\nBy the time I returned to the library, Lulu had compiled several of inches of paper on Johnny Bulluci. A printer whirred and chugged in the background, spitting out more reams.\n\n\"How did you get so much information so fast?\" I asked.\n\n\"Carmen showed me how she does it,\" Lulu said. \"She's still working on Frost and Scorpion's real identities, although they didn't leave a trail for her to follow like Malefica did. Carmen doesn't think any of them died at the ice cream factory, not even Malefica.\"\n\n\"I doubt any of them are dead myself,\" I replied. \"Unfortunately, ubervillains are very resilient. One or all the members of the Terrible Triad will come back to Bigtime someday, and we'll be ready for them, real identities or not.\"\n\n\"Anyway, I set up a couple of computer programs to facilitate the process. I'm just printing the last of it now,\" Lulu said, tidying up some pages. \"This is all pretty normal stuff. School, college, business honors. Lots of friends, female and otherwise. Until three months ago.\"\n\n\"When his father died, and he took over as Johnny Angel.\"\n\n\"You betcha.\" Lulu grabbed the last of the pages from the printer and shoved them into a thick blue binder. \"After that, the life of Johnny Bulluci gets a bit more murky.\"\n\n\"Naturally.\"\n\nLife was always murky in the world of superheroes and ubervillains. For someone like Johnny, who wasn't on one side or the other, it would be positively gray. And I hated gray.\n\nLulu tossed me the binder. \"Knock yourself out.\" She paused. \"And try not to set those on fire, okay? I don't want to have to print them out again.\"\n\n\"I won't, Mom,\" I muttered, settling myself at the round, wooden table.\n\nLulu steered her chair toward the door.\n\n\"Hey, Lulu?\"\n\nShe stopped. \"What?\"\n\n\"Thanks. I really do appreciate it.\"\n\nI'd said _thank you_ twice now in less than twenty-four hours. I really was going to have to quit freaking out and getting people to do me favors.\n\nShe nodded. \"Back at you.\"\n\n\"What did I do?\"\n\nLulu stared at me. \"You listened.\"\n\nThen, she opened the door and zoomed away.\n\n# Chapter Seventeen\n\nI waited until the sound of Lulu's wheelchair faded away. Then, I cracked open the binder and started reading.\n\nLulu had compiled quite a bit of information on James John aka Johnny Bulluci. Age thirty-six. Hair blond. Eyes green. Blah, blah, blah. I knew the boring facts already. I wanted to get to the good stuff.\n\nI skimmed through pages detailing Johnny's progress in high school and college, as well as the business accolades he'd received over the years. To my surprise, there were more than a few of those. I flipped through pages of earnings and stock reports. Since Bobby had retired and Johnny had taken over the majority of Bulluci Industries, the company had almost doubled its profits. Johnny was definitely more than just a sexy guy. He was a shrewd businessman who wasn't afraid to take risks. Sam would have approved.\n\nFinally, I found what I was looking for\u2014James Bulluci's obituary. It had appeared in both _The Chronicle_ and _The Expos_ _\u00e9_. Lulu had even downloaded the transcripts off the SNN archive service for me.\n\n_James Michael Bulluci, 58, died in a fiery car accident on Feb. 7. According to Bigtime police, an unknown driver apparently hit the rear of Bulluci's silver Mercedes, causing the gas tank to explode. Bulluci's body was badly burned and partially disintegrated. He was pronounced dead at the scene. The family will receive guests at 6 p.m. Feb. 10 at Bigtime Funeral Home. The burial will take place at 10 a.m. Feb. 11 at Bigtime Cemetery. In lieu of flowers, the family asks that donations be made to the Cure Cancer Research Facility_ _..._\n\nI frowned. Died in a fiery car crash? I wondered how the Bullucis had pulled off that lie. They must have paid someone in the coroner's office to look the other way. Or perhaps one of them had some sort of psychic power or mind-control gizmo. It didn't really matter how they had done it. Only that they had.\n\nI kept reading. The obit went on to detail James's life and his work at the helm of his family's company, as well as his many contributions to Bigtime charities. The local media had covered the funeral, of course, since the Bulluci family was so prominent in Bigtime society. I'd been out of town on a business trip and hadn't gone to the funeral, but I remembered Sam talking about attending and what a sad day it had been.\n\nI stared at a picture of Johnny with his arm around Bella, comforting his weeping sister. Johnny's mouth was set in a hard, tight line. Even though the picture was in black and white, his eyes practically glowed with fury. The casket stood in the foreground. It was closed. Not surprising. If Intelligal had killed James Bulluci with explodium missiles like Angel claimed, there wouldn't have been enough of him left to put in a spoon, much less a casket. Died in a car crash, my ass.\n\nAfter the funeral, there were no more mentions of James Bulluci or Johnny Angel. For a while. Then, about a month after the funeral, SNN reported an Angel sighting at the Everything Electronics Store in downtown Bigtime.\n\nWait a minute. That name sounded familiar. I closed my eyes and thought back. That was one of the places Siren and Intelligal had hit during their crime spree. I remembered because we'd gone tearing after them when they'd robbed the store, but we'd lost them in traffic. All Siren had to do was crook her finger, and twenty cars had slammed into each other. I snorted. Men. And people thought women drivers were hazardous. Please.\n\nI kept reading. According to the television transcripts, Angel had shown up just as the reporter was leaving. That's why we hadn't spotted him that time, but he'd been tracking them even then.\n\nI wondered how he did it. And how he'd known the ubervillains were in the factory a few days ago. Did he sit by the police scanner at night like the newspaper reporters did? Or did he prowl the streets like the roving crews for SNN? Maybe his father's old motorcycle gang friends had given him the heads-up. Perhaps his grandfather helped him. Or even Bella. She had to know the family secret. She might even have some sort of power herself, since Johnny did. She was probably too uptight to use it, though.\n\nAs the months went by, more and more sightings of Johnny Angel were reported. He always popped up where Siren and Intelligal had been, sometimes missing them by minutes. Occasionally, he'd save somebody from a burning building or chase off some would-be rapists, but he spent most of his time hunting the two ubervillains. Trying to get his revenge.\n\nRevenge. Johnny wanted revenge on the ubervillains for killing his father. I couldn't blame him for that. When I'd thought Travis had committed suicide because Carmen had exposed him, I'd wanted to tear her into little pieces and feed her to the fish in the marina. My father had to slip me sleeping pills for a week before I'd calmed down enough to even think about letting Carmen live.\n\nWhen I learned that Malefica had actually murdered the man I loved, I'd gone ballistic. If I could have gotten my hands on the ubervillain, I would have ripped the skin from her body an inch at a time, sewn it back on, and started all over again. And again. And again. So, I didn't begrudge Johnny his revenge. I understood the need for it all too well.\n\nBut in the end, revenge wasn't as satisfying as it seemed. There had been plenty of people and ubervillains who had done me wrong over the years. Caveman Stan, the Undertaker, Frost, Carmen, Malefica. Some of them had gotten their comeuppance and then some. Caveman Stan had been buried alive in a cave-in. Frost got attacked by his own monstrous creations. Malefica had disappeared into a vat of radioactive goo.\n\nBut it had all been so hollow, so anticlimactic. Oh, the idea of revenge tempted you with its sweet, deadly song, whispered sly promises in your ear. But it didn't bring back the person you loved. It didn't change the past. It didn't heal your hurt. Revenge only made you feel that much more empty inside. At least it had me.\n\nNo, Fiona Fine didn't begrudge Johnny Bulluci his revenge. But as Fiera, the superhero, I was honor-bound to stop him. I was in the business of saving lives, not taking them. Not even the lives of ubervillains the world would be better off without. It wasn't for me to decide who lived and who died. That had been one of the first lessons my father had drilled into my head when I'd decided to become a superhero like him. I might be powerful, but I wasn't God. And according to Carmen, karma took care of everybody in the end, good and bad. From what I'd seen so far, she was right. Bad things had a way of happening to bad people. It might take a while, longer than it should, but in the end, you got what you deserved.\n\nBut if I stopped Johnny from taking his revenge, things would end between us. I knew his secret, what he did when he thought no one was watching. The knowledge would only fester and rankle between us until the connection we had turned into something sour and rotten.\n\nI didn't want that to happen. But I couldn't ignore my calling, my duty either. And I didn't know if I could risk telling him the truth about me, about what I did when no one was watching.\n\nSo what was I going to do?\n\n* * *\n\nI sat in the library staring into space, brooding, and eating candy bars until the others came in around eleven that night.\n\n\"Fiona, is something wrong?\" the chief asked, his green eyes bright with concern.\n\nI licked a bit of caramel off my finger and shoved the binder over to him. \"Oh no. Nothing. Nothing at all. Everything's just dandy. In fact, I've been reading up on a good friend of mine. Johnny Bulluci. Aka Johnny Angel.\"\n\nMy father froze, his fingers hovering over the binder. \"Johnny Bulluci is really Angel? Are you sure?\"\n\n\"You've got to be kidding,\" Henry said, his glasses gleaming in the dim light.\n\nI shook my head. \"Unfortunately, I'm not. It's all there. Read it for yourselves.\"\n\nHenry and the chief pored over the pages, while I told them about Johnny's watch and all the angels floating around the Bulluci household.\n\n\"You found this information yourself?\" the chief asked Lulu.\n\nShe shrugged. \"I've been getting pointers from Carmen. She's right, you know. It really is easy to figure out who you guys are.\"\n\n\"It makes sense,\" Henry said, pushing his glasses up his nose. He leaned over his computer and started to type. \"Each Bulluci generation has had at least one son in it, and we know Johnny Angel is a generational superhero\/ubervillain. Not to mention the fact that one of Bulluci Industries' specialties is the production of custom motorcycles. It all fits together. The secret identity, the business, everything.\"\n\nSomething Johnny had said before echoed in my mind. \"He told me once that the only thing he and his father ever argued about was his taking over part of the family business. I didn't think anything of it at the time, but he must have been talking about becoming Johnny Angel.\"\n\n\"But now he is Angel,\" Lulu pointed out. \"And we know what he wants.\"\n\n\"To kill Siren and Intelligal for murdering his father,\" I replied.\n\nChief Newman put his hand on mine. \"Fiona, I know Johnny is your...special friend, but we can't let him kill Siren and Intelligal. That's not how we do things around here. We put ubervillains behind bars. We don't execute them. Just because we have superpowers doesn't mean that we're above the law. And neither is Angel.\"\n\n\"I know,\" I said in a low tone. \"We've got to stop him. No matter what.\"\n\n\"No matter how much you might like him,\" my father said in a kind tone. \"No matter how much you think you might come to care for him.\"\n\n\"I do.\" I rubbed my aching head. \"I do care for him. And that makes this whole thing suck even more.\"\n\n# Chapter Eighteen\n\nWe sat there in silence, each of us digesting this latest secret-identity expos\u00e9.\n\nAnd a loud bell blared out.\n\nHenry jumped like Siren had just electrified him with a couple thousand volts. I thought his polka-dot bow tie would pop right off his neck, along with his plaid sweater vest. Henry punched buttons on one of his many computers. His fingers flashed over the keyboard faster than Swifte zipping down the freeway.\n\n\"I've got them!\" he said. \"I've got Siren and Intelligal!\"\n\nWe clustered around his computer.\n\n\"Where? Where are they?\" I asked.\n\nHenry punched some more keys. \"They're downtown. Right next to Oodles o' Stuff.\"\n\nOodles o' Stuff was the shopping center of shopping centers in Bigtime. The mall of malls. The store of stores. The multistoried building had more levels than a wedding cake and featured everything from clothes to jewelry to makeup to consumer electronics. The only thing I didn't like about the store were its subbasements, where last season's Fiona Fine originals could be had for up to seventy-five percent off. Oodles' extreme sales cut into my profit margins far more than I liked.\n\n\"What would they be doing there?\" I asked. \"They wouldn't be dumb enough to try to rob the place, would they?\"\n\nLike Quicke's, Oodles was considered neutral territory for everyone in Bigtime. After all, even villains had to shop for essentials from time to time\u2014namely, boots, masks, stilettos, and neon, sequined spandex. Oodles carried all of the above in large quantities.\n\nBut the owners of Oodles weren't stupid. They knew better than to rely on the kindness of ubervillains\u2014or your average shoplifter. The store had one of the best security systems in Bigtime. Guards, dogs, lasers, cameras, steel doors, ink-filled security tags. Not to mention the superheroes who shopped there during regular business hours. Oodles had more security than some of the banks in town.\n\nThen again, Siren could charm just about anybody out of just about anything she wanted to in record time. Oodles' security wouldn't faze her or Intelligal a bit.\n\n\"Well, Swifte did stop them from taking everyone's jewels at the wedding, and Oodles has more jewelry than anyone else in town,\" Lulu pointed out. \"Maybe Siren and Intelligal need to stock up on diamonds or something. There were gems all along the border of their radio device.\"\n\n\"I don't know why they're there,\" Henry said, still typing. \"But they've been popping up in and around the area for a couple of days now. Maybe they've set up shop somewhere downtown. Intelligal must have figured out how I found them last time, because she masked the exhaust system on her chair. But I locked in on that strange gas she gave you guys. It contained a small amount of a very rare radioactive isotope that I was able to track through the atmosphere\u2014\"\n\nI held up my hand. \"Enough of the geek talk. It doesn't matter what they're doing at Oodles, only that we've tracked them down. Let's go.\" I took a deep breath. \"Before Johnny Angel beats us to them.\"\n\n* * *\n\nTen minutes later, we were suited up and in the van. Hermit zoomed out of the underground garage and raced through the empty streets.\n\nWorries and fears rattled around inside my head like electrified dice. Siren and Intelligal were deadly enough on their own, but now we had Johnny Bulluci aka Johnny Angel to worry about. What would I do if Angel showed up? What would I do if he tried to kill the ubervillains? Or worse yet, tried to hurt one of us for getting in his way? I didn't know the answers to my troubling questions.\n\nMy father leaned over and took my hand. \"Don't worry, Fiera. It will work out all right in the end. You'll see.\"\n\nI squeezed his hand, comforted as always by his cheerful, optimistic calm.\n\n\"Mr. Sage is right. We might not even see Angel tonight,\" Hermit called out from the driver's seat. \"I was only able to trace the ubervillains by using my radioactive isotope tracker. Angel's not exactly known for his technological devices.\"\n\nI brightened. \"So he probably can't even track them on his own. Excellent.\"\n\n\"Unless he's watching for us,\" Lulu piped up. \"The van's pretty easy to spot. If I were Angel, I wouldn't even try to find Siren and Intelligal on my own. I'd just be looking out for the Fearless Five. Because where you guys are, ubervillains are sure to follow.\"\n\nMy good mood vanished, and I glared at her. \"You're not helping.\"\n\n\"Well, forgive me for thinking.\"\n\nWe rode in silence the rest of the way. Since it was so late, downtown was largely deserted, and Hermit was able to park right in front of Oodles. Normally, at this time of night, steel bars and shutters would have covered the store's plate-glass windows, along with the revolving doors that led inside. But the bars were up, and light spilled out from the building. Siren and Intelligal were here all right. Ubervillains were always so brazen when it came to strong-arm robberies.\n\n\"Same procedure as before?\" I asked. \"You boys in the back, me in the front?\"\n\nMr. Sage nodded. \"You've got it. And Hermit and I have whipped up something special for tonight, just in case Intelligal decides to spread some more of her gas around.\" He held up a small, white pill.\n\nI took the pill and gulped it down. \"So this will keep me from having gas?\" I snickered.\n\nLulu groaned. Hermit rolled his eyes. Mr. Sage just smiled.\n\n\"Oh, come on, Lulu,\" I said. \"It's not any worse than the corny puns you come up with.\"\n\n\"That was terrible, Fiera,\" Lulu said. \"Absolutely terrible.\"\n\n\"Yes, this will keep you from being affected by the gas,\" Hermit said. \"It absorbs the gas before it gets into your bloodstream, sort of like an _RID_ pill. But it only works for about twenty minutes. Mr. Sage and I haven't come up with a permanent solution yet.\"\n\n\"And it will probably only work half as long for you, Fiera,\" my father added. \"Maybe even less, given your rapid metabolism.\"\n\n\"You know you could make millions from flatulent Americans if you could perfect it.\"\n\nNo one responded. Ah well. Some people just didn't have the vision I did. While Mr. Sage and Hermit ate their pills, Lulu gave us all earpieces and activated the cameras in the _F5_ insignias on our suits. Then, it was time to get out and about and see if we could catch us a couple of ubervillains hell-bent on destruction, world domination, and the like.\n\nMr. Sage and Hermit ran around to the back of the building. I marched over to the first door I saw and shoved through it, not even bothering to be quiet or sneaky. I wanted to get this over and done with before Angel showed up. I didn't want to face Johnny just yet. Not until I figured out how I really felt about him. And how big an obstacle our secret identities were going to be to our blossoming relationship. With Travis, it had been so easy. We'd both known who we were when the lights went out, and we'd both been on the same side. But things wouldn't be that simple with Johnny and me. Not by a long shot.\n\nA couple of large, vicious-looking Dobermans lay inside the door. At least, they would have been vicious-looking if they weren't snoring like lumberjacks and piled on top of each other like puppies. Ten feet behind the dogs, four guards slumped against counters full of designer handbags. They, too, were sleeping, and slightly goofy smiles curved their lips.\n\nI sniffed. The sweet, sickening stench of the ubervillains' gas lingered in the air, although there was a slightly more floral aroma to it this time, almost like jasmine. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that Siren and Intelligal had used the blue gas or some variation of it to knock out the guards and dogs. At least they hadn't killed them.\n\n\"Hey, guys, I found the dogs and the guards. At least, the ones on this side of the building.\" I pointed the camera in my suit at the snoring piles so Lulu could get a look at them. \"Everyone seems to be having sweet dreams.\"\n\n\"They'll be all right,\" Lulu squawked in my ear. \"They have good, steady vital signs, and according to our analysis, the gas gets flushed out of people's bodies pretty quickly. They'll probably just sleep for a couple of hours. Keep going, Fiera.\"\n\nThe first floor contained women's clothes and accessories, from lacy lingerie to simple socks to stern business suits to slick panty hose. Even though the store had closed only a few minutes ago at midnight, all the clothes hung neatly from the racks, and the sweaters, shirts, and other items were folded and stacked on wooden tables in tidy piles. The staff at Oodles prided itself on making sure everything was meticulously arranged and easy to find.\n\nI was happy to note that some of my goods, including my latest collection of affordable cocktail dresses, were prominently featured in a display near the middle of the first floor. I stopped to straighten a mannequin's wayward spaghetti strap and continued on. I walked up to one of the many maps located throughout the store. My eyes scanned over the diagrams and lists of products and services available on each floor. If I were Siren and Intelligal, where would I go? What would I need to complete my scheme for world domination? I thought back to the device I'd seen in the abandoned warehouse and the spare bits of metal that had been lying around. Parts. That's what I'd need.\n\n\"I'm heading up to the third floor, where the consumer electronics are,\" I said to the others.\n\n\"Roger that,\" Mr. Sage replied in a tinny voice. \"Hermit and I will go up to the fifth floor, where the jewelry's located.\"\n\nI headed for the nearest escalator and walked up a flight of frozen steps. The second floor was devoted to home goods, like kitchen appliances, bedding, and shower curtains. I resisted the urge to see how many of my new linens were left on the shelves and climbed the next flight of stopped stairs.\n\nThe staff at Oodles was also known for its marketing savvy, which was why the third floor was split between menswear and consumer electronics, with electronics taking up the majority of the space. Someone had realized long ago that men were far more likely to drop a couple thousand dollars on plasma-screen TVs instead of business suits.\n\n\"I'm on three. I'm heading in,\" I whispered to the others.\n\n\"Be careful,\" Hermit whispered back to me.\n\nI slid behind a row of suits and headed for the electronics side of the floor. I stopped every few feet, looking and listening, but all I could hear was the hum of the air-conditioning system, and the others breathing in my ear. I wandered through the rows of televisions, computers, and digital cameras, searching for the ubervillains and exchanging hushed updates with the rest of the gang. After a few minutes of searching, I found the ubervillains' spur-of-the-moment lair.\n\nIt was the same setup as before. Someone had shoved a cash register and displays of chocolate bars off a long counter to make way for the strange, radio-like device. Lots of tools and blueprints and papers were also strewn about the area, and more electronic junk sat in a shopping cart. I picked up something that looked like a subwoofer for a speaker. Maybe the villains were getting into the car stereo installation business. I tossed it aside.\n\n\"You getting this, Lulu?\" I asked.\n\n\"Yep, but focus on the blueprints this time,\" Lulu chirped in my ear. \"I've got plenty of pictures of the actual device from the other night.\"\n\nI did as she asked, pointing my chest and the camera hidden there at the writings and scribblings and schematics on the counter.\n\n\"Interesting. It seems to be some sort of sound device,\" Lulu murmured.\n\nI snorted. \"I could have told you that. The thing looks like a giant radio.\"\n\nI wandered among the debris, getting pictures of everything for Lulu. Siren and Intelligal were nowhere to be found. They must have been supremely confident to leave their doomsday device sitting here by itself. Or supremely stupid. It was all the same when it came to ubervillains. Besides me, the only thing that was talking was a television set tuned to SNN, where Erica Songe preened for the camera.\n\nWhen I was done taking images for Lulu, I went back to the radio-looking gizmo and reared back my fist.\n\n\"Shall I smash it to bits?\" I asked the others.\n\n\"Why don't you just stand guard over it?\" Hermit suggested. \"I'd love to take a look at the device and see some of Intelligal's handiwork. The ubervillains aren't up here on the fifth floor, although there seems to be some jewelry missing. We'll be down in a minute.\"\n\nI rolled my eyes. Hermit was such a technology nerd. But I did as he asked, leaning against a display filled with the newest laser-jet printers. I opened my mouth to tell him to double-time it when a mechanical whir sounded above Erica Songe's voice. Intelligal floated into view.\n\nThe two of us stared at each other.\n\n\"You again! Can't you go set yourself on fire or something?\" Intelligal muttered.\n\nI didn't bother responding. That was another comment I'd heard about a thousand times. Instead, I grabbed the biggest printer I saw off one of the tables and hurled it at the ubervillain. The action surprised her, and she didn't have time to get her force field up before the printer smacked into the bottom of the chair.\n\nThe plastic case shattered, and parts pinged everywhere, along with a good amount of colored ink. Intelligal fumbled for her controls. The chair spun round and round like a child's top before slamming into a thick, metal support beam and sliding to the floor. A bit of smoke spewed out from the back of the trunk, like a car with a coughing fit.\n\nThe impact threw Intelligal out of her seat, and she hit a counter hard before sliding off. She sprawled on the floor, and I stood over her. The ubervillain looked small and sad and lost without her massive, gadget-filled chair. She stared up at me, her eyes dark and unreadable behind her thick, black glasses.\n\nSomeone started to clap.\n\nI turned. Johnny Angel stood behind me, looking dangerous in his head-to-toe black leather. My heart sank. Where had he come from?\n\n\"Very nicely done,\" he said.\n\n\"What are you doing here?\" I snapped. \"Are you following us?\"\n\nAngel tipped his head. \"Guilty as charged, I'm afraid. I saw your van outside and couldn't resist following you. Now, if you'll just step aside, I'll finish the job you so elegantly started. I owe the old Angel that much.\" His voice twisted with guilt, and I knew that Angel, that Johnny, was thinking of his father.\n\nI looked at Intelligal. The ubervillain blanched and scooted backward on her heels, like a crab scrabbling along a sandy beach. She bumped into a glass counter and stopped, trapped. She didn't have any powers without her ruined chair; otherwise she would have used them on me. Right now, Intelligal was as helpless as any other Bigtime citizen. My heart heavy, I turned back to Angel.\n\n\"I'm afraid I can't let you do that,\" I said. \"It's my duty to turn her over to the police.\"\n\n\"And it's my duty to avenge my predecessor, no matter what. Now, get out of my way.\" Angel took a step forward. His hands curled into fists. \"Don't make me hurt you to get to her.\"\n\n\"I can't let you kill her so you can take your revenge. I'm in the business of stopping ubervillains, not murdering them.\"\n\n\"Then it's a good thing I don't have such qualms.\"\n\nAngel marched straight at me. I knew he wasn't going to stop. Not when I was standing between him and Intelligal. Angel wouldn't stop. Neither would Johnny Bulluci. It was my bad fortune they were one and the same.\n\nAnd that I was Fiera, member of the Fearless Five. Protector of the innocent. Defender of democracy. Superhero du jour. I couldn't just let Angel murder Intelligal, no matter how much he wanted to, no matter how much she might deserve it. My duty, my code of honor as a superhero, wouldn't let me.\n\nSo, I slow-pitched a fireball at him, making sure to give him enough time to defend himself. Angel stopped and flexed, his skin taking on a hard, chiseled look. The liquid ball of heat hissed through the air and exploded on his chest. Angel's jacket and T-shirt disintegrated into ash. On the bright side, that gave me an eyeful of nicely toned man-flesh. On the dark side, it didn't slow him down a bit.\n\nSmoke boiled in the store, setting off the fire alarms. Sprinklers dropped down from the ceiling and spewed out a puffy, white, heat- and flame-retardant foam. Oodles had contingency plans for just about everything, including a superhero-ubervillain battle in the middle of the store. It had happened before when Gentleman George and the Dapper Duke both wanted the same silk ascot. George had won, but by the time the fire was out, the ascot had been reduced to ash.\n\nAngel laughed and tapped his chest. It sounded like metal ringing. \"Superstrong exoskeleton, remember? Your fireballs won't hurt me a bit, but I'll forgive you for that one, Fiera.\"\n\nI looked back at the ubervillain. Intelligal had flopped over on her hands and knees and started crawling around the counter. Sweat poured down her face, and a bit of blood darkened the side of her silver suit. She must have injured herself when the chair hit the support beam.\n\nAngel kept coming, his green eyes as hard as jade. My eyes flicked around, trying to figure out a way to stop him without hurting him too much. He was on me in a second.\n\n\"Move out of my way, Fiera,\" Angel growled, his eyes focused on Intelligal. \"Or else.\"\n\nI was out of options and out of time.\n\nSo, I punched him.\n\n# Chapter Nineteen\n\nI really should have restrained myself. It was like trying to punch through granite or slamming my hand into a wall of concrete. Pain pulsed through my fingers, up my wrist, and into my arm and shoulder.\n\n\"Son of a bitch, that hurt!\" I cursed, shaking my hand. I'd have bruises tomorrow for sure.\n\n\"I told you, Fiera. You...can't...hurt...me,\" Angel emphasized. \"Now stand aside. Or else.\"\n\n\"Or else what?\" I taunted, stalling for time.\n\nTime to do what, I hadn't a clue. My options were severely limited. Johnny Angel was strong, and with his heavy exoskeleton, I'd have a hard time wrestling him or pinning him to the ground until the others came to help. I couldn't keep him at bay with my fireballs without destroying the entire floor. The only thing I could do would be to beat on him a little, but my blows wouldn't have any effect as long as he was concentrating on his exoskeleton.\n\n\"Or else, I'll move you. And I don't think you'll like it.\"\n\nMy eyes darted back and forth. I didn't want to hurt Angel aka Johnny Bulluci, but I couldn't let him kill Intelligal either. I just couldn't. Not and still call myself a superhero. I spotted a long, thick pipe among the junk in the shopping cart. I came up with a hasty plan. The only kind of plan I did, really.\n\nI sighed. A great, big, heaving _I'm-such-a-wimpy-girl-I-just-have-to-give-in-before-I-break-a-nail_ sigh. \"All right, you can have her. Just let me tie my shoes first.\"\n\nMy excuse was totally lame, but it worked. The girly sigh, combined with my Barbie doll looks and baby blues, gets 'em every time. Angel's eyes dropped to my shoes, and the hard, chiseled look left his skin.\n\n\"Tie your shoes? But you're wearing boots\u2014\"\n\nI reached over, grabbed the pipe, and smacked Angel with it. That got his attention. He staggered back and fell to one knee.\n\n\"Kinky. I like it,\" he mumbled. Blood welled up out of the cut I'd sliced across his left cheek.\n\nHe got back up and charged at me, but he forgot to concentrate on forming his exoskeleton\u2014exactly what I'd been counting on. I sidestepped him and whacked him across the back with the pipe. But Angel limped to his feet again. And again. And again.\n\nEvery time Angel got back up, I hit him. Every time, the pipe got a bit heavier in my hands. Every cut, every bruise made me feel sick inside. Every blow I gave him was like a knife in my own heart. Despite his faults and desperate need for vengeance, I really liked Angel aka Johnny Bulluci. I hated to hurt him. I hated to hurt all innocents. But he'd left me with no choice. Sometimes, being a superhero really sucked. Damn duty.\n\nAngel's skeleton might have been superstrong, but so was I. With the pipe, I was able to put a few dents in him. Drops of blood slid down his chest like a trail of rubies. The sight made me want to retch. But he kept coming at me. Stupid, stubborn fool.\n\nDidn't the man realize that he was beaten? Evidently not, because Angel stumbled to his feet after a long moment of kissing the floor. He seesawed back and forth like a kid's teeter-totter. Then, he took a step forward. He wasn't going to stop until I killed him. Well, I wasn't going to do that. Not to Angel. Not to Johnny. I'd had enough of this. I marched over to him.\n\n\"You really should have stayed down that last time,\" I snarled.\n\nI reared back and gave him the ole Fist-o-Might. I put everything I had into the punch. All my strength, all my anger, all my guilt, all my shame. My fist cracked against his jaw, and Angel crumpled to the ground like a paper doll. I let him. Maybe the fall would knock some sense into that hard head of his, although I doubted it.\n\nThis time, Angel didn't get up. He lay there on the floor. I drew in a deep breath and threw the pipe away. I didn't want to look at it. Or the blood trickling out of the many wounds I'd inflicted on Angel. On Johnny. I closed my eyes. What had I done?\n\nA gloved hand settled on my shoulder. I shrieked, reached back for the hand, and flipped the person it belonged to over my shoulder. A blur of green slammed into the floor in front of me.\n\nMr. Sage's masked face stared up at me. His mouth opened and closed in pain, and his eyes rolled around in his head like marbles. I cringed. First my lover, now my father. I was batting a thousand today. Who was next? Some orphan out on the street? How about a senior citizen on his way home from the bingo parlor? Maybe I could knock Lulu around a little. That would make my day complete.\n\n\"Oh, sorry about that. You startled me.\"\n\nI reached down and helped Mr. Sage to his feet. His green eyes were dark and dazed. I kept a hand on his arm to keep him from plummeting back to the floor.\n\nHermit moved over to the unconscious Angel. \"Fiera, what, uh, happened here?\"\n\n\"I had Intelligal cornered, and Angel showed up. He wanted me to step aside so he could finish her off\u2014Intelligal!\" During my sickening fight with Angel, I'd forgotten about the supersmart ubervillain.\n\nI whipped around. She was gone, along with all the blueprints, the shopping cart full of stuff, and the curious machine she'd been working on. Her chair sat where it had fallen, slowly getting covered with sticky, white foam, just like everything else in the store.\n\nDamn. I put my fist through a computer monitor, not even caring about the mess I made. I couldn't believe I'd been so stupid as to let her get away. She'd been injured, for crying out loud. What kind of superhero was I? I beat up on people who helped me and let ubervillains escape. Maybe it was time to hang up the skintight spandex and mask. I punched through another monitor.\n\n\"Easy, Fiera. Easy,\" Mr. Sage said, stepping back to avoid the flying debris. \"It's not your fault she got away, so please don't destroy any more of Oodles' stock than necessary.\"\n\n\"Was there any sign of Siren?\" I asked.\n\nHermit shook his head. \"Not a trace of her, although there was a smashed jewelry case on the fifth floor. It looks like Intelligal broke in alone.\" He spotted the ruined Intellichair and brightened. \"But at least she left her chair behind. I've been itching to get my hands on it and see the technology she's got hard-wired inside it.\"\n\nHermit pulled out his computer and started to walk toward the chair.\n\nMr. Sage's eyes glowed. \"No, Hermit!\"\n\nA tall, skinny cylinder popped up on top of the chair, and a red light flashed on and off. Red lights were never, ever good. I didn't have to be psychic to know what was going to happen next. I grabbed Hermit by the back of his black-and-white suit and sprinted toward the escalator, dragging him along behind me.\n\n\"Get Johnny!\" I screamed at my father.\n\nMr. Sage used his telekinesis to pick up Johnny's unconscious form, which zipped ahead of him. Johnny sailed down the frozen escalator with Mr. Sage right behind. Hermit pounded down after them.\n\n\"Go, go, go!\" I shouted.\n\nBeing the strongest and fire-resistant, I stayed in the back this time, so I could shield the others from the force of the explosion\u2014\n\nIntelligal's chair self-destructed with a roar. I don't know what sort of explosive she had in that thing, but it packed one hell of a punch. Even better than my trusty Fist-o-Might. The others had just reached the bottom of the escalator and I was halfway down when the shockwave from the explosion knocked me into them. I felt like I was a human bowling ball, and they were a set of pins. We went down in a tangle of limbs, boots, and spandex. The building shook, and fire raced down the escalator, threatening to roast the others. I scrambled on top, trying to shield them from the searing heat. But it wasn't going to be enough.\n\nAnother set of sprinklers dropped down from the ceiling and spit out a pale, blue foam, adding to the mounds of white. The color scheme reminded me of some sort of winter wonderland. But the blue foam did its job, and the fire snuffed out just as it hit the bottom of the escalator\u2014inches away from our feet. A second later, fans rumbled to life, pulling the smoke and soot from the explosion up out of the building. Bless Oodles and its efficient safety system.\n\nThe foam covered everything. By the time we got to our feet, we were ankle-deep in the stuff. Everybody was a little shaken up, but nobody had any serious injuries. Nobody except Johnny. Hermit managed to prop him up against a table full of blenders. Blood dripped from the cuts on his face and chest, a bright, scarlet contrast to the white and blue around us.\n\n\"Let's go,\" Mr. Sage said. \"The ubervillains are gone, and the fire department will be on their way to assess the damage. There's nothing more we can do here tonight. We need to get Angel back to Sublime and treat his injuries.\"\n\nI sighed. I knew I'd done the right thing by stopping him, but seeing him there on the floor beaten, bloody, and bruised made something twist deep inside me. I knelt down beside him and brushed his hair back from his face.\n\n\"I'm so sorry, Johnny. So sorry,\" I whispered. \"But you wouldn't stop. You wouldn't listen to me. And I couldn't let you do it. I just couldn't.\"\n\nHe didn't respond. So, I picked up Angel, heaved him over my shoulder, and followed the others out of the building.\n\n* * *\n\nTwo hours later, I stood outside one of the underground sick bays in Sublime. I stared through the tinted glass window at the unconscious Johnny Angel. After waking up the unconscious guards and filling them in on what had happened, we'd ridden back to the manor in silence.\n\nI'd put Johnny in one of the sick bays we used when we had unexpected guests. The chief and Henry had treated Angel's cuts and bruises with their magic mojo pills, salves, and ointments. I hadn't beaten him as badly as I feared, and the chief promised me that he would make a full recovery. It didn't ease my guilt any, though. Now, the four of us waited outside the room trying to decide what we were going to do when Angel woke up.\n\n\"Beating up the guy you're sleeping with. That's twisted, Fiona, even for a superhero,\" Lulu said, attempting a joke.\n\n\"He didn't exactly give me a choice,\" I growled. \"I couldn't let him just kill Intelligal, especially when she was completely out of it. They call that _murder_ , you know. \"\n\nMy father placed a comforting hand on my shoulder. \"You did what had to be done. We know you'd never intentionally harm someone, Fiona. Don't we, Lulu?\"\n\nThe computer hacker didn't quite meet his gaze. Or mine. \"Sure, we know that, Chief Newman.\"\n\n\"What you think I might do or not do doesn't matter. The fact is that I beat Angel to a bloody pulp.\"\n\nIf it had been Scorpion or Frost or some other ubervillain in that bed, I would have been beaming like a comet, proud of whipping an evildoer. Now, I just felt sick and cold and tired.\n\nMy eyes traced over Johnny's face. We'd left his mask on, of course, but bruises had already started to form on his golden skin. A white T-shirt stretched over his chest, while a cotton sheet covered the rest of his body. An IV dripped antibiotics into his arm, while more machines monitored his heart and blood pressure. Johnny looked so sad, so battered, so broken lying in that hospital bed. And it was all because of me.\n\nEven worse, it could happen again if Johnny kept on with his mission of vengeance. I couldn't bear to stop him. Not Johnny. Not again. My heart couldn't take it.\n\nIn that instant, I made a decision. Probably a bad decision, probably the wrong move to make, but it was the only plan I could come up with. I looked at the others.\n\n\"I have to tell him that I know who he is, and I have to tell him who I am too.\"\n\nEveryone stilled. Then, Lulu whistled. Henry pushed his glasses up his nose. The chief laced his fingers together.\n\nFinally, Chief Newman spoke. \"Do you think that's a good idea, Fiona?\"\n\nI shrugged. \"I haven't got a clue. But it's the only way I can think of to get him to stop this vendetta. We got lucky tonight. If Intelligal hadn't been injured, she could have killed us both. She could have gassed us and shot us and not thought twice about it. Next time, we might not be so lucky. Maybe if Johnny knows who I really am and knows I'll see that justice is served, he'll think twice about killing the ubervillains.\"\n\n\"You think he cares for you?\" the chief asked. His eyes glowed a second, like the quick flare of a cigarette.\n\nI thought back to the time I'd spent with Johnny. Our dinner at Quicke's. Riding the Ferris wheel. Sneaking out of the observatory. Swimming in the lake. Dinner at his house. The way he kissed me. The way he held me. The way he made my heart quicken just by thinking about him.\n\n\"I don't know exactly how he feels about me,\" I replied. \"But I care about him. I have to try to stop him before he hurts himself **\u2014** or somebody else.\"\n\nFrom inside the sick bay, Angel let out a low moan. The sound tugged at my heart. He was beginning to come around. I put my mask back, opened the door, and stepped inside the room. His head turned in my direction.\n\n\"Well, if it isn't my favorite sadist,\" Angel said. His voice was thick and slurred like he'd been drinking instead of unconscious.\n\nI settled myself in a chair next to the bed. My eyes flicked to the many monitors that surrounded Angel. Heart, lungs, brain. Everything was fine, despite the smackdown I'd given him. Relief filled my body, along with guilt and shame.\n\n\"I'm sorry about that,\" I said in a low voice, not quite looking into his bleary eyes. \"But you didn't give me a choice.\"\n\n\"No, I suppose I didn't.\" He rubbed his bruised jaw. \"You've got quite the right hook going there. Especially when you're swinging something heavy to go along with it.\"\n\nI didn't respond. There was nothing I could say to change the fact that I'd just kicked his ass. He was taking it better than I had expected, though. Most men would have been curled up in a fetal position and whimpering by now if they'd been knocked out by a woman, even one with superstrength. No matter whether they were ubervillains or not, getting beaten up by a girl was enough to make the strongest man just fall to pieces.\n\n\"Where am I?\" Angel asked, looking around at the gleaming medical equipment.\n\n\"At Fearless Five headquarters. In one of our sick bays. It's where we bring team members to rest and recuperate when we get injured **\u2014** or other people who need medical attention.\"\n\nAngel struggled to sit up. I put my hand under his shoulder to help him, but he flinched and jerked away. I dropped my hand and stepped back, my heart heavy and aching. I twisted my engagement ring around my finger. His eyes went to the ring, and my hand stilled.\n\nAngel managed to raise himself up. He fell back against the bed, panting a bit from the effort. When he got his breath back, his eyes went around the room again, more focused now. Taking in every little detail. Then, he peeked under the covers. In addition to being the chief of police, my father was also a first-rate doctor. He'd cut Angel's skin-tight pants off so he could examine his whole body. I'd been torn between watching and leering and staying away. In the end, I'd stayed away, not wanting to see any more of the damage I'd done than necessary.\n\n\"Nice jammies,\" Angel said. \"Do they come with the room?\"\n\nHow he could crack a joke at a time like this, I didn't know. But some of the anguish dripped out of my heart. \"You might say that.\"\n\nAngel examined the rest of his body, flexing his arms and legs and making sure everything was in working order, more or less. His hands went up to his face and the mask that was still there. His head snapped around to me.\n\n\"Did you...?\"\n\nI shook my head. \"No, I didn't peek and see who you really are under there. Neither did the others.\"\n\nTension ebbed out of his body.\n\n\"I didn't need to look under your mask,\" I continued. \"Because I knew who you were already.\"\n\n\"Really?\" he said in a fake, cheery, carefree voice. \"And who do you think I am?\"\n\n\"Johnny Bulluci.\"\n\nAngel looked at me. His shoulders sagged. Then, he did the last thing I expected him to do. He reached up and yanked his mask off. Johnny Bulluci stared back at me. Green eyes. Tawny hair. Golden skin. My gaze traced over his features. He was still as handsome as handsome could be, even with the blue and purple bruises that colored his face.\n\n\"How did you figure it out?\" he asked in a low voice.\n\n\"You gave yourself away with all those angels,\" I replied in a soft tone. \"All angels, all the time.\"\n\nJohnny's green eyes narrowed, and he looked at me. Wondering. Thinking. Remembering. And he knew. Just as I had known. The knowledge blazed in his eyes.\n\nThere was only one thing left to do. I reached up and took off my own mask.\n\n\"Hello, Johnny,\" I said.\n\n# Chapter Twenty\n\nThe act shocked him as much as his unmasking had startled me.\n\nJohnny's eyes widened. \"Fiona? You're really...Fiera?\"\n\n\"In the flaming flesh,\" I said, tossing my mask on the foot of the bed.\n\nWe stared at each other. Then, Johnny threw his head back and laughed.\n\nHe laughed...\n\nAnd laughed...\n\nAnd laughed...\n\n\"What's so funny?\" I growled.\n\n\"This! Us!\" he said, wiping away tears of mirth from his battered face. \"Look at us. You're a superhero, and I'm...well, I'm not exactly as pure as vanilla. We just got into a knock-down, drag-out brawl over the life of an ubervillain who doesn't deserve to live. You beat the snot out of me, and now I find out the superhero who kicked my ass is, in fact, the woman I've been seeing. It's absurd. It's ridiculous. It's just...funny!\"\n\nJohnny started laughing again. Then, he winced and grabbed his taped ribs. His laughter died on his lips. My heart sank down into my rumbling stomach. There was nothing funny about what I'd done to Johnny Bulluci, nothing humorous or amusing about the beating I'd given him. All to save Intelligal's worthless ass.\n\n\"It's not funny,\" I said in a cold tone. \"It's\u2014\" I bit my words off, shocked and more than a little disturbed by what I'd been about to say.\n\n\"It's what?\" Johnny asked. \"What were you going to say?\"\n\nI rolled my eyes. \"It's karma.\"\n\n\"Karma? Where are you getting that from?\"\n\nI sighed. \"I have this _friend_ , for lack of a better word. She thinks that everything we do affects everybody else in the world and that our actions determine events in our lives. That there are no coincidences, basically. That everything is destiny. Fate. Kismet. Karma.\"\n\nI was glad Carmen wasn't here to hear me use her catchphrase and superhero name. I'd scoffed at her view of the world more than once. If she knew I was bandying around words like _karma_ , I'd never hear the end of it. Ever. Lulu would probably tell her all about it, though.\n\nJohnny's green eyes narrowed. \"Karma? As in Karma Girl? Wait a minute. Isn't that the name of one of the Fearless Five now? The new member who took over Tornado's slot after Malefica killed him\u2014\" Johnny stopped, guessing the rest of my secret.\n\n\"The man you were engaged to, the guy you're so in love with, it was Tornado, wasn't it? The superhero?\"\n\nI closed my eyes and nodded. \"Yes, he was the man I was engaged to. And yes, Karma Girl is the name of the woman who took his place on the Fearless Five team.\"\n\nJohnny sat still, digesting everything. Me being Fiera. Me being engaged to a superhero who'd been murdered. Him being beaten down by the woman he was sleeping with. I couldn't quite read the emotions swirling in his beautiful eyes, but I had to try to explain things to him. Johnny Bulluci had become very important to me these last few days. I wanted him to understand me, accept me. I needed him to.\n\n\"Johnny, I\u2014\"\n\nA whoosh sounded at the far end of the room, and the door opened. To my surprise, the others trooped in. Costumes on. Masks off.\n\n\"What...what are you doing?!\" I squealed.\n\nThe chief and Henry exchanged unapologetic shrugs.\n\n\"He knows who you are, he'd figure out the rest of us eventually. We thought we'd just speed along the process,\" Henry said.\n\nI sat back in my chair, dazed. Good grief, if we kept this up, everybody in the greater Bigtime metropolitan area would know our secret identities. We really needed to stop telling people what we did in our spare time.\n\nJohnny's mouth dropped open. \"Chief Newman? The chief of police in Bigtime?\" He stared at the chief, who was still wearing his green-and-white costume. \"You're Mr. Sage, the psychic superhero?\"\n\n\"Guilty as charged,\" the chief said, looking at me. \"I'm also Fiona's father.\"\n\nJohnny's head snapped back to me. \"Hold on. You said your father was a bodyguard. That his name was Sean and that you didn't get to see him as often as you'd like because of his work.\"\n\nI winced and shrugged. \"The chief's first name is Sean. And he is a bodyguard, sort of. I mean, he _is_ a superhero. That's like being a bodyguard, except of the whole city instead of just one person. And we don't _really_ spend a lot of time together\u2014\"\n\n\"Except when you're out chasing ubervillains,\" Johnny finished.\n\nI winced again.\n\nHis eyes moved over to Henry and his black-and-white outfit. \"And who are you?\"\n\nHenry stepped forward and offered Johnny his hand to shake. \"I'm Henry Harris, aka Hermit.\"\n\n\"Hermit, the technical whiz, right?\" Johnny gave Henry's hand a hard squeeze.\n\nThe superhero stepped back, wincing and cradling his hand. \"Guilty as charged.\"\n\n\"You're the Henry who calls Fiona at odd hours with those weird emergencies?\"\n\n\"That's me,\" Henry said. \"Sorry if I've been interrupting your dates lately, but we've had some situations going on these past couple days, as you're well aware of.\"\n\nJohnny's eyes moved over to Lulu. They lingered on the blue streaks in her black hair. \"And who are you? Karma Girl? You're not dressed in silver. In fact, you don't really look like her. And, not to be rude, but she's not in a wheelchair. Unless that's part of your disguise or something.\"\n\nLulu laughed. \"Oh no. I'm not Karma Girl. Not even close. I'm Lulu Lo.\"\n\nJohnny frowned. \"I've never heard of a superhero named Lulu.\"\n\n\"Oh, I'm not a superhero. I just help the Five out from time to time. I'm sort of a sidekick. A groupie, if you will.\"\n\nI glared at Lulu. Superheroes did not have _groupies_. At least, not the real pros like us. Debonair might have legions of them, but not the Fearless Five. Lulu made us sound like we were some sort of strange rock band. Or encouraged those weird people who belonged to _Slaves for Superhero Sex_.\n\nHenry put his arm around Lulu. \"She's also my fianc\u00e9e.\"\n\nLulu scowled. \"Actually, that has yet to be decided,\" she said, shrugging off his touch.\n\nHenry pushed his glasses up his nose. \"Well, when exactly are you going to get around to deciding that?\"\n\nHe sounded more than a little annoyed. I stared at the mild-mannered computer guru. Henry never got really cross, not even when I melted his computer wires. But now, he sounded rather like me when I hadn't eaten for a couple of hours **\u2014** ready to explode.\n\n\"I told you that I needed more time to think about your proposal, and I told you why,\" Lulu snapped.\n\n\"It's been almost a month already,\" Henry snapped back. \"Either you love me and want to marry me, or you don't.\"\n\n\"Of course I love you,\" Lulu replied. \"With all my heart. Even if I want to throttle you right now.\"\n\nHenry's eyes narrowed. Lulu crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him. Johnny looked back and forth between the couple, apparently amused by the squabbling supernerds.\n\nMy father stepped in between the feuding lovers and cleared his throat. \"Why don't we take this discussion to the library and leave Fiona and Johnny alone? I'm sure they have plenty of things to discuss.\"\n\nHe squeezed my hand once, then walked out of the room, followed by Henry.\n\nLulu's dark eyes flicked back and forth between the two of us. \"Yes, lots of things to...discuss.\" She snickered, then motored away.\n\nThe door whooshed shut behind them, and I let out a long breath.\n\n\"Sorry about that,\" I said. \"Usually, we're not so boisterous. At least not Lulu and Henry. They're the quiet ones of the gang. They hardly ever fight and never in front of other people.\"\n\n\"It's okay,\" Johnny said. \"It took my mind off my ribs for a few minutes.\"\n\nI grabbed his hand and stared into his eyes. \"Johnny, I want you to know how sorry I am. I truly, truly am. But I couldn't let you kill Intelligal. I just couldn't.\"\n\nHe dropped his eyes. \"You know she's evil. She and Siren have tried to kill you before. And when you figured out who I was, you knew the two of them killed my father. Why couldn't you have just let me deal with her the way I wanted to?\"\n\n\"Because I'm a superhero. I have a code of honor that I follow. I don't kill ubervillains, no matter how heinous their crimes are. I only hurt others to protect myself or innocent people. If I went around killing ubervillains or punishing everyone who broke the law in whatever manner I saw fit, I wouldn't be a superhero anymore. I'd just be a vigilante, dispensing what I saw as justice. Like Violet Crush and Sahara and all the others.\"\n\n\"A vigilante? Is that what you think I am?\" Johnny asked, his eyes bright and hard in his bruised face.\n\n\"No.\" I shook my head. \"I don't think you're a vigilante. I think you're a son who misses his father very, very much.\"\n\n\"Then, why didn't you let me have her? Why?\"\n\n\"Because killing her and even Siren too won't take away your pain. It won't bring your father back, Johnny. Nothing will do that. Believe me, I know.\"\n\nHis eyes burned into mine. \"What do you know about pain? You still have your father by your side. Fighting with you. Just like always. Mine is dead, Fiona. Dead. And he's never coming back.\"\n\nTravis's face flashed through my mind. His kind eyes. His sweet, happy smile. I turned my ring around my finger.\n\n\"I know your pain, your need for vengeance, a lot better than you think. Malefica murdered Tornado, the man I loved. The man I was going to marry. Don't you think I wanted to kill her for that? Don't you think I wanted to rip her black heart out of her chest and squeeze it until it burst like a pi\u00f1ata?\"\n\n\"You said that the person who killed your fianc\u00e9 got what she deserved. What happened to her? What happened to Malefica?\"\n\nI flashed back to that fateful night in the Snowdom Ice Cream Factory. I was trapped in a glass tube. And cold. So cold. And angry. And fearful. \"Carmen Cole, Karma Girl, dropped her into a vat of radioactive something-or-other.\"\n\n\"So, she's dead.\"\n\nI shook my head. \"We don't know that. No one's seen her since. Ubervillains are sort of like movie monsters. They always come back, even if they've been beaten, stabbed, shot, burned alive, and beheaded. I won't believe Malefica or the other members of the Terrible Triad are dead until I see their bodies. \"\n\n\"But Malefica is probably dead. Or at least horrible mutated.\" Johnny's voice was flat, cold, icy.\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"You got your revenge, Fiona. Malefica paid for what she did to you and yours. So why are you denying me my vengeance?\"\n\nI let out a long breath. \"Inadvertently, yes, I did get my revenge. But it didn't bring Travis back. It didn't change the pain I felt when he was murdered. Can't you see? If you pursue your vendetta against Siren and Intelligal, it won't help you in the end. You could even die in the process, and where would that leave Bobby and Bella? Grieving for you _and_ your father. Would you cause them more pain just to kill a couple of worthless ubervillains?\"\n\nJohnny didn't respond. He looked at me, then turned over and rolled onto his side toward the wall. Away from me.\n\nSuddenly tired, I let out a long sigh. Our conversation was clearly over. For now.\n\nSo I did the only thing I could. I opened the door and left the room.\n\n* * *\n\nI left Johnny to his brooding, stalked to my suite, and crashed onto the king-size bed. It was approaching dawn, and I was worn out. For once, I was even too tired to eat.\n\nI fell into a dark, dreamless sleep and woke up around noon. To my surprise, I felt a little better. I knew Johnny's secret, and now he knew mine. I didn't really like keeping secrets, especially from a man I was sleeping with. One that I had come to care about. It was so much easier just to say what you wanted to, when you wanted to. Consequences be damned.\n\nI took a hot shower and pondered my wardrobe for the day. I planned to give Johnny the grand tour of the Fearless Five headquarters, and I wanted to look damn good when he saw me. I needed to look good. I had a feeling I'd have to amp up the old Fiona Fine charm in order to get Johnny to forget about our boxing match and his kissing the ground multiple times last night. If he ever really could.\n\nI riffled through the small, dark area. Unfortunately, I didn't have quite the selection or closet space as I did in my apartment back in Bigtime. There were no lights in the closet, no stacks of shoes, no rows of purses, no chests filled with jewelry. Just a couple of pitiful metal racks that weren't nearly long enough. In fact, Sam had limited me to one measly, ordinary-sized closet. He said the underground space was too valuable to use housing my enormous clothing collection. The man was so misguided sometimes. Just because the love of his life preferred ratty T-shirts and ripped jeans to real clothes didn't mean the rest of us should have to suffer.\n\nI settled on an available-but-casual outfit so I wouldn't seem too eager. I'd done that already the other night, when Johnny had me moaning and begging for more against the wall. I put on a pair of tight, low-cut jeans that hugged my curves and a sleeveless, black top that laced up the front. It looked like something a working girl might have worn in an Old West saloon. Combined with the jeans, a pair of stilettos, and a black velvet choker, I had the whole _hooker-with-a-heart-of-gold_ look going on. I turned, admiring myself in the mirror over the dresser. I liked it. I hoped Johnny would too.\n\nI closed my eyes, strategizing. I'd go check on Johnny and, if he felt like it, give him the grand tour of the place. Then, maybe we could have lunch. My stomach rumbled. Well, maybe Johnny could have lunch, and I could have whatever he didn't eat. And everything else in the refrigerators. All the refrigerators. Upstairs and downstairs.\n\nI put on my makeup, brushed my golden hair until it gleamed, and headed for the sick bay. I peeked in through the window, not wanting to disturb Johnny if he was still asleep. But he was gone. The covers on the bed were thrown back, and the machines stood still and silent. My eyes flicked up and down the corridor. No broken glass, no busted door. Johnny hadn't bashed his way out of the sick bay like Carmen had once. So where was he?\n\nI spent the next twenty minutes stalking up and down the carpeted corridors of our underground lair. I checked the kitchen, the game room, the gym, the entertainment room, the garage. I reached the library. If he wasn't in here, I'd send out a red alert. I cracked the door open and stuck my head in. Johnny was inside. Relief flooded my body, followed by a far more potent feeling.\n\nI stared at him. Green eyes. Tawny skin. Golden hair. A hard body sent down from heaven itself. It was no wonder the Bullucis were obsessed with angels. With their golden good looks, they could have passed for the winged guardians themselves.\n\nJohnny prowled around the room with a predator's deadly grace. The bruises on his face and arms had faded to a soft purple, and most of the cuts had already sewn themselves shut. Johnny, Angel, must be a quick healer too. Most superheroes and ubervillains were. You sort of had to be in this business.\n\n\"Hey there, handsome,\" I drawled in a light tone and stepped inside. I wanted things to go better today than they had last night. I needed them to. \"What are you doing in here?\"\n\n\"I'm looking for a phone,\" Johnny said, eyeing Henry's many computers, wires, and other gadgets. \"That's just about the only thing you people don't seem to have around here.\"\n\n\"Why do you want a phone?\" My heart sank. I didn't want him to leave just yet. Not until things were right between us, and I'd convinced him to let the Fearless Five handle Siren and Intelligal.\n\n\"When I'm out riding around as Johnny Angel, I check in with Bella and grandfather a couple of times a night. It's been over twelve hours since I last contacted them.\"\n\nI slapped my head against my hand. \"I'm so sorry! I should have thought of that last night. They're probably worried sick.\" I would have been. I'd always been worried when Travis had gone out on missions by himself. \"Come on. You can use the phone in my room.\"\n\nI led Johnny down the twisting corridors to the one that housed our underground suites. His eyes flicked over the signs on the doors that designated whose room was where. They lingered on the one that read _Tornado_.\n\nI opened the door to my suite, and we stepped inside. Johnny strode ahead, taking in the furniture and knickknacks. Johnny's gaze focused on Travis's picture before settling on the enormous bed. A wave of hot, fiery anticipation shot through my body.\n\n\"So this is where you stay when you're fighting crime. I like it. It looks like you.\"\n\nI glanced around. Red sofa, black chairs, tile floors, white walls, fireproof paintings. The room was almost an exact copy of my apartment, except without the extra, much-needed closet space. \"Thanks. The phone's over there by the bed.\"\n\nJohnny's lips twitched up into a seductive smile. \"Really? How interesting.\" He gave me a long, steady stare that made my hormones flare to life. \"Perhaps we'll explore that area of the suite later. Unfortunately, right now I really do need to make my phone call.\"\n\nA few sparks shot off the tips of my fingers and landed on the slick tile floor.\n\n\"Dial 5 to get out of the manor,\" I said in a helpful, slightly flustered tone. Like Joanne James, I was no innocent, young thing, but something about Johnny Bulluci made me quiver deep down inside.\n\nJohnny punched in a series of numbers on the black phone. \"Hey, it's me.\"\n\n\"Where the hell have you _been_?\"\n\nI winced. I could hear Bella's high-pitched screech across the room.\n\n\"Grandfather and I have been up all night!\"\n\n\"I'm sorry,\" Johnny said. \"I was unavoidably detained, but I'm fine now. In fact, I'm with Fiona.\"\n\n\"Fiona?\" Bella squawked. \"Did the two of you have a sleepover? Is that why you didn't call and check in last night? You should have told me where you were going, Johnny. If I'd known that you and your new girlfriend were having fun, then I would have done something nice for myself. Like gone to bed at a decent hour instead of sitting up, waiting and worrying about you.\"\n\n\"We did something like that,\" he replied. \"I'm sorry I didn't call sooner.\"\n\nBella spent the next five minutes tearing into her brother for his lack of manners and total disregard for her feelings. \"The next time you stay out all night with your girlfriend, you'd better call me, Johnny Bulluci. Or else it will be the last time you're ever with a woman. And I do mean _ever_.\"\n\n\"I'm sorry, Bella. I really am. It won't happen again.\" Johnny glanced at me. \"Although I suppose I should tell you that I probably won't be home tonight either. Fiona and I are right in the middle of something important. So, don't wait up for me.\"\n\n\"You\u2014you\u2014you!\"\n\nBella sputtered incoherently, then slammed down the phone. The crack sounded like a concrete block being splintered. Johnny winced and rubbed his ear.\n\n\"She sounded really angry. I'm sorry I got you into trouble.\"\n\nJohnny shrugged and put the phone back in its cradle. \"This isn't the first time I've forgotten to check in. Bella will get over it. Eventually.\"\n\n\"I hope so. For your sake. I always thought Bella was so cool, so calm, so collected, but she didn't sound like someone I'd want to cross. Not even as Fiera.\"\n\n\"You have no idea. Bella can get a little worked up at times. And when she does, well, strange things happen.\" Johnny ran his fingers through his thick hair. \"But I'm yours for another day, at least. So, how do you want to spend it?\"\n\nI knew exactly how I'd like to spend the day. In bed. With Johnny. I stared at him, wondering exactly how injured he still was\u2014\n\n\"But before we do anything, do you think I could get some real clothes to wear?\"\n\nMy eyes traced over his body, and I realized that Johnny was only wearing the white T-shirt and pajama bottoms we kept in the sick bay. The clothes were so thin they were practically transparent. More sparks fluttered from my fingertips, and I curled my hands into fists to keep them from igniting. Now was not the time to ogle Johnny. Not after I'd beaten him senseless only a few hours ago.\n\n\"Come on,\" I said. \"We'll find you some clothes, then I'll show you around.\"\n\n* * *\n\n\"Are you sure about this, Fiona?\" Johnny asked half an hour later. \"I know this might be upsetting for you.\"\n\nI closed my eyes. \"It's fine. Really, it is.\"\n\nAfter half an hour of rifling through the suites and pitifully small closets, we'd come up with nada. Nothing came close to fitting Johnny. My father's and Sam's shirts and pants were too small across the chest and too long. Henry's clothes were too short and too mismatched. Besides, I wasn't about to make Johnny wear polka-dot bow ties with plaid sweater vests. That was just cruel. Which meant the only other place to look for men's clothes in the manor was in Travis's room.\n\nI opened the door to Travis's suite, and we stepped inside. My heart twisted, the way it always did when I came in here. A fine layer of dust covered the coffee table and entertainment center. The bed was bare, stripped of its sheets, and the magazines and knickknacks had been removed from the bookshelves. A couple of months ago, I'd packed up Travis's things and stacked them in some cardboard boxes in a corner of the room. I hadn't had the heart to get rid of them or donate them to charity. Not yet. I turned the ring around on my finger. The diamond glowed under my hot hands.\n\nJohnny put a hand on my shoulder. \"Are you sure this is okay? I really don't mind wearing the pajamas.\"\n\nMy eyes slid over his perfect biceps. I didn't mind him wearing the pajamas either. Or even nothing at all. That was the problem. \"No, this is fine. Someone should get some use out of Travis's clothes. I've been meaning to donate them to charity. I just haven't gotten around to it yet.\"\n\nI stepped away from Johnny and tore into one of the boxes marked _Clothes_. I handed him a pair of jeans and a T-shirt that featured several white, cartoon clouds. \"Here. Try these. They look like they're about your size.\"\n\nJohnny nodded and stepped into the bathroom. He came back out wearing the clothes I'd given him. \"They fit well enough,\" he said, turning around. \"How do I look?\"\n\nHe looked perfect, of course, just like always. But my eyes misted over just a bit. That had been one of Travis's favorite T-shirts. I'd given it to him as a gag gift for his birthday last year.\n\n\"Fine,\" I said, dropping my eyes. \"Let's get out of here.\"\n\nWe closed the door, and I took a deep breath. Remembering Travis was always a little difficult for me. So was going into his old room and realizing that he'd never come striding into it again. Still, it wasn't quite as hard as it had been in the past. Johnny had made it a little easier for me. I only hoped I could do the same for him and his pain over his father's death.\n\nI took a step forward. My head spun, and I braced myself against the wall.\n\n\"Hey, are you all right?\" Johnny asked, his eyes bright with concern. \"If me wearing Travis's clothes bothers you that much\u2014\"\n\n\"It's not that. Sorry. I'm just a little light-headed. I get that way when I don't eat enough.\"\n\nJohnny stared at me. \"Really?\"\n\nMy stomach chose that moment to let out what amounted to a plaintive wail. _Feed me_... _feed me_... _feed me now_ , it whined.\n\nJohnny's eyes widened. \"I didn't know a person's stomach could make that particular sound. Especially for that long.\"\n\n\"Fiery metabolism,\" I explained. \"I have to eat quite a bit every couple hours or I get light-headed and weak. As you can tell from my complaining stomach.\"\n\n\"Don't worry about it. I could use a little something to eat myself. Food first. Then, we'll explore. Deal?\"\n\nMy stomach rumbled again. \"Deal.\"\n\nI led Johnny to the underground kitchen and cracked open the refrigerators. I pulled out almost everything that was in there. Johnny started making some turkey-and-Swiss sandwiches. I couldn't wait any longer, so I grabbed a frozen pizza and tore off the cellophane covering. I wiggled my fingers, and flames covered the dish. Thirty seconds later, the pizza was done. I put it on a plate, folded the pizza over, and prepared to sink my teeth into the cheesy, greasy concoction.\n\n\"Can I have some of that?\" Johnny stared at me, a knife in one hand and a fork in the other.\n\n\"Sorry,\" I said, putting down the pizza. \"Everybody around here's pretty used to my, ah, habits. Sometimes, when I'm hungry, I forget my manners around other people, including how to share my food. Here. Have some. Please.\"\n\nJohnny cut himself off a large slice, while I inhaled the rest of it. We sat there in silence, munching on pizza and sandwiches. After about twenty minutes, Johnny pushed his plate away. I kept eating.\n\nMy eyes zeroed in on the half-eaten sandwich on his plate. \"So, are you going to eat that?\"\n\nJohnny shook his head and laughed. He slid his plate over to me. \"I seem to be doing this a lot around you.\"\n\n\"Oh? What's that?\"\n\n\"Missing meals.\"\n\nI rolled my eyes at his bad joke. Johnny chuckled, and the tension between us lightened. Soon, we were laughing and talking and joking just like we had before we'd discovered each other's secret identities\u2014and our confrontation at Oodles o' Stuff. We were having such a good time I almost forgot that less than twenty-four hours earlier, we'd been at each other's throats. Almost.\n\n\"I know this must have come as a shock to you,\" I said, polishing off a bag of chocolate chip cookies. \"Our secret lair. Me having superpowers. Especially the superstrength. That freaks a lot of people out, especially guys.\"\n\n\"Actually, I think I always sort of knew,\" Johnny said.\n\n\"Really? How?\"\n\n\"I'm not quite sure. When I was Angel and I ran into you guys, I thought you looked very familiar. That you reminded me of somebody I knew. I just couldn't quite put my finger on who it was.\"\n\nI narrowed my eyes. \"You don't happen to have an inner voice that whispers to you, do you?\"\n\nJohnny shook his head. \"Sorry. Psychic powers aren't my forte.\"\n\nGood. We had enough mind readers around here. It was getting to where a person couldn't even _think_ anything in private. Especially anything naughty.\n\n\"And there was the food, of course. You ate so much and were so thin I thought maybe you were anorexic or something.\"\n\n\"You're not the only one.\"\n\nJohnny continued with his story. \"Plus, that night we had dinner with Bella and Grandfather, when we were looking at the portraits, your body was...warm, hot even. Unnaturally so.\" A rueful grin crossed Johnny's face. \"I thought it was me at first, but I guess I can't take credit for that now, can I?\"\n\n\"Oh, it was mostly you,\" I said, blushing just a bit as I remembered my outrageous behavior. I'd begged Johnny for more...and more...and more.\n\n\"Really? Well, then, I'll have to remember that.\"\n\nAnd there he was, standing in front of me. \"And exactly how I went about doing it.\"\n\nJohnny lowered his lips to mine. I closed my eyes, reveling in the sensation. His tongue licked the corner of my mouth, and I opened it. Johnny plunged his tongue inside even as he pulled me toward him. His hands ran up and down my back. I tangled my fingers in his hair. I breathed in, letting his spicy scent make my head swim.\n\nBut I couldn't fully enjoy the kiss. I kept seeing myself hitting Angel with that metal pipe, his blood zipping through the air. With a sigh, I broke off the kiss and stepped back.\n\n\"Johnny, about last night\u2014\"\n\nHe put his finger to my lips. Another fiery flare shot through me. \"Let's not talk about business today.\" He smiled that crooked grin I knew and loved so well. \"Didn't you say something about a tour?\"\n\n* * *\n\n\"This is incredible. Absolutely incredible.\" Wonderment filled Johnny's green eyes. Which were pretty wondrous in and of themselves.\n\nDuring the last hour, we'd done a complete sweep of the underground lair. The library, the kitchen, the suites, game room, equipment room, everything. Now, we stood in the training room watching a computer simulation of our previous battle with Siren and Intelligal at the factory near Good Intentions Lane.\n\n\"The equipment, the computers, the holograms. Where do you guys get the money for all this stuff?\" Johnny asked, his eyes moving from the lifelike holograms to the rows of computers and blinking lights. I could almost see him trying to calculate the cost of everything.\n\nI shrugged. \"Being a superhero isn't cheap, so it helps that Sam's a billionaire.\"\n\n\"Who's Sam?\" Johnny asked.\n\n\"Sam Sloane, the businessman,\" I replied. \"He's Striker, another member of the Fearless Five, and one of the wealthiest guys in the city. He has plenty of money to burn on our superhero gear. And I don't do so badly myself either. Fiona Fine Fashions has a very healthy profit margin.\"\n\nJohnny's eyes slid over my shirt and jeans. \"I'm sure it does, with such a beautiful woman running it.\"\n\nI smiled, pleased by the compliment. A lot of things about Johnny Bulluci pleased me.\n\nHe turned back to the holograms that flickered in the training room below us. \"Do you have more of these? I'd love to watch them.\"\n\n\"Of course. But they're so boring. Why would you want to look at\u2014\" I knew why Johnny would want to watch our training simulations. He wanted to know more about Siren and Intelligal. Every strength. Every weakness. Every habit. He had to, if he was going to kill them.\n\n\"Oh, Johnny.\"\n\n\"He was my father, and he was blown away. Can't you understand that?\" His voice was hard with emotion. Anger. Rage. Grief.\n\n\"Of course I can understand it.\" I put a hand on his shoulder. \"No matter what else has happened, you have to know that I'm sorry for your loss. Losing a loved one is never easy, no matter what the circumstances are. Losing your father the way you did is especially painful. I know you think that I'm against you, that the Fearless Five are against you, but we're on your side. We want Siren and Intelligal brought to justice just as much as you do. They're planning something\u2014something that could hurt a lot of innocent people. We've got to stop them before they get a chance to do it.\"\n\nHe didn't respond, but his eyes went to my hand on his shoulder. They lingered on my diamond ring.\n\n\"Is there anything I can say to get you to change your mind? To work with us?\" I said in a soft voice.\n\nJohnny stared at me. \"You have your duty, your code. And I have mine. I'm sorry, Fiona.\"\n\nThen, he turned and walked away.\n\n# Chapter Twenty-One\n\nJohnny returned to the sick bay and spent the rest of the afternoon in bed recovering his strength. I paced around the library and brooded for an hour, before heading to the kitchen and polishing off everything I could get my hands on. Cookies, chips, pies, pizzas, cold cuts, cheese, bread. If it wasn't nailed down, I ate it. If I'd had enough salt left, I would have gnawed on a couple of table legs. But I'd used it all on my French fries. Damn.\n\nThe chief came in late that afternoon after his shift and checked Johnny's vitals. I stood in a corner and watched.\n\n\"Well, it looks like you're healing up nicely, Johnny,\" the chief said, listening to Johnny's heart through a stethoscope. \"In addition to your exoskeleton, I also believe you have a bit of regeneration. Then again, most superheroes do.\"\n\n\"I'm not a superhero,\" Johnny said.\n\nHe didn't speak to me. He didn't even look in my direction.\n\n\"Well, everything appears to be in order. I think you can return home tomorrow, if you wish. Try not to do anything too strenuous for a couple of days, though. Okay?\" the chief asked.\n\nJohnny nodded his head. \"Okay. I'll get out of your hair first thing in the morning.\"\n\n\"I'll drive you back to Bigtime,\" I volunteered.\n\nHe stared at the tiled ceiling and shook his head. \"That's all right. I'll just call a cab to take me back into town.\"\n\n\"You can't exactly do that,\" I pointed out. \"We're a couple hundred feet underground here, you know. Plus, there's our whole secret-identity thing. Calling a cab would officially blow our cover.\"\n\n\"Then, I'll go upstairs and call a cab from there. I'll be fine. I always am.\"\n\nOur gazes locked. Johnny pulled the covers up to his chin and rolled over on his side.\n\nShutting me out again.\n\n* * *\n\nTired, grouchy, and frustrated, I went to bed early. And I dreamed...\n\nI stood between Johnny and Siren. We were all in costume, standing in the middle of an open field. Spring-green grass stretched for miles in every direction, contrasting with the gaudy colors of our suits. And the gunmetal-gray of the pistol in Johnny's hand. It was a large weapon, more like a cannon than an actual gun.\n\nSiren stared at me with her hypnotic blue eyes. \"Are you just going to stand there and let him kill me? Or are you going to be a real superhero and save me?\"\n\nHer voice sounded harsh and demanding. I could feel her will wrapping around me, squeezing my thoughts, my actions into her wishes and desires. My feet moved of their own accord until I stood in front of Johnny.\n\n\"Please, Johnny,\" I begged. \"Please don't do this. Don't make me choose between the two of you. She's not worth it. She's nothing compared to you. Please, please don't do this.\"\n\nJohnny raised his gun and pointed it right at me. I opened my mouth to beg, to plead with him one more time. But he didn't listen. He pulled the trigger. The bullet punched through the air, slamming into my heart. Breaking it\u2014\n\nI woke up with a gasp and bolted upright. My heart pounded. My hair crackled and sizzled and hissed with fire. My fingertips glowed. Sparks flew everywhere, smoldering on my silk sheets. My eyes zipped around the room.\n\nMy room. I was in my room. Slowly, I relaxed. It was a dream. Just a dream. Just a nightmare. I flopped back against the bed and rubbed my blazing eyes.\n\nFor now.\n\nI stripped the sheets off the bed so they wouldn't catch fire, then lay back down. I tried to go back to sleep, but for once, it eluded me. Hot and sweaty, I got out of bed and grabbed a couple of thick towels and an itty-bitty bikini from my stash of swimsuits.\n\nIt was time for a midnight swim, something I'd started doing after Travis had died. I hadn't slept well for months after his murder, and swimming was the only thing that calmed me down. The gentle splash of the water, the weightless feel of it against my skin, the rhythmic, repeated kick of my arms and legs soothed something primal deep inside me. For a little while, I could forget about my troubles, my pain, my anger. I could lose myself in the water. Plus, I didn't have to worry about getting emotional and setting the pool on fire. I'd melted more than one treadmill that way.\n\nI walked through the deserted halls of the underground lair. We were taking the night off, given the disastrous events of the previous evening. My father had gone back into the city to finish up some paperwork regarding the mess at Oodles. Henry and Lulu were around somewhere, probably huddled in the library _type-type-typing_ away on their computers, but no one was officially on call.\n\nI made my way to the exercise room. Unlike my pitiful closet space, Sam had spared no expense in outfitting the gym with the best treadmills, elliptical trainers, and strength-training devices money could buy. Row after row of gleaming machines sat in the long room, along with shelves full of exercise DVDs. Free weights, exercise balls, and yoga mats hung in racks in a corner of the room, which smelled like sweat, rubber, and old gym socks.\n\nWe couldn't afford to let ourselves go or ubervillains would wipe the floor with us. And then there was the PR side of things. Nobody\u2014not the public and certainly not SNN\u2014wanted to see out-of-shape superheroes. Even the older heroes like Granny Cane kept themselves in tip-top condition. They needed to in order to sell their toys and video games. Given my fiery metabolism, I didn't have a problem keeping the weight off, but the others had to work at it.\n\nI strolled past the machines, opened a door, and stepped into the pool room. Sam had spared no expense here either. Cushioned lounge chairs and umbrella-topped tables crouched on either side of the Olympic-sized pool, along with metal lockers full of scuba, snorkeling, and other diving equipment. In addition to saving people on the mean streets of Bigtime, we'd also done more than a few underwater rescues. At least once a month, some civilian ran his car off the Skyline Bridge and into the marina. Or a cruise ship tipped over and had to be righted before it sank to the bottom of Bigtime Bay.\n\nBut perhaps the most unusual feature of the pool room was the ceiling. Instead of the usual tiled ceiling that hovered above so many of the hallways in the underground lair, this one featured embedded 3-D holograms similar to those in the training room. A knob on one wall let you set the ceiling to whatever scene you wanted to look at, from rolling clouds, to lightning, to several of the better-known constellations. I chose the _night sky_ setting, remembering my time with Johnny at the observatory. The ceiling dimmed to a dusky gray, and a smattering of stars twinkled to life, along with a full moon. I hit another knob, and the soft sounds of crickets and other forest creatures filtered into the room. Ah, perfect.\n\nThe faintest hint of a spring breeze brushed my face, and I felt some of the tension ease out of my body. I spread my towels out next to the shallow end of the pool and did a few stretches to loosen up my tight muscles. Then, I climbed up the twenty-foot diving board, bounced once, and plunged into the deep, blue water.\n\nThe wetness closed over me, blocking out everything else. Johnny's stubbornness, his vendetta, my fruitless attempts to stop him, these new feelings I was developing for him. I swam and swam, going from one end of the pool and back again in a thoughtless rhythm.\n\nI popped up for air and found myself staring at a pair of bare feet. Slightly hairy, very male feet. My eyes snapped up.\n\nJohnny towered above me, clad only in his pajama bottoms. \"Hey there.\"\n\n\"Hey,\" I said, not quite sure what he was doing here. I swam over and sprawled across the steps that led down into the water.\n\nJohnny followed me. He sat down on the edge a few feet away and dangled his legs in the warm water. I tried not to notice how the fabric clung to his toned calves. Or how see-through it became when wet.\n\n\"I wanted to talk to you about earlier today,\" Johnny said. \"I acted like a complete ass. I'm sorry.\"\n\n\"There's no need to apologize.\"\n\n\"Yes, there is. You were trying to help me, and I shut you down.\" He drew in a deep breath. \"It's just, I don't know, I can't think straight where Siren and Intelligal are concerned. It just hurts too much. All I can focus on is my father and what they did to him. But I took my pain, my frustration, out on you today. I'm sorry for that.\"\n\n\"Forget about it. I understand. Really, I do.\"\n\nJohnny nodded. \"That's what makes it so hard sometimes.\"\n\nHe stared out at the shimmering water, then back at me. \"Care for some company?\"\n\n\"I'd love some. Doing laps gets pretty boring after a while,\" I joked, trying to lighten the mood.\n\nI swam back out into the middle of the pool, so Johnny would have room to ease himself down into the water. To my surprise, he followed my progress alongside the edge of the pool, grinning.\n\n\"Cannonball!\" Johnny shouted, throwing himself into the water.\n\nAn enormous wave washed over me. Water stung my face, and I laughed. Johnny came up for air, and we treaded water. We swam back and forth in the pool for a while.\n\nAfter about half an hour, we raced back to the shallow end and got out. We flopped onto the thick beach towels and stared at the fake stars high above. If I hadn't known better, I would have sworn I was lying on a deserted beach somewhere instead of underneath one of the finest homes in Bigtime.\n\n\"It all looks so real,\" Johnny said. \"Like you could almost reach up and pluck the stars out of the sky.\"\n\n\"Sam, Henry, and the chief do a good job with the holograms.\"\n\nWe lay there, still and silent and staring at the stars. I thought about asking Johnny one more time to forget his vendetta, to leave Siren and Intelligal to us. But I didn't want to ruin the moment, so I kept quiet **\u2014** for a change.\n\nMy stomach, though, had other ideas. It let out a long, gurgling roar that would have put a movie monster to shame.\n\nJohnny turned over on his side and looked at me. A grin spread across his face. \"Let me guess. No lunch or dinner, right?\"\n\nMy stomach rumbled like thunder. \"Oh no, I ate enough lunch and dinner for thirteen people. But unfortunately, my metabolism never, ever stops. Not even when I'm asleep.\"\n\n\"Well, we better get you fed before you waste away to nothing. We can't have you fighting crime on an empty stomach, now can we?\"\n\nI laughed, and Johnny pulled me to my feet. I grabbed my towels, and we headed for the underground kitchen.\n\nI plopped down on one of the metal swivel stools while Johnny yanked open the door on one of the refrigerators. He stared inside, then glanced over his shoulder at me.\n\n\"I know.\" I cringed just a bit. \"It's probably a little empty in there.\"\n\n\"I'm sure I can find something for us to snack on.\"\n\nJohnny turned back to the refrigerator, and I used the opportunity to study him. His pants were still slightly damp, accentuating every muscle in his perfect body. Exoskeleton or not, the man looked like a marble statue come to life. One that was perfectly proportioned in all the right places. My eyes dipped lower. Everywhere.\n\n\"So, what do you want?\" Johnny asked, rummaging around in the frosty depths. \"I think there's still enough roast beef left for a couple of sandwiches.\"\n\nI was hungry, but not for food for a change. I hungered for Johnny. And I was going to do something about it. Right now.\n\n\"Here, let me see what I can find.\"\n\nI strolled over to the refrigerator and scanned the contents. Johnny was right. There wasn't much left, except a couple of boxes of baking soda and a few condiments. Even I couldn't eat ketchup, mustard, or mayonnaise straight out of the bottle, no matter how famished I was. My eyes roamed over the metal racks. But it wasn't a complete loss. I plucked out a skinny can.\n\n\"Whipped cream?\" Johnny asked. \"You're going to eat chocolate whipped cream and nothing else?\"\n\nI grinned. \"Absolutely.\"\n\nI shook the can. Then, I leaned over and squirted a little on the corner of Johnny's mouth. I flicked my tongue over the chocolate frost and licked it off, lightning-quick. I repeated the process on the other corner of his mouth. Then, on the side of his neck. Then, in the hollow of his throat. Whipped cream had never tasted so good.\n\n\"Fiona...\" Johnny said in a husky tone.\n\n\"What's the matter? Don't you like whipped cream?\" I asked in a coy voice.\n\nJohnny put his hands on my hips and rested his forehead on mine. His light touch made me burn that much more. \"Are you sure you want to do this with everything that's happened? With everything that's between us? Because Siren and Intelligal are still out there, and I'm still\u2014\"\n\nI put a bit of whipped cream on my finger and pressed it to his lips. \"Enough about them. We're here now, and that's all that matters. Besides, I'm still hungry.\" I licked the chocolate confection away. \"Aren't you?\"\n\nJohnny stared at me. Then, a slow, wicked grin spread across his face. \"Baby, I'm always hungry.\"\n\nHe took the can from me and squirted some of the cream into his mouth. I reached up and pulled his lips down to mine. The frothy chocolate melted as our tongues stroked back and forth. Even as the whipped cream disappeared, the liquid heat inside me grew and grew until it was a bonfire raging out of control, burning me alive. And there was only one thing that would douse the flames, only one thing that would cool my desire. Johnny. Now.\n\nRight now.\n\nI sank to my knees and pulled Johnny down with me. He lowered me the rest of the way to the floor. The tile was cool and slick beneath us, but I didn't feel it. All I could feel, see, taste, hear, smell was Johnny.\n\nOur kisses grew longer, harder, deeper, until we were both frantic and dizzy with need. We clawed at each other's clothes, ripping aside the thin barriers. My bikini was shredded away. So were his pajama pants.\n\nJohnny squeezed my breasts. I raked my nails down his back. He kissed my neck. I nibbled on his ear. Our legs tangled together, and fire throbbed and pulsed through my body, rocking me to my molten core. With one thought, we moved into each other. The white-hot feel of Johnny sinking into me made me cry out with pleasure.\n\nIt was quick and hard and good. We climaxed and lay there panting on the tile.\n\nJohnny drew me into his arms and nuzzled my neck. I closed my eyes and stroked his damp hair, careful not to singe it with my sparking fingertips. A soft, warm glow wrapped around my body.\n\n\"Don't you go to sleep on me just yet,\" Johnny said.\n\nI looked at him through slitted eyes. \"Why not? Good sex always makes me sleepy. I think I held up my end of the bargain just now.\"\n\nJohnny reached over my head and grabbed the stray can of chocolate whipped cream. \"Because, baby, we still have half a can of whipped cream left.\"\n\nJohnny shook the metal can. He leaned over and spread the cream on my nipples, my stomach, then farther down to more interesting places. The creamy frost felt like dew drops on my flushed skin.\n\n\"Johnny, what are you up to?\"\n\nHe grinned and lowered his mouth to me.\n\n# Chapter Twenty-Two\n\nI woke up a couple hours later in Johnny's arms. We were still in the kitchen, stretched out in front of the refrigerator. A couple of beach towels covered our bodies. I stretched my arms above my head. Every part of me felt warm and languid and relaxed. A sigh of contentment escaped my lips. I felt so satisfied, so peaceful, so loved.\n\nA hand stroked my cheek. I turned, and Johnny was there. He rose up on one elbow and stared into my eyes.\n\n\"Hey there.\"\n\n\"Hey there yourself.\" I pressed my lips to his for a quick kiss. \"That was pretty incredible.\"\n\n\"Yes, it was. Although I'd use a better adjective than merely _incredible_. Lots of things are _incredible_. Give me something stronger.\"\n\nI arched an eyebrow. \"Fantastic?\"\n\nJohnny shook his head. \"Something stronger.\"\n\n\"Unbelievable?\"\n\n\"Nope.\"\n\n\"Tip-top?\"\n\nJohnny shuddered.\n\n\"Super-duper?\"\n\nJohnny snapped his fingers. \"Super-duper! That's it! Fiona Fine, we have just made _super-duper_ love together. Wouldn't you agree?\"\n\n\"And then some.\"\n\nWe kissed again, and Johnny flopped onto his back. He stared up at the ceiling, and his smile faded away. I knew he was thinking of his father. And how he would never experience such pleasure again.\n\n\"Tell me about your father,\" I asked, snuggling into the crook of his arm to distract him. \"I told you about Travis. Tell me about your father, James.\"\n\n\"Are you sure you want to hear about him now?\" Johnny asked. \"That's sort of an odd conversation for pillow talk.\"\n\nI gestured at the tile floor beneath us. \"Well, we're not on pillows, we're on the kitchen floor. And I'd like to know more about your father, more about Johnny Angel.\"\n\n\"All right.\"\n\nJohnny told me everything about his father. How he'd been heartbroken when his wife Lucia had died. How he'd struggled to raise Johnny and Bella alone. How he'd given them everything he had. His love, his time, his business. Johnny's love for his father radiated from him, along with some emotion I couldn't quite identify.\n\n\"When was the last time you spoke to him?\"\n\nJohnny's eyes darkened. \"The night before he died. I was still in Greece then, and he called me to talk about a business deal I was working on. Then, we started talking about the other family business\u2014Johnny Angel. He wanted me to come home to Bigtime and take over as Angel. He said he was getting too old, that he'd almost let a mugger get away from him a couple of weeks ago. I refused. I told him that life wasn't for me. The fighting, the patrolling, the gang wars. It wasn't what I wanted.\"\n\n\"And then he died,\" I prodded in a gentle tone.\n\nJohnny sucked in a deep breath. \"And then he died. Two days later, Bella called me, frantic. She hadn't heard from Dad. I flew home at once. We went out to where he'd last been seen. We found some of the pieces of his motorcycle. They were charred and burned almost beyond recognition. And we found his watch. The glass case was busted, but it was still in one piece. That watch was my grandfather's, the original Johnny Angel. My dad never went anywhere without it. We knew then that he was dead.\"\n\nMy heart ached for Johnny. I touched his face with my fingertips, and Johnny pressed a kiss to my hand.\n\n\"I turned over our Greek operations to one of the other business managers and moved back home. I vowed to find the people responsible and make them pay.\"\n\n\"Siren and Intelligal.\"\n\nJohnny nodded. \"A contact in one of the local biker gangs overheard the two of them talking about how they'd killed Angel. They were bragging about it at Quicke's one night. When I found out it was them, I swore a blood oath to my grandfather and Bella to kill them and avenge my father. And I will honor my vow.\"\n\nI opened my mouth to protest. To tell him once again that the Fearless Five would bring the ubervillains to justice. Johnny wasn't having any of it, though. His fingers slid down my breasts, past my stomach. They penetrated me, exploring. I closed my eyes. Heat waves of pleasure sizzled through my body. I was so hot you could have fried bacon on my forehead.\n\n\"That's...not...fair,\" I rasped, digging my hands into his smooth, broad shoulders. \"I...can't think...straight...much less...argue...when you...do that.\"\n\nJohnny grinned. \"Baby, nothing's fair in love and war. Isn't that how the old saying goes?\"\n\nHe didn't have to reach for me. I threw myself into his waiting arms.\n\n* * *\n\nWe made love four more times. On the floor. On the countertop. Against the refrigerator. Sitting on top of a stool. The last one was particularly interesting. I'd never look at a chair the same way again.\n\nWhen we were done, Johnny went back to the sick bay, and I slipped back into my suite. We both would have been much more comfortable in my bed, but I didn't want the others to know everything we'd done just yet. I wasn't worried about their disapproval. Despite Johnny's desperate need for revenge, the others knew he was a good person deep down inside. Besides, I'd never needed other people's approval anyway.\n\nNo, I didn't want the others to know everything just yet because if they knew, then I'd have to admit to myself that Johnny and I were having more than a casual fling. That we were officially a couple. An item. Together. And that I was slowly but surely starting to forget about Travis.\n\nI sat down on my bed. With a start, I realized that I hadn't thought about Travis in hours now. Days, really. Oh, he crossed my mind every now and then, but he didn't fill my thoughts anymore. My heart no longer ached like a rotten tooth, pulsing and throbbing with each strained beat. My eyes flickered to the beaming picture on my nightstand. Travis's blond hair and brown eyes looked strange to me, almost as if I were seeing him for the first time. The pain of his loss wasn't the only thing fading from my mind. My memories were getting fuzzed over as well. And that's what really scared me. I didn't want to forget him. Didn't want to forget anything about him.\n\nBut I was.\n\nMy fingers traced over his wide smile. The diamond on my finger sparkled like a small sun on my hand. \"Well, I suppose you know about me and Johnny by now. You'd like him, I think. He's a lot like you. Fun, energetic, full of life,\" I whispered. \"He'll never take your place, but I like him. And he likes me. He makes me laugh, just the way that you used to. I've missed that. Laughing.\"\n\nTalking to a picture of a dead man was rather silly, of course. He wasn't going to talk back to me or suddenly appear beside my bed as a shimmering ghost. Whispering to Travis was something Carmen would do while listening to those pesky voices in her head. But it made me feel a little better, even if Travis didn't respond. Even though he never would again.\n\nI snapped out the lights and went to sleep.\n\n* * *\n\nThe next morning, I stood in the sick bay with Johnny and the chief, who was giving him one more exam before discharging him. Johnny grinned at me while Chief Newman checked his temperature, pulse, and blood pressure. The last of his cuts and bruises had healed up, and Johnny looked no worse for wear, despite the fact I'd gone to town on him with a lead pipe. I didn't feel quite so guilty about it as I had before. I figured last night had made up for it a little bit. Pleasure. Pain. There was a thin line between the two.\n\nThe chief tapped his knees with a metal hammer, making a hollow, ringing sound. Johnny slipped his hand in mine, while the chief continued his ministrations. I liked the solid feel of Johnny's skin next to mine. All of his bare, naked, smooth, supple skin next to mine. His hard, muscled body on top of me. Under me. Beside me. In me\u2014\n\n\"Fiona? Are you listening?\" Chief Newman rumbled.\n\nI snapped back to reality. \"Of course. What did you say?\"\n\n\"I said that Johnny's fine, except he seems a little tired this morning. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?\" The chief turned his blue eyes to mine.\n\nI flashed back to our time together in the kitchen. I could still taste the chocolate whipped cream on my lips. \"Of course not.\"\n\n\"I did tell him to avoid strenuous activities,\" the chief continued. \"But I don't think he heeded my warning.\"\n\n_Strenuous_ wouldn't be the word I would use to describe last night. Perhaps _vigorous_ or _long-lasting_ or the previously agreed upon _super-duper_.\n\nMy father kept staring at me. His eyes glowed, like a match burning. Johnny looked back and forth between the two of us, still grinning.\n\n\"Johnny doesn't seem to be one to heed warnings,\" I said.\n\n\"That sounds like someone else I know,\" the chief replied.\n\nI tossed my hair over my shoulder, but I couldn't help the blush that crept up my cheeks. I'd just been busted for having a little nookie-time fun by my own father. Way to go, Fiona.\n\nThe chief finished up his examination, pronouncing Johnny fit to take on the world once more. Johnny put on some more of Travis's old clothes, and we headed back to the city in my convertible. It was a beautiful May day, with plenty of sunshine and a steady breeze. I put the top down, tilted my face up, and drank in the vibrant rays. Johnny leaned his head against the back of his seat and did the same.\n\nWe didn't speak on the way back to Bigtime. I didn't know what to say to Johnny, other than to ask him once again to abandon his vendetta against Siren and Intelligal. I wasn't sure how he would react to that.\n\nWe pulled into the long, curving driveway of the Bulluci manor about ten that morning. I stopped the car outside the front door and killed the engine.\n\nJohnny turned to me. \"Come in. Stay with me for a while.\"\n\nI stared up at the house. A white lace curtain in one of the upstairs windows twitched and fell back into place. \"I'm not sure that's such a good idea. Unless I miss my guess, Bella's waiting somewhere inside ready to pounce on you and demand an explanation. Given how your last conversation went, I imagine there'll be some yelling involved too.\"\n\n\"That's precisely why I need you to come with me. To protect me from my big, bad, nasty sister.\" Johnny grinned.\n\nI found myself grinning back. \"I do so admire manly men, especially those who quake at the thought of facing their little sister.\"\n\nJohnny shuddered. \"You don't know Bella. She might seem mild-mannered and sweet, but once she gets going, she's hard to stop.\"\n\n\"Well, if you insist...\"\n\nThe truth was that I wanted to spend more time with Johnny. Every waking minute if I could. Anything to keep him close to me, to keep him safe. Anything to keep him from trying to fulfill his vendetta.\n\n\"I do insist with you, Fiona. Always.\"\n\nJohnny pulled me inside, and we wandered through the angel-filled rooms, searching for the rest of the Bullicis.\n\n\"Bella? Grandfather? I'm home,\" Johnny announced. His voice boomed through the sprawling mansion.\n\nNo response.\n\n\"Come on,\" Johnny said. \"I know where they are.\"\n\nHe led me to the den. Bella sat on the long sofa, watching some art restoration program on the enormous television. A sketch pad lay on her lap, but she snapped off the screen at the sight of us.\n\n\"Well, it's about time you got home,\" Bella said in a tight, cold voice. Her hazel eyes shimmered like liquid gold with anger. \"I hope the two of you enjoyed yourselves these last few days. Some of us were working.\"\n\n\"I didn't mean to be gone so long, but I ran into a bit of trouble. Fiona helped me out of it.\" Johnny strolled to Bella's side and planted a kiss on her cheek like nothing was wrong.\n\nBella narrowed her eyes. \"What sort of trouble? Did the two of you run out of condoms or something?\"\n\nI arched an eyebrow. I wouldn't have thought quiet, shy Bella would have the gumption to say the word _condoms_ out loud, much less in front of other people. Perhaps still waters really did run deep.\n\n\"Not exactly,\" Johnny said. \"Fiona beat the stuffing out of me.\"\n\nConfusion and worry spread across Bella's face. \"How would she be able to do that? Your exo\u2014\" She cut off her words and looked at me.\n\nI rolled my eyes and tossed my hair over my shoulder. All these innuendos and shortened sentences and half truths were really starting to annoy me. So I did what I did best. I snapped my fingers, and a fireball popped into my hand. With my other hand, I picked up the sofa\u2014with Bella still sitting on it. She let out a squeak of alarm and clung to the side of the furniture.\n\n\"This is how,\" I replied.\n\nBella's eyes zipped back and forth from me to the fireball to the sofa to Johnny and back to me. Comprehension filled her face. \"You're Fiera?\" she screeched. \"The superhero? A member of the Fearless Five?\"\n\nI winced. Bella could almost match Siren when it came to her piercing voice. \"That's right.\"\n\nBella's golden gaze flicked to her brother. \"Why are you telling us your secret identity?\" She tried to be cool and casual, but panic sparked in her eyes.\n\n\"You don't have to pretend, Bella. Fiona knows that I'm Johnny Angel. She knows everything. About me, about Father, all of it.\"\n\nBella's mouth dropped open. She almost tumbled off the sofa. \"Johnny! You didn't!\"\n\n\"He didn't really have a choice,\" I said. \"I did beat the stuffing out of him. But I knew who he was before then.\"\n\nBella turned on her brother. \"Johnny, how could you be so reckless? Letting someone guess your secret identity. The family's secret identity.\"\n\nI gestured at all the cherubs and angel wings and halos in the room. \"It wasn't that hard to figure out. In fact, it's pretty obvious. You know, you guys might want to think about redecorating just a little bit. The angels are a dead giveaway.\"\n\n\"That's what their grandmother always thought, but I never listened to her.\"\n\nWe turned at the sound of Bobby Bulluci's voice. The old man stood in the doorway, staring at the three of us. His eyes went to the fireball on my hand and the sofa I had hoisted in midair. Busted again. If I kept this up, I might as well just take an ad out in _The Chronicle_ or _The Expos_ _\u00e9_ announcing my secret identity to the entire world. Hell, maybe I'd just rip my mask off at the next superhero gathering at Paradise Park in front of Kelly Caleb. The SNN reporter would get the news out in no time flat. On the upside, I'd save a fortune in masks.\n\nBella rubbed her temples. \"Let me get this straight. You knew that my brother, the man you've been dating, was Johnny Angel, yet you still beat up on him?\"\n\n\"That's right.\"\n\n\"Johnny, do you care to explain this?\" Bella crossed her arms over her chest, looking more like an uptight schoolteacher than a cutting-edge fashion designer.\n\n\"It's a long story,\" Johnny said. \"Let's sit down.\"\n\nI put the furniture and Bella back on the floor and snuffed the fireball out of my hand. We sat down on the lowered sofa, and Johnny spent the next ten minutes filling Bella and his grandfather in on everything that had happened since we'd had our knock-down, drag-out brawl at Oodles o' Stuff.\n\n\"Incredible,\" Bobby said. \"All these years I've wondered about the Fearless Five, who they really were, and here you are, Fiera, sitting in my living room. Incredible.\"\n\nI shrugged in a modest sort of way. It was always nice to be thought of as incredible. My eyes went to Johnny. Or super-duper. I cleared my throat. Since all of our cards were on the table, I might as well appeal to Bella and Bobby to help me with my mission. My very personal mission.\n\n\"My friends and I have spent the last two days trying to convince Johnny to leave Siren and Intelligal to us. The two of them are planning something, and we need to figure out what it is and stop them before they hurt anyone else.\"\n\n\"It is not simply a matter of stopping them,\" Bobby said. Tears gathered in his eyes, and he suddenly seemed old and small and frail. \"I believe in the old ways. Eye for an eye, blood for blood. Those two killed my James, my son. They should be killed in turn to set things right.\"\n\n\"I understand your pain, sir, truly I do,\" I said. \"But killing them won't bring your son back. It won't take away your sadness.\"\n\nBella nodded. \"That's what I've been trying to tell them for months now. We've already lost Father. We don't need to lose you too, Johnny.\"\n\n\"He has a duty to his family, to carry on the legacy\u2014\" Bobby started.\n\n\"Oh, screw the stupid family legacy,\" Bella snapped. \"I'd rather have Johnny home safe and sound any day than lose him to your silly legacy.\"\n\nThe two of them glared at each other. Yikes. And I thought I could get hot under the collar when I was angry. I had nothing on Bella Bulluci.\n\nDisgusted with the men in her family, Bella grabbed her sketch pad off the sofa and threw it onto the glass-topped coffee table.\n\nCrack!\n\nThe pad hit the table with a loud smack, and the glass split down the middle. The two pieces fell on top of each other, along with an assortment of coasters, magazines, and a mug that hit the floor and shattered.\n\nWhen the noise faded and the glass and dust settled, I looked at Bella. Wondering.\n\n\"It's nothing,\" Bella muttered, avoiding my eyes. \"Just another part of the stupid family legacy.\"\n\nOne that was getting more interesting and unusual by the minute.\n\n\"Maybe you should go and let us talk about this, Fiona,\" Johnny said in a soft voice. He squeezed my hand. \"Please?\"\n\nI looked at the three of them. This was a family matter, and I wasn't part of the family. The thought made me sadder than I would have imagined.\n\n\"All right. I'll go. For now. But think about what I said. Let the Fearless Five handle the ubervillains. It's what we do.\"\n\n\"It's what Johnny Angel does too,\" Bobby replied. \"It's what we've done for three generations now. We take care of our own. We always have, and we always will. That's our family's real legacy.\"\n\nI didn't have a response. Johnny's eyes begged me to go before things got any more heated. So, I left.\n\n# Chapter Twenty-Three\n\nI drove to my office. Paperwork cluttered my desk, along with the remains of the wilted flowers Johnny had sent me. I stared at the dried-up brown petals and hoped they weren't an omen. That my relationship with Johnny wouldn't soon be as dead and decayed as they were.\n\nI rolled my eyes. Sheesh. I was getting as bad as Carmen and my father looking for doom-and-gloom portents of the future. I shoved the flowers into the trash can and stared at the piles of messages on my desk, the notes from suppliers, all the thousand small details that needed seeing to. I really needed to get to work.\n\nBut I couldn't concentrate on any of it, not even my Fiera fan mail. All I could think about was Johnny and his family. I paced around my office. Bella had agreed with me, that the Fearless Five should be the ones to take care of Siren and Intelligal. But Johnny and his grandfather hadn't. And I knew they wouldn't. Their honor, their code, their legacy was just as important to them as my superhero duty was to me. Why did men have to be such fools sometimes?\n\n\"If you don't cut that out, Fiona, you're going to poke holes in the floor with your stilettos,\" Piper called out from the doorway. \"You don't want a repeat of last time, do you?\"\n\nI grimaced. The last time Piper was referring to was when I'd put my foot through the floor after a particularly grueling fitting session with Joanne James. It was either that or put my foot through her bony ass. Joanne had gotten off lucky that day.\n\n\"Why don't you use the balls I got you?\" Piper suggested.\n\nIn addition to leaving eating disorder and other self-help pamphlets on my desk, Piper was also fond of giving me gifts like those rubber balls you squeeze in your hands. She thought I needed to relax.\n\nPiper kept staring at me, so I yanked open my desk drawer and rummaged through the mess inside until I came up with one of the rubber gizmos, which was a little smaller than a tennis ball. I rhythmically flexed my fist around the puny ball.\n\nPiper smiled, happy that she'd gotten me to do her bidding, and disappeared back into her office.\n\nI waited to make sure she wasn't coming back. Then, I squeezed the ball with all my might. It only took me a second to turn the rubber into a handful of goo. I tossed it in the trash and watched it smolder.\n\nPiper was right. It did make me feel better. I always enjoyed melting things.\n\n* * *\n\nI worked the rest of the day, stopping only to eat a quick but massive lunch from Quicke's. Every so often, I'd look at the phone, hoping Johnny would call. Hoping he'd tell me he'd changed his mind about going after Siren and Intelligal. That he was giving up his quest, his mission, his vendetta. But he never did. Men never called when you wanted them to.\n\nI left work around six and headed back out to Sublime. Tonight was my night to be on duty in the library. I rolled my neck around, trying to ease some of the tension that had built up there. I'd zapped all of the rubber balls I could find in my desk, but they hadn't helped much. Maybe I'd be able to do a few laps in the pool after my shift ended. Maybe not, the way things were going. It hadn't exactly been a banner week so far. Except for my time with Johnny in the kitchen.\n\nI stopped by the kitchen and made myself a couple of ham-and-cheese sandwiches, grabbed two bags of chips, and put a bottle of soda under my arm before heading to the library. One of the doors was cracked open, and loud, angry voices bounced down the hall. I frowned and quickened my pace. What the hell was going on?\n\n\"I don't see why you have to be so stubborn,\" Henry's voice floated through the door. \"I love you, and I want to marry you. What could be simpler than that?\"\n\nI peeked inside. Ah, the two lovenerds were squared off above their flickering computer monitors, each one glaring at the other.\n\n\"There's nothing simple about it, and you know it,\" Lulu snapped back. \"Your power is a precious gift. You deserve to have kids who will follow in your footsteps\u2014who'll have your mind-melding power and help others with it.\"\n\n\"You're acting like there's no hope,\" Henry said. \"But there are things we could try. Medical advances like in vitro fertilization, or a surrogate mother. And researchers are developing new methods all the time.\"\n\nLulu shook her head. \"But you should be able to have both\u2014a woman who loves you and who can give you kids. It shouldn't be this hard. Your power is too important to waste\u2014\"\n\n\"Oh, stuff my power.\" Henry shoved his glasses up his nose. \"I wouldn't care if my power went away tomorrow, as long as I had you.\"\n\nLulu's face softened. Even I melted a little. Wow. Giving up your power to be with the person you loved? That was the ultimate sacrifice for superheroes and ubervillains alike.\n\nLulu drew in a deep breath. \"We both know I can't have kids. And unless they come up with some sort of new science in the next couple of years, I won't ever be able to have children. I don't want you to give that up for me, Henry.\"\n\n\"But we can adopt,\" Henry persisted. \"It wouldn't matter to me. You know that.\"\n\nLulu shook her head. \"But they wouldn't have your powers. You're far too strong and your power is far too important to let it end with you.\"\n\nHenry opened his mouth to protest again.\n\nI cleared my throat, not wanting to hide outside any longer. \"I hate to interrupt, but it's my turn to be on call.\"\n\nThe computer gurus stared at me, shocked that I'd overheard their conversation. I strolled inside, sat down at the table, put my feet up, and started eating sandwiches like I hadn't heard a single word of their heated argument.\n\nHenry and Lulu glared at me, then each other. Both of them looked at their monitors and began to pound away on their computers. I supposed that's what geeks in love did after they had a fight. Scary.\n\nAfter I finished my sandwiches and assorted munchies, I flipped through the stack of fashion magazines Sam kept in the library for me. But my heart wasn't really into dissecting the latest looks from Paris and Milan. All I could think about was Johnny. I wondered where he was right now. What he was doing.\n\nWas he getting ready to suit up and prowl the streets as Angel? Or had he taken my advice to heart and was staying home where he'd be safe? I didn't know.\n\nAfter about an hour of silence, Lulu let out a loud yell. \"I've got them!\" she cried. \"I've got them! I've got them!\"\n\n\"Who? What? Where?\" Henry asked just like a good journalist would.\n\nThe two of us darted over to Lulu and peered at her computer monitor. The hacker's thin fingers pounded the keyboard so hard I thought she was going to punch through the plastic keys.\n\n\"They're holed up in one of the buildings down by the marina,\" she said, pointing to a city map on her wide screen. \"Right there next to the fish-packing plant.\"\n\nI put my hands on my hips. \"The marina? What would they be doing at the marina? There's nothing down there but boats and water and rotten fish. And, of course, the occasional dead body.\"\n\nLulu stared at me. \"How am I supposed to know what goes through the minds of ubervillains? But that's where they're at, according to my calculations.\"\n\n\"I'll call the chief,\" Henry said. \"If we're lucky, we can trap them in the building and take them down. There's nowhere for them to go but out into the water. It shouldn't be so easy for them to slip through our fingers this time.\"\n\nHe moved to his computer, pressed a few buttons, and spoke into a microphone. My father's voice boomed into the room, and Henry told him the situation.\n\nWhile they talked, I thought about calling Johnny. Perhaps if I asked him to fight with us instead of against us, it might satisfy him. Then, I remembered the pain in his eyes when he'd told me about his father's death. The cold, hard rage in his voice. No, Johnny Bulluci aka Johnny Angel wouldn't be satisfied until Siren and Intelligal were dead. But perhaps I could save him from himself. And my heart in the process.\n\nHenry cut the connection to the chief. \"He's in the area checking on a burglary. He'll be here in fifteen minutes.\"\n\n\"Good. Then let's go end this thing. Once and for all,\" I said.\n\n# Chapter Twenty-Four\n\nThe chief arrived, everyone suited up, and we piled into the van. Thirty minutes later, we skidded to a stop in front of the entrance to the Bigtime Marina.\n\nBigtime was situated on the eastern edge of New York, right on the Atlantic. The ocean cut into the middle of the city, almost like a jagged shark bite. It and the manmade river that flowed down the hill from the observatory formed Bigtime Bay. The bay's waters were calm and shallow for the most part, making it the perfect place to come for a swim or day of sailing. Some of the society folks like Berkley Brighton and Devlin Dash even had their own private islands out in the middle of the bay, offering them impressive views of the city skyline.\n\nHermit eased the van over a couple of speed bumps. During the day, the cobblestone marina was a pedestrian area closed to vehicles, so the boating types had to wait until after sunset to put their ships into the water. In addition to fleets of sailboats, the marina featured a maritime museum where kids could pet stingrays and the like, and stores that carried all things nautical, from clothes to scuba gear to bait. A wooden pier stretched out like a finger into the bay. It was popular with people from all walks of life, many who came to fish and feed the flocks of gulls.\n\nWe left the sailboats behind and headed for the less glamorous side of the bay, where the loading docks, shipping yards, and industrial plants crouched against the water's edge like barnacles.\n\n\"Before we go in, everyone be sure to take their gas pill.\" Hermit passed out the medication to each of us. \"Remember, it only lasts about twenty minutes, so we need to get in and take down Siren and Intelligal as quickly as possible.\"\n\n\"And we're sticking together this time,\" Mr. Sage said. \"I don't want anybody being ambushed by the ubervillains or Angel, if he decides to make an appearance. We all go in together. We all come out together. Agreed?\"\n\nHermit and I nodded.\n\n\"Then, let's go.\"\n\nLulu outfitted us with the usual cameras and transmitters, and the three of us left the van.\n\n\"Be safe,\" she called after us, looking at Hermit.\n\n\"Always,\" I replied, pressing my fist to my heart.\n\nWe tiptoed through the dark shadows, the bay a pool of black ink on our right. A few lights bobbed up and down on the water, and a foghorn sounded in the distance. A steady breeze blew the smell of salt to us. It made me want some pretzels.\n\n\"According to Lulu's calculations, Siren and Intelligal are holed up in that building over there.\" Hermit pointed to one of the frozen-fish-stick-processing plants.\n\nI wrinkled my nose. Fish sticks. I hated fish sticks. They were just about the only food I wouldn't eat. The stench alone was enough to make me gag. Why did ubervillains always have to pick the dingiest, dirtiest, most disgusting places imaginable for their supersecret, diabolically evil lairs? You'd think that, every once in a while, they'd spring for a nice room at the Bigtime Plaza or something. Most of them stole enough jewelry and other pricey baubles to stay anywhere they wanted to, anytime they wanted to. But no. Ubervillains skulked about in the shadows, and we always ended up saving the world in some abandoned, out-of-the-way dive.\n\nA loud rumble cut through the air, and my heart sank like a cement block tossed in the bay. I knew that sound. A pair of halogen headlights popped into view down the street, and Johnny Bulluci aka Johnny Angel slid his motorcycle to a halt in front of us. His eyes warmed at the sight of me, and he shot me a crooked grin. My heart sped up, and I found myself smiling back. Then, I remembered why Angel was here\u2014to kill the ubervillains who had murdered his father. My smile faded.\n\nStill, I had to give him a chance, no matter how farfetched it might be. \"What are you doing here, Angel?\"\n\n\"Just looking after things, including my girl. Is that a crime?\" he asked, his green eyes bright.\n\n\"Not as long as that's all you're doing. Is it?\"\n\nAngel shrugged. He drew his lighter out of his pocket and fired up a cigarette. \"I spoke with Grandfather and Bella. The three of us decided that I should work with you, instead of against you. For now.\"\n\nMeaning he'd play nice until we had Siren and Intelligal right where he wanted them. I opened my mouth to protest, but my father cut me off.\n\n\"All right, Angel,\" Mr. Sage said. \"We're a couple of hands short, so you can join us if you wish. But you follow our lead.\"\n\nAngel nodded his head. \"Of course.\"\n\nI stared at my father. What was he thinking? He was psychic; he had to know that Johnny Angel had no intention of letting us turn Siren and Intelligal over to the Bigtime police. Hell, I wasn't a psychic, and I could see it.\n\nJohnny parked his bike, and the four of us headed for the fish-stick plant. It was a short, squat building that jutted up against the side of the bay. We faced the back part of the building, where the docks were that the fisherman used to drop off their daily hauls of tuna, flounder, and shrimp. The front of the building faced one of the downtown streets a couple of blocks over.\n\n\"Don't you guys think this is sort of odd?\" Lulu said in my ear.\n\n\"What's that?\" my father asked.\n\n\"Well, in my somewhat limited experience, ubervillains usually choose abandoned buildings to set up their headquarters. According to my information, Fred's Fried Flounder Fish Sticks is the main supplier of fish sticks in Bigtime.\"\n\n\"Who cares?\" Angel asked. \"All that matters is that they're in there, and we're going to get them. One way or another. I'm tired of waiting. Let's go.\"\n\nAngel headed for the plant. I looked at my father, then Hermit. They shrugged. I shook my head and followed Angel.\n\nI not-so-gently wrenched open one of the loading-dock doors, and we stepped inside. The four of us formed a line and searched the area. Lulu was right. Fred's Fried Flounder Fish Sticks was very much a working operation. Everything was neat and orderly and clean, from the rows of forklifts to the stacks of cardboard boxes to the few workstations and desks that we passed.\n\nWe did a complete sweep of the facility. Other than a couple dozen industrial-size freezers full of frozen fish sticks and your usual assembly-line setup, there was nothing inside. No power cords. No radio-like device. No wires. No tools. No blueprints. No ubervillains. Nothing.\n\nWe backtracked to the center of the factory, hoping to find something we'd overlooked. Still nothing. Angel cursed and lit another cigarette. Hermit typed on his handheld computer and murmured to Lulu. My father laced his fingers together, deep in thought. I put my hands on my hips.\n\nA chill swept over me that had nothing to do with the freezers. My nose twitched. I smelled something rotten, and it wasn't fish sticks.\n\n\"This doesn't feel right,\" my father murmured.\n\n\"Oh, I wouldn't say that. I think it's about time you got here,\" a sultry voice drawled out.\n\nThe four of us turned. Siren stood behind us, holding a curious-looking microphone in her manicured hands. Diamonds gleamed on the black metal surface. Intelligal floated high above. She flipped a couple of switches on a device that looked like an oversized boom box. It, too, was studded with diamonds.\n\nAngel's hands clenched into tight fists. He started forward, but I caught his arm. He took a half a step forward. I tightened my grip, stopping him.\n\n\"Not yet,\" I whispered out of the corner of my mouth.\n\nFor a second, I thought Johnny would shake me off and launch himself at Siren. But he paused. I nodded my head at him. Maybe I had finally gotten through to him.\n\nBecause no matter what happened, Johnny wasn't going to kill the ubervillains. I wasn't going to let him. It wasn't the Fearless Five way. It wasn't my way, and I didn't want it to be his way either.\n\nAnd I hated to admit it, but Lulu was right. This was a little too pat, a little too rehearsed for my liking. The ubervillains were up to something. Well, more so than usual.\n\n\"You're probably wondering why we're here tonight,\" Siren said.\n\nHer soft, breathy voice curled around me like a rope. I reached for my inner fire and burned the coils away.\n\n\"Intelligal told me about Angel and Fiera's tussle the other night, and I had an idea. Instead of trying to fight you off, I should bend you to my will, make you all my little puppets. Intelligal and I are going to need some help to fully implement our scheme.\"\n\n\"And what scheme would that be?\" I said.\n\n\"Oh, the usual,\" Siren said. \"Take over Bigtime, then the world.\"\n\nThat was our cue to move. I loosened my grip on Johnny's arm and tensed my muscles, ready to strike. He did the same. My father's fingers fluttered, and Hermit fixed his computer on Intelligal's chair. But before we could move, Siren held the strange microphone up to her lips.\n\n\"Now, now, I don't want to fight. Why do the four of you?\" she purred.\n\nThe microphone amplified the sultry, hypnotic pull of Siren's voice a hundred times. A thousand times. I stopped cold. Maybe even a hundred thousand times. My brain screamed at my muscles to move, to attack, to lash out at Siren, but I couldn't quite make myself do it. The others stood frozen beside me.\n\n\"I don't want to fight, do you? Why don't you clasp your hands behind your backs and stand there like good superheroes?\" Siren lowered the zipper on her neon blue costume, exposing cleavage that would have put the Great Wall of China to shame.\n\nSince Siren's voice had more effect on men than women, the others did as she asked without question. Even my father, the great psychic, couldn't resist Siren's command with her new toy firmly in hand. The men had their hands behind their backs before she'd even finished speaking.\n\nNot me.\n\nMaybe I was just too much of a hothead to be easily controlled. Maybe my will was just a tad stronger than the others'. Or maybe I just hated the ubervillains more for what they'd done to the Bullucis, to James, to Johnny.\n\nSo, I didn't succumb to Siren's sultry song. Instead, I reached for my inner fire, concentrating on the searing, pulsing flames deep within me. I grabbed them and held on tight, focusing my energy on _my_ fire, _my_ anger, _my_ will. The sweet, gauzy haze of Siren's voice melted away like snow in a firestorm. My arms twitched.\n\nThe microphone. I had to destroy that damned microphone. Then the others would be free, and they could help me.\n\n\"What's going on?\" Lulu squawked in my ear. \"Hermit, Mr. Sage, what are you doing? Why are you listening to her? Hermit, can you hear me?\"\n\nI blocked the computer hacker's voice out of my mind. I couldn't answer her and fight off Siren at the same time.\n\nSiren noticed that I hadn't done as she'd asked. She frowned and raised the microphone to her pouty lips again. \"Siren says, _p_ _ut your hands behind your back, Fiera_.\"\n\nI took a step forward. Sparks flew from my fingertips. Then another step. My hair hissed with fire. Another step. My body started to glow like a liquefied ruby. One more step.\n\nEvery step got a little easier, a little faster. The bitch wasn't going to control my mind. I didn't care what kind of souped-up karaoke machine she had. No way, no how. I was Fiera, for crying out loud. Protector of the innocent. Superhero du jour.\n\n\"Go to hell, Siren,\" I muttered through gritted teeth.\n\n\"Gas her! Now!\" Siren roared.\n\nIntelligal hit a button on her chair, and that sickly sweet blue gas floated over me. I must have burned away Hermit's antigas pill, because the feeling immediately went out of my arms and legs. The fire inside me snuffed out. I fell to the cold, slick floor, my arms and legs flopping around like a fish trying to breathe in the bottom of a boat.\n\n\"Now, Siren says, _lie still_.\"\n\nI growled at the silky, hypnotic purr. I couldn't move my arms or legs, and I didn't have my fire to sustain me. So I did the only other thing I could think of. I bit down on my tongue. Hard. Blood filled my mouth. The coppery taste washed away some of the sugary sweet gas and grounded me.\n\n\"Never.\"\n\nSiren stared up at her sister. \"What's wrong with her? Why isn't she a puppet like the others? You told me this thing was foolproof.\" She tapped her long nail against the top of the microphone.\n\nIntelligal shrugged. \"I never said it was foolproof. Only that ninety-seven percent of the population could be put under your control by using it. As for Fiera, she seems to have a stronger will than the others. And she's female. You know you've never been able to get along with other women, even when you use your power to its fullest extent.\"\n\n\"You're right, of course. Oh well. Three superheroes will be more than enough to help us carry out our plan.\"\n\nThe ubervillain leaned over me, giving me a closeup view of her overinflated breasts. They matched her ego perfectly.\n\n\"Sorry, Fiera, but Intelligal's right. I'm just not into chicks. Since you won't play nicely, you won't play at all.\" Siren laughed. \"Siren says, _throw her in one of the freezers, Angel_. _Now_.\"\n\n\"What? Don't be a fool, Siren. Let me blast her with my explodium missiles,\" Intelligal said, flipping switches on her chair. \"Let's kill her. Immediately.\"\n\nLulu let out a loud shriek of dismay in my ear. I winced.\n\n\"Hold on, Fiera. I'm leaving the van! I'm getting out right now!\" the computer hacker screamed.\n\nThrough my earpiece, I heard the hydraulic lift hiss to life on the van. But it was too little, too late. Lulu wouldn't get here in time to save me. There wasn't anything she could do against two ubervillains anyway. And there wasn't any radioactive goo around that could turn her into Super Lulu.\n\n\"Come on, Siren,\" Intelligal said. \"Enough of this nonsense. One missile and Fiera will be history. Forever.\"\n\n\"Calm down,\" Siren snapped. \"Look at her. She's as helpless as a baby. She's no threat to us now.\"\n\nSiren dug her pointed boot into my ribs. I couldn't even feel it.\n\n\"Besides, you just finished calibrating the machine. I don't want the shockwaves from the explosion throwing it off. Otherwise, we'll have three pissed-off superheroes to deal with. I don't think they'd take too kindly to the brutal demise of their comrade. That just might be enough to snap them out of my trance. And your missiles make such a mess of everything.\" Siren fluffed out her black curls. \"You know how I hate to have bad hair.\"\n\nIntelligal scowled, but her hands dropped from the switches. I let out a quiet sigh. Thank heavens for ubervillains and their vanity.\n\nBut my relief was short-lived. Angel jerked forward like a robot. He put his hands under my arms and hauled me to my feet. I dangled against him like a wet noodle. Limp and completely lifeless.\n\n\"Please, Angel. Please don't do this. Fight her. I know you can.\" My tongue felt thick and heavy in my bloody mouth.\n\nAngel's eyes remained blank and expressionless as a piece of paper.\n\n\"Mr. Sage? Hermit? Snap out of it, guys! She's an ubervillain! Fight it! Fight her commands!\"\n\nMy two fellow superheroes didn't respond. They didn't even seem to hear me. Instead, they stared at their new mistress, eager for another task.\n\nSiren laughed. \"Tearful pleas won't do you any good, Fiera. Your friends are now under my control. If you haven't figured it out by now, this device that Intelligal rigged up amplifies my power incredibly. With it, I'm going to enslave the people of Bigtime, then the rest of the world...\"\n\nI tuned out her long-winded, self-congratulatory explanation. Ubervillains always thought they had to explain every single, tiny, minute detail of their schemes. When you've heard one plan to take over the world, you've heard them all. It doesn't really matter what the brilliant plan is **\u2014** as long as you figure out a way to stop it.\n\nBut one thing Siren said did catch my attention.\n\n\"...And if city officials don't believe I'm serious, well, I'll just have to remind them about our demonstration at the sports complex a few days ago.\"\n\n\"What? You used your karaoke thingy to bring down the sports complex?\" I asked. \"That's why it collapsed?\"\n\n\"Of course,\" Intelligal answered. \"That was our dry run, so to speak, to test the maximum power of the device, as well as its effect on solid matter. It was very effective, exceeding all of my calculations.\"\n\nSiren preened. \"All it took was a couple of throaty whispers set to the right frequency to make the whole thing come tumbling down.\"\n\nI opened my mouth to ask another question, but the ubervillains were ready to wrap up their gloating. Siren snapped her fingers. Angel, Mr. Sage, and Hermit stiffened to attention at the sound.\n\n\"Siren says, _take her to the freezer, Angel. Now_.\"\n\nThe superhero dragged me back toward one of the many freezers that lay inside the plant and threw me down. Siren, being ever-so-helpful, opened the door. Cold air blasted out. If my arms and legs hadn't felt like soggy tissue paper, the frigid chill would have made even me wince. I focused my eyes on Angel.\n\n\"Come on, Angel. Fight her. Fight Siren. Do it. For me. Remember that night by the lake? When we made love? Our time together in the kitchen?\" I pleaded, trying to spark some sort of memory. A super-duper memory.\n\n\"You two are an item? Well, isn't that sweet? Superheroes in love. Or at least lust.\" Siren slithered up to Angel, and her eyes roamed over his hard body. She leaned in and slid her manicured nails down Angel's chest to his crotch.\n\n\"If you can inspire such devotion from Fiera, I just might have to give you a ride once this is over with.\" She cupped him, and her face lit up. \"Oh my, what a nice package.\"\n\nI wanted to rip the bitch limb from limb for touching my man like that. My hands jerked and spasmed. If only the gas would wear off, I would fireball her trashy ass. Hell, I'd boil the whole bay with her in it.\n\nSiren snapped her fingers again, and Angel dragged me inside the freezer. It was one of those large, walk-in freezers favored by restaurants and, evidently, fish-stick factories. Boxes and boxes of fish sticks lined the walls. Blowers set into the ceiling churned out a steady stream of air, and a thick layer of ice covered everything. Frost gathered in Angel's tawny hair, making it gleam like pure silver.\n\nAs a superhero, I'd been in plenty of tight spots before. I'd been thrown through walls, slammed through floors, dropped off high-rise buildings. So I wasn't ready to panic just yet.\n\n\"Angel, please. I know you care about me. Don't you know how much I care about you? Don't you know how much I love you?\"\n\nI hadn't planned on saying the words. Hadn't really thought about them before. But as soon as they came out, I knew they were true. I did love Johnny Angel aka Johnny Bulluci. Somewhere, in the middle of this craziness, I'd fallen for the rich biker playboy. I loved him for his crooked grin, his devotion to his family, the way he could always make me laugh.\n\nSo I said it again. \"I love you, Angel.\"\n\nNothing.\n\nAngel didn't smile. Didn't look at me. Didn't even blink.\n\nI poured my heart out to him, and he didn't even care.\n\nHe didn't respond to my desperate, heartfelt plea, and that hurt me worse than anything Siren had in mind.\n\nI'd appealed to Johnny's feelings for me. Evidently, he didn't have any because it hadn't worked. It always worked in the movies. I'd seen it work for Carmen and Sam. What was wrong with Johnny and me?\n\nI shoved that painful thought aside and focused. I knew Johnny pretty well. What else did he care about? What else was important to him? What would snap him out of his trance? Finally, the answer hit me.\n\n\"Johnny Angel,\" I said in a hard, sharp voice. \"Your family needs you. I _need_ you. You're not responsible for your father's death. Your father made his choice a long time ago. He knew the dangers. He knew the risks. It's not your job to avenge him and uphold the family honor. But if you don't fight Siren, if you don't _try_ , we're all going to die. Your friends. Your family. Me. All of us are...going...to...die.\"\n\nFor a moment, Angel's face cleared. His hand slowly went to his jacket, and he fumbled with something in his pocket. Angel leaned over me. Concentrating. Trying. Something slipped from his fingers onto my stomach. I stretched my numb hand out and managed to cover up the lump of cold metal.\n\n\"Siren says, _leave her there_ ,\" the ubervillain cooed.\n\nAngel's eyes widened. Sweat beaded and froze on his forehead, but he didn't move away from me.\n\n\"Stop stalling!\" Siren roared into her microphone. \"Get out of there now!\"\n\nWith a jerk, Angel straightened. He turned and walked out of the freezer. The last thing I saw before he shut the door was his eyes. They were ice-green.\n\nFrozen.\n\nJust like his heart.\n\n# PART THREE\n\nBREAKUP BLUES?\n\n# Chapter Twenty-Five\n\nThe door slammed shut, and the metal bar on the other side clanged into place. Trapped. I was trapped in an industrial-strength freezer. With fish sticks. Things were definitely not going as planned. Then again, they rarely did in my line of work.\n\nBut what hurt more than my present situation was my heart, which felt as if the Ringer had used it as a punching bag. Johnny had succumbed to Siren's song. He hadn't cared enough about me to fight her off. Neither had Hermit or Mr. Sage. I wasn't thrilled with my team members right now, but Johnny's betrayal was the one that wounded me the most.\n\nOh sure, he was under the influence of a hypnotic ubervillain with more cleavage than a lingerie model. Oh sure, she had a fancy device that could enslave ninety-seven percent of the population. Pitiful excuses, at best. I'd told Johnny that I loved him, and he'd still abandoned me.\n\nMy fingers twitched. But maybe not entirely. Hands shaking, I uncurled my fingers. Johnny's, Angel's, lighter lay inside. A spark of hope flared to life inside me. In the end, Johnny had tried to help me. To give me a way out. Maybe I could forgive him, if I got out of this alive.\n\nMy body felt limp and tingly from Intelligal's power-diluting gas, but I didn't have time for such weakness. If I didn't get out of here soon, I'd freeze to death. Even with my fiery superpowers, it would only be a matter of minutes before I was one big icicle. I hated to be cold, and I hated fish. But here I was, trapped with both. Ah, the glamorous life of a superhero.\n\n\"Lulu?\" I asked, my voice weak and small. \"Lulu, can you hear me?\"\n\nThe computer hacker didn't answer. Not even static crackled in my ear. The thick door must be blocking the signal, meaning I was on my own. Fabulous.\n\nSomehow, I managed to roll over onto my knees. I could still taste the sickeningly sweet gas in my mouth, mixing and mingling with my blood. With my free hand, I scraped up a mound of frost off the floor and shoved it into my mouth. The ice crystals melted, washing away some of the gas. My head cleared, and I felt a little stronger.\n\nI kept repeating the process until I had cleansed my mouth. My arms and legs twitched and jerked and spasmed, recovering from the effects of Intelligal's gas. I crawled to the middle of the freezer and slung my numb limbs around until I faced the door. It was a thick metal door, designed to keep the cold in. Well, not for long.\n\nMy fingers trembled. I grasped the lighter and slowly clicked it. Once, twice, three times. Four, five. Nothing happened. I couldn't quite grip the cold, slick metal with my weak, tingling fingers. _Focus, Fiera, focus!_ I'd been in tighter spots than this, most notably when Prince Horrid had captured me with plans to add me to his harem as one of his pliant dancing girls. I'd gotten out of that mess. I'd get out of this one too. I was Fiera, for crying out loud. Member of the Fearless Five. Protector of the innocent. Superhero du jour. It was what I did.\n\nJust when I thought I couldn't hold it another second, the lighter sparked on. I cupped the tiny, weak flame like it was the most precious thing in the world. To me, it was. Slowly, my hands warmed. The lighter's small flame fed my own inner power. My fingertips started to glow as the fire inside me rekindled. I concentrated on burning the rest of the limp, languid feeling from my body. High metabolism, help me now.\n\nMy emotions had always fueled my powers, and I grabbed hold of them. I remembered how Siren had tricked us, how she'd turned my friends against me, how the bitch had put her hands all over Johnny. I focused my anger, let it rage through me with the heat of a thousand suns. The fire inside me grew and grew and grew.\n\nI formed a fireball with my hands. I took careful aim and threw it at the door. It exploded onto the cold metal, making it shriek and groan. Steam filled the freezer. I formed another fireball.\n\nThen another one...\n\nThen another one...\n\nThen another one...\n\nTen minutes later, the last remains of the door melted away. I got to my feet, still a little shaky, and stumbled through the melted edges of the white-hot metal.\n\n\"Fiera! Fiera! Where are you?\" Lulu's voice squawked in my ear.\n\n\"Over by one of the freezers,\" I said, sliding to the ground.\n\nA motor whirred, and Lulu stopped in front of me, tires smoking.\n\n\"Where the hell have you been?\" I muttered, trying to rub the rest of the feeling back into my arms and legs.\n\n\"I got here as quick as I could. I'm not Swifte, you know,\" Lulu said in a defensive tone. Her eyes dropped to her wheelchair and legs. \"Not by a long shot.\"\n\nI bit back my angry retort. It wasn't Lulu's fault. She'd done the best she'd could. And I had other things to think about right now. Like how to rescue the others and stop Siren's evil plan to take over the city. \"Did you hear Siren? Did you see where they went?\"\n\n\"I heard everything, but by the time I got out of the van, it was too late.\" Lulu shook her head. \"Siren and Intelligal shepherded the others into a car on the far side of the building. They sped away before I could fix a tracker to it.\"\n\nI cursed. This was no time to be sitting around. I grabbed on to the remains of the melted door and pulled myself up. At least, I tried to. My arms buckled, and I wobbled back and forth before falling and smacking my ass against the cold concrete floor. I cursed again, loud and long, hating my sudden weakness.\n\n\"Whoa there, tiger!\" Lulu put a hand on my shoulder. \"You're not in any position to be walking around right now. It's a miracle you got out of that freezer alive.\"\n\n\"Well, I can't sit still. And it's not like you can carry me out of here. Do you have another suggestion?\"\n\nLulu patted her lap. \"Hop on board the Lulu Lo Express. I can drive us both out of here.\"\n\n\"You can't be serious.\"\n\n\"Oh, I am. Henry likes to ride around on my lap all the time.\"\n\nI groaned and put my head in my hands. \"Too much information, Lulu. Too much information.\"\n\n* * *\n\nIn the end, I didn't have a choice. After a good five minutes of cursing and snarling and trying to heft myself into an upright position, I crawled up onto Lulu's lap, and she motored us back to the van.\n\n\"Damn, this thing can scoot,\" I said, trying to distract myself from the fact I was hanging on to Lulu's neck like we were lovers.\n\nI was extremely glad it was after midnight and pitch-black, and that there was no one around to witness my humiliation. I'd never live down the shame. Fiera, member of the Fearless Five, protector of the innocent, reduced to clinging to a wheelchair to get around. Some superhero I was. I couldn't even stand upright at the moment.\n\nLulu beamed and patted the side of the chair. \"Of course it can. I've got almost two hundred horses in the motor. It tops out at about fifty miles an hour.\"\n\nWe zoomed to a stop in front of the black van. I slid off Lulu's lap and into the carpeted interior. The computer hacker strapped herself in the motorized lift and joined me.\n\nLulu rustled through one of the first-aid boxes we kept inside and handed me a small, foil packet. \"Here. Take one of these. It should flush the rest of the radioactive gas out of your system.\"\n\nI took the packet, which contained a _Radioactive Isotope Diminisher_ , or _RID_ for short. The pills were the invention of some mad scientist who found himself constantly bombarded by radioactivity while he was researching something or other. They were like vitamins to superheroes, and the Fearless Five used them to keep from getting more mutated than we already were. They'd saved our asses on more than one occasion, especially Carmen's last year when she'd gone up against the Terrible Triad by herself.\n\nI swallowed the pill and felt the effects almost immediately. My limbs grew heavy and substantial once again, my superstrength returned, and my inner fire flared up to its usual slow, steady burn. I sat up. \"All right. That did the trick.\"\n\n\"Are you sure you're okay?\" Lulu asked. \"We can sit here and rest a few more minutes if you need to.\"\n\n\"I'm fine. And we don't have any time to rest. We need to get our boys back.\"\n\n\"How are we supposed to do that?\" Lulu asked. \"Carmen and Sam are halfway around the world, and Henry and the chief are under Siren's spell, along with Johnny. We're a little short of superheroes right now.\"\n\n\"Oh, don't worry about it. I know a couple of people who should be more than willing to help us,\" I said. \"Let's go.\"\n\n* * *\n\n\"Are you sure this is a good idea, Fiona?\" Lulu said.\n\nI put my hands on my hips. \"Of course I'm sure it's a good idea. All my ideas are good ones.\"\n\nI tossed my hair over my shoulder, trying to look more confident than I felt. The truth was I wasn't sure it was a good idea, but it was the only one I'd been able to come up with. Lulu and I needed help, and this was the only place we were likely to get it.\n\nWe stood outside the closed iron gates that led up to the Bulluci manor. Lulu pressed the button on the call box again. No response. We'd been standing out here for ten minutes, trying to get somebody to wake up and answer us.\n\n\"Oh, screw this.\" I took hold of the iron gates and looked over my shoulder. \"You might want to move back.\"\n\nLulu eyed my glowing hands, which were clenched around the metal. \"I think I'll do that very thing.\" She hit a button on her chair and zoomed out of the way.\n\nI ripped open the gate. The iron wasn't nearly as sturdy as it looked, and the gates cracked off their hinges. I didn't even have to put any real muscle into it. Part of the surrounding wall crumbled in on itself.\n\nSince Lulu's chair could move a lot faster than I could walk, I hopped back on Lulu's lap, and we scooted up the long driveway. I was getting almost used to sitting on top of the computer hacker. Almost.\n\nThe chair stopped. I climbed off and pounded on the front door, which was embossed with a giant B and another freaking angel wing. \"Bella! Bobby! Open up! Now!\"\n\nA light flared to life in one of the upstairs windows. A curtain on the front door twitched, and Bella cracked it open. She wore a pair of short pajamas with white clouds on them. Naturally.\n\nHer mouth dropped open at the sight of me. \"Fiera? I mean Fiona? I mean...oh, you. What's wrong?\" Her eyes flicked to Lulu. \"And who is this person with you?\"\n\nI took a deep breath. \"Johnny's in trouble. We need your help.\"\n\n# Chapter Twenty-Six\n\nLulu and I explained the situation to Bella. She woke up Bobby, they threw on some clothes, and we piled in the van and headed back to Sublime. Normally, I would have knocked them out or blindfolded them to keep them from seeing exactly where we were going, but I didn't have time. Besides, sneakiness wasn't my strong suit. That was more Sam and my father's thing.\n\nWe led Bella and Bobby through the underground garage to the library. It was a good thing I hadn't used blindfolds, because it was painfully slow going with the two Bullucis stopping every three feet to stare at something else.\n\n\"Come on, come on,\" I snapped. \"You guys can _ooh_ and _aah_ over the super-duper, supersecret superhero lair later.\"\n\nThe two of them picked up their pace, and we reached the library. Lulu wheeled around and plugged her laptop into Henry's network of computers. The Bullucis stood at the doorway, mouths hanging open.\n\n\"Oh, come in. It's not that sacred.\" I marched over, pulled them inside, and closed the double doors.\n\nBella and Bobby cautiously crept farther into the massive library.\n\n\"Please forgive my surprise. It's just that I never thought I'd be invited in _here_ ,\" Bobby said, running his hands over the _F5_ insignia carved into the table.\n\n\"Me either,\" Bella whispered. \"This is incredible. Look at all the books you have!\" Her eyes flicked over to Lulu and her computers. \"And the equipment. It's so amazing!\"\n\nAfter a few more minutes of staring and sputtering, Bella and Bobby sat down with Lulu and me at the big, round table.\n\n\"Explain it to me again,\" Bella said, rubbing her head. \"I'm still a little confused. Johnny joined up with you guys to take out the ubervillains, but Siren hypnotized the men.\"\n\n\"Right.\" I nodded.\n\n\"How was she able to do that?\" Bobby asked. \"Surely Mr. Sage would have been able to resist her. He's a powerful psychic in his own right.\"\n\n\"It's that damn microphone she had. It upped her power tremendously.\" I drummed my fingers on the table. Sparks flew everywhere. \"Nobody could resist it but me, and that's only because I was a woman. And totally pissed off.\"\n\n\"It's not just the microphone, Fiona. Weren't you paying attention to Siren? Didn't you listen to what she said?\" Lulu asked. \"She told you exactly what she and Intelligal are up to.\"\n\nI shrugged. \"Not really. I was more concerned with not being able to move at the time. And in the end, all ubervillains want the same thing\u2014to rule the world. The only difference is the crackpot scheme they come up with to try to help them do it.\"\n\n\"Well, let me tell you, Siren's plan is a doozy.\" Lulu typed on her computer. Images began to pop up on the film screen hanging on the wall.\n\n\"Hey, it's that radio thingy the two of them were protecting so fiercely,\" I said, staring at the box with its odd wires and diamond-studded frame.\n\n\"It's not just a radio thingy,\" Lulu corrected. \"It's a voice amplifier and projector. Or VAMP for short.\"\n\nI snorted. \"How fitting.\"\n\n\"Indeed. Anyway, the VAMP machine is designed to take a sound, like Siren's voice, and distribute it over a wide area.\"\n\n\"Like, say, the whole city?\"\n\nLulu shot her finger at me. \"Precisely. Siren mentioned something about a broadcast while she was rambling. They must be ready to use it.\"\n\n\"What happens if they do that?\" Bella asked.\n\n\"Siren's voice will spread out over Bigtime. Not only does the VAMP machine boost the range of her voice, it also ups the power, which is how the others were brainwashed into doing her bidding. It's really quite an impressive machine. Luckily, I thought to put a filter on everyone's comm links to screen Siren's voice, or I probably would have been under her spell too. But if we don't stop them, Siren will enslave everyone.\"\n\n\"Why would she want to do that?\" Bobby said.\n\n\"Who knows why ubervillains do what they do? I quit trying to figure out their motivations a long time ago,\" I said. \"She'll probably do something totally lame and clich\u00e9 and hackneyed like get people to bring her all their money.\"\n\n\"But wouldn't she have to keep talking into the machine the whole time to keep people under her control?\" Bella asked.\n\nWe looked at Lulu.\n\n\"Not necessarily,\" Lulu said. \"She could record her voice and just loop the recording so that it plays back over and over. The only problem with the VAMP machine is that it's not quite powerful enough to broadcast Siren's voice over the entire city. So she's going to need another power source or a way to piggyback the signal onto one of the radio or television stations.\"\n\n\"Then that's what we need to figure out,\" I said. \"Where the ubervillains are going to go to unleash their doomsday device.\"\n\n\"I'm on it,\" Lulu said, hands flashing across her keyboard.\n\nWe sat there in silence while the computer hacker went to work. Bella and Bobby kept shooting furtive looks around at the maps and globes and books. I got up and paced back and forth behind Lulu.\n\nLulu glared over her shoulder at me. \"You know I can't concentrate when you flounce around like that.\"\n\n\"Well, what do you want me to do?\" I snarled. \"I can't sit still, and I can't crack any skulls until we get a positive location for Siren and Intelligal.\"\n\n\"Oh, go eat what's left in the refrigerator or something. That's what you usually do.\"\n\nLulu turned her back to me and started typing again. I resisted the urge to light her hair on fire.\n\n\"Come on, Fiona. I'll go with you,\" Bella said. \"Do you want anything, Grandfather?\"\n\nBobby shook his head. \"No. I think I'm just going to sit here and look at everything. If that's all right with you, Fiona.\"\n\nI waved my hand. \"Fine. Just as long as you don't disturb her computer highness over there.\"\n\nLulu shot me another dirty look. I just tossed my hair over my shoulder.\n\n* * *\n\nBella and I walked down the deserted halls until we reached the underground kitchen. I opened the doors on the restocked refrigerators, desperately in need of ten thousand calories or so. It'd been a busy night so far, and tomorrow, rather, today would only be worse. I needed to keep my strength up.\n\n\"How about some cheesecake?\" I said, pulling a large pie out of one of the refrigerators. \"It's triple chocolate, one of Quicke's specialties.\" The restaurant delivered a couple dozen of the delectable desserts to Sublime every week.\n\n\"Well, I really shouldn't. I'm on a no-sugar diet...\" Bella's voice trailed off as she stared at the luscious cheesecake.\n\nNo-sugar diet? No wonder the poor thing was so uptight. No sugar, no fun, in my book.\n\n\"Well, you're going to have a piece tonight,\" I said, cutting her a slice. \"I think we've all earned it. I certainly have.\"\n\nBella took the cheesecake from me and poured herself a glass of milk. I thought she'd just pick at the yummy cake, but Bella downed it and came back for seconds. She was a quick eater, just like me. Maybe we'd get along better than I thought.\n\n\"I still can't quite believe you're a member of the Fearless Five. And that I'm sitting here with you in the supersecret Fearless Five headquarters.\" Bella took another big bite of her cheesecake. \"It's all a bit surreal.\"\n\n\"Tell me about it. I can't believe you come from a family of generational superheroes. I also can't believe your brother is actually Johnny Angel, and that I've been dating him.\" I eyed Bella. \"Do you moonlight as somebody too?\"\n\n\"Of course not. Johnny Angel is the only one in our family.\" She sounded offended, as though being a superhero was some vile occupation.\n\n\"Do you have an exoskeleton like Johnny does? Or some other sort of power?\"\n\nShe hesitated. \"I don't know if you'd call it a power, exactly. It's a little strange.\"\n\n\"Oh really? Strange how? Strange like you can manipulate the weather with your bare hands? Strange like you can create unbreakable force fields around yourself? Strange like you can create earthquakes just by thinking about them?\"\n\nI stared at the fashion designer. Perhaps if Bella had some hidden superpower, she could suit up and go out into the field with me. I could use all the help I could get when I went after Siren and Intelligal. My eyes flicked over her body. She was about Carmen's size, although quite a bit curvier. Surely, I could find her some sort of costume to wear\u2014\n\nBella laughed. \"Not that strange. I'm just lucky.\"\n\nSo much for that thought. \"Lucky? That's not really a power, is it?\"\n\nBella shrugged. \"Not really. Not like your power.\"\n\n\"So how does it even work?\"\n\n\"I just think about things, and stuff...happens. Especially when I'm stressed out.\"\n\nI thought back. \"Is that why the coffee table cracked when I was at your house?\"\n\nBella nodded. \"That's one of the problems with it. You can have good luck...\"\n\n\"Or bad luck,\" I finished. \"Show me. Show me how it works. Or doesn't work.\"\n\n\"I can't control it all the time, but I'll try.\"\n\nBella stared at me. I looked back at her. Her eyes didn't glow. Her hair didn't snap and crackle. Sparks didn't fly from her fingertips. She didn't seem to be doing anything at all other than eyeing me. Some power.\n\nBut I kept that thought to myself and raised my fork to take another bite of cheesecake. To my surprise, my hand wobbled, and the cheesecake fell onto the table. What a waste. It was a good thing I still had plenty left. I stabbed another bite. Again, the cheesecake slid off my fork and splattered onto the table. I frowned at the chocolate stains. I wasn't that clumsy, especially when it came to food.\n\nI eyed Bella with suspicion. \"Did you make me do that?\"\n\nShe smiled and cut another piece of cheesecake off with her fork. \"What do you think?\"\n\nBella raised the fork to her lips. She was just getting ready to pop it into her mouth when the dessert slipped off the silver tines and joined the rest of mine on the table.\n\nShe stared at the chocolatey mess and let out a long sigh. \"Unfortunately, it always seems to boomerang around back to me\u2014in a bad way.\"\n\nMaybe there was something to this luck thing. Too bad Bella didn't know how to control her power. Or at least make Siren and Intelligal have a string of bad, debilitating luck.\n\nWe sat there in silence. After I finished off the cheesecake, I made myself a dozen cucumber-and-tomato sandwiches, which I ate with three bags of chips, five liters of soda, a box of oatmeal-raisin cookies, another box of crackers, a pound of grapes, and a wheel of Gouda cheese.\n\nBella fixed her amber eyes on me. \"So what are your intentions regarding my brother?\"\n\nI almost choked on my sandwich. \"Excuse me?\"\n\n\"What are your intentions regarding Johnny? Do you care about him? Or is he just a fling to you? Some random guy you can have great sex with?\"\n\nI wiped the mayonnaise off my mouth, stalling for time. I'd fallen in love with Johnny Bulluci, but I wasn't sure quite how I felt about it. Much less what I should say to his sister about him.\n\n\"I ask because Johnny really likes you. I even think he's starting to fall in love with you,\" Bella said in a soft voice.\n\nMy mouth fell open. I couldn't speak.\n\n\"Do you care about him, Fiona? Because if you don't, you should walk away from him when this is over. I know Johnny appears as if he's cheerful and carefree and that nothing can hurt him, literally, but you could. He told us about your fianc\u00e9. How he was murdered. How much you loved him. How you still wear his engagement ring. If you're not over your fianc\u00e9 yet, you need to tell Johnny now, before he gets any more involved with you.\" Bella's eyes bored into mine. \"I won't let my brother get hurt, especially not by a superhero. Do you understand me?\"\n\nFor once, I chose my words carefully. \"I care about your brother a great deal. I'm not leading him on. That would never be my intention. As for Travis, I'll always love him. I'll always miss him. But he wouldn't want me to live my life in the past. He wasn't that sort of man. As for me and Johnny, I'm just trying to take it one day at a time. Things are a little...complicated between us right now, in case you haven't noticed.\"\n\nSome of the bright, angry glow drained out of Bella's golden eyes. My words seemed to satisfy her. At least she hadn't cracked the table this time. I'd hate to lose the rest of my food.\n\n\"I noticed,\" Bella said. \"Things are always complicated when it comes to my family.\"\n\nThe odd tone in her voice struck me. \"What do you mean?\"\n\nBella sighed again. \"It's a long story.\"\n\n\"I've got nothing but time until we find the ubervillains.\"\n\nBella stared at the refrigerator, but the vacant look in her eyes told me that she wasn't really seeing it. \"I don't know much about your childhood being the daughter of a superhero, but I grew up in a home where it was all Angel, all the time. If we weren't talking about Angel or motorcycles or ubervillains, my mother and brother and I were patching up my father and grandfather when they'd come home late at night. Can you imagine being a kid and going through that?\"\n\nI flashed back to my high school years, when I'd go out and prowl the streets with my father, fighting crime. They were some of my fondest memories. \"Oh, I can imagine.\"\n\n\"When I was a kid, I thought it was so fascinating that my family were the ones behind Johnny Angel. I used to ride on the motorcycle with my father and dream of the day when I'd get to be Johnny Angel.\" Bella's mouth twisted into a wry grin. \"Of course, I didn't realize then that Angel was more of a man's name. And a man's tradition.\"\n\n\"And when you grew up?\" I asked, sensing this story wasn't going to have a happy ending.\n\n\"I realized how silly it was. Dressing up in a costume, riding around town on a motorcycle, raising hell with other bikers. And I remembered the strain on my mother. How she'd sit up late at night worrying whether my father was going to come home or not. It's the same thing I did with my father before he died. And it's the same thing I do now with Johnny every night when he's gone.\" Bella rubbed her head. \"I don't want to have anything to do with superheroes and ubervillains and weekly battles anymore. I'm so tired of it all. Johnny Angel, the worrying, the constant fear. Johnny was too, until our father died.\"\n\nI squeezed her hand. \"It's not disrespectful, and it's not wrong of you to want to have a superfree life. Some people can't handle the lifestyle. Like you, I grew up around it. But to me, my powers have always been a part of who I am. I couldn't imagine not being a superhero, not trying to help people, but I can understand how you feel.\"\n\nI took a deep breath. \"When Travis was alive, he'd go out on missions by himself. I'd do the same thing you did\u2014sit up and worry. I wore out more carpets pacing back and forth than you can imagine.\"\n\nBella smiled. \"You do seem like a bit of a pacer.\"\n\n\"You have no idea.\"\n\n\"What are you going to do if Johnny wants to quit being Angel? Or if he doesn't?\"\n\n\"I don't know,\" I admitted. \"Let's worry about rescuing him first and dealing with Siren and Intelligal. Then, we'll talk about the complicated, relationship stuff.\"\n\n* * *\n\nAn hour and another cheesecake later, Bella and I went back to the library to check on Lulu and Bobby. The elderly Bulluci sat in front of one of the computer monitors, flipping through various television channels. He looked extremely bored, until he stumbled across a soccer game. That perked him up a bit.\n\nLulu sat nearby, _type-type-typing_ away on her computer like usual. Sometimes, I wondered if she and Henry did anything but stare at their monitors when they went out on dates. The two of them were never far from an electronic device of some kind or another.\n\n\"Anything yet?\" I asked.\n\nLulu shook her head. \"I'm still trying to narrow down the list of places Siren and Intelligal might go to turn on their boom box. It has to be somewhere fairly high up so they can hook into a radio or television signal. I've been focusing on SNN and the other local television stations downtown, but I don't know how the ubervillains would get past their security. Most of it is state-of-the-art.\"\n\nI snorted. \"Get past security? Please. Intelligal can just use those cursed missiles of hers to blast their way in.\"\n\nLulu shook her head. \"I don't think so. Remember in the fish-stick factory, Siren said the radio is very finely calibrated. That's the reason they didn't explode you right then and there. Siren didn't want to risk the shockwave disrupting the VAMP machine.\"\n\n\"So they'll have to do it real quiet-like. Sneak in and set everything up before Siren goes live.\"\n\n\"Bingo,\" Lulu said.\n\n\"Well, let's get cracking,\" I said.\n\nThe four of us started naming the tallest buildings in Bigtime. Bobby not-so-humbly pointed out that Bulluci Industries was housed in one of the highest skyscrapers in the city.\n\n\"What about the observatory?\" Bella asked. \"Isn't it officially the highest point in the city?\"\n\nI flashed back to the benefit and the scientific models I'd seen. More than a few of them remarked on the observatory's height. \"It sure is. Wouldn't that be the logical spot for the ubervillains to turn the volume up on their radio? Wouldn't they get the strongest, clearest signal from there?\"\n\n\"They would. Let me check on something.\" Lulu pounded away. After a couple of minutes, she stopped. \"That's funny.\"\n\n\"What's funny?\" I asked.\n\n\"I hacked into the observatory's database so I could see what programs were scheduled and how many people might be on the scene in case Siren and Intelligal tried to sneak in with the regular folks. Guess who's doing a live morning show there for SNN in a couple of hours?\"\n\n\"Who?\" Bobby asked.\n\n\"Erica Songe,\" Lulu replied. \"And the weird thing is, she's going when there are no school groups scheduled. No tours, no benefits, no press conferences, nothing.\"\n\n\"Erica Songe? What would that little twit be doing at the observatory\u2014\"\n\nAn odd thought struck me. Erica Songe. I thought back to my run-ins with the news reporter. Her hissy fit at the shop a couple months ago. Her relentless flirtation with Johnny. Her pushiness at the observatory benefit. All the pieces slowly formed a picture. For a moment, I felt just like Carmen.\n\n\"You know, Erica Songe is a trashy little thing, just like Siren is.\" I snapped my fingers together, remembering something else. \"And she has a sister. Irene something. A total geek, just like you.\"\n\nLulu stared at me. \"You don't think...\"\n\nI nodded. \"I do think. And so do you.\"\n\n\"Let me pull up some pictures of them off the Internet.\" Lulu's fingers smacked against her keyboard.\n\nBella looked back and forth between the two of us. \"What are the two of you talking about?\"\n\n\"We're talking about Siren actually being Erica Songe, a news reporter for SNN,\" I replied.\n\nBella, Bobby, and I hunched over Lulu's shoulder as she pulled up photos of the two women. I studied the pictures. Same black hair. Same blue eyes. Same collagen-injected lips. Same supersized boobs. There was no mistake about it. Erica Songe was Siren.\n\n\"Hold on a minute, let's see if I can get the sister too.\" Lulu hit more buttons on her computer.\n\nA photo of Irene popped up on the monitor. Lulu compared it to one of Intelligal. Same black glasses. Same sour expression. Same disdain for Siren and everyone else. I wanted to laugh. Carmen was right. Spandex costumes and bright masks really were very thin disguises. We all might as well go around with our real names tattooed on our foreheads.\n\n\"That's her! She's the one who killed my son!\" Bobby pounded his fist into his hand and let out a long string of curses. His face turned red, then purple with rage and fury.\n\nBella put her arm around her grandfather's shoulder, trying to comfort and calm him down before he had a heart attack. I turned to Lulu.\n\n\"It's them. We agree that it is. Now, let's figure out how we're going to stop them,\" I said.\n\n# Chapter Twenty-Seven\n\n\"The first thing we have to do is figure out how to resist Siren's voice, especially now that she's going to be plugged into that TRAMP machine,\" I said. \"I can't very well smash it to bits and throttle her if I'm under her spell.\"\n\n\"It's actually called a VAMP machine,\" Lulu corrected.\n\nI waved my hand. \"TRAMP, VAMP, whatever. They both describe her.\"\n\n\"I might be able to help with that,\" Lulu said. \"Henry and the chief were working on some earplugs to block Siren's voice. They're not perfected yet, but they might work well enough for us, since we'll be in the van.\"\n\n\"In the van? I don't want to stay in the van,\" Bobby protested. \"I want to go inside and save my grandson with you.\"\n\n\"You'll need all the help you can get, Fiona,\" Bella added. \"Why don't you let us come with you?\"\n\n\"Because it's too dangerous. I can't take a chance on one of you getting hurt. I can handle Siren and Intelligal by myself.\"\n\nProbably.\n\n\"But you can't handle Angel, Hermit, and Mr. Sage too,\" Bella pointed out. \"You're going to need some backup.\"\n\nI paced back and forth. \"I need Carmen and Sam, or rather Karma Girl and Striker. Where are they now, Lulu?\"\n\n\"Carmen called me yesterday before all of this went down. They'd just flown into Rome on Sam's private jet. There's no way they can get back here in time.\" Lulu looked at the Bullucis. \"I think they're right, Fiona. You're going to have to take us with you, whether you like it or not.\"\n\nI stared at the three of them, eyes shining, faces tight with hope. They were all so ready, willing, and eager to wade into battle and probably get themselves electrocuted or worse. Sending them up against Siren and Intelligal would be like throwing tender steaks to wolves\u2014or to me. The ubervillains would gobble them down without a second thought. I saved innocents. That was my calling, my duty. I didn't put them in danger.\n\nBut I didn't have a choice. Not if I had any hope of rescuing the others. Bella was right. I couldn't fight Siren and Intelligal and save the others at the same time. Even Swifte would have been hard-pressed to do it, no matter how speedy he was.\n\nSo, I thought about my three new teammates and how to minimize the danger to them. There wouldn't be any radioactive goo around, so they wouldn't become horribly mutated by going with me. At least, I didn't think they would. You could never tell what sort of effect something like that stupid VAMP machine might have on regular folks. Carmen was proof of that.\n\nBesides, Bella had a power that might come in handy. If luck was really a power, instead of just some weird, wild mojo, and if she could get it to work in our favor.\n\nNo radioactive goo and a little luck. Maybe things wouldn't go too badly. I snorted. Yeah, right.\n\n\"Fine, you can come with me, but you have to stay out of the way. Agreed?\"\n\nThe three of them nodded their heads.\n\n\"I mean it,\" I snapped. \"I'm not bringing you along so you can do something stupid, like die a noble, bloody death in order to save the others and the city. That's _my_ job. You'll do what I say, when I say it. Or else I'll lock you in the van and take the ubervillains on by myself. Got it?\"\n\nThey nodded again, a bit more reluctantly this time. Bobby, in particular, shot me a sour look.\n\nI resumed my pacing. \"Even with you guys tagging along, I'm still going to need some extra help. Siren I can handle no problem. It's Intelligal's chair and her stupid missiles that always have me ducking for cover. I need to get her out of that chair, or at least neutralize it, if we have any hope of freeing the others and destroying that VAMP thing.\"\n\n\"You know who you should talk to if you want more firepower,\" Lulu said.\n\n\"Who?\"\n\n\"Why, Jasper, of course.\"\n\nJasper was one of Lulu's more notorious friends and Bigtime's underground bomb expert. If you needed something that went _boom_ in a big way, you went to Jasper. What he did wasn't exactly legal, of course. The chief had thought about busting him many times, but since Jasper had helped Carmen rescue us last year, he'd given the demolitions expert a free walk. For now.\n\n\"Jasper?\" Bobby asked. \"The Jasper who lives downtown in that big brownstone?\"\n\nLulu nodded. \"The one and only.\"\n\n\"You know him?\" I asked.\n\nBobby shrugged. \"I've had use for a few of his items over the years.\"\n\n\"Oh really? Like what?\"\n\nBobby winked. \"Oh, this and that.\"\n\nI opened my mouth to question him further, when Lulu interrupted.\n\n\"We should get going,\" she said. \"It's after four now. Erica, I mean Siren, is set to go on the air at seven-ten sharp.\"\n\n\"Then, off to Jasper's we go,\" I said.\n\n* * *\n\nLulu and I went to the equipment room. I changed into a fresh superhero suit, one that didn't smell like frozen fish sticks, while she gathered up a couple of things we might need, including the earplugs my father and Henry had been working on and some more of the gas-blocking and _RID_ pills. Then, we went back to the library, grabbed Bella and Bobby, and loaded up the van.\n\nJust after five in the morning, Lulu and I stood in one of the nicer neighborhoods in Bigtime. A massive brownstone that even finicky Joanne James wouldn't have minded owning towered above us. Bella waited in the van, keeping the engine warm. Bobby sat in the passenger seat and peered out the window. The streets were still and quiet, and the air was cool and smelled of impending rain. The streetlights flickered on and off, confused by the grayish dawn.\n\nWide, shallow steps led up to the brownstone. Lulu hit a button on her wheelchair, and four jack-like devices sprang out from the sides. The jacks hissed as they planted themselves on the ground. They lifted the wheelchair several inches off the ground\u2014high enough so Lulu could roll herself up onto the first step. She started to repeat the process, but I was too impatient to wait. I picked up Lulu, chair and all, and carried her to the front door.\n\n\"I can make it up and down stairs by myself,\" Lulu protested. \"I've been doing it for years.\"\n\n\"We don't have time for you to be stubborn and independent,\" I said. \"Now wake up Jasper.\"\n\nLulu punched a box on the wall, and a security camera swiveled over to see who was calling at this early hour. I could almost see the lens in the camera widen at the sight of me. I wore my costume, and my hair crackled and sparked with fire. I didn't think Jasper got many visits from the members of the Fearless Five. Well, except from Carmen and Lulu.\n\nThe box clicked on.\n\n\"What's the word?\" a male voice asked over the static.\n\n\"The word is _silent night_ ,\" Lulu replied.\n\nThe camera lingered on us. Jasper wasn't going to let us in. I clenched my hand into a fist. Sparks and smoke hissed out from between my fingers. We'd get in one way or another. I'd make sure of that.\n\nThe door buzzed open.\n\n\"I thought the word was _boom-boom_ ,\" I whispered.\n\n\"He changed it right before Christmas.\" Lulu shrugged. \"Jasper has a strange sense of humor sometimes.\"\n\nNo kidding. We entered the brownstone. A tall, thin man appeared at the far end of the hallway. A bathrobe hung on his bony figure, and his hair stuck out at those weird angles that were only made possible by a good night's sleep. We made our way toward him. I moved slowly, keeping my hands in sight and the fire to a minimum. I'd been in the vicinity of one of Jasper's bomb blasts before, and I'd been sore for a week as a result. So, I didn't think it would be a good idea to startle the bomb guru. He might do something stupid, like try to blow us up.\n\n\"Lulu, how it's going?\" Jasper asked in a cautious voice, his eyes flicking over me.\n\nLulu extended her hand, and she and Jasper engaged in a series of slaps, high-fives, and other strange finger signals. \"Fine, Jasper. Just fine. I know what you're thinking, but don't worry about ole Fiera here. We didn't come here to bust you. In fact, quite the opposite. We need some supplies.\"\n\nJasper looked at me. \"You need supplies?\" he asked in a rather disbelieving voice.\n\nI shrugged. \"I'm going up against a couple of ubervillains bent on taking over Bigtime, and I'm four team members down. I can use all the help I can get. Or rather, all the bombs you can give me. And anything else you think might come in handy.\"\n\nJasper stared at me. Suddenly, a smile creased his face. \"Well, then, who am I to turn away a potential customer? Plus, any friend of Lulu's is a friend of mine. Come in, come in.\"\n\nHe turned and led us farther into the dark brownstone.\n\n\"You know I've long been a fan of your work, Fiera,\" Jasper said in a conversational voice. \"Your fireballs are most impressive. The intensity of the heat, the explosion on impact, the massive damage they cause. I'd trade my explodium bombs for them in a second.\"\n\nThe odd praise pleased me, even if it was coming from a somewhat mad bomber. \"Thanks. Lulu's told me a lot about your work too.\"\n\nJasper gave the computer hacker a pointed look that would have cut glass. \"Not too much, I hope.\"\n\nLulu patted him on the arm. \"Don't worry, Jasper. Your trade secrets are safe with me.\"\n\n\"Good to know,\" he said. \"Good to know.\"\n\nJasper punched in a security code and went down a flight of stairs. I picked up Lulu and followed him. It looked like Intelligal's lair, except it was much tidier. Wires and bits of metal were stacked in neat piles on top of several worktables. Soldering irons, pliers, and other tools hung from slots in a tall rack attached to one of the thick walls.\n\n\"You've done some redecorating, Jasper,\" Lulu said. \"The last time I came here, this place was a mess.\"\n\nJasper shrugged. \"I decided to get a little more organized. It was either that or blow myself up tripping over things.\"\n\nLulu and I froze. We stared at each other, then Jasper. The bomb guru paid no attention to our sudden nervousness.\n\nJasper pulled out a legal pad and a pencil from a desk in the corner. \"So tell me what you need.\"\n\nLulu outlined Siren and Intelligal's scheme to take over Bigtime and, subsequently, the world. \"So as you can see, Fiera here needs some help.\"\n\n\"What I need, specifically, is a way to disable Intelligal's chair. Of course, I've tried many times myself. Fireballs, superstrength, collisions. Nothing seems to put much of a dent in it, except whatever Intelligal used to make it self-destruct.\"\n\n\"It's probably made out of solidium,\" Jasper said. \"It's very rare and very expensive, but it's the strongest, toughest metal known to man. Explodium won't even scratch it. At least, not by itself. You have to mix some other explosives with it.\"\n\n\"I don't want to scratch it,\" I snapped. \"I want to completely destroy it. Think big fireball. Think catastrophic damage. Think crumpled lump of charred, twisted metal. That's what I'm aiming for. First the chair, then the VAMP device. Maybe even the ubervillains if they get in my way.\"\n\nJasper looked at me as though I were the love of his life. His eyes went all soft and warm. \"Ah, a woman after my own heart.\" He took my hand and pressed a kiss to it. \"For you, my lady, only the best.\"\n\nI stared at Lulu. Her lips twitched, and I could tell she was trying to keep from laughing. I rolled my eyes.\n\nJasper spent the next few minutes puttering around, grabbing strange-looking objects out of various safes and lead boxes hidden throughout the room. Finally, he pulled out a small, square box. He bowed to me and cracked open the lid. Nestled inside were ten round, brown-colored objects. They reminded me of chocolate-covered bon-bons, although I doubted they tasted as good. My stomach rumbled. I'd have to eat some more food before I went toe-to-toe with Siren and Intelligal.\n\n\"For you, Fiera, only the best. This is something new I've been working on. Explodium has become rather pass\u00e9 this last year. Everybody's working with it these days, and you can practically buy it on the street corner,\" Jasper said. \"But this, this is something special. I call it obliteron.\"\n\n\"Obliteron?\" I asked.\n\n\"Obliteron, because it not only destroys matter, it pretty much obliterates it.\"\n\nI nodded as if I knew exactly what he was talking about. As a superhero, I'm used to the creative, colorful, and sometimes ridiculous names my fellow heroes and ubervillains call themselves. Halitosis Hal was a prime example. But _obliteron_? For a bomb? Oh my.\n\nJasper picked up one of the bon-bons and rolled it around in his hand. \"Obliteron is a special form of explodium, a mixture of it and a few other key radioactive isotopes. I've managed to put my own stamp on it with these little beauties. Inside each of these thick, plastic shells is a liquid ball of obliteron.\"\n\nI eyed the bon-bon. \"If it's as dangerous as you say, do you think you should be tossing it around like that? I don't want to get blown up before I get to the ubervillains.\" That wouldn't help anybody, especially not Johnny, my father, and Henry.\n\nJasper waved his hand. \"Oh, in this form, it's perfectly harmless. You see, I've encased it in a special, highly protective plastic shell. You could even play baseball with it, and it wouldn't detonate.\"\n\n\"So how do I arm it?\" I asked, reaching for the small ball.\n\nJasper held it out of my reach. \"All it needs is a little heat to fire it up. The plastic disintegrates, and the obliteron becomes active. There's a twenty-second fuse, but I don't think you'll have to worry about that. A flare-up from you will more than do the trick. Along with a stabilizing agent, the outer shell also contains a form of heat-activated, superstrong glue. Once the shell starts to melt, it will stick to any surface you throw it at. So once it's hot, let it fly. When it blows, well, let's just say that you don't want to be anywhere near it.\"\n\nI thought about the observatory. Some of the rooms were cramped, and I had no idea where Siren and Intelligal would set up their VAMP device. I didn't want the others to get caught in the crossfire. \"What's the blast radius?\"\n\n\"Like explodium, obliteron produces a limited blast range, about thirty feet or so. But it packs a hell of a punch and it burns superhot. A couple of these balls would be more than enough to bring down any building, any structure in the greater Bigtime area.\"\n\nI eyed him. \"Like, say, the new paper mill they were going to build out next to the ice cream factory? The one that was going to infringe on part of the observatory's wildlife sanctuary? There was some sort of explosion out there a couple of weeks ago late at night when nobody was around. The damage was so severe that construction was halted. Permanently, I believe.\"\n\n\"I didn't have anything to do with that,\" Jasper said in a hurt, offended tone.\n\nI kept staring at him.\n\n\"I might not be as heroic as you are, Fiera, but I'm not a bad person. I might blow things up, but I never sell my goods to anyone who's going to use them to hurt other people.\"\n\n\"So who do you sell your wares to then?\"\n\nHe shrugged. \"People who want to collect on insurance, mostly. I also get a lot of business from the construction crews in town. A few of the more radical environmental groups. Sometimes, the bomb squad even calls me in to consult on cases. Now, do you want the obliteron or not?\"\n\n\"I do.\" I didn't really have a choice. Not if I wanted to save the others and the rest of Bigtime. Besides, I could always come back and bust Jasper later.\n\nJasper nodded. \"Good. Let me package them for you. Don't fire them up until you're absolutely sure you want to blow something up. Unlike some of my other work, these can't be diffused.\"\n\nHe rustled around the underground laboratory, fishing a heavy, lead briefcase out of one of the safes. Jasper carefully put ten of the obliteron bon-bons in the dark, foam-lined depths. Then, he turned and handed it to me.\n\n\"Let me carry them. Better not to take any more chances than necessary. I'm not as hot under the collar as other folks around here.\" Lulu shot me an amused look out of the corner of her eye.\n\nI gritted my teeth at the bad pun and tried to remain calm. Now was not the time to set Lulu's hair on fire. I would do that later. After I'd rescued everyone and reduced Siren and Intelligal to weeping, wailing heaps on the floor.\n\nLulu took the case from Jasper and set it on her lap. I eyed a clock on the wall. Just before six. Time to go.\n\n\"Ah, before you leave, there is the matter of my fee,\" Jasper reminded us in a soft voice.\n\nLulu and I looked at each other.\n\n\"How much?\" she asked.\n\nJasper tapped his finger on his lips. \"For ten of my obliteron delights? I'd say an even two million would cover it.\"\n\nI winced. There went my fat fee for designing Joanne James's latest wedding dress. Unless... The bomber wore a tattered bathrobe that had definitely seen better days. The slippers on his feet had holes in them, and his socks were threadbare. Plus, everything was the same, drab, gray color. Rather like Jasper's pale skin. I really, really hated gray.\n\n\"How would you like some clothes instead?\" I said. \"I happen to know a designer who does incredible work. She makes men's suits that are to die for. Very bold. Very colorful. Just the thing for you to entertain prospective clients in. Or to wear for a night out on the town with your lady. I'm sure she'd be happy to outfit you with a whole new wardrobe.\"\n\nJasper just blinked.\n\n* * *\n\nTen minutes later, Lulu and I left Jasper's brownstone.\n\n\"I can't believe Jasper agreed to waive his two million dollars for a closet full of _clothes_ ,\" Lulu said, maneuvering her wheelchair down the sidewalk. \"I think Jasper's taken one too many blows to the head recently. Or all the radioactivity is making him go soft.\"\n\n\"It's much simpler than that, Lulu. The truth is that everybody wants to look good,\" I said in a smug tone. \"Even mad bombers. And they're not just _clothes_. I plan on outfitting Jasper with the finest menswear Fiona Fine Fashions has to offer.\"\n\nBobby saw us coming. He hopped out of the front seat and opened the side door of the van. Too impatient to bother with the chair lift, I picked up Lulu and deposited her in the van, along with the precious case of Jasper's bombs.\n\n\"Did you get everything you needed?\" Bella asked from the driver's seat.\n\n\"And then some,\" I said, slamming the door shut. \"Now, let's go take those bitches out.\"\n\n# Chapter Twenty-Eight\n\nWe drove through the streets of Bigtime in silence. It was early, and most folks hadn't yet started their commute into the city from the outlying suburbs. Most of them probably hadn't even had their first cup of coffee yet. The sun was just creeping above the tops of the skyscrapers that housed _The Expos_ _\u00e9_ and _The Chronicle_.\n\nI took the opportunity to eat the emergency bucket of food I had stashed in the van. It was mostly junk food, stuff like candy bars and peanut butter crackers that would keep forever. But all that sweet, sweet sugar was more than enough to give me a boost of energy for the big battle ahead. I wasn't psychic like my father or Carmen, but I had a feeling I'd need it.\n\nWe pulled into the long drive that led up to the observatory a little after six thirty. We didn't see anyone. No cars climbing up the hill. No buses pulling in with sleepy, cranky students. Even the guardhouse at the bottom of the steep hill was empty, although the door looked like it had been ripped off its hinges, along with the gate that blocked the road up to the observatory. I wondered if that's what Siren had needed the others for **\u2014** a little extra muscle.\n\nBut other than the mangled gate, everything else seemed normal, and the place was deserted. Except for two maniacal ubervillains lurking around somewhere. Plus, my hoodwinked teammates and the man I loved.\n\nBella drove the van to one of the garages attached to the side of the observatory. She parked on the lowest level, out of sight from anyone who might be watching from inside. The only other vehicle in the garage was a small SUV bearing the colorful SNN logo. I rattled the door. Locked. I put a little muscle into it, yanked the whole thing off, and set the crumpled metal aside. I rustled through the interior of the vehicle, but there was nothing inside besides your usual assortment of bad CDs, gum wrappers, and empty fast-food cartons.\n\n\"Anything?\" Lulu asked, smacking her computer, which sat on top of Jasper's case of bombs on her lap.\n\n\"Nothing. But at least we know they're here,\" I replied. \"Something wrong over there?\"\n\n\"Stupid case,\" Lulu muttered. \"I'm trying to pull up the blueprints that I downloaded of the observatory, but the radioactivity from Jasper's bombs is interfering with my laptop. The case he gave us isn't quite as secure as it looks.\"\n\n\"Why don't you let me hold on to those?\" Bella asked, sliding the case out from under Lulu's computer. \"It might be better for us all.\"\n\n\"A little luck certainly couldn't hurt,\" I quipped. \"As long as it's good.\"\n\nBobby laughed. Bella glared at her grandfather.\n\n\"All right, folks, gather round,\" I said.\n\nMy three troops clustered near me.\n\n\"Okay, here's the game plan. I go in first. Every single time. If we run into Siren and Intelligal, you guys stay back out of sight. Let me take care of the ubervillains. If the situation gets really desperate, Bella can toss me a couple of the bombs so I can even things out. I said it before, and I'll say it again\u2014I don't want any of you trying to play hero. That's my job. Under no circumstances are you to engage Siren or Intelligal by yourselves. Agreed?\"\n\nI looked at each one of them in turn, giving them my _I'm-a-powerful-superhero-so-don't-even-think-about-messing-with-me_ look. It seemed to work, because they nodded.\n\n\"Okay then. Let's go get our boys back,\" I said.\n\n* * *\n\nWe took a few minutes to get our gear together. Lulu passed out the earplugs Henry and my father had been working on and hooked them into her laptop. Like our other equipment, the earplugs were equipped with microphones so we could all talk to each other. Then, Lulu piggybacked her computer onto one of the electrical boxes that lined the empty parking structure. She started to disable the alarm, but someone had already done it.\n\n\"Hermit,\" I said. \"That's what Siren needed him for. She probably got Mr. Sage and Johnny to move the gate, then let him do the rest.\"\n\nSince Hermit had done the hard part already, I opened one of the metal doors that led from the garage to the observatory, and we scuttled inside.\n\n\"Where do we go from here?\" I asked Lulu in a hushed voice.\n\nNormally, I would have gone in fireballs a'blazing, but I couldn't risk alerting the ubervillains to our presence. Not with the others following behind me like ducklings waddling after their mother.\n\n\"According to my calculations, they're probably in the main auditorium,\" Lulu whispered. \"That would be the most logical place to set up the VAMP device. And if I remember correctly, that's where SNN usually does their live feeds from.\"\n\n\"Then that's where we go.\"\n\nThe four of us made our way through the silent, empty halls. A few of the interactive displays flickered to life as we passed, spewing out facts about the observatory and other scientific babble about stars and planets and black holes. A couple of heated jerks from me, and the machines died a painful, fiery death. We stopped at the edge of one of the observatory's main crosswalks to catch our breath and get a little more direction.\n\n\"Time?\" I asked.\n\nBella checked her watch, which looked like a smaller, female version of Johnny's, complete with wings. \"Ten minutes until seven.\"\n\n\"We need to keep moving,\" I said, pushing away from the slick, marble wall.\n\nAfter some more slow going, we reached the auditorium. I moved the others back down the hall. Then I dropped down on my stomach, slid forward, and stuck my head around the doorjamb.\n\nWe'd guessed right. They were all inside. Siren, Intelligal, Johnny Angel, Mr. Sage, Hermit, and the same weary cameraman I'd seen the night of the observatory benefit. My eyes flicked over my fellow superheroes. They looked no worse for wear, even though their eyes and faces were as blank and smooth as sheets of glass.\n\nMy gaze lingered on Johnny, and my heart squeezed in on itself. He looked fine, physically. I just wondered what the toll would be when Johnny realized that Siren had roped him into doing her bidding. That he'd tried to kill me and take over the city on orders from one of the women he hated most in the world.\n\nAs for the ubervillains, they stood in the middle of the auditorium in all their foul glory. They must have felt supremely confident in their dastardly plan, because they didn't even have their masks on. I looked at Erica Songe and her geeky scientist sister, Irene. I'd been right on that count too. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Didn't they know something always went wrong with the best-laid plans of ubervillains? And here they were without their masks on, running around for the whole world to see.\n\nI shook my head. Sometimes, ubervillains just weren't as classy\u2014or as smart\u2014as they used to be. Frost certainly would never have tried to take over the world without wearing his mask. Neither would Scorpion or Mad Maria or any of the other colorful, certifiable characters I'd battled over the years. If things went wrong, as they so often did, then they wouldn't have their real identities to protect and hide them. Erica's, Siren's, ego was definitely as big as her overinflated chest.\n\nIntelligal fiddled with switches on the VAMP device, which sat on the auditorium stage. Her face was set in its usual dour expression. You'd think she would have been a little happier about her Frankenstein machine finally coming to life. Every once in a while, a loud squawk would fill the air. A series of wires snaked across the floor from the radio-like object and plugged into the SNN camera standing in the middle of the empty auditorium, along with some lights. I eyed the machines and wires. I'd definitely have to do something about those.\n\nAs for Siren, she used the fancy VAMP microphone to berate and bark orders to her hypnotized cameraman about the hot lighting ruining her makeup. At least, that's what she did when she wasn't cuddling up to Johnny and rubbing herself against him like a cat in heat. She purred something into his ear. The tramp. Johnny stared blankly ahead, as if he couldn't even feel Siren's slutty hands roaming all over him.\n\nI hoped he couldn't. More than that, I hoped he wasn't enjoying it, dazed though he was. My own hands clenched into fists. A couple of sparks shot up in the air. I was so going to enjoy reducing Siren to a crimson stain on the floor and throwing her ass in jail.\n\nI watched them for a few more seconds before sliding back out of the auditorium into the corridor.\n\n\"Well?\" Bobby asked in a low voice, his eyes bright. \"Are they in there? Is Johnny with them? How does he look?\"\n\n\"Easy, easy. They're all in there. Siren and Intelligal are fiddling with the VAMP machine. Johnny and the others are fine, if a little spaced out.\"\n\n\"So what's our next move?\" Bella asked, clutching the case full of bombs.\n\nI thought. Planning and strategy weren't my strengths, but improvising was. \"We'll do what we usually do. Or rather, what the Fearless Five usually do. I'll go in through the front door, and you guys circle around the back. Is there another way to get in there?\"\n\n\"There's another entrance on the far side,\" Lulu said, pounding keys. \"The one that leads out to the gardens.\"\n\nOf course. I flashed back to that wonderful night I'd spent with Johnny out next to the waterfall. I allowed myself to remember. All the hot kisses, the soft caresses, the whispered endearments. Then, I pushed those thoughts, those feelings aside. It was time to put on my game face. My angry, _I'm-going-to-kick-your-evil-ubervillain-ass_ game face.\n\n\"Here's what we're going to do. I'm going in through the front door and toss a couple of fireballs at them. While I've got Siren and Intelligal occupied, you guys go in the back and get the others out. Don't forget the cameraman. Stuff the extra earplugs in their ears. Maybe that will bring them around. If the ubervillains try to stop you, somebody throw the bombs at them and retreat with the others. Any questions?\"\n\nEveryone shook their heads no.\n\nI took a deep breath. \"Then, let's go.\"\n\n* * *\n\nLulu, Bella, and Bobby snuck off to skirt around the building and come in through the back of the auditorium. I gave them three minutes to get into position, then eased into the room, crouching behind a row of chairs. Intelligal was still fiddling with the VAMP machine. Siren stood nearby, checking her pale, flawless reflection in a small, compact mirror. I narrowed my eyes. Too bad the Pimpler wasn't here right now. He'd turn Siren's smooth face as red and ragged as the top of a pizza in a matter of seconds.\n\n\"How much longer?\" Siren asked.\n\nIntelligal checked a watch on her wrist. \"Five minutes until the SNN studio cuts to you.\"\n\n\"Excellent.\" Siren snapped her compact shut and fluffed out her black hair. \"Just think, in a few minutes, we'll own this city and everyone and everything in it. No more doing stupid live shots of superheroes flaunting their latest triumph. No more skulking around abandoned factories. No more taking insults from Bigtime's high and mighty. We'll be the ones in control. Permanently.\"\n\n\"Don't get ahead of yourself,\" Intelligal cautioned. \"Things could still go wrong.\"\n\nSiren waved her hand. \"You worry too much. Things won't go wrong. Karma Girl and Striker are nowhere to be found. We've taken care of Fiera, and Mr. Sage, Hermit, and Johnny Angel are under our control. \"\n\n\"Not completely,\" Intelligal snapped. \"They all balked when you wanted them to take off their masks.\"\n\nSiren's thick lips turned down in a poor imitation of a pout. Her lips had so much collagen in them that it didn't quite work. \"Yes, well, keeping your real identity secret is the very first thing you learn to do as a superhero or ubervillain. It's ingrained so deep in their subconscious even I couldn't break through that particular barrier with my hypnosis. At least, not yet. Don't worry, sister dear. We'll uncover their identities soon enough. And have the rest of the city's superheroes and ubervillains eating out of our hands. Let's talk about something more interesting. What's the first thing you're going to do when we take over the city?\"\n\nIntelligal spliced two wires together. \"Quit my miserable job here at the observatory. Perhaps use some of the other scientists as test subjects. I'm curious as to what the effect of explodium is on a normal human body. Angel's remains didn't give me much to work with.\"\n\nMy eyes went to Johnny. I thought I saw a bit of anger spark to life in his green eyes, but it was quickly swallowed up by the emptiness.\n\n\"And you, sister?\" Intelligal asked.\n\nSiren tapped a finger on her lips. \"I'm not sure. Perhaps I'll have a little fun with Mr. Johnny Angel here. He certainly has the equipment for it. And I plan on taking certain individuals down a few pegs from their lofty heights. Speaking of Johnnies, perhaps I'll start with Mr. Johnny Bulluci and his trashy cohort, Fiona Fine. What the world sees in that woman's fashion designs is beyond me. Yes, I think those two will be the first ones to feel the new city order under Siren.\"\n\nI smiled. That was my cue. Siren wanted a dose of Fiona Fine? Well, she was sure as hell going to get it. And then some. I straightened up and stepped into view.\n\n\"Oh, why wait another five minutes?\" I called out. \"Let's get the fun started now.\"\n\n# Chapter Twenty-Nine\n\nSiren and Intelligal's mouths dropped open so far that their teeth almost hit the floor.\n\n\"You...you...you're supposed to be dead!\" Siren shrieked. \"Frozen solid like the rest of those fish sticks!\"\n\nI winced at the high-pitched sound, grateful the earplugs muffled the worst of it. \"If I had a dollar for every time I'd heard that, I'd be even richer than I am right now. But enough chitchat.\" I took aim and lobbed a fireball at Siren. \"I've got some ubervillains to get rid of.\"\n\nSiren ducked down, and Intelligal soared up into the air. The fireball sailed right between the two ubervillains.\n\n\"You missed!\" Siren crowed in a loud voice.\n\nThe red-hot ball of fire streaked through the air like a meteor and slammed into the television camera in the middle of the auditorium. The wires and camera exploded like firecrackers. Metal and glass zipped everywhere. When the smoke cleared, all that was left of the camera and the large majority of wires attached to the VAMP machine was a puddle of melted black metal.\n\n\"No, I didn't.\" It was my turn to crow. \"Oops. Did I break your television camera? So sorry. I think your feed's been interrupted. Permanently.\"\n\n\"You're going to pay for that,\" Siren hissed.\n\n\"Bring it on, bitch.\"\n\nAn energy ball popped into Siren's hand, and she threw it at me. I ducked down, and the ball smacked against the back wall of the auditorium. Sparks flew everywhere, and static electricity gathered in my hair and on my fingertips.\n\nUnnoticed by the ubervillains, the door that led to the gardens behind them opened. Lulu motored into the room, followed by Bella and Bobby. Lulu clutched the open case full of bombs on her lap. The Bullucis ran over to the three frozen superheroes and the cameraman and stuffed the Siren-proof plugs into their ears.\n\nI threw another fireball, this time at Intelligal. She zipped out of the way, and the ball burst into flames on the ceiling. A display of planets hanging there went up like kindling. Somewhere in the distance, a fire alarm blared to life.\n\n\"Turn on the machine!\" Siren screamed. \"Now!\"\n\nIntelligal started to whirl her chair around, but I sent another fireball her way. She turned back to me. I kept lobbing my fireballs at the two ubervillains, trying to give the Bullucis enough time to get the others out the back door. Bella stuffed the earplugs in her brother's ears and shot me a thumbs-up. She half pushed, half dragged Johnny toward the door, where the others were waiting.\n\nIntelligal saw the sudden movement out of the corner of her eye. Her mouth dropped open for the second time in as many minutes. \"Get them, Siren! Don't let them get away!\"\n\nSiren spun, formed an energy ball in her hands, and hurled it through the air with a furious shriek. It seemed to grow in size as it sped through the room, as though all the ambient energy were attracted to it. The ball zoomed through the air toward the others. Right at Johnny's retreating back.\n\nMy heart froze in my chest. Even as I started running, I knew I wouldn't get there in time to save him. I wasn't going to be able to save Johnny. The man I loved was going to die.\n\nAgain.\n\nSuddenly, Lulu did the one thing I'd asked her not to\u2014she played the part of the self-sacrificing hero and zoomed in front of Bella and Johnny. Siren's energy ball hit her in the chest. Lulu's dark eyes lit up with an inner fire, and her arms and legs twitched wildly. Then, the computer hacker slumped over in her wheelchair. The metal case slipped from her lifeless fingers, and the bombs rolled over the floor like shiny, chocolate marbles.\n\n\"Lulu!\" Hermit screamed. He ran back inside the auditorium.\n\nThe sight of Lulu getting electrocuted also snapped the others out of their Siren-induced reverie. Mr. Sage and Angel stormed back into the room. I raced forward. Siren and Intelligal swiveled back and forth between us. They didn't like being in the middle of a superhero sandwich.\n\n\"Get the machine and let's get out of here!\" Siren screamed.\n\n\"I don't think so, bitch,\" I muttered.\n\nI put on an extra burst of speed and reached the VAMP machine the same time Intelligal did. A mechanical arm shot out of her chair and grabbed the device, ready to lift it into the trunk on the back of the chair. I grabbed the other side of the machine, latching on to the frame. The VAMP machine seesawed back and forth between us. In the background, I heard Siren battling the others. Energy balls zipped through the air. People screamed and shouted and cursed. Ash fluttered around like confetti.\n\n\"Oh, to hell with this,\" I said.\n\nWith a mighty roar, I yanked the VAMP machine toward me and drove my free hand through the metal casing at the same time. Glass tubes and bits of metal snapped deep inside the device, which let out something that sounded like the screech of a wounded animal.\n\n\"No, no, no!\" Intelligal screamed. \"Not my beautiful machine!\"\n\n\"Hell yeah, your beautiful machine.\" I grabbed some of the wires inside and yanked them out, along with my hand. Then, I reared back and punched another hole in the side of it. Intelligal's eyes bulged so far out of her head I thought they'd bust through her thick goggles.\n\n\"No!\" she wailed, sounding just like the broken machine.\n\nI let go of the device. Intelligal's chair floated down, and she hovered over the ruined machine. I knew from experience that she'd be out of commission for a few minutes. All the geeky, science types hated it when you destroyed their pet projects.\n\nI turned to the others. Bobby and Bella were pushing the unconscious Lulu out the door, while Hermit and Mr. Sage guarded their backs.\n\nBut Johnny wasn't retreating with the others. Instead, he stalked toward Siren, who shot energy ball after energy ball at him. Angel flexed and laughed as the bolts bounced harmlessly off his chest.\n\n\"Don't you know, you can't electrocute a rock?\" he snarled.\n\n\"Johnny!\" I shouted. \"Don't do it!\"\n\nHe didn't even looked at me. \"Stay out of this!\"\n\nI raced toward him, desperate to get to him before he got to Siren. My foot slipped on something, and I almost fell. Johnny shot ahead of me, reaching for Siren. I looked down. One of Jasper's bombs rolled past my feet. It kept going and going and going across the floor. The bomb stopped\u2014in front of the still-smoldering camera.\n\nFlames licked at it, and the plastic shell began to melt before my horrified eyes.\n\n\"Get out! Get out now! The whole place is going to blow!\" I screamed.\n\nWith a burst of speed, I grabbed Johnny's leather jacket and yanked him away from Siren. He struggled against me, but I was stronger. Thank heavens for superstrength. I picked him up, panting from the effort, spun around, and tossed him toward the door.\n\nMr. Sage did the rest. His eyes glowed, and he used his telekinesis to float a still-struggling Johnny outside. I looked over my shoulder. Siren and Intelligal hovered over the machine, trying to salvage it, oblivious to everything else. Including the bon-bon bombs rolling around on the floor.\n\n\"Get out now!\" I yelled. \"There are bombs everywhere!\"\n\n\"Go to hell, bitch!\" For once, Siren and Intelligal were in agreement. They screamed the epithet at me.\n\nWell, I'd tried. It was all I could do. My conscience was clear. I started running for the back door.\n\nBut I wasn't quite quick enough this time. A loud roar sounded behind me, followed by a rush of heat and fire. The shockwave from the bombs threw me forward. I slammed into the back wall of the auditorium and out into the gardens below. Darkness overcame me just before I hit the ground.\n\n# Chapter Thirty\n\nMy eyes fluttered open, and my dazed mind wondered what had happened. Where I was. Why the sun was searing my eyeballs. Then, I remembered. Ubervillains. Battle. Explosion. The usual.\n\nI was lying on the garden overlook on the back of the destroyed auditorium. The stone platform felt rough beneath my cheek. The rest of the fog faded from my mind. I wiggled my toes. Then, my fingers. Everything seemed to be in working order. Good to know. I focused on my arms and legs, moving them just a bit. Pain rippled through my body, but it wasn't anything I couldn't handle, being a superstrong superhero and all.\n\nI pushed myself up on my hands and knees. Debris fell off my back, and glass tinkled out of my hair and crunched under my fingers. I winced at the stinging sensation in my palms. Somehow, I made myself stand up and dug the plugs out of my ears. I groaned and staggered back as more pain ripped through my body. I'd be sore for a week because of this escapade. But that was the price of saving the city and the world yet again.\n\nI turned to look at the auditorium. Or what was left of it. The whole back of the building had been blown out, and nothing remained except the stone platform I was standing on and some smoldering bits of debris and rubble. Soot blackened the air, making it hard to breathe. Jasper had been right. His new bombs made Intelligal's explodium missiles look like toy sparklers. I'd have to come up with some extra-special designs for the bomb guru.\n\nMy eyes flicked around the empty, ruined shell of a room. Not a trace of the VAMP machine remained. There was a large, charred lump I thought might be Intelligal's almost indestructible chair. I didn't see any blood or body parts, though. I crept inside, careful of the rubble. Something glinted, and I walked over to it. A silver zipper, halfway undone, lay in one of the smoldering piles. I kicked it with my boot, and it disintegrated.\n\n\"Fiona! Fiera! Fiona!\"\n\nI winced at the loud voices. They didn't mesh so well with the harsh buzzing in my ears. I stepped outside to find the Bullucis scrambling up the broken stone steps.\n\n\"Fiona! Are you all right?\" Bella asked, putting her hand on my shoulder.\n\n\"Fine, I'm fine. Just a little shaken up.\"\n\nI looked down the steps, expecting to see Hermit, Mr. Sage, and Lulu at the bottom. But they weren't there, and they didn't appear.\n\n\"Lulu?\" I asked, feeling more concerned than I'd thought possible. The computer hacker wasn't so bad if she'd only stop peppering me with her cheesy, heat-related puns.\n\nBobby shook his head. \"She's in pretty bad shape. Mr. Sage sent us to come get you so he and Hermit could work on her. She needs to be taken back to the manor as soon as possible.\"\n\n\"I'm just glad you're all right, Fiona,\" Johnny said, pulling me into a rough, tight hug.\n\nI closed my eyes, savoring the feel of his warm body against mine. I pulled back and just looked at him. Johnny. He was alive, and the ubervillains were gone. Everything was going to be all right. I grabbed Johnny's face and pulled it down to mine. Then, I gave him the hottest kiss I could manage. I lost myself in the feel of him, the smell, the taste.\n\n\"Ahem.\"\n\nI ignored Bella.\n\n\"Ahem!\"\n\nIf she did that any louder, she was going to bring the rest of the observatory down around us. Reluctantly, I broke off the kiss. Johnny brushed my hair back from my face. I touched his lips with my fingers. His green eyes softened. Suddenly, he grinned.\n\n\"Now that's how I like to be greeted,\" Johnny said, reaching for me again.\n\nI stiff-armed him and stepped back. \"Hold it, buster. It's going to take a lot more than one kiss to get back in my good graces.\" I tossed my hair over my shoulder. Dust flapped off the limp, dirty locks.\n\nJohnny stuck out his lip in a mock pout. Bella and Bobby just laughed.\n\n* * *\n\nMy happiness at saving Johnny and the day was muted by the seriousness of Lulu's condition. Siren's energy ball had done quite a number on her. In addition to the burns on her body, the electricity had also interrupted her heartbeat and brain activities. The chief had to shock her twice with the defibrillator in the back of the van when she flat-lined. We raced back to Sublime in silence, and Henry and the chief put her in one of the sick bays moments after we parked in the underground garage.\n\nThe Bullucis and I stood vigil outside the room, watching the chief work on Lulu. An hour later, he came out. The chief looked exhausted, and worry lines tightened his long face.\n\n\"She's stabilized, but it's still touch-and-go. If she makes it through the night, then I think she'll be all right. Henry's in there with her. I suggest you all go home and get some rest. There's nothing you can do at the moment.\"\n\nOne by one, we drifted away. Johnny took his sister and grandfather home to change clothes and freshen up. The Bullucis promised to return as soon as they could. I made my way to my suite, stripped off my tattered, ruined costume, and took a long shower to wash away the grime of the fight and explosion. I changed into jeans, stilettos, and a fitted white shirt.\n\nI lay down on my bed, but I couldn't sleep. Even though I'd been up more than twenty-four hours, I was still too wired from everything that had happened. So, I got up and went to the kitchen, where I made a dozen roast-beef-and-cheddar-cheese sandwiches. I put four aside for Henry and the chief and downed the rest of them, along with a gallon of milk and a deep-dish apple pie topped with vanilla bean ice cream. My father found me inside just as I was scraping the last bite of melted ice cream out of the bowl.\n\n\"Sorry,\" I said, pushing him the plate full of sandwiches. \"If you wanted pie, you should have gotten here three minutes ago.\"\n\n\"Don't worry about it,\" he said, taking one of the sandwiches. \"I'm used to it.\"\n\nAfter the chief finished his first sandwich, he spoke again.\n\n\"You've been incredibly strong these last few hours. Escaping the freezer, figuring out the ubervillains' scheme. You saved us, Fiona. You saved all of us today. I don't think I've ever been prouder of you,\" the chief said, his eyes bright.\n\nI nodded. \"I only wish Lulu hadn't gotten hurt in the process. Is there any change?\"\n\nThe chief shook his head. \"We'll just have to wait and see. It's out of my hands now.\"\n\nHot tears gathered in my eyes. My father opened his arms, and we hugged for a long time.\n\n* * *\n\nThe chief left to go to his own suite and shower before he checked on Lulu again. I went down to the sick bay to give Henry a break. The doors swooshed open, and I stepped inside. The harsh, chemical smell of disinfectant and ointment filled the room. I walked over to the bed where Lulu lay.\n\nThe computer hacker's face was paler than usual, and her hair stood out like black-and-blue ink against the white of her pillow. Thick gauze bandages covered her chest, and she seemed about an inch away from death. Henry sat by her side, still in costume, holding her hand and whispering words of encouragement.\n\nI tapped him on the shoulder. Henry yelped and almost jumped out of his chair.\n\n\"Oh, it's you, Fiona. You scared me.\"\n\nI pulled up a chair and sat next to him. \"How is she?\"\n\nHenry sighed, his eyes dark and sad. \"The same. No worse, no better.\"\n\n\"Why don't you go get some rest? I'll sit with her until you get back,\" I said in a gentle tone.\n\n\"No, I'm not going anywhere. Not until she wakes up.\"\n\n\"You're dirty and exhausted. You're not any good to Lulu right now.\"\n\nHenry looked down at his ripped, torn costume. He shifted in his chair, and bits of ash flaked off the spandex. \"So what?\"\n\n\"So, you look almost as bad as she does. You certainly smell worse. Now go.\" I grabbed the back of his suit and pushed him toward the door. \"I'll watch her while you get cleaned up. I promise.\"\n\n\"Come get me if anything, anything at all, changes,\" Henry said, clutching the doorframe.\n\nI pulled his fingers off, but he grabbed on to the other side. \"I will. Now go.\"\n\nAfter a few more false starts and forceful shoves, I convinced Henry to leave Lulu to me for a little while. I plopped down in the chair beside her bed. After about a minute, I drummed my fingers on my knee. Shifted back and forth in my seat. Fiddled with my hair. If I'd had some gum, I would have blown big bubbles. I'd never been good at sitting still, and I absolutely hated waiting.\n\nBut I'd promised Henry. Plus, it was my fault that Lulu was hurt. I was the one who'd let her come along. I should have locked her and the Bullucis in the van where they would have been safe. Instead, Lulu had gone all noble on me and kept Siren from zapping Johnny. I should have been able to take out Siren before she got that shot off. I should have been quicker, smarter, stronger. Now, the computer hacker was paying the price for my mistakes\u2014and her own bravery.\n\n_Coulda, woulda, shoulda_. Unfortunately, after-the-fact clarity was another thing that went along with being a superhero.\n\n\"You know, you need to snap out of this coma thing you've got going on,\" I said in a conversational tone. \"It's not doing you any good, and you've got everybody else worried sick about you. Especially Henry. If you go and die on him, well, I'll have to kill you all over again.\"\n\nI rolled my eyes. I sounded dumb even to myself. Perhaps dying wasn't the best thing to talk to Lulu about. A good bedside manner was not my specialty. That was Chief Newman's department.\n\nSo, I sat there and talked to Lulu about all sorts of things. The battle, how Siren and Intelligal had been toasted by the bombs, how brave but stupid I thought she'd been saving Johnny, how I hoped that Johnny and I could get past today.\n\n\"I really, really like him,\" I said. \"And not just because the sex is incredible and he's one of the most gorgeous men I've ever had the privilege to sleep with. I like his sense of humor, his quick wit, his silly grins.\" I leaned forward and dropped my voice to a whisper. \"The truth is that I love him. But let's just keep that between you and me for right now.\"\n\nAfter going on for a good while about my feelings for Johnny, I lapsed into silence. I didn't have any more words left in me. So, I clutched Lulu's hand and tried to feel soothing and calm.\n\nI sat beside her, my head bowed, for almost an hour. A small rustle sounded. My head snapped up. Lulu's eyes fluttered open. My breath caught in my throat. This was a good sign, right? I mean, she wasn't going to die on us if she was awake, was she?\n\n\"Henry?\" Lulu croaked, her voice weak and raspy.\n\n\"Hey,\" I said, leaning over so she could see me. \"Henry's not here right now. It's me, Fiona. You're back at the manor in one of the sick bays.\"\n\n\"Henry?\"\n\n\"Henry's fine, and so is everybody else. The ubervillains are dead.\"\n\nAfter a moment of thinking and staring at me, Lulu's eyes cleared. \"Fiona. Of course. That's why it's so hot in here.\"\n\nI rolled my eyes. \"You must be getting better if you can crack bad jokes like that.\"\n\nLulu chuckled. At least she tried to. She gave up, gasping for air.\n\n\"Easy, easy. Don't overdo it.\"\n\nLulu nodded. \"I'll try. What happened? The last thing I remember is this big blue ball of energy slamming into me.\"\n\nI filled her in again on the battle at the observatory.\n\n\"I'm glad those bitches are dead,\" Lulu said. \"My chest feels like it's on fire.\"\n\n\"Do you want me to get the chief? I'm sure he can give you some more painkillers.\"\n\nLulu shook her head. \"No, I'm fine. Really sleepy, actually. Where's Henry?\"\n\n\"Get some sleep. He'll be back in a few minutes.\"\n\nLulu relaxed. \"You were right about one thing, Fiona.\"\n\n\"Really? What was that?\"\n\n\"Me being in a wheelchair and having kids or not having kids isn't that important. All that matters is Henry and me and how we feel about each other.\"\n\n\"So, does this mean there'll be another wedding around here in the near future?\" I asked. \"Because I know this designer who does really fabulous gowns.\"\n\n\"You can count on it,\" Lulu said, drifting off. \"Tell Henry I said _yes_... _yes_... _yes_...\"\n\nI smiled. \"I'll be sure to relay the message.\"\n\nLulu's eyes slid shut before I finished speaking.\n\n* * *\n\nLater that afternoon, the chief announced that Lulu had stabilized and that she should make a slow, but full, recovery. The computer hacker drifted in and out of consciousness the rest of the day. She came awake long enough to tell Henry that she wanted to marry him, then promptly fell asleep when he leaned over to kiss her. Ah, love among nerds. It was a beautiful thing.\n\nThe Bullucis returned that night bearing pasta, wine, and more. After a brief, somewhat subdued celebration in Lulu's room, which the guest of honor slept through, we moved the party to the library. Henry went to check on Lulu every few minutes, while my father entertained the Bullucis with superhero stories.\n\nBut I had a different sort of party in mind. One that involved only two people\u2014Johnny and me. I walked over and drew him away from the others.\n\n\"Let's get out of here,\" I said in a low voice. \"We need to talk.\"\n\nJohnny nodded. He put down his champagne, and we slipped out of the library.\n\n\"Where are we going?\" he asked.\n\n\"You'll see.\"\n\nI dragged Johnny down the halls until we reached my suite. I threw open the door, pulled him inside, and shut it behind us. Then, I wrapped my arms around his neck and lifted my lips to his.\n\nI loved him. I really, really loved him. I'd admitted it to myself and Lulu, and now I was going to tell Johnny. Somehow, some way in the last few days, I'd fallen in love with him. Travis would always be a part of me, always have a piece of my heart. But I was ready to get on with my life. And I wanted to do it with Johnny Bulluci. Mr. Right Now had turned into Mr. Forever.\n\nThe kiss went on for a long time. I tried to take a few steps to the side, where the bed was oh-so-conveniently waiting for us to make wild, crazy love in it. But Johnny wasn't cooperating. The kiss ended, and he pulled back.\n\n\"Is something wrong?\" I asked, eyeing the bed. If I could just maneuver him a few more feet to the right\u2014\n\n\"I've been thinking a lot today. About you, me, my father, Angel, everything. I...we...we can't be together, Fiona,\" he said in a low voice.\n\nAll thoughts of the bed and what we could do in it fled. \"What? Why?\" My voice came out as more of a shriek than a wail.\n\nJohnny ran his hand through his tawny hair. \"Because of Siren and Intelligal. Because...of everything.\"\n\n\"But it's over now,\" I protested. \"We stopped them. The ubervillains are dead. They'll never bother us again. Justice has been served.\"\n\n\"Thanks to you. You saved us all, Fiona. Your father, Henry, me, Lulu, my family. All I did was almost get myself and you killed.\" Johnny's eyes were dark and troubled. His gaze wandered around the room, settling on something over my shoulder.\n\n\"But\u2014\"\n\n\"No buts. You were right. This whole time, you were right. I let my need for vengeance blind me. I acted like a reckless, selfish fool, and I almost killed you in the process. I let an ubervillain take over my mind and make me her puppet. I put you in a fish freezer and left you to die.\"\n\n\"But you helped me escape,\" I pointed out. \"You gave me your lighter.\"\n\nJohnny's mouth twisted. \"Too little, almost too late. How can I expect you to forgive me for that? I can't even forgive myself for hurting you. How can we be together after everything that's happened? I'm sorry, Fiona. I don't deserve you. I never have, and I never will.\"\n\nJohnny stared at me, as if memorizing the curves of my face. Then, he opened the door and left the room.\n\nLeaving me alone.\n\n# Chapter Thirty-One\n\nTo say that I spent the next few days in a bad mood would be the understatement of the year. The century even. After Johnny left me, I stayed in a perpetual pissy state. I alternated between crying, swimming, and growling at everyone who crossed my path.\n\nAnd eating. I ate everything I could sink my teeth into. I always ate more when I was heartbroken.\n\nAlmost three weeks after the battle at the observatory, Carmen and Sam returned from their honeymoon. They looked rested, tanned, and more in love than ever. Their happiness and Lulu and Henry's engagement only made me more painfully aware of what I could have had with Johnny if he hadn't been such a hard-headed, stubborn ass.\n\nI tried to get through to him, of course. I called him and sent gag gifts and even showed up at the Bulluci mansion with dinner from Quicke's. But Johnny didn't take my calls. Didn't return my gifts. Didn't even acknowledge my visit.\n\nIt was a problem I couldn't fix by using my fists or fireballs or general fabulousness. I didn't know what to do.\n\nCarmen, being the unbearable, cheerful newlywed, made light of my disastrous love life.\n\n\"He'll come around eventually, Fiona,\" she murmured, her eyes vacant the way they always were when she was listening to the voices in her head. \"I just know he will.\"\n\nStupid voices in Carmen's head. They gave me a shred of hope. But as the days passed and Johnny didn't respond to my reconciliation attempts, my depression only grew. Four weeks after the incident in my suite, I paced around my office. Brooding as usual.\n\nA knock sounded, and Piper entered the room. She set a bag of doughnuts down on my desk. I tore into them like a dog snapping at a bone. Sugar was always good for a broken heart.\n\n\"Do you want to tell me what's bothering you?\" Piper asked.\n\n\"It's nothing a couple dozen of these babies won't fix,\" I said, shoving a chocolate-glazed pastry into my mouth.\n\n\"If you say so.\" Piper leaned against the doorway. \"Well, now that the fall line has finally been shipped out to our suppliers, I had a chance to look over your sketches for spring.\"\n\nI stared at her, another sticky doughnut halfway to my lips. \"What sketches?\"\n\nPiper held out a stack of papers. \"These sketches. Don't you remember?\"\n\nI took the papers from her and flipped through them. My heart sank. They were the drawings I'd done the first time Johnny had sent me flowers. Now, they just reminded me of what I had lost and would never have again. I tossed them aside and ate another doughnut, a cream-cheese-filled one this time.\n\nPiper flipped through the pages of discarded drawings. \"I love it, Fiona. The color, the patterns, everything. I think it will be one of your best lines ever.\"\n\nI snorted. \"It's crap, Piper. Garbage. Those designs don't have any edge, any real style. I'm going to totally redo the spring line for next year. I'll do something bold, something daring, something...in black, I think.\"\n\n\"Black? You only use black when you're depressed about something.\" Piper's eyes narrowed. \"Or when you have man troubles. What's his name and what's he done to you, Fiona? It's Johnny Bulluci, isn't it?\"\n\nJust hearing his name was painful. \"What makes you think that?\"\n\nPiper sighed. \"Because you've eaten half a dozen doughnuts in the space of about two minutes.\"\n\n\"So?\" I asked, popping another one of the sugary treats into my mouth. \"What does that prove?\"\n\n\"It doesn't _prove_ anything. But it's a bit of a record, even for you. You can talk to me, Fiona. I'm more than your business partner. I'm your friend too.\"\n\nPiper had such a sweet, earnest look on her face that it made me sigh.\n\n\"I know,\" I said, licking a bit of glaze off my finger. \"And I appreciate you wanting to help me through this. But honestly, the only thing that eases the pain is food.\"\n\nI reached into the bag for another doughnut. My hand clutched at air. I peered into the bag. Empty already.\n\nDamn.\n\n* * *\n\nThat night, I headed out to the manor, since it was my turn to be on call. Superhero duties went on, broken heart or no broken heart.\n\nI wandered into the library to find Lulu sitting inside. The computer hacker had recovered from Siren's energy blast, except for the burns on her chest and arms. Even those would heal with time, which meant Lulu was back to compiling information and weaving her web of wickedness on the Internet.\n\n\"Where are the others?\" I asked.\n\n\"Carmen and Sam had some society benefit to go to, and Henry and the chief had to work late.\" Lulu didn't even glance up from her monitor.\n\n\"Oh,\" I said, feeling deflated. I'd hoped somebody would be around. I'd wanted to go a few rounds in the training room with Sam to burn off some of my pent-up anger and frustration.\n\nLulu heard the sadness in my tone. \"Any word from Johnny?\"\n\nI shook my head and started pacing. \"Of course not.\"\n\nBored, I grabbed a Rubik's Cube off Carmen's desk in the corner and tossed it back and forth in my hands. I put it down when the plastic started to melt. Carmen got a little touchy about people messing with her stuff. But the cube was already too far gone. It slid off the desk and hit Lulu's knee before falling to the floor and soaking into the Persian rug.\n\n\"Watch it!\" Lulu said, rubbing her knee. \"Some of us aren't made out of steel, you know.\"\n\nI looked at the melted plastic, then at Lulu's knees. What the hell? My eyes widened.\n\nI leaned over Lulu and hit her leg. I didn't give her the ole Fist-o-Might, but I smacked her hard enough so that it would hurt.\n\n\"Ouch! What did you do that for?\" Lulu glared at me.\n\nI hit her again.\n\n\"Fiona! What the hell are you doing?\"\n\n\"I'm hitting your leg. Can you feel it?\"\n\n\"Hell yeah, I feel it, and it bloody well hurts\u2014\"\n\nLulu's eyes got as big and round as balloons. \"I can _feel_ it. I can feel you hitting _my leg_. Do it again, Fiona! Do it again!\"\n\nI was happy to oblige her.\n\n\"I can feel it! I can feel it! I can feel it!\" Lulu screamed.\n\nWe started laughing. I kept hitting Lulu, and we both kept laughing and screaming and crying until the chief and Henry walked in an hour later.\n\nThey thought we were insane. At first.\n\nOnce I explained why I was playing pin the fist on Lulu, the chief whisked her away to do some tests. A few hours later, we gathered in the sick bay to get the results.\n\nThe chief pointed to some X-rays he'd taken of Lulu's back and said a bunch of scientific mumbo-jumbo about neurons and electricity that I mostly tuned out. I loved my father, but he could be such a bore sometimes, especially when he was in doctor mode.\n\n\"Oh, get to the point, Dad,\" I snapped.\n\n\"Please, chief,\" Lulu begged. \"What does it all mean?\"\n\n\"Well, I can't be sure without running an extensive battery of tests, but it seems that Siren's energy ball has kick-started the dead nerves in your spine.\"\n\n\"And what does that mean?\" Lulu asked, clutching Henry's hand so hard I thought it would pop off.\n\n\"It means, my dear, that one day, I think you'll be able to walk again,\" Chief Newman said.\n\nThere was complete silence.\n\nThen, we all started screaming.\n\n* * *\n\nAs it turned out, the chief was right. Siren's energy bolt had done a number on Lulu. The huge amount of electricity she'd been hit with had fired up the synapses and nerves and other things that make up a person's spine. In short, Siren had jumpstarted Lulu's body into healing the damage done when she'd broken her back a few years ago. With massive amounts of physical therapy, she should be able to walk again.\n\nThe next night, the members of the Fearless Five gathered in the library to celebrate the good news with champagne and chocolate. I stood a little apart from the others, watching them laugh and talk and celebrate. I was happy for Lulu, truly I was, but I still felt sorry for myself. I wanted Johnny here to celebrate with us. I wanted...I just wanted _him_. Always. Forever.\n\nCarmen detached herself from Sam and strolled in my direction. I stifled a groan and downed the rest of my champagne. I didn't have to be a mind reader to know that another unwanted probe of my psyche was coming up. Carmen stood beside me, sipping from her own glass of champagne.\n\n\"It's wonderful, isn't it?\" she murmured.\n\n\"It's just ducky.\"\n\nShe sighed. \"I'm sorry you're hurting, Fiona. I really, really am. But you don't have to take it, you know. You can always do something about your situation.\"\n\n\"What do you want me to do? Beg Johnny to love me?\" I snapped. \"Johnny has made it perfectly clear he never wants to see me ever again.\"\n\n\"You're a fighter. You're Fiera, for crying out loud. Protector of the innocent and all that. So do what you do best. Fight for your man, Fiona. Fight for Johnny.\"\n\nCarmen moved back to Sam. He wrapped his arm around her waist, and she leaned her head on his shoulder.\n\nSuddenly tired, I said my good-nights to everybody and went to my suite. I flopped down on my bed, grabbed the picture of Travis, and stared into his dark, smiling eyes.\n\n\"It was always so easy with you and me,\" I said. \"Why can't it be that way with Johnny?\"\n\nI stroked his face with my fingers, but Travis didn't have any answers for me.\n\nMy fingers stilled. Or maybe he did.\n\nThe truth was things hadn't always been easy for Travis and me. Sure, we'd loved each other, but we'd also had our share of fights and arguments and problems just like everybody else did. But we'd worked through them all. Together.\n\nI thought about Carmen's words, about how I should fight for what I wanted. I thought about Johnny and how he made me feel. The way he listened to me, laughed with me, loved me.\n\n\"She's right,\" I whispered to Travis. \"I hate to admit it, but she's absolutely right.\"\n\nIt was time to fight. Time for a new beginning.\n\nStarting right now.\n\nI went over to the dresser, shoved aside some of my fashion magazines, and gently put Travis's picture down in the clear spot. He looked a little strange, a little out of place sitting there, but I knew I would get used to it.\n\nI'd gotten used to the pain of his loss, and I'd found new love in the process. Johnny would never take Travis's place, but he had an equal share of my heart. He was here now, and we could have a life together. A fabulous life.\n\nAll we had to do was fight for it.\n\nI'd never been very good at waiting, and I'd never been a quitter. I wasn't going to give up on Johnny now. Not now, not ever. Miracles really did happen. Lulu was proof of that.\n\nNow, it was time to make a miracle of my own.\n\n# Chapter Thirty-Two\n\nI placed a few strategic phone calls to recruit some spies and put my plan into action the very next night at Paradise Park.\n\nAfter a leisurely dinner at Quicke's, Bella, Bobby, and Johnny Bulluci strolled into the park at exactly eight o'clock. While Bobby yammered into Johnny's ear about something, Bella flashed me a discreet thumbs-up as they walked by. Everything was in place and right on schedule.\n\nI swallowed the rest of my raspberry-flavored cotton candy and followed the Bullucis as the three of them wandered around the park, keeping a good distance between us. I was also wearing a floppy hat, oversized sunglasses, and a tight-fitting, black trench coat so Johnny wouldn't spot me. Bella and Bobby chatted and laughed and even played a few of the carnival contests. Bella won every game she played, even the rigged ones. Bobby bought a large funnel cake from one of the vendors and ate all of it, despite his granddaughter's dire warnings and hot glares.\n\nJohnny just looked pained the whole time. I wondered if he was remembering our first date here. I hoped so. It was why I'd chosen the spot.\n\nBella pulled Johnny over to the enormous Ferris wheel. The ride stopped, and people filed off. At first, Johnny balked, not wanting to ride, but she whined and pleaded and begged until she got him to the front of the line. I elbowed people aside until I was right behind them. Meanwhile, Bobby went over and talked to the operator, whispering in his ear and slipping him some money.\n\nJohnny sat down in one of the swinging carts, scooting over to the far side. Bella started to get in next to him, but stopped.\n\n\"You know what? I just remembered there's somewhere else I need to be,\" Bella said.\n\nShe stepped aside. I tossed my hat and sunglasses to Bobby and took her place.\n\n\"Hi, Johnny. What's up?\" I slid in next to him and yanked the bar down over us.\n\n\"Sorry, folks. This is a private ride,\" the operator said to the other people in line.\n\nA groan went up through the crowd. The ride started, and we sailed into the air before Johnny could protest, much less get off. Bella and Bobby waved to us once and then disappeared to check out the rest of the park. Johnny didn't say anything, but his eyes looked frantic and confused. I smiled. It was always good to keep a man guessing.\n\nWe went round one time as the calliope music played. Then, just as we crested the top the second time, the wheel jerked to a halt. We dangled in the air, high above the shrieking carnival goers.\n\n\"Why are we stopped?\" Johnny asked. \"Did you have something to do with this?\"\n\n\"Of course I did. So did Bella and Bobby. It was really a team effort.\"\n\nJohnny sighed. \"So how long are we stuck up here?\"\n\n\"Oh, we're not coming down until you tell me why you dumped me,\" I said in a cheerful tone.\n\nJohnny stared at the city lights around us. \"We've been through this before, Fiona.\"\n\n\"Johnny, I don't care about the past. I only care about the future and you.\"\n\nHe seemed surprised. \"You don't care that I attacked you? You don't care that I was a complete ass to you and the rest of the Fearless Five? You don't care that I tried to kill you? You don't care that I let my need for vengeance blind me to everything else? You don't care\u2014\"\n\nI put a finger on his lips. \"Of course I care. But it's nothing that we can't work through. Together. I'm willing to try. Why aren't you?\"\n\n\"Because I'm not a superhero. I never have been, and I don't know that I can ever be one. You're Fiera, a member of the Fearless Five. You do good things, important things. I'm just Johnny Angel. A guy who rides around the city on a motorcycle and looks cool because it's what his father used to do, and his grandfather before him.\"\n\n\"I don't care whether or not you're a superhero. As for being Johnny Angel, it's part of your family legacy, and that's part of who you are. I understand that, and I don't want to change it.\"\n\n\"What about Travis?\" he asked in a soft voice.\n\n\"What about him?\"\n\n\"You're still in love with your dead fianc\u00e9, Fiona.\" Johnny looked away. \"You still have his things. You still have his picture by your bed. You still wear his ring.\"\n\nI thought back to my conversation with Bella in the kitchen when she'd accused me of the same thing. The constant looks Johnny shot at my ring and Travis's picture. It all became clear to me. Johnny thought I didn't love him. That's what he was really afraid of. He'd told Bella that, which is why she'd warned me to be careful with him, with his feelings.\n\nI'd made my peace with Travis and his death. Now, it was time for Johnny to do the same.\n\nSo, I did something I'd never done before\u2014I took the engagement ring off my finger. A white band marked its place on my hand.\n\n\"I love Travis. I always will. But there's plenty of room in my heart, and it's time to move on. That's what I want to do. With _you_. The man I love.\"\n\nJohnny's head snapped up. \"The man you love?\"\n\nI nodded and stuffed the ring in my pocket. \"The man I love. That would be you, stubborn, rock-headed ass that you are. I love you, Johnny Bulluci. Do you believe me? Or am I going to have to beat it into you?\"\n\nJohnny's eyes lit up. \"No, you don't have to beat it into me. At least, not anymore. I love you too, Fiona.\"\n\nWe kissed, and everything was fabulous. Just the way it should be.\n\nJust the way I was going to make sure it would always be.\n\n\"Have you ever made love on a Ferris wheel?\" Johnny murmured, pressing a kiss to the hollow of my throat.\n\nI cupped his head in my hands and stared into his magnificent eyes. Passion, love, and more than a little wickedness glinted in the green depths.\n\nI laughed. \"A Ferris wheel? Aren't you the adventurous one.\"\n\nJohnny grinned that sly, crooked grin I loved so well. \"Always, baby.\"\n\nHe leaned over and looked down at the people below. \"Exactly how long did you tell the operator to leave us dangling up here?\"\n\nI smiled. \"Thirty minutes.\"\n\n\"Well then, we've got plenty of time, haven't we?\" Johnny said and reached for me again.\n\nWe didn't come down for a very, very long time.\n\n# Epilogue\n\nThree months later\n\nJohnny and I lay sprawled on the floor in the underground kitchen at Sublime. I put my arm over the beach towel covering our bodies and snuggled closer to him.\n\n\"Super-duper once again, Mr. Bulluci,\" I purred, nibbling on his ear.\n\n\"I agree. Super-duper once again, Mrs. Bulluci.\"\n\nI flashed the square diamond on my hand at him. It was almost as big as Joanne James' was and more precious to me than anything\u2014except Johnny himself. \"Not Mrs. Bulluci just yet. We only got engaged last week. And I'm keeping my name. Or at least hyphenating it.\"\n\nJohnny grinned. \"Fiona Fine-Bulluci. I like the sound of that. Especially the last part.\"\n\nJohnny put his arm around me and pulled me closer. I rested my head on his shoulder, happy, content, and suitably satiated. After taking a dip in the pool, we'd come to the kitchen for a midnight snack. But, of course, things had gotten a little heated between the two of us, especially since I made a point to keep a couple of cans of chocolate whipped cream in the refrigerator at all times now.\n\nThe door to the kitchen creaked open, and a walker appeared, followed by Lulu. She shoved the metal device forward and dragged her feet toward it. Lulu couldn't walk on her own yet, but she was getting a little stronger every day. Her hands clenched around the frame, and her face was set and determined. Henry followed along behind her.\n\n\"Why don't you just use your wheelchair? Just for tonight?\" Henry asked.\n\n\"No,\" Lulu snapped. \"Using the walker is part of my physical therapy. You know that. Besides, I made a promise to myself that I was going to walk down the aisle at our wedding, and I intend to keep it. No matter how much it might hurt right now.\"\n\n\"But Lulu\u2014\"\n\nThe words died on Henry's lips as he caught sight of Johnny and me lying on the floor. Lulu spotted us a second later.\n\nLulu put a hand over her eyes. \"Don't mind us. We just came in to get some coffee. We don't see a thing.\" She peeked between her fingers. \"Well, not much. Nice abs, Johnny.\"\n\n\"Thanks, Lulu.\"\n\nI not-so-gently punched him in his perfect abs. Johnny just grinned. Henry stared at us while Lulu rustled around in one of the refrigerators.\n\nHenry straightened his ever-present, polka-dot bow tie. Then, he turned to Lulu and picked her up.\n\n\"Henry!\" she squealed. \"What are you doing?\"\n\nHe pressed a quick kiss to her lips. \"I don't think I'm in the mood for coffee anymore. Are you?\"\n\nLulu looked at Henry, then down at us.\n\n\"Ohhh,\" Lulu drawled. She wrapped her arms around his neck. \"Well, when you put it like that, I think I've had enough coffee tonight too.\"\n\nHenry headed for the door. Lulu waved at us.\n\n\"Hey, Fiona,\" she called out just before the door swung shut behind them. \"Try not to melt the floor tiles again, okay?\"\n\nI sat up, fingers sparking, ready to light Lulu's hair up like a firecracker. But before I could focus my power, Johnny pulled me back down on top of him. His hands moved down my body, and I started thinking about a different sort of fire.\n\n\"Let them have their fun, baby,\" he whispered, stroking me. \"So we can have ours.\"\n\nI threw my head back and enjoyed the liquid fire coursing through me. Then, I reached for the almost-empty can of whipped cream we'd dropped in our haste.\n\n\"Well, let the good times roll,\" I said.\n\nExcerpt from\n\n# JINX\n\nby Jennifer Estep\n\nBook Three in the Bigtime series\n\nPART ONE\n\nI HATE SUPERHEROES\n\nChapter One\n\nDinner with superheroes.\n\nIt's an interesting experience\u2014and one that I rather hate.\n\nThe empty wineglass floated past me, sailing along as though carried by a steady, invisible hand. I tried to pretend it wasn't there. That I didn't see it. That the glass was as invisible as the force propelling it forward. But that was hard to do since it landed on the table next to me.\n\nI further tried to pretend I didn't see the crystal carafe beside my elbow rise up, tip itself over, and pour ruby-red sangria into the waiting glass. I even tried to convince myself I didn't _really_ see the glass float back across the table.\n\nI failed miserably at all three.\n\nThe other people gathered round didn't pay any attention to the floating glass. Didn't slow their conversation or ignore their food for an instant.\n\nUnfortunately, floating glasses had become a normal sight around the Bulluci household these days\u2014no matter how I wished otherwise.\n\n\"Is that really necessary?\" I asked, my voice a little snappish. \"I would have been happy to pour you some more wine.\"\n\nChief Sean Newman held out his hand, and the glass drifted over to him. \"There was no need to bother you, Bella, when I could do it for myself.\"\n\n\"But you could have just asked,\" I persisted. \"You didn't have to use your powers like that.\"\n\n\"Please,\" Fiona Fine cut in, turning her blue eyes to me. \"What's the point of having superpowers if you don't use them?\"\n\nFiona grabbed the bread basket and waved her hand over the top. A few red-hot sparks shot off the ends of her fingertips, and the delicious smell of warm cheese bread filled the air.\n\n\"Lighten up, Bella,\" Fiona continued, putting the entire loaf on one of the dozen plates in front of her. \"We all know each other here\u2014alter egos and otherwise. It's not like there are other people around to catch us in the act.\"\n\nNo, there weren't any other people around. No _normal_ people anyway. Just me, Fiona, Chief Newman, my brother, Johnny, and my grandfather, Bobby.\n\nI'd barely touched my whole wheat ravioli, but I put my fork down. I wasn't hungry anymore. I never was when there were superheroes around.\n\nBut Fiona and Chief Newman weren't just _any_ superheroes. There were plenty of those in Bigtime, New York. No, they were Fiera and Mr. Sage, members of the Fearless Five\u2014the most powerful, elite team of heroes in the city. In addition to being stronger than five people put together, Fiera could also form fireballs with her bare hands, while Mr. Sage had all sorts of psychic powers, including telekinesis, or the ability to move objects with his mind.\n\nAnd now, they were part of my family.\n\nFiona had gotten engaged to my brother, Johnny, a couple of months ago after she'd saved him from two ubervillains who were trying to enslave the city. During all the commotion, Fiona had revealed her secret identity as Fiera to my grandfather and me and gotten us to help her rescue Johnny. And Chief Newman was Fiona's father, as well as her teammate.\n\nBut they weren't the only superheroes in the family these days.\n\nThe Fearless Five were a package deal. In addition to Fiera and Mr. Sage, we also got Karma Girl, Striker, and Hermit. Or Carmen Cole, Sam Sloane, and Henry Harris. That's how I thought of them. As nice, regular people who were mostly normal. Never as their alter egos. I tried to pretend those other people didn't exist.\n\nI tried to pretend a lot of things didn't exist.\n\nEspecially my own supposed superpower.\n\nMy grandfather, Bobby Bulluci, clapped his hands together. \"Come! Let's talk of other things.\" He turned to Fiona and Johnny. \"Are the two of you packed for your trip?\"\n\nJohnny had some business to take care of in the overseas divisions of Bulluci Industries, so he and Fiona had decided to make a working vacation out of it. The two were leaving tomorrow on a month-long trip to explore the Mediterranean.\n\n\"Of course,\" Johnny answered, flashing Fiona a grin. \"Although I don't know how we're going to get all of Fiona's clothes onto the plane.\"\n\nFiona reached over and punched my brother. Johnny flexed his bicep, which took on a hard look\u2014like his skin had suddenly morphed into metal. Fiona's fist smacked into his arm, and she frowned and shook her hand. Even with her great strength, it hurt to punch my brother when he formed his superhard, supertough exoskeleton. It made Johnny immune to just about everything. Kicks, punches, explosions, Fiona's flare-ups. That was good, since my brother had an annoying tendency to dress up in tacky, formfitting, black leather, zoom around town on his motorcycle, and fight ubervillains.\n\nInstead of an exoskeleton, I'd gotten something far less useful from the mutated family gene pool\u2014luck. As if that was any kind of superpower. Superannoying was more like it.\n\nFiona sniffed and tossed her blond hair over her shoulder. \"I've told you a million times you can never have too many clothes, especially when you're going on vacation. Besides, we're taking Sam's private jet. There'll be more than enough room for my things.\"\n\nJohnny gave Fiona another wicked smile. \"But, baby, you know I think you look fine in whatever you wear\u2014especially when it's nothing at all.\"\n\nFiona rolled her eyes. \"Please. There's nothing sexier than a well-dressed woman. Right, Bella?\"\n\n\"Of course,\" I murmured.\n\nFiona and I knew a few things about well-dressed women, since we both worked as fashion designers. Fiona fronted Fiona Fine Fashions, while I ran the design portion of Bulluci Industries. Fiona and I had completely different styles, and we'd been friendly rivals for years. She created garments that screamed _Here I am! Look at me! I'm fabulous!_ with their bright colors, wild patterns, and mounds of sequins and feathers. I preferred simpler styles, with muted hues, clean lines, and absolutely, positively no sequins. Ever.\n\nDon't get me wrong. I liked Fiona just fine. Her father too. And I was glad Johnny had found someone he wanted to spend the rest of his life with.\n\nBut there was nothing I hated more than superheroes and ubervillains. Dressing up in those silly costumes. Calling themselves absurd names. Plotting and scheming and planning elaborate ways to take over the city and rule the world. It was all so dramatically ridiculous.\n\nC'mon. Who would want to rule the world, really? It'd be nothing but a giant headache, with everyone constantly whining and crying at you. Not to mention all the paperwork and demands on your free time. But the ubervillains always tried to reign supreme, and the superheroes always stopped them. The cycle was endless.\n\nUnfortunately, I had lots of experience with superheroes. Or rather, pseudo heroes. All the men in my family masqueraded as Johnny Angel in their youth, riding around Bigtime on a tricked-out motorcycle, getting into trouble, and taking on ubervillains when the mood hit them. Masquerading as Johnny Angel was how my brother had first met Fiona a few months ago.\n\nAnd how my father, James, had died.\n\nI was happy for Johnny, but I couldn't help shuddering at the fact he'd added another superhero to the family tree. Five of them. Six, actually, if you counted Lulu Lo, the computer hacker who was engaged to Henry Harris.\n\nOh, I liked Fiona, Carmen, Sam, Henry, and Chief Newman just fine when they were themselves. It was their nightly habit of turning into Fiera, Karma Girl, Striker, Hermit, and Mr. Sage that had me concerned.\n\nAnd knowing the Fearless Five's secret identities was sort of like being in a mob family\u2014once you were in, you were _all_ the way in whether you wanted to be or not. And you couldn't get out, no matter how hard you tried. Whenever we had any of the heroes over for dinner, all they talked about were their latest epic battles and daring escapes. Or the new equipment Henry Hermit Harris had purchased for their underground lair. Or the current ubervillains populating Bigtime. Or a dozen other superhero-related things that made me grind my teeth. Last week, Fiona had even asked me if I thought her costume needed a redesign. Sheesh.\n\nMy power flared up at my dark thoughts. I didn't know how the other superheroes felt their power, but mine was sort of like standing in a ball of static electricity. My skin hummed. My fingertips itched. And worst of all, my caramel-colored hair frizzed out to alarming proportions. There wasn't a conditioner on the market that could tame it. Believe me, I'd tried them all. Together. At the same time.\n\nThe overall sensation wasn't uncomfortable so much as it was aggravating. Because the static, the power, the energy built and built until it had to be discharged. And when it did, well, watch out. More often than not, whatever was around me either exploded, shattered, fell from the sky, or spontaneously combusted. Sometimes all at once. My luck was like some sort of supercharged telekinesis I couldn't control. Stuff just happened, whether I wanted it to or not. And here's the really annoying thing about having luck as a superpower\u2014it can be good or bad.\n\nSometimes, if I thought about something, wanted it to happen, willed it to be, I'd get my heart's desire. I'd catch the subway a second before the doors closed. Snag the last seat in a crowded movie theater. Find the only dress in my size. I even won five hundred dollars in a sweepstakes as a kid just by staring at my entry form before I sent it in and wishing I could win.\n\nBut just as often, my luck turned on me. I'd catch the subway but rip my jacket on the doors. Get the last seat but sit down in a puddle of sticky soda. Find the perfect dress but forget my credit cards. Win the lottery but lose my ticket.\n\nLuck, the most capricious thing in the world. That was my supposed power. My curse was more like it.\n\nMy jinx.\n\nI always felt the static energy around me and did my best to keep it clamped down and under control. But the sudden surge told me that it was time for it to let loose\u2014and for something to happen. I could never tell whether that something would be good or bad, but I wasn't taking any chances.\n\nI slowly, carefully, calmly pushed my chair back from the table, making sure I was clear of the tablecloth, candles, bread basket, wineglasses, plates, silverware, and anything else I could drag down or knock off or upset in any way. Then, I stood.\n\nWith small, thoughtful steps, I backed around the chair until I stood five feet away from the table\u2014and out of range of everyone and everything. Now, nobody else would get caught in the crossfire if something crazy happened, like the chandelier above my head plummeting from the ceiling, despite the ten or so bolts that held it in place.\n\n\"Bella? Are you all right?\" Chief Newman asked, his eyes flashing a brilliant green. \"Is your power bothering you again?\"\n\nChief Newman had offered to work with me, to try to find some way to help me control my power. I'd refused. You couldn't control luck. I'd long ago given up hope of ever taming it, along with my hair.\n\nThe doorbell rang, saving me from an explanation.\n\n\"I'll get it,\" I said. \"It's probably more trick-or-treaters.\"\n\nIt was late October and still several days before Halloween, but little ghosts and ghouls and goblins had already started showing up asking for candy. Or else. Halloween was a two-week-long event in Bigtime that wouldn't wrap up until the night of the thirty-first. The extended holiday gave everybody, kids and adults alike, a chance to go around town all dressed up, instead of just the heroes and villains.\n\n\"What are you giving them?\" Fiona asked, her eyes gleaming at the thought of Halloween candy. \"Snickers? M&Ms? Chocolate Twinkies?\"\n\nThe only thing Fiona loved as much as Johnny was food. With her fire-based superpowers and high metabolism, Fiona could eat whatever she wanted to, whenever she wanted to, and never gain a pound. Besides her nighttime gig as a superhero, that was the only other thing I really hated about her. Well, that and her sky-high legs. I was just a couple inches over five feet. And her perfectly smooth blond hair and gorgeous baby blues. My tawny locks resembled a bush more often than not, while my hazel eyes just sort of faded into my bronze face. All right, so I really hated a lot of things about Fiona.\n\n\"Hardly. I'm giving them apples, fat-free trail mix, boxes of raisins, and bags of unpopped, butter-free microwave popcorn.\" I pointed to the far end of the long table, where I'd put the plastic bowls of goodies.\n\n\"What's the fun in that?\" Fiona said.\n\n\"Not contributing to the American epidemic of childhood obesity, for one,\" I snapped.\n\nFiona rolled her eyes. \"Your house is _so_ going to be covered in toilet paper in the morning.\"\n\nBobby cleared his throat. \"Actually, Bella, I took the liberty of buying some candy bars on my way home today. Just in case you ran out of apples.\"\n\n\"Chocolate? Where?\" Fiona demanded.\n\nI put my hands on my hips and glared at my grandfather. There was a devilish twinkle in his green eyes I knew all too well.\n\n\"And how many did you eat before you put them away?\"\n\nHis lips twitched. \"Bella, you've told me many times I shouldn't eat candy. I didn't have a single one.\"\n\nRight. And I looked good in a thong.\n\n\"Grandfather,\" I warned.\n\nBobby's heart, cholesterol, and blood pressure weren't the best in the world, something I was trying to change. With little success. My grandfather still ate like he was twenty-three, instead of seventy-three, despite doctor's orders and my constant nagging. And don't even get me started on his other bad habit\u2014motorcycle riding. Bobby had broken his leg two years ago gallivanting around town, and I'd moved back home to take care of and keep an eye on him.\n\nBobby ignored me. \"They're in the kitchen, Fiona, if you want to hand them out.\"\n\nFiona snapped to her feet. \"Count me in.\"\n\nBobby's eyes sparkled. \"Try to leave some for the kids.\"\n\nFiona sniffed and tossed her hair over her shoulder again before disappearing into the kitchen.\n\nI grabbed the bowls of apples, raisins, and popcorn and carried them to the front door. The static crackled around me like an invisible force field, but it seemed to be holding steady. For the moment. Fiona came out of the kitchen and fell in step beside me, candy bars in hand. She opened the door, and I smiled, ready to greet our visitors.\n\n\"Trick or treat!\" the kids shouted, holding out plastic orange pumpkins.\n\nThere were five of them, of course. Each one dressed like a member of the Fearless Five. A girl clad in orange-red spandex was supposed to be Fiera, and one in silver represented Karma Girl. One of the little boys sported an Irish green cape as Mr. Sage, while the other had on black leather and two long swords made out of aluminum foil for Striker. The man with them wore black-and-white goggles, representing Hermit.\n\nSuperheroes. More stupid superheroes. What happened to the good old days when kids dressed up as princesses and cowboys and monsters?\n\nMy smile faltered, but I held out the bowls. \"Who wants some apples?\"\n\nSilence. Dead silence. I didn't even hear crickets chirping in the front yard.\n\nThe kids looked at me, then each other, then at the man. No one said anything.\n\nMy power surged again. The static discharged.\n\nAnd the plastic bowls in my hands shattered.\n\nYou would have thought I had some explodium in the containers instead of healthy snacks. Raisins and popcorn showered us all, while bits of pulverized apple pelted my thick, curly hair and face. The few apples that survived the explosion intact bounced down the long driveway and out of sight. The pieces of the splintered bowls zipped through the air, embedding themselves in the stone steps like daggers around my feet. In a perfect circle, no less.\n\nI sighed and wiped a bit of apple juice off my nose. I'd long ago grown used to my power\u2014and the embarrassment that went along with it.\n\n\"I'm so sorry,\" I said, scooping raisins and popcorn into my hands. \"I have more inside. Let me get that.\"\n\nI'd been prepared for such a disaster. In fact, I always bought five of everything, whether it was candy or jewelry or clothes. Years of bad luck had taught me that my jinxed power would find a way to trash even the safest, sturdiest object. In the last six months, I'd gone through seven purses, dozens of shirts, and more shoes than I cared to admit. And two cars.\n\n\"Um, I think we'll just try the next house,\" the man replied, drawing the kids close to him.\n\nFiona not-so-gently shouldered past me. \"Don't worry. I've got some chocolate bars right here. They're a little melted, but they're still good.\"\n\n\"Yeah!\"\n\nThe kids stepped forward, and Fiona gave them each a chocolate bar. The girl in the Fiera costume got two. Naturally.\n\nSatisfied, the kids headed back down the driveway in search of more Halloween goodies to rot their teeth and drive their sugar levels through the roof.\n\nFiona smirked. \"See? I told you the kids would want candy.\"\n\nI sighed again. I should have known better. After all, it was almost Halloween.\n\nAnd the perfect time of year for my power to play tricks on me.\n\n# About the Author\n\nJennifer Estep is a _New York Times_ bestselling author, prowling the streets of her imagination in search of her next fantasy idea.\n\nJennifer is the author of the Elemental Assassin urban fantasy series. The books focus on Gin Blanco, an assassin codenamed the Spider who can control the elements of Ice and Stone. When she's not busy killing people and righting wrongs, Gin runs a barbecue restaurant called the Pork Pit in the fictional Southern metropolis of Ashland. The city is also home to giants, dwarves, vampires, and elementals\u2014Air, Fire, Ice, and Stone.\n\nJennifer is also the author of the Mythos Academy young adult urban fantasy series. The books focus on Gwen Frost, a 17-year-old Gypsy girl who has the gift of psychometry, or the ability to know an object's history just by touching it. After a serious freak-out with her magic, Gwen is shipped off to Mythos Academy, a school for the descendants of ancient warriors like Spartans, Valkyries, Amazons, and more.\n\nJennifer is also the author of the Bigtime paranormal romance series. The books feature sexy superheroes, evil ubervillains, and smart, sassy gals looking for love.\n\nFor more information on Jennifer and her books, visit her at www.JenniferEstep.com. You can also follow her on Facebook, Goodreads, and Twitter.\n\nHappy reading, everyone!\n\n","meta":{"redpajama_set_name":"RedPajamaBook"}} +{"text":" \n## About the Book\n\n**From the seedy backstreets of London's Soho in the 60s to the tough, sexy world of international rock-stardom in the 70s, Georgia sees it all...**\n\nWhen nine-year-old orphan Georgia James is unexpectedly fostered by the kindly Celia and her bank manager husband she can hardly believe her luck. But then \u2013 on her fifteenth birthday \u2013 she suffers the cruellest betrayal of all at the hands of her foster father and is forced to run away, leaving everything she loves behind her.\n\nPenniless, sleeping rough, Georgia is soon introduced to the sleazy Soho world of brassy strippers, sweat shops, camaraderie and hardship. Fired by a fierce ambition, blessed with an extraordinary voice, her long struggle for fame and fortune begins. But even when she reaches the top she finds that the scars of the past can open up to ruin her...\n\n#####\n\nLesley Pearse was born in Rochester, Kent, but has lived in Bristol for over twenty-five years. She has three daughters and a grandson. She is the bestselling author of nineteen novels, including _Ellie, Georgia, Tara, Camellia_ and _Charity_ , all five of which are published by Arrow. She is one of the UK's best loved novelists with fans across the globe and sales of over three million copies of her books to date.\n\n##### _Also by Lesley Pearse_\n\n##### Tara*\n\n##### Charity*\n\n##### Ellie*\n\n##### Camellia*\n\n##### Rosie\n\n##### Charlie\n\n##### Never Look Back\n\n##### Trust Me\n\n##### Father Unknown\n\n##### Till We Meet Again\n\n##### Remember Me\n\n##### Secrets\n\n##### A Lesser Evil\n\n##### Hope\n\n##### Faith\n\n##### Gypsy\n\n##### Stolen\n\n##### Belle\n\n##### * Also available in Arrow Books\n\n#\n\n##### \n\n## Contents\n\nCover\n\nAbout the Book\n\nAbout the Author\n\nAlso by Lesley Pearse\n\nTitle Page\n\nCopyright\n\nDedication\n\nChapter 1\n\nChapter 2\n\nChapter 3\n\nChapter 4\n\nChapter 5\n\nChapter 6\n\nChapter 7\n\nChapter 8\n\nChapter 9\n\nChapter 10\n\nChapter 11\n\nChapter 12\n\nChapter 13\n\nChapter 14\n\nChapter 15\n\nChapter 16\n\nChapter 17\n\nChapter 18\n\nChapter 19\n\nChapter 20\n\nChapter 21\n\nChapter 22\n\nChapter 23\n\nChapter 24\n\nChapter 25\n\nChapter 26\n\nChapter 27\nThis eBook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author's and publisher's rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.\n\n##### Version 1.0\n\n##### Epub ISBN 9781409043942\n\n##### www.randomhouse.co.uk\n\n##### Published by Arrow Books 2011\n\n##### 2 4 6 8 10 9 7 5 3 1\n\n##### Copyright \u00a9 Lesley Pearse 1993\n\n##### Lesley Pearse has asserted her right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work\n\n##### Quotation in chapter 25 from _The Prophet_ by Kahlil Gibran\n\n##### This novel is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author's imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental\n\n##### This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher's prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser\n\n##### First published in Great Britain in 1993 by William Heinemann \nFirst published in Great Britain in paperback in 1993 by Mandarin Paperbacks \nFirst published in paperback by Arrow Books in 1998\n\n##### Arrow Books \nRandom House, 20 Vauxhall Bridge Road \nLondon SW1V 2SA\n\n##### www.randomhouse.co.uk\n\n##### Addresses for companies within The Random House Group Limited can be found at: www.randomhouse.co.uk\/offices.htm\n\n##### The Random House Group Limited Reg. No. 954009\n\n##### A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library\n\n##### ISBN 9780099557456\n\n##### To my girls, Lucy, Sammy and Jo; without your love and support I couldn't have written it.\n\n##### A big thank you too for the real Georgia who was friend, confidante and inspiration.\n\n## Chapter 1\n\n_Grove Park, South London, February 1954_\n\nClanking keys and a ponderous step woke Georgia. Her ear was so finely tuned she knew which nun was coming, even her exact position.\n\nIt was Sister Agnes. Some of the nuns moved up the stairs in one fluid movement, some panted and huffed, pausing to rest halfway, but Sister Agnes despite her bulk and age ploughed on steadily to the top, her breath wheezing faintly.\n\nShe had reached the top now, passing the long, narrow, barred window, on her way to ring the early morning bell.\n\nGeorgia sat up in bed, rubbing her eyes. A murky grey light showed up twelve iron beds, six to each side of the large room. Small mounds in each, still fast asleep.\n\nThe heavy footsteps moved away from her dormitory, down towards where the bell hung on the wall just outside the big girls' room. Another pair of feet were coming down the stairs from the floor above, this time light and bouncy, almost running as they went on down further. That would be Sister Theresa on her way to make Mother Superior's early morning tea.\n\nA whimper made Georgia's head turn to the bed on her left. As the child stirred, so an unmistakable acrid smell of urine wafted across to her nostrils.\n\n'Pamela!' she hissed. 'Aggie will be in here any minute, run for the bathroom. I'll try and cover for you.'\n\nThe bell rang out in the uncarpeted corridor, drowning Pamela's reply and as the last echo reverberated round the convent, so heavy feet thudded towards them.\n\nPamela's first cry had been one of dismay to find she was wet, but her second was one of terror. Instead of shooting out of her bed, and running like a hare out of harm's way, she just cowered, small arms over her head, waiting for the beating she knew would soon come.\n\nGeorgia knew to protect Pamela she had to create a diversion. Tossing back her covers she leapt into the air.\n\nSister Agnes paused momentarily in the doorway in time to see Georgia's trial bounce, landing feet apart, hands clutching her pyjama trousers.\n\n'Get down this minute!' she shouted. The child looked like a chimney-sweep. As thin as a stick in oversized striped pyjamas, her crop of black curls standing out like a wire brush.\n\nOne hand flew up to hold down the starched wimple, the other lifted her habit clear of the floor.\n\n'How dare you?' her voice rasped as she swept down the room indignantly.\n\nGeorgia merely grinned at her, a yellow-brown face cut in two with the flash of white teeth. Another small bounce quickly followed by a stronger one, and she had flipped herself over and landed on her feet again, just yards from the exasperated nun. She had perfected this somersault only days earlier in the playroom, where she had launched herself from an old couch on to cushions in front of an enthusiastic audience. But landing on cold, hard lino had jarred her legs and back and she toppled back against the bed rail.\n\n'Morning, Sister Agnes,' she panted, hauling the baggy trousers back to her waist. 'Did you see how good it was?'\n\nSister Agnes was the oldest nun in the convent. Humourless, mean-spirited and cruel. Black hairs sprouted from her white flabby chin, a hooked nose with a jiggling wart next to it vying for attention, and sharp piggy eyes that could spot a misdemeanour almost through a wooden door.\n\n'This is a dormitory, not a gymnasium,' she sniffed. 'You are nine, it's high time you set a good example to the younger girls.'\n\nInstinctively the old nun knew Georgia was trying to distract her, and insolent interference was something she wouldn't tolerate. Georgia infuriated her. Not only was she scrawny with huge eyes that dominated her yellowy face, but also endless punishments and beatings couldn't wipe her ear-to-ear grin away. Despite her skinniness and her mixed blood she had managed to become the leader of the younger girls and worse still she was encouraging them all in acts of disobedience.\n\n'I'll deal with you later,' Sister Agnes swept the dormitory with her sharp eyes. Small girls jumping into their navy blue knickers, eyes avoiding her. 'What's been going on in here?'\n\n'There was a noise,' Georgia sidled away from the Sister, rolling her eyes round the room in pretended alarm. 'I think a bird's got in again.'\n\nIt was all she could think of on the spur of the moment. Only last summer a pigeon had found its way in and to the children's amusement Sister nearly had hysterics. The way she had sped from the room as the bird flapped around her veil was something they still giggled about.\n\n'We heard it too,' a chorus of agreement came from three of Georgia's closest allies. As they struggled into grey skirts and jumpers, they nodded at one another, waving their hands as if to indicate the flight path.\n\nSister spun round, her hands reaching up to her veil, eyes scanning, ears straining for the sound of wings or cooing. Jennifer, the youngest child in the dormitory, stood with her thumb in her mouth, her pyjama jacket almost reaching her thin, scabby knees.\n\nEvery girl was poised expectantly, breath like smoke in the cold air, eyes alternating between the hesitant nun and Georgia. Bravery vanished as the big woman turned slowly. Each girl blanched under her inspection, fingers hastily fumbling for buttons, eyes downcast. At best she was as sour as a crab apple, angry, she was dangerous.\n\n'Come here, girl.' Sister's voice echoed round the bare room. Her chins were quivering ominously, her face turning puce.\n\nGeorgia cast one frantic look at Pamela, hoping she had the sense to move now, then sauntered over to Sister.\n\nSister caught her shoulder with one hand, her other swung out and hit Georgia with her full strength across the face.\n\nGeorgia stumbled back against a bed rail catching her side with a crack. A rustle came from Pamela's bed on the other side of the room. Georgia gritted her teeth, willing Sister not to turn and catch sight of the girl. But Sister's sharp ears had picked up the sound too. She wheeled round and at the same time her nose twitched furiously. The hasty dressing was halted. Ten mouths dropped open in horror, Jennifer sucked vigorously on her thumb. Pamela just stood by her bed. Pyjamas steaming, fists covering her eyes, whimpering and shaking with fear.\n\nShe was a quiet, nervous child, still in the throes of grief from losing her mother. Straggly brown hair, a slight squint and a tendency towards fatness hadn't endeared her to anyone other than Georgia.\n\n'Seven years old and you still wet the bed,' Sister's bellow caused yet another trickle to splash on to the floor. 'You are worse than an animal, even they don't lie in their own filth!'\n\nOne claw shot out, grabbing the terrified child who didn't have the sense to run, and with the other she boxed her ears so hard that Pamela fell to the floor.\n\nThe sheer force of Sister's attack made Georgia spring forward. 'Don't you dare!' she yelled, lungeing at the black habit. She saw one heavy black shoe swing forward to kick the helpless child and she pummelled her fists against the nun's wide posterior. 'She can't help it. You only make her more frightened. Leave her alone you bully!'\n\nThe other children hopped from foot to foot on the icy lino. One of the older girls caught hold of Jennifer and began helping her to dress, anxious to get her out of the way.\n\nSister turned and caught Georgia by the wrists. Her face was purple now, her thin lips curling back.\n\n'Get downstairs and fill the coal scuttles,' she roared, spittle spraying the child's face. 'You won't get away with this insolence.'\n\nGeorgia backed away to her pile of clothes. If she said another word it was quite likely Sister would lock her in the cupboard they used as a punishment cell. Bread and water only, crouching in that black hole until bedtime, without even a blanket to wrap round her. She couldn't help Pamela any further and she wanted her breakfast.\n\nLater, as Georgia knelt in the outhouse shovelling coal, she could hear Pamela crying in the bathroom. It wasn't even screams of anger, just a wail of distress.\n\nShe could picture the scene. Sister Agnes would have her standing in a bath of cold water, scrubbing at her with a brush. Pinching, slapping and all the time lashing her with jibes about her bedwetting.\n\nThere'd be no breakfast for her. While the other girls ate their porridge, Pamela would be alone in the laundry, crying as she struggled to wash the sheets. Why did Aggie think punishment would make her stop doing it? Even Georgia knew Pamela couldn't help it.\n\n'Aggie's evil,' she chanted to herself as she wielded the shovel, banging it down hard on the coal, pretending Sister Agnes was under it. 'Why doesn't someone stop her?'\n\nGeorgia was always being punished, if she dawdled coming home from school, if she talked during meals or giggled in the chapel, so much so that it hardly concerned her any longer. She learned to accept that Sister Agnes would never like her, along with accepting she was a different colour from the other girls. It even amused her when Sister called her 'Devil's spawn'; it reminded her of tadpoles in the tank at school.\n\nShe had mentioned it to Sister Mary once and her laughter had banished any sinister thoughts.\n\n'You are like a little tadpole,' her blue eyes twinkled. 'But you'll change into a beautiful woman, just you wait.'\n\nUntil she was five or six there had always been the possibility she might be adopted one day. Most Sundays couples came to St Joseph's looking for a child to love. Some old, some young, some rich with cars and fur coats, some ordinary like the other girls' mothers at school. But they all had one thing in common, they wanted pretty blonde girls with blue eyes, the younger and sweeter the better.\n\nThere had been times when Georgia tried the ploys the other girls used. Climbing on to laps, tugging at clothes, beguiling smiles, letting her eyes fill with tears, but all she ever heard was the same remark.\n\n'She's a nice little thing, but we couldn't cope with mixed race I'm afraid.'\n\nGeorgia sighed deeply as she hauled the two heavy coal buckets across the yard and down the stone steps into the kitchen. She was resigned to staying here until she was fifteen and found a job. At least she had school.\n\nMost of the other girls hated school more than the convent. They were singled out as different from other children, not only by the way they were shepherded across the busy main road by one of the nuns, but by their badly fitting clothes, heavy shoes and lack-lustre hair. But to Georgia every day at school was an adventure, a chance to see the outside world, to learn about things and places, to feel normal.\n\nShe liked the pictures on the walls and growing beans in blotting paper, mixing powder paint and making puppets, the percussion band and stories. But most of all she liked Miss Powell and her music.\n\nMiss Powell was the headmistress. She had a kind of glamour in her dark suits and white frilly blouses, her blonde wavy hair swept up at the back. But when she sat at the piano and played, that was the very best.\n\nHymns, sea shanties, folk songs, beautiful haunting melodies that made pictures in Georgia's head. Without Miss Powell perhaps Georgia would never have found she could sing!\n\nSinging made her feel good. She could forget the convent and Sister Agnes, her dark skin and the people who didn't want a mixed-race child. When she sang people looked at her and listened, even her own teacher who grumbled because she didn't learn her multiplication tables looked proud of her.\n\n'You've been given a very special gift Georgia.' Miss Powell had smiled down at her the day she picked her to be Archangel Gabriel in the school nativity play. 'I've chosen you because your voice can do justice to the beauty of Christmas. I want everyone to be as proud of you as I am.'\n\nThat afternoon in December when she had stood on the stage wrapped in a white sheet with a tinsel halo, hearing applause ringing out round the assembly hall, had been the best moment in her life.\n\n'In the Bleak Mid-Winter' seemed so appropriate now as she rinsed the coal dust from her hands before joining the other children for breakfast. Her cheeks were icy, her hands and thighs chapped with the cold, and right now Sister Agnes was plotting her punishment.\n\nWhen Sister Agnes didn't retaliate immediately after the usual Saturday breakfast of porridge and boiled eggs, Georgia put punishment out of her mind. Keeping warm outside in the playground was more important than worrying what might happen later.\n\nSt Joseph's gave the impression of being a large country house. The gravelled drive, the sweeping lawn, the walled kitchen garden and the old knarled trees were all from a more elegant period.\n\nIn fact the large house was only a stone's throw from Grove Park station in South London. Minutes away were rows of shops and a street busy with cars and buses.\n\nThree floors, with basement and attics, it was too large to heat adequately. The once gracious drawing and dining rooms were now draughty dormitories. Only Mother Superior's sitting room held any comfort. Even the small chapel on the first floor was gradually becoming dingy through lack of maintenance.\n\nThe garden was beautiful in summer. The children ran on the grass, chasing each other around the trees. There was the smell of the flowers, the big bushes they could hide behind, and long days with little supervision.\n\nBut now in February it was torture. The wind whistled through thin gaberdine raincoats, catching sore places on bare legs, nipping at ears and fingers. If they played with the snow brushed up round the playground it soon made them colder. All they could do was huddle closer to the walls. Twenty-four girls from four to twelve waiting for the bell to ring for dinner. Pale, pinched faces, gazing longingly at the steamy laundry where the older girls were privileged enough to be up to their elbows in soapy suds or sweating over hot irons.\n\n'She'll call you in soon.' Susan Mullins a carroty-haired eleven-year-old with freckles moved closer to Georgia. 'Are you scared?'\n\nThe word had even spread to the bigger girls about Georgia's run-in with Aggie. It was almost worth being punished to see their approval. But however big and tough she felt here surrounded by admiring friends it didn't stop the need to keep going to the lavatory, or the moments of panic when she saw a nun's face at the window.\n\n'No,' Georgia gave a wobbly grin. 'I'll get a knife and cut off her wart, then she'll bleed to death.'\n\nThe door of the playroom opened just before tea-time. Georgia was curled up on one of the old settees reading an ancient comic, younger girls were racing around the big empty room, while older girls huddled in a corner by the hot pipes.\n\n'Georgia,' Sister Mary's voice made her jump. 'Mother Superior wants you.'\n\nSister Mary was the youngest of the nuns. Perhaps in her mid-thirties, but it was difficult to put an age to her. She was tall and slender, with a smooth, unlined face. She had the appearance of a china doll, dainty fair eyebrows set above eyes like summer skies, and rosy lips over small white teeth.\n\nYet despite Sister Mary's youth, she was tough enough to act as a mediator between them and Sister Agnes. Her rippling laughter, her understanding of children, her gentleness and soft voice gave each child a feeling of security. She had trained as a nurse. During the war she had been close to enemy lines and the older girls speculated why anyone so pretty had chosen to enter a convent instead of marrying and having children of her own.\n\nThe other girls from the middle dormitory were looking at Georgia in horror. Pamela's eyes filled up with tears, she clutched Georgia with her small podgy hands.\n\n'It's all my fault,' she whimpered. 'You'll get a beating now, just for sticking up for me.'\n\n'Don't worry,' Georgia said reassuringly, slipping an arm round the smaller child. 'I'm not afraid of her. Besides, I might be able to tell her how cruel Sister Agnes is to you.'\n\n'You're so brave,' Pamela sighed, her good eye on Georgia, the other one on the window. 'I wish I could be like you.'\n\nA statue of the Virgin Mary stood at the turn of the stairs, with a small night light in front of it. Georgia genuflected, screwing her eyes up tightly as she made a quick plea for mercy.\n\nThe wide hallway was very dark. It was oak panelled, the only natural light came from the window on the staircase, and a lone candle under a picture of the Sacred Heart. It was no use looking at the front door and considering escape. Even if she could reach the big bolt at the top she couldn't get far in the snow with only plimsoles on her feet and no coat. Instead she screwed her hands into fists, wiped her nose on her jumper sleeve and knocked at Mother Superior's door.\n\n'Come in!' Mother Superior's faint old voice crackled from within, like ancient parchment.\n\nGeorgia turned the brass knob with two hands, opened it just a crack, and tentatively put her head inside.\n\nMother Superior sat by a blazing log fire, her back to the window, a small, bowed figure in an oversized winged armchair.\n\n'Come on in, no one's going to bite you.'\n\nTo Georgia's surprise the tone was almost jovial, but then Sister Agnes was probably lurking behind the door.\n\nGeorgia slunk in, eyes down on the carpet, hands still holding the door.\n\n'Close that door,' Mother Superior snapped. 'We don't want to freeze.'\n\nIt was the 'we' that made Georgia glance up. A lady was sitting on the settee further back from the fire, looking at her. Mother Superior was wearing the smile she usually only reserved for Christmas and visitors.\n\nGeorgia closed the door carefully, arranging the heavy wool curtain over it to keep the draughts out. She had seen this lady before once or twice at school, yet she wasn't a teacher. Had Georgia been so bad they needed outside help now, to punish her?\n\nMother Superior reached out one tiny, bony hand, in a gesture that said Georgia was to come closer. She was rumoured to be eighty. Whether this was true or not Georgia had no idea, but she certainly was very wrinkled; not just around her eyes, but all over her face, as if she had shrunk a foot or two and all the spare skin remained.\n\n'Mrs Anderson is a children's officer. She's come here to talk to you.'\n\nGeorgia stood uneasily on the hearth rug, her stomach churning with fear. She knew what children's officers did, they were the ones who came and took girls away when they wouldn't behave. Yet for all that, Mrs Anderson didn't look fierce. She had that same look of authority Miss Powell had, and she sat as serenely as if she were in her own home. Her face was round and her hair cut almost like a man's, but her smile and pink cheeks were distinctly feminine.\n\n'Hallo Georgia,' the woman got up, taking Georgia by surprise as her strong, clear voice filled the room. 'I don't suppose you remember me, but I saw you at the Christmas play.'\n\n'You're going to take me away?' Georgia stuck out her small pointed chin defiantly. 'I didn't do anything but try and help Pamela. Sister Agnes is cruel and mean.'\n\nThe lady looked from both Georgia to Mother Superior in surprise.\n\nGeorgia was baffled now. Her entire childhood had been spent studying adults' secret looks. Whatever this lady had come for it wasn't to chastise her further.\n\n'Now then, Georgia,' Mother Superior's tone was honeyed, the warning of punishment hidden except to the two of them. She got up unsteadily and put one hand on Georgia's shoulder, bony fingers digging in her flesh just hard enough to remind her she hadn't been brought in to reveal secrets about anyone. 'Mrs Anderson has come here today to offer you a wonderful opportunity. Don't try to be difficult.'\n\n'Perhaps I should talk to Georgia on her own for a while?' Mrs Anderson's suggestion sounded more like a statement.\n\nGeorgia looked from one adult to the other, puzzled, but no longer frightened.\n\n'If you think that is necessary,' the older woman replied starchly. She straightened up her small, bent frame, her bloodless lips pursed with irritation. 'I have got some important jobs to do.' She bustled towards the door, every inch of her showing disapproval.\n\nMrs Anderson got up, took Georgia's hand and led her back to the settee.\n\n'She wasn't keen to go,' she said, lifting Georgia's face up with one finger to study it. 'So I'll have to be quick.'\n\nGeorgia liked her touch. It was like her manner, confident, kindly, maybe even motherly. Her eyes were grey, with tiny specks of green, bright and unwavering, a few tiny lines around them, maybe more from laughter than old age.\n\nThere was a lovely fresh smell about her. Like sheets when they had hung outside all day in the sunshine. She was a big woman, with ample hips and a bosom that pushed out the front of her jacket, but not exactly fat. Not as elegant as Miss Powell, but she looked more friendly.\n\n'I saw you at the school concert,' she said softly. 'I loved your voice and I couldn't forget you. When I discovered you had been here for years, I tried to find out if I could adopt you.'\n\nGeorgia's mouth dropped open in surprise.\n\n'Apparently that isn't possible. But I still want you to be my little girl. I want you to come and live with me if you'd like to.'\n\nIt was like a dream, yet the plump, warm hand holding hers was real enough.\n\n'You want me?' Georgia's wide mouth split into a grin which spread from ear to ear.\n\nTo her surprise Mrs Anderson's eyes seemed to be filling with tears.\n\n'Don't cry,' Georgia leaned closer, tentatively touching the lady's face. 'I can be ready in ten minutes.'\n\nMrs Anderson laughed then, the sort of laugh Georgia never heard from the nuns. It was the sound of freedom, a wonderful sound that somehow embodied life outside the convent. Georgia joined in, her nose wrinkling up with merriment.\n\n'Oh, Georgia, I knew you were my little girl when I first saw you,' she laughed, squeezing Georgia's hand still tighter. 'My goodness, you are a tonic.'\n\n'What's a tonic?' Georgia's face was suddenly more serious.\n\n'It's a kind of medicine you take, to make you feel better,' Mrs Anderson explained, her eyes still dancing with laughter. 'You've just banished every doubt in my mind.'\n\n'Do you really want to take me with you?' Georgia's eyes were wary. Sister Mary and Miss Powell could be relied on but she'd never met any other adults who didn't change their minds.\n\n'Yes, but I can't take you now. It will be tomorrow.'\n\nGeorgia thought quickly. She was sure she could trust Mrs Anderson. This wasn't one of those empty-headed ladies who came here looking for a small, cuddly plaything. She wasn't afraid of anything or anyone.\n\n'Can you do something for me then?' Georgia asked.\n\n'I'll try.'\n\n'Well get someone to stop Sister Agnes. She beats Pamela for wetting the bed and she can't help it.'\n\n'I'll do my best,' Mrs Anderson looked shocked. 'Has she ever beaten you?'\n\n'Loads of times,' Georgia said nonchalantly. 'But I'm bigger and tougher. I can stand up for myself. Pamela can't. She's only seven and her mummy and daddy are dead.'\n\n'But you haven't any parents either?' Mrs Anderson's voice dropped, she smoothed Georgia's cheek, then kissed her hair.\n\n'Yes,' Georgia looked up at her proudly. 'But I've been on my own since I was born. I've learnt to cope with things, and anyway I don't wet the bed.'\n\nMrs Anderson seemed to find that amusing.\n\n'Mr Anderson and myself live in a nice big house in Blackheath,' she explained. 'I'm very glad you don't wet the bed as I've bought a nice new one for you. You'll go to school nearby and we have the heath and Greenwich Park just across the road. But once you have settled in with us, I'll see what I can do for your friend.'\n\n'Have you got lots of children?' Georgia asked.\n\n'No, I haven't any,' Mrs Anderson's mouth was twitching with merriment at Georgia's rapt expression. 'But you'll soon make new friends at school.'\n\n'Will there be music there?' There had to be some hidden catch, but maybe Miss Powell and her piano was a small price to pay.\n\n'There certainly will, I play the piano myself and if you like we can arrange music and singing lessons.'\n\nGeorgia's eyes lit up, her mouth fell open and if it hadn't been for the door opening again, she would have whooped with delight. But Mother Superior shuffled into the room, her wrinkled face full of suspicion.\n\n'Have we had enough time?' her sarcasm was not wasted even on Georgia.\n\n'We'll have all the time in the world soon,' Mrs Anderson said sweetly. She bent over to kiss Georgia, and whispered in her ear. 'When you're my little girl.'\n\n'Run along now Georgia.' Mother Superior once more put on the expression for visitors, a smarmy smile, a patronizing tone and all the time her bony fingers fiddling with her Rosary. 'Mrs Anderson will be coming in the morning for you.'\n\nThe white tiled bathroom was full of steam. The floor was awash where less than an hour ago twenty other children had been bathed in the four large baths. Despite the steam the room was freezing, the windows rattling as a gale-force wind howled around the old convent.\n\nGeorgia wanted to dance and sing. She wanted to tell the world this was her last night. Tomorrow she would have her own room. A mother who would tuck her into bed. Someone who liked her singing and could play the piano.\n\nSince meeting Mrs Anderson earlier on, she had been kept apart from the other children. Mother Superior had even said she was to spend the night in the isolation room at the top of the house. But no one could silence Georgia's high spirits tonight. Alone in the bathroom she stripped off the matted grey jumper, the long, ugly skirt, her flannel petticoat, liberty bodice and her navy blue baggy knickers. Forgetting the propriety of never standing naked in sight of the Lord, even the shabby old vest was tossed away.\n\nShe picked up a small towel, wrapped it round her middle like a dress, and made believe she was a grown-up lady in front of a big audience.\n\n'In Dublin's fair city, where the maids are so pretty,' she sang at the top of her voice, dancing nimbly around the room. 'That's where I first set eyes on sweet Molly Malone.'\n\nThe door opened silently. Georgia was so engrossed in her performance, she didn't see Sister Agnes's approach, or hear the sharp intake of breath.\n\nCrack!\n\nGeorgia jumped in the air as if she'd been stung by a wasp, dropping her towel to the floor.\n\nSister Agnes had one of her favourite weapons in her hand. It was merely a thin, damp towel, but in her hands it was deadly. She was poised for mischief, flicking it accurately across Georgia's naked buttocks like a whip.\n\n'Admiring ourselves were we?' her bloated ugly face was contorted with suspicion. Already she was preparing the small towel for another blow.\n\n'I wasn't,' the small girl retorted indignantly, jumping to one side, hands raised to ward off more blows. 'I was just singing.'\n\n'Don't lie to me,' Sister roared, flicking the towel expertly to catch the child yet again. 'You are a wicked sinful girl with unclean thoughts. How dare you expose yourself?'\n\nIn her excitement Georgia had forgotten the incident in the dormitory, but it was clear Sister Agnes hadn't. Yet surely she wouldn't dare hurt her now, not when Mrs Anderson was coming back so soon?\n\n'Don't you touch me,' she yelled with all the volume she could muster. 'I've got a mother now!'\n\n'How dare you?' Sister Agnes dropped the towel and stalked towards her, her several chins quivering round her wimple with rage, beady eyes full of malice.\n\nGeorgia backed into the tiled wall, her bare toes scrabbling to get a grip on the wet floor. She was prepared now to stand her ground, not to let the old woman get the better of her.\n\n'Don't you hit me,' she yelled defiantly, her dark eyes blazing with new-found courage. 'I'll tell her!'\n\n'Tell her what you like. Do you think anyone will believe some half-witted nigger instead of me?'\n\nGeorgia braced herself. Time and time again Sister Agnes had thrown that word at her.\n\n'I'm not a nigger,' her eyes filled with tears. 'That's an evil word and so are you!'\n\nSister stared at her for a moment, clearly surprised at any child answering her back. Georgia's darkness showed up more clearly in here, against the white walls. Naked, she looked thin to the point of malnutrition, her limbs like sticks, her head seeming too big for her body.\n\nTo Sister Agnes, the child before her was a product of the Devil. A child born out of wedlock, abandoned at a few months, proof in her eyes that the mother was a whore.\n\nShe resented the way Georgia got attention both from adults and the other children by singing and play acting. No other child at St Joseph's ever had the nerve to answer back as she did and now she had been singled out for a new home with that insolent woman who dared suggest Georgia was undernourished. Mrs Anderson wasn't even a Catholic. What right did she have to criticise the care in St Joseph's?\n\nGeorgia hadn't reckoned with Sister coming armed with her small cane. Like a snake it appeared out of the folds of Sister's habit. Some fourteen inches of thin, bendy wood, polished and smooth with years of handling.\n\nSister Agnes was old, fat and out of breath. But Georgia was no match for her, not now Sister was filled with righteous indignation.\n\nMoving back, Georgia found herself trapped in the corner and she watched in horrified fascination as the old woman stooped over the bath and turned the taps on full to drown any noise. Still stooping, cane in one hand, the other on the tap, she turned slightly to look at Georgia, her lips curled into a sneer.\n\nGeorgia tried to slide along the wall. Her heart thumped and she felt as if her legs were embedded in cement.\n\nOne claw-like hand reached out and clamped on to Georgia's bony shoulder and the other hand lifted the thin cane up high.\n\nThere was a whistling noise and the cane flashed through the air, catching the child's arm, searing through the skin.\n\n'Please don't!' Georgia yelled, dancing in pain.\n\n'Bend over,' Sister bellowed. 'You've had this coming to you for a long time.'\n\n'Please, Sister,' Georgia whimpered. 'I'm sorry, I didn't mean what I said.'\n\n'Oh yes you did. You think you are special. You always have. It's about time someone took you to task, beat that proud look out of you.'\n\nGeorgia cowered further into the corner, slumping down onto her haunches, arms raised to protect her head.\n\nShe saw one black shoe shoot out from under the habit, kicking out her legs from under her, and her bottom crashed to the floor.\n\nThe next blow caught her on the thigh. She scrabbled to get away, but made the mistake of presenting her bottom as she did so.\n\nAgain and again the cane cut into her bottom, legs and back. She screamed in terror, but it was drowned by the rush of bath water.\n\n'Get in that bath!' Sister Agnes yelled.\n\nSkirting round Sister, Georgia moved quickly to the other side of the bath and jumped in. The water was scalding hot, but she didn't dare cry out. It came up to her armpits and burnt into the weals left by the cane.\n\nGeorgia had no fight left. She submitted to being dragged up and scrubbed.\n\n'Now, dry yourself and get up to bed!' Sister hissed. 'And don't take long about it.'\n\nThe door slammed behind her and Georgia groped blindly for the towel. She was shaking with cold. Her eyes stung and her body was on fire. Slowly she hauled herself out of the bath, and sunk on to a small stool. Her earlier happiness glugged down the drain with the bath water, and was replaced by tears of despair.\n\n'Georgia?'\n\nShe blinked at the sound of Sister Mary's voice at the door.\n\n'What is it?' Sister moved across the wet floor, arms outstretched, her face a picture of concern.\n\n'Sis \u2013, Sister Agnes,' Georgia stuttered.\n\nA dry, softer towel was wrapped round her, the smaller one deftly removed and wound round her hair like a turban.\n\n'What happened?' Sister asked, her tone gentle as always, in sharp contrast to Agnes's.\n\nGeorgia tried to explain. Another coughing fit engulfed her, this time coming in great whoops, bringing with it large quantities of fluid she had swallowed.\n\nSister Mary turned the child deftly onto her stomach across her own lap, patting her back until the attack stopped. Georgia could feel her soothing her wounds gently with the towel.\n\n'What did you do?' Sister's voice was soft, yet with a touch of steel.\n\n'I was singing and dancing, she said I was admiring myself. She called me a nigger.' Georgia sobbed.\n\nSister made no comment. Just lifted the child up into her arms and held her tightly against her chest, soothing her with endearments.\n\n'Let me get you dry and into bed,' her voice shook a little. 'You've got a big day ahead of you tomorrow. Sister Agnes won't touch you again.'\n\nScooping up Georgia in her arms, still only wrapped in the towel, she walked swiftly up the stairs with her in the direction of the isolation room.\n\n'Wait a moment,' she said as she dropped the child on the bed. 'I'll just go and find some pyjamas.'\n\nThe room was cosy at night. A small bedside lamp and a lighted gas fire gave the sparsely furnished room warmth that every other room in the convent lacked.\n\nAlthough she hurt all over, Georgia noticed that clean clothes had been placed on the chair for the morning. A tartan kilt and a much nicer jumper than she normally got to wear. Her sobs faded to hiccups.\n\n'Here we are,' Sister Mary bustled back into the room, a pair of pyjamas and vest over her arm.\n\nIn one hand she held a pot of ointment.\n\n'Lay down on your tummy,' she said gently. 'This will help the soreness.'\n\nAt first Georgia winced at each soft touch, but gradually under Sister Mary's healing hands, the pain lessened. Firmly, Sister turned her and more ointment was applied to her stomach, chest and arms.\n\n'That's better,' Sister said, picking up the vest and popping it over her head, quickly followed by the warm pyjamas. 'Now into bed with you and I'll dry your hair a bit more.'\n\n'Why is Sister Agnes so mean?' Georgia plucked up courage to ask, as her hair was rubbed vigorously.\n\n'I can't say anything about another Sister,' Mary said reprovingly with a twinkle in her eye. 'But you will find the world is full of all kinds of people, some nice, some plain nasty. Let's just say that maybe Sister Agnes isn't as happy inside as me.'\n\n'Why are you happy?' Georgia twisted her head round to look Mary full in the face.\n\n'Because God saw fit to send me here,' Sister smiled, her blue eyes twinkling. 'How else would I have met you?'\n\n'Why is this lady taking me to her home?'\n\nSister laughed, showing small even white teeth in the half light. 'So many questions! I expect she liked your courage and enthusiasm, just like I do.'\n\n'So does that mean I will be her little girl for ever?' Georgia's eyes were shining now, her sore body forgotten.\n\n'I think so,' Sister Mary wound a curl round her finger. 'She is a strong, caring woman Georgia, you'll have a good home with her and her husband. All you have to do is be a good girl and she'll take care of everything else.'\n\n'If I'm bad will she send me back here?' Georgia's eyes widened with fright.\n\n'I doubt that somehow,' Sister laughed soft and low. 'I don't think she's the type to give up on anything or anyone. But don't you get any ideas about testing her will you? Even the nicest people have their breaking point.'\n\nShe pulled a comb out of her pocket and ran it through Georgia's damp hair. Georgia glanced up and saw a tear trickling down the nun's cheek.\n\n'Why are you crying?' she whispered.\n\n'I'm just sad to know this is the last night I'll spend with you,' Sister replied, wiping her cheek with the back of her hand. 'We've been friends a long time. I was the one who undressed you the first night you came here. You clung to me like a little monkey.'\n\nShe smiled as she remembered.\n\nIt was a wild November night when Georgia arrived with a social worker. Just twenty-one months old, plump, with a halo of jet black curls, her thumb firmly planted in her mouth, her eyes as black as night.\n\nWhether she had been abandoned or orphaned wasn't known, just the name 'Georgia' passed on, her birth date of January 6th 1945 just an approximation.\n\nSister Mary had only been at St Joseph's a few weeks and she was appalled by the conditions. No toys, precious little warm clothing or bedding, children with running sores, threadworms and lice. She had been sent here because of her nursing training and youth, yet so far she had been unable to make a dent in the mountain of things wrong with the place.\n\nShe took Georgia into her arms, rocking her against her breast and watched her dark eyes beginning to droop. She knew she should insist the child was taken somewhere with proper facilities for babies, but she heard the exasperation in the social worker's voice, the complaints that every home was full, and her heart went out to the child.\n\nIt was love from that first night. Bathing, dressing, teaching and feeding, this was no longer duty, but joy. Small brown arms wrapped around her neck, damp sweet kisses, a constant reminder of everything she had given up by taking her vows.\n\nBut as the years passed, joy was tinged with fear. She saw Georgia's character forming, a bold clown, leader and entertainer, a child that rushed to the defence of anyone weaker and she knew Sister Agnes had the power and hate to crush it.\n\nMary had managed to change many things for the better in St Joseph's. Diet, hygiene and health were all improved, but still Mother Superior turned a blind eye to the sadistic cruelty of Sister Agnes, refusing to admit that women of her character had no place with children.\n\nWhen she heard Mrs Anderson wished to foster Georgia, Mary felt as if her heart was being torn out. Yet at the same time she wasn't prepared to sit by and watch while Georgia's proud spirit was broken, hear her voice silenced and see her turn into a cringing, empty shell.\n\n'Goodnight, my darling,' Sister Mary bent down over Georgia and kissed her cheek. 'Remember me in your prayers sometimes, maybe write to me when you have the time.'\n\n'I'll come back and visit you,' Georgia said sleepily, her eyelashes dropping over her cheeks.\n\n'Just sing for me once in a while,' Sister wiped back a tear from her cheek. 'I'll hear you wherever I am. God bless you.'\n\nGeorgia was asleep by the time she got to the door. Her dark tight curls forming a black halo on the pillow, one arm curled round her head. In that instant Sister Mary saw a glimpse of the beauty which was to come. Coffee skin with pink undertones, perfect bone structure. Features too angular for a mere child of nine, but the basic materials for a real beauty.\n\nSilently she closed the door, pausing for one moment to compose herself.\n\nWhen Mrs Anderson saw the weals on the child's body tomorrow, she knew with utter certainty that the caring woman would act fast and without mercy. Perhaps out of one child's misery, many others would be spared.\n\n'Protect and keep her Lord,' she whispered. 'And give me the strength to deal with Sister Agnes.'\n\n## Chapter 2\n\n_September 1956_\n\n'Drop me off here Daddy!' Georgia's voice had a tremor of apprehension as they turned into Kidbrooke Lane and the playing fields of the comprehensive school loomed in front of them.\n\nIt was a hot sunny morning, vivid splashes of colour in the suburban gardens, dahlias at their best as if trying to outdo one another in their brilliance.\n\n'Don't you want me to come in with you?' Brian Anderson pulled up, turning towards Georgia in his seat.\n\n'I'll look like a baby if you do.'\n\n'You are our baby,' Brian chuckled. 'But I know what you mean. Some things are better tackled alone.'\n\n'Were you scared on your first day at a big school?' Georgia leaned against his shoulder for a moment, drawing strength from the smell of starched shirt and aftershave.\n\n'Terrified,' he admitted, patting her small hand with his big one. 'But it wasn't as bad as I expected, nothing ever is.'\n\n'I'd better go now,' she straightened up, then leaned closer to kiss his smooth cheek. 'Do I really look all right?'\n\n'All right! You look perfect,' he smiled, wishing he could cuddle her one more time and banish that worried frown. 'Off you go now, and don't worry about anything, there will be hundreds of other new girls, just like you.'\n\nBrian Anderson watched as she crossed the road and walked along the railings to the gate. Scores of other girls were filling the tree-lined avenue, peace halted now the new term had started. But Brian Anderson hardly noticed the other girls, his eyes were just on Georgia.\n\nIn two years she had changed almost beyond recognition. She was taller, her stick-like limbs had filled out with good food, the once cropped hair allowed to curl on her shoulders and her skin had lost that yellowy tinge.\n\nThe navy-blue pleated skirt swung beneath a smart new blazer and she wore her beret at a jaunty angle. Yet the sight of her childish brown legs in long grey socks and the stiff, shiny satchel on her shoulder brought an unexpected lump to his throat.\n\n'Make them accept you Georgia,' he said softly as he put his car into gear and pulled away. 'Just the way you did me.'\n\nBrian Anderson knew better than anyone how it felt to be different. Brought up alone with his widowed mother in the big house on Blackheath where he still lived, he understood a child's need to be just like everyone else.\n\nHis mother had meant well keeping him away from other children. She wanted to protect him from harm, wrap him in a cocoon of devotion. A small, select private school where rough games were frowned on, evenings spent reading with her by the fire, or long walks in the summer. He had allowed himself to be nudged into banking as a career. Girls, dancing, drinking or sport were things that men did who weren't gentlemen. Brian didn't consider himself weak at bowing to his mother's wishes. He was merely a loner who didn't need change, new experiences or even challenge. But sometimes he would have preferred to have had a more outgoing life.\n\nAs Brian drove down towards Lewisham across the heath he caught a glimpse of himself in the driving mirror. Sandy thinning hair, neatly combed to one side, a round, plump fresh face which had barely changed from his teens. Pale blue eyes with gingery lashes and eyebrows. A straight small nose and the kind of even white teeth which owed much to his mother's care and attention. Not a handsome man, but as his mother had always pointed out, 'Clothes maketh a man.' His suits were all hand-tailored, navy blue with a faint pin stripe for the bank, light grey for social occasions and a navy blazer for weekends and holidays.\n\nHis shirts always went to the laundry, he liked his collars stiff and starchy, his ties subdued. He had four pairs of identical black leather lace-up shoes which he rotated daily.\n\nHe looked what he was, a fifty-year-old, respectable, dependable bank manager, neat and industrious.\n\nThe traffic was heavy as Brian approached Lewisham High Street, he tutted with irritation, realizing that for the first time ever he was going to be late.\n\nHe parked his Humber in the side road close to the bank, took his briefcase from the back seat and hurriedly locked the car door.\n\n'Good morning, Mr Anderson!'\n\nBrian looked up at the sound of his secretary's voice.\n\n'Good morning, Miss Bowden,' he smiled. 'I'm afraid I'm a little late. I took Georgia to her new school this morning.'\n\n'Don't worry,' Miss Bowden didn't miss the frown lines on his forehead. 'I purposely didn't make you any appointments this morning until after ten thirty. I anticipated you might get held up.'\n\nMiss Bowden had been his secretary for five years now. A sensible spinster in her mid-thirties, she was as dedicated to her job as Anderson himself. Her dark suit and white blouse, the sturdy flat shoes and neat brown hair were a constant reminder to the other, younger clerks that this was how a woman in banking should look.\n\n'I just hope Coulson was on time,' Brian took up his position on the outside of the pavement, irritated still more by the amount of early shoppers pushing their way along to the market. 'It's so long since he was expected to unlock the bank, I doubt he remembers how to.'\n\n'Of course he does,' Miss Bowden reassured her employer. 'Look, you can see yourself the lights are on.'\n\nAnderson had no need to be at the bank before nine thirty, but old habits died hard for him, and often he was behind his desk soon after eight thirty, well before the rest of the staff arrived. It had been this sort of reliability which got him promoted to manager, and although Celia kept telling him it was time he sat back and took things easier, he still liked to be there to unlock.\n\n'How was Georgia this morning?' Miss Bowden asked. 'Was she nervous? It's a big step going to such a huge school.'\n\n'A little nervous, but she'll be fine once she's settled in.' Anderson's expression softened a little. 'Remind me to telephone my wife later, will you?'\n\n'What a lovely girl she is!' Miss Bowden smiled warmly as they approached the bank door and rang the bell to be admitted. 'She's a credit to you both.'\n\n'Well, thank you Miss Bowden,' Brian's plump face beamed at the compliment'. Sometimes he felt a little overshadowed by Georgia and it was nice to know his staff at least felt he was responsible for the way she had shaped up, 'It hasn't all been easy you know, but she's been worth the disruption.'\n\nNo one knew how much he'd dreaded having a child of unknown background in his home, Celia least of all. He hid it away, just the same way he did so many things. Celia was like his mother, it was easier to go along with her wishes than argue.\n\nNow it made him blush when he remembered the way he reported to friends and colleagues about Georgia's lacerated back on her arrival. He took all the credit for caring for her, implied he intended to move heaven and earth to get St Joseph's shut down.\n\nHe had been horrified by her injuries, but it was Celia who coped with it, not him. Why had he been so afraid that one small child would ruin their lovely peaceful home? Why had he sulked silently while Celia threw herself into her new mother role wholeheartedly?\n\nOf course, he hadn't known then what benefits one child could bring with her. Perhaps if he'd realized he would lose his tag of 'Boring Old Anderson' overnight, he might have been less truculent. It had been like joining an exclusive club. Suddenly he was no longer exempt from conversations centred on family life. His staff took more interest in him and for the first time in his life he felt fully accepted.\n\nMaybe it had taken a little longer to learn to be a real father than he allowed his colleagues to see, but it had its moments of wonder. Taking Georgia for walks, teaching her to ride a bike and do her sums, gave him a kick he hadn't expected. Women looked at him in a different way, stopping to speak to him. He felt powerful, a man of action, not just a sandy-haired, middle-aged man clutching a briefcase.\n\nSo maybe the magic didn't reach as far as Celia responding with any real passion to him. Neither did a half-caste child make up for one of their own. But at least Celia and himself had a common interest. She looked younger, prettier, she laughed more, cuddled up to him at nights. Maybe in time that new warmth would turn to desire.\n\nHis office smelled of fresh polish. A clean sheet of paper was in his blotter and his pens were arranged neatly on a desk tray. Soon one of the junior clerks would bring him in fresh coffee and due to Miss Bowden's thoughtfulness he had time to collect his thoughts and stop dwelling on Georgia.\n\nReminders were all around him. The little pen-wipe she had sewn for him last Christmas with Daddy embroidered on it. A painting of him, carefully framed by Celia. Once he would never have considered hanging a picture of a man with flame red hair on his office wall, but he secretly loved Georgia's image of him. She'd caught his hidden self, a strong-looking man playing cricket. Almost handsome in his white slacks and sweater. It was a talking point with customers, it loosened them up and made them realize he was more than just a stuffed shirt.\n\nFinally, there was the photograph of the three of them, taken on holiday in Bournemouth. Celia in a low-cut cocktail dress, he in a dinner jacket and Georgia between them, laughing up at them, all dark curls, big eyes and dimples.\n\n'Your coffee, Mr Anderson,' he hadn't heard Miss Bowden come in. She put his cup in front of him and placed his diary beside it. 'Don't worry about her,' she patted him gently on the shoulder. 'Georgia's a match for anyone, you know that, and don't forget to telephone your wife.'\n\nGeorgia looked up at the school as she approached the main doors, her stomach churning with fear. It was the biggest school in South London, all glass and concrete, and although she had assured both her parents some of her old friends from Junior school would be there too, the truth was that most of them had found places elsewhere.\n\nIt was easy to identify the other first-years. Like her their uniforms were brand new, they stood white-faced and anxious, biting back tears, far smaller than the girls who sauntered by shouting to their friends, throwing each other's berets into the air.\n\nGirls, who looked like grown-up women, wearing prefect badges on their blazers directed the new girls to the main assembly hall. Georgia looked round with trepidation as teachers called out names and ordered the girls to stand in line.\n\nThe top class of the Junior school had only twenty-five children. In this hall alone there were nearer three hundred and she couldn't see one person she knew.\n\n'Georgia Anderson.'\n\nShe put her hand up and was ushered over to a line.\n\nThe teacher who had called her name came forward smiling warmly. She was younger than Georgia had expected, probably no more than thirty, and she was very elegant. Her blonde, sleek hair was cut short and swept up at the back, and she wore a black suit with a straight skirt and a white lacy shirt. Her light-brown eyes seemed to miss nothing. She reminded Georgia of Miss Powell, the headmistress who had played the piano, and that seemed a good omen.\n\n'My name is Miss Underwood,' she said in a crisp, well-modulated voice. 'I'll be your form teacher and I'm taking you now to your form room where I'll explain everything to you. You are in form 1B, remember that if nothing else, someone will guide you back to your class if you get lost. Follow me.'\n\nGeorgia followed the other girls in silence. As they started up the stairs she turned to the girl behind her.\n\n'Do you know anyone here?'\n\n'No one.' The small girl was near to tears. She hardly looked old enough to be going to a senior school, her baby blue eyes, pink cheeks and blonde pigtails looking out of place amongst the hard-faced bigger girls they'd seen strutting by.\n\n'Neither do I, I'm Georgia Anderson. What's your name?'\n\n'Christine Fellows,' the blonde girl whispered back. 'Do you think we'll be able to sit together?'\n\nBy morning break Georgia had tried to memorize every face. Christine had been given the desk next to her and although they hadn't been able to talk yet, at least she seemed friendly.\n\n'Do you think we'll ever find our way round this place?' Christine sighed as they filed out of the form room for break. 'Every lesson's in a different room. What if we get lost?'\n\n'We'd better stick together then,' Georgia giggled. 'I shouldn't think they'd punish us for getting lost in the first week!'\n\nAs they came down the last flight of stairs the number of girls converging into a large hallway had reached hundreds. Everyone was talking at once, a heaving mass of navy-blue striving to reach the doors leading out to the playground.\n\nChristine clung on to Georgia's blazer as they reached the hall. Surrounded by taller girls pushing and shoving, they inched their way forward blindly.\n\nThe crowd cleared suddenly as they stepped outside into bright sunlight. Both girls paused, looking around for the milk.\n\n'Another nigger in the first year!'\n\nThe remark was said loudly, with malice. Georgia's head swivelled round to see a group of girls, all around fourteen, standing by the milk crates.\n\nThinking the insult was intended for her she blushed scarlet, stopping in her tracks. Christine didn't appear to have heard as she walked towards the girls and lifted two bottles out of the crate.\n\n'What's up?' she asked as she came back, giving Georgia hers.\n\nGeorgia barely heard her as she watched a small West Indian girl being pushed away from the crates by a sullen-faced big girl.\n\n'Niggers get theirs round the corner,' she snarled at the frightened first-year. 'This is for whites only.'\n\nThe girl was brassy looking, with untidy bleached-blonde hair and her tie pulled down. Although she was actually wearing the uniform, she had done as much as was humanly possible to disguise it. Her skirt was short and tight, a wide 'waspy' belt holding it up. The sleeves of her shirt were rolled up, a heavy bust stretching the material to its limits. She wore nylons and casual shoes instead of the strong lace-ups and grey socks Georgia wore. A lovebite on her neck and a spotty, pasty face all added to her slovenly appearance.\n\n'Do you think that's true?' Georgia whispered to Christine.\n\n'What?'\n\n'That coloured girls have their milk somewhere else?' She was torn between moving away into the crowd before someone noticed her colour, or joining the black girl in her defence.\n\n'I shouldn't think so,' Christine looked puzzled. 'My sister came here. She never said.'\n\n'They'll have to put a separate crate for me if it is,' Georgia tried to smile. 'Halfway between the two, a greyish colour.'\n\nBy the time Georgia and Christine had gone round the corner to investigate, the West Indian girl had vanished amongst hundreds of other girls, but there were no more crates and it was obvious the big girl was playing a cruel joke.\n\n'Don't get upset about it,' Christine said. 'My sister told me all sorts of things they do to first-years. She said they held one girl's head down the toilet and flushed it.'\n\nThe day passed in a blur of new experiences. Books handed out, timetables which seemed formidable, so many new faces and names to be put to them, that Georgia forgot the incident at morning break.\n\nGeorgia parted from Christine at the school gates after arranging to meet her there the next day. Then joining a minority of girls going towards Blackheath, she turned left and crossed the road.\n\nThe sun was hot on her head and shoulders so Georgia took off her blazer and carried it. Up ahead on the corner of the road she was to turn into, a crowd of girls was gathering. Georgia quickened her pace to see what was going on.\n\nShe knew it was a fight, she could sense the tension in the air before she got there and she recognised the voice without even seeing over the other girls' heads.\n\n'You sneaky little bastard. I'll teach you not to go telling tales!'\n\nIt was the same big girl who had stopped the West Indian from getting any milk.\n\nGeorgie sidled round the crowd, intending to go on home, but the sight before her made her stop instantly.\n\nThe big girl had the small black girl by the hair and was slapping her face backwards and forwards like someone beating a carpet.\n\nGeorgia dropped her satchel and blazer and without thinking she ran the last few feet.\n\n'Stop it,' she grabbed hold of the bigger girl's shirt. 'She's smaller than you and she's new!'\n\nOnly as the girl paused and let go of her victim did Georgia feel a stab of fear.\n\n'And who the fuck d'you think you are, bloody Joan of Arc?'\n\nA roar of laughter went up from the crowd. They were all white girls, mostly third and fourth years, three or four of them Georgia had seen with the bully at break, the rest merely going home and enjoying a little diversion.\n\nSuddenly the tree-lined suburban street with its neat gardens seemed sinister and a long way from home. Georgia knew she'd got herself into something beyond her depth.\n\n'I know it's none of my business,' Georgia said, more calmly than she felt. 'But it isn't right to hit someone smaller than yourself.'\n\nThe West Indian girl was backing away, her eyes rolling with fear, her face swollen from the smacking. But like Pamela that day at St Joseph's, she hadn't the sense to run.\n\n'Don't she talk posh,' the bully smirked round at her audience. She looked back at Georgia and her mean mouth curved into a sneer. 'Oh, I get it,' she said, looking Georgia up and down. 'You've got a bit of nigger blood too!'\n\n'Yes, I'm half black,' Georgia held her head up proudly. 'That's a darn sight better than being all white and a bully.'\n\n'Bin taken out of the jungle by a priest and educated, have we?' The girl caught hold of Georgia's wrist before she could move away. She twisted it round and forced it behind Georgia's back, holding her in a tight grip. 'Well here we've got our own jungle, and we don't want no black bastards in it.'\n\n'Let me go,' Georgia yelled, kicking out at the girl's shins.\n\nTaken by surprise the girl let go. Georgia used the opportunity to run but a greasy-haired girl stood in front of her, grinning stupidly. She stood a foot taller than Georgia, her loose, sloppy mouth full of gum.\n\n'I've got her now Bev,' she called out. 'Come and give her a pasting.'\n\nThree of them were on her at once. One girl held her arms, another one caught her by the hair, and the girl they called Bev, slapped her round the face again and again.\n\nGeorgia tried to kick them, but together they were too strong for her. All she saw before Bev lifted her leg and kneed her in the stomach was the West Indian girl running up the road like a startled hare.\n\nWinded, Georgia staggered back against a tree.\n\n'I ain't finished with you yet,' Bev shouted at her. 'That's just a taster to show you who's boss round 'ere. Got the message?'\n\nDoubled over with pain, Georgia heard them run off down the road, laughing loudly.\n\nThe rest of the crowd dispersed as if by magic. One moment they were all gawping inanely, the next gone.\n\nHer parents had been a little tense about her coming to this school, now she knew why. Her face stung, the blow in her stomach had winded her and she felt sick with humiliation. By the time she collected her things and walked to the bus stop, the streets had cleared of school girls. She wanted to cry, ring up Celia to collect her, make her promise she'd find another school. Yet even as she thought these things, she knew she couldn't.\n\nCelia was talking on the telephone as she walked in the door. She waved, then went back to her conversation. Everything was just as it always was. The sun shining in the back of the house, lighting up a vase of flowers on the kitchen table. A smell of polish, a casserole in the oven. The prints on the walls, the thick, patterned carpet, chintz covers on the chairs. A spacious, middle-class home, a thousand times nicer than the one that girl must come from.\n\nCelia was at the telephone in a crisp blue summer dress with a white collar, carefully cut to minimize her wide hips. The kitchen table was laid with dainty china tea cups and a homemade cake. If she told her mother what had happened it would bring a cloud into this lovely home, a slur on all they had taught her.\n\nGeorgia slipped upstairs and washed her face. She was flushed, but as yet there was no bruising. Ten minutes later she came back downstairs wearing an old pink dress she'd almost grown out of.\n\n'Hullo darling,' Celia was in the kitchen making a pot of tea. 'How did it go?'\n\nShe loved her mother so much. She couldn't bear to see hurt take the smile off her face or worry spoil even one evening together.\n\n'It's a bit scary because it's big,' Georgia said, keeping her voice even and taking a seat with her back to the window so her mother couldn't see her clearly. 'I met a nice girl called Christine and I'm in form 1B.'\n\n'That's good.' Celia sat down at the kitchen table, stirred the tea and poured a little milk into the two cups. She cut the large cherry cake and placed a slice on a plate for Georgia. 'That means you are actually in the Grammar stream then. What's your teacher like?'\n\n'Nice,' Georgia said, looking down at the cake. 'Miss Underwood. She's youngish. Real elegant and sophisticated. But we'll only have her for registration and English, the rest of the time we go to other classrooms.'\n\n'What's the matter with your face, it looks flushed?' Celia's eagle eye missed nothing.\n\n'I ran down the road,' Georgia lied. 'I'm just hot.'\n\nAfter eating the cake she went back to her room under the pretence of doing homework. Her bedroom was the prettiest she had ever been in. Decorated in pink and white, it had lots of shelves and cupboards, and Celia had even bought her a desk to do her homework on. It wasn't a large room compared with her parents' room next door, but it was on the front of the house and the window overlooked the heath across the road. Across the landing was her playroom. Even in her wildest dreams back at St Joseph's she had never envisaged a room where she would be allowed to paint, dance, dress up and do whatever she liked.\n\nHer mother and father had taught her everything. How to speak properly and talk to people, how to dress, everything she had came from them, how could she burden them with worry about a bully?\n\nSt Joseph's had only taught her one thing that she clearly remembered. You had to stand up for yourself, or end up being bullied forever.\n\nThe next morning she braided her hair tightly.\n\n'Why on earth are you doing that?' Celia asked in surprise. 'It looks so much better down.'\n\n'It's a bit hot for school,' Georgia replied. 'There's so many big windows, and I sit right by one.'\n\nThere was no one guarding the milk crates at break and all day Georgia didn't even get a glimpse of Bev and her friends. She hoped that was the end of it, but she would be cautious just in case.\n\nOnce she'd said goodbye to Christine outside the school gates, she took off her blazer and beret and put them in her satchel. She rolled up her shirt sleeves and crossed the road.\n\nShe saw the four third-years cutting across the playing field. The way they scurried along, heads bent close together, made her sure they were planning to ambush her. Flinging her satchel over her shoulder she ran round the corner past the spot of yesterday's incident and paused, weighing up the area.\n\nThe wide grass verge between the pavement and the road was ideal for a soft landing, the trees good for cover. Her heart was thumping with fright, but she hid her satchel behind one tree, herself behind another, and waited.\n\n'She must have run like the bleedin' wind.'\n\nGeorgia suppressed a nervous giggle as one of the girls' surprised voice reached her. She didn't dare look out until they were right by her.\n\n'Either that or she's hiding in some gateway till we've passed.' She recognized the coarse voice as Bev's, the blonde bully. 'I'll give her an extra pasting for that, the scheming black bastard,' she added maliciously.\n\nGeorgia managed a peep from behind the trunk. Three of the girls checked each garden. The girl with the greasy hair hung back slightly, as if her heart wasn't really in it. The other two were either side of Bev, copying her actions as though they had no minds of their own. One was quite attractive in a sulky, voluptuous way, with dark, long hair. The fourth girl in the group was mousey blonde, smaller than her friends with sharp features and a brace on her teeth.\n\nGeorgia waited until they were less than five feet from her, took a deep breath, screwed up her fists and stepped out in front of them.\n\n'Looking for me?' she said, balancing on her toes.\n\n'Yes, you little shit,' Bev was clearly taken by surprise, she blinked furiously, the late afternoon sun in her eyes.\n\n'Planning to hit me again?' Georgia tried to keep her voice low and seemingly unruffled.\n\nThe four girls looked at one another in surprise.\n\n'That's fine with me as long as it's fair,' Georgia said. 'One of you against me, the others mustn't join in.'\n\n'You cheeky little bitch,' Bev spat at her. 'Who the hell do you think you are?'\n\n'I don't think I'm anyone,' Georgia said stoutly, moving lightly on her toes like a boxer. 'I know perfectly well who I am. Georgia Anderson.'\n\nThe girl with greasy hair laughed nervously and was already moving back, away from the others.\n\nIn groups of twos and threes, other girls were turning the corner. A buzz of excitement went up, calling for others to hurry and in moments a large circle was forming round them.\n\nGeorgia was afraid now. There was nothing to stop all these girls ganging up on her. She would have to act tough to get their approval.\n\n'Well, which one of you is going to give me the pasting?' Georgia said, looking directly at each of the ringleaders. This time the dark, attractive girl fell back. Her face growing a little pale.\n\nGeorgia focused her attention on the mousey blonde.\n\n'You is it?' she said arrogantly, 'Or do you want to back out too?'\n\nThe girl had a look of panic in her pale eyes. She glanced round at the other two girls, who merely shrugged their shoulders, and fell back with them.\n\nBev stood alone now, a slight tic in her cheek as though nervous. She was big and heavy, but she didn't look quite so confident now she knew she had no backup.\n\nThe crowd was tense, everyone waiting to see if this new kid was really foolish enough to fight.\n\n'Looks like you and me then,' Georgia smiled charmingly, fixing her big, dark eyes on Bev's small, mean ones.\n\n'You cocky little cow,' Bev sprang heavily at her.\n\nGeorgia waited until she was almost upon her then jumped lightly to one side. Bev stubbed her toe on the edging to the grass verge and nearly fell on her face. A roar of approval went up from the crowd and Georgia turned slightly to grin at them.\n\nBev recovered quickly and turned to catch Georgia again. Once again Georgia dodged. Bev's hand came out to grab her hair, but her fingers couldn't grasp the tight braids. Quick as a flash, Georgia pulled up her knee and jammed it up into Bev's stomach, kicking out at her shins as she moved back.\n\n'Get her, Bev,' the small blonde shouted. She was poised on her toes, clenching and unclenching her fists with blood lust in her eyes.\n\nBev was winded. Her face flushed like a tomato. She lunged heavily at Georgia again. This time Georgia put her foot out, caught her legs and tripped her up. Bev crashed down on to the pavement, flat on her face. Georgia stepped forward to screams of delight from the other girls.\n\nLeaning over and catching the girl by her hair, she twisted Bev's head up and round to look at her.\n\n'Had enough yet?' she said almost casually, as she saw a trace of blood coming from an angry red mark on the girl's forehead.\n\nThis was the danger point. If the other girls leapt in now they could beat her to a pulp.\n\nBev struggled to get up. Georgia waited until she was on all fours, then swiftly kicked her up the backside, sending her crashing to the pavement.\n\nThe other three girls had backed right away now, clearly terrified of being involved.\n\nThe circle of spectators moved in closer.\n\n'Wack her, little'un,' someone shouted. 'It's about time someone stood up to her.'\n\nGeorgia sat astride Bev's back, holding the girl firmly by the hair.\n\n'Hurts doesn't it?' she asked, teeth gritted. 'It hurts black girls too, or did you think we feel nothing?'\n\n'Get off,' Bev called out, her voice shaky as if on the point of tears. 'We was only teasing you.'\n\n'And I'm only teasing you,' Georgia pushed her head back down to touch the pavement. 'But I'll stop if you apologize and tell me you'll leave me alone in future.'\n\n'Fuck off,' Bev shouted, wriggling and trying to turn under Georgia. An unpleasant smell of sweat wafted up to Georgia.\n\n'That is very rude,' Georgia said, grinning round at her audience. 'You smell of B.O. too. Looks like I'll have to give you another taste.' She pulled sharply on the girl's hair, then crashed her head down again to the pavement.\n\nThis time Bev was sobbing.\n\n'You'll apologize?' Georgia looked around at the crowd. 'In front of witnesses?'\n\n'Yes,' the word came out like a groan.\n\n'Right. Repeat after me. Bev is a bully. She is also a fat, smelly slut.'\n\n'Bev is a bully,' the girl whimpered.\n\n'Louder,' Georgia tightened her grip again.\n\n'Bev is a bully,' the girl said.\n\n'Go on!'\n\n'She is also a fat, smelly slut.'\n\n'Very good. I will never, or allow my friends...'\n\n'I will never, or allow my friends,' Bev was crying freely now.\n\n'To bully, or frighten anyone, especially black girls.'\n\nGeorgia waited until Bev had finished. Still sitting on Bev's back she looked across at the other three girls who cowered against the wall.\n\n'That goes for you three too,' she said, lowering her voice to one of menace as she'd been taught in drama classes. 'I'll be watching.'\n\nCalmly she got up, crossed over to the tree to collect her satchel, slipped her blazer out, and swaggered off towards the bus stop.\n\nShe allowed herself only one glance back.\n\nBev stood alone, crying and dabbing at her forehead. Her friends had vanished, the rest of the girls were standing talking in small groups.\n\nOnce on the bus she could not stop shaking. She had been lucky, if Bev hadn't been like a charging rhinoceros she would have noticed that it wasn't physical strength that beat her, but preparation and speed. If Bev or another bully caught her unawares the next time she might be the loser.\n\n##### *\n\n'Is everything all right Georgia?' Celia came up to her bedroom after tea as Georgia was doing her homework. 'You didn't seem yourself yesterday or today. Is there something you want to tell me?'\n\n'No, Mummy,' Georgia looked up and smiled. 'I was just worried about all this homework. I don't know whether I'll have time for dancing and singing now.'\n\nCelia sat down on the bed.\n\n'You'll make time.' She picked up the teddy bear she'd given Georgia on her first day in the house and looked at him thoughtfully. 'Come on, the truth. I know something happened at school. Has someone bullied you?'\n\nGeorgia hadn't expected much the day she left St Joseph's in Celia's car. There was no picture in her mind of a house, or the kind of life she would lead with Mr and Mrs Anderson. She remembered the moment when the car stopped, the huge expanse of snow-covered heath on one side of the road, and the grey stone houses on the other.\n\n'This is ours,' Celia had taken her hand again and led her up to a red front door. It seemed tiny after the convent door, little panes of coloured glass and the porch with old blue and white tiles. She had hardly noticed Mr Anderson, all she had seen and felt was warmth and comfort. Soft carpet under her feet, a big fire in the grate and the piano standing by the window.\n\nThose first few weeks had been so exciting. New kinds of wonderful food, clothes that were brand new and toys that were all for her. Later there had been the dancing and singing lessons to give her new heights of happiness. But above all else it had been having a mother, someone who cared about her, listened and talked to her as if she was someone special.\n\n'There was just a little trouble yesterday,' she admitted. She knew her mother too well, she wouldn't give up until she got to the truth. 'But everything's okay now.'\n\n'Someone slapped you! I knew it,' Celia stiffened, dropping the teddy bear in her hands. 'Why didn't you tell me?'\n\n'Mum, I'm a big girl now,' Georgia laughed. 'I can stand up for myself. I talked to the girl today, it's over.'\n\n'What was it about?'\n\n'My posh voice, if you must know.' Georgia wasn't exactly lying, but she thought her mother could take that better than the issue of colour. She grinned cheekily. 'Maybe I'd best go back to talking like what I used to.'\n\n'Don't you dare!' Celia smiled. 'After all the coaching I've given you!'\n\n## Chapter 3\n\n_December 1959_\n\nGeorgia hurried to the church. The grass on the heath was thick with frost and the moon hung over the church spire as if endeavouring to impale itself. It was the last practice for the anthem the choir was going to sing at midnight mass on Christmas Eve.\n\nShe wore a grey duffel coat over a polo-necked white sweater and jeans, hair tied up in a pony-tail with a white ribbon, a long red scarf knotted round her neck.\n\nPeter was waiting on the church steps. Just the sight of him made her heart beat a little faster. He was so beautiful, gold blond hair gleaming under the porch lamp, his peachy skin as clear as her own. She could hardly wait to get up close and see those forget-me-not blue eyes and his wide, soft lips.\n\n'I thought you weren't coming.' His face broke into a relieved smile as she turned on to the church path.\n\n'I got held up,' she said breathlessly.\n\nFour months had passed since they'd met at a youth club debate, and since then there hadn't been one day when she hadn't thought about him. Was it possible to want someone so badly and not have the longing returned?\n\n'Mr Grey's having kittens,' he grinned, his soft lips parting to show perfect white teeth. 'We'd better go in.'\n\nAs Georgia stepped into the church she closed her eyes for a second and inhaled deeply. She loved churches. The incense, the candles, all the rich embroidery on the altar cloths, the smell of polish and flowers. Religion didn't come into it. To her it was a wonderful theatre, the choir part of a show they put on each weekend.\n\nFlinging her coat on a pew she slipped into the choir stalls, grinning sheepishly at the others. Eight women, six men and eight scruffy little boys. On Christmas Eve they would be transformed with starched ruffles and red cassocks, but for now they were just ordinary people who liked to sing just like her.\n\nThe choir master tapped his stick on a pew.\n\n'I'm glad you could make it Georgia,' Mr Grey's deep baritone was at odds with his stooped elderly body. His sarcasm unusual for such a gentle man. He wore a new Fair Isle cardigan in heathery shades, his pipe hanging out of one of the pockets. 'Now take it slowly. It's not a pop song, but a beautiful piece of music. I want the people in the back rows to hear you. Head up, chest out.'\n\nIt was the first time anyone in the choir had been chosen to sing a solo. She knew it was a great honour and she wanted it to be perfect.\n\nShe took a deep breath as the organ wheezed into life. The introduction filled the church with sound and Peter winked at her.\n\nHer voice reached each corner. Pure and clear, every word annunciated in the way Mr Grey had taught her.\n\nThe choir joined her. Sopranos soaring above her contralto, the tenors and bass giving it richness and warmth.\n\n'Very good,' Mr Grey shuffled forward up the step. He held his back as if it hurt, but his old face was alight with pleasure. 'If you sing it like that on Christmas Eve I should think Father O'Brady will get enough in the collection for his new roof. We'll do it once more, then a quick run through the carols, then you can all go early.'\n\n'You were very good tonight,' Peter walked out through the church door with her. 'I love to hear you sing.'\n\n'Thank you.' She smiled up at him, wondering if tonight she could find the words to ask him to her party.\n\nHe was always waiting for her. He walked home with her from choir practice, talked about anything and everything, yet he had never attempted to take it further.\n\n'Do you have to go straight home?'\n\nHis question took her by surprise. Peter was looking at his feet, he sounded as unsure of himself as she felt. 'I mean, could we go for a walk?'\n\n'Where?' she asked, not caring where it was as long as he was with her. She felt a flush creeping up her neck. Her teeth began to chatter more from anxiety than cold.\n\n'Over to the boating pond?'\n\nThe heath yawned in front of them. A big, empty dark space that was all theirs. A huge Christmas tree at the church steps lit up the darkness with tiny green, red, yellow and blue sparks of colour. The frosty grass scrunched beneath their feet and as they moved away from the light, so their shadows disappeared.\n\n'You're cold?' Peter paused and looked round at her.\n\nHer scarf was tied tightly round her neck, her breath like steam from a kettle.\n\n'My hands are,' she said, not wanting to admit she was freezing. 'I forgot my gloves.'\n\nHe took one of her hands and felt it.\n\n'Like ice,' he smiled. 'Put it in my pocket with mine.'\n\nHe held her hand in his pocket, running his thumb across her palm. A tiny shiver went down her spine, but this time it had nothing to do with the cold. She moved closer to him, huddling against his shoulder.\n\n'Better now?'\n\n'Much,' she smiled up at him. His ripe wide mouth made her feel weak inside. 'I've been meaning to ask you Peter. Would you like to come to my birthday party on January 6th?'\n\nHe didn't reply for a second, he looked straight ahead of him and she wondered if she'd asked too soon.\n\n'I thought you'd left me out. One of the boys at school mentioned it.'\n\nNow she felt foolish. Did he think she was only inviting him now out of politeness?\n\n'I didn't actually invite any boys,' she blushed. 'I just asked the girls to bring a partner.'\n\n'Does that mean I'd be your partner?'\n\n'Yes. If you want to be.' It was too late now for flirting and pretending disinterest as Christine suggested. 'I didn't ask you before because I was afraid you'd refuse.'\n\nShe hung her head, afraid to meet his eyes.\n\nHis fingers brushed her cheek as he lifted her face up to his.\n\n'Does that mean I can say you are my girl?'\n\nNo words came, just a nod of her head. His eyes almost closed and his hand cupped her head drawing her to him.\n\nHis lips touched hers tentatively, so light it could have been the touch of a moth's wing.\n\nClosing her eyes she just stood there, her heart pounding, her legs shaking. One moment his other hand was still in his pocket with hers, the next he withdrew it and crushed her to him, lips covering hers.\n\nThe deserted heath, the church behind them and her home in the distance fell away. All she could feel, see and smell was Peter. A soft, warm mouth on hers, the touch of stubble against her chin, the ecstasy of being in his arms at last.\n\nFour months of dreaming and hoping and at last the moment was here.\n\n'Let's run?' he whispered to her, his nose rubbing against hers. 'Maybe we won't notice the cold.'\n\nThe wind caught her hair and scarf as they ran hand in hand. They were laughing like small children, racing over the crisp grass.\n\n'I knew there was a shelter here,' he said breathlessly as they approached the silver pond. He pointed to a dark shape at one end, near a bus stop. 'It might not be so cold and at least we can sit down.'\n\nWithin seconds she was in his arms again. The soft inexperienced kisses soon becoming more adventurous and bolder.\n\nThey weren't aware of a man walking his dog, or the lone streetlamp casting a pool of golden light over a litter bin. The shelter smelled of mould and someone's abandoned chips in newspaper, but all they felt was one another's warm breath and the sweet agony of needing to get closer.\n\nHis tongue flickered over her lips, and she parted them, slipping her hands under his jacket for warmth.\n\nShe pressed closer to him, a warm, shaky feeling creeping all over her. Her breasts throbbed, she ached for him to touch them, yet was frightened that he would. Each kiss was longer than the last, tongues bolder, gaining experience with each one. Her body fitted to his, her fingers stroking, loving him. The hard boniness of his chest, the smell of soap and toothpaste. His fingers caressing her neck and the rough texture of his sweater.\n\n'We ought to get back,' he whispered, his lips buried in her neck. 'It's nearly half past nine.'\n\nReality came back with a jolt. Georgia jumped up, holding her watch towards the dim yellow light. Her eyes widened with fear as she saw he was right.\n\n'Dad will go mad,' she gasped. 'It feels as if we've only been here for minutes.'\n\nPeter stood in front of her, buttoning up her coat and winding the scarf back round her neck.\n\n'It's only just after our usual time,' he sounded calm and protective. 'Tell them we were talking.'\n\nThey ran then, hand in hand back across the heath, not stopping till they reached her house.\n\n'Ask them if you can come to the pictures tomorrow,' he said, smiling down at her, both panting from the run. 'I'll come and pick you up at seven.'\n\n'What if they say no?' she was torn between staying out with him and rushing in to make apologies.\n\n'I'll come anyway,' he laughed, bending to kiss her once more. 'Now go on in before you catch cold.'\n\n'Why didn't you ask me out before?' she whispered, poised to run in.\n\n'I was afraid you'd turn me down,' he whispered back.\n\n'You're late!' Celia said reprovingly.\n\nHer parents were watching television by the fire. The Christmas tree lights twinkled against the dark red curtains. Celia was already in her dressing-gown, pale blue wool, with a snippet of long winceyette showing beneath, her feet in slippers. She was knitting a pair of grey socks. Brian wore the brown cardigan he always put on when he took off his office suit, yet his tie was knotted as neatly as when he left for the office earlier that day. He had a glass of brandy on the small table by his side and he looked sleepy, glasses sliding down his nose.\n\nBy day the room was almost an extension of the garden, light streaming in the French windows, bushes just outside blending with plants inside. But by night it took on a different character, shrinking in size as the heavy curtains were drawn. A snug room that somehow embodied her parents' joint personalities. Celia in the baby grand piano, the Chinese vase lamps and the warmth of the roaring fire. Brian the plump, chintz-covered armchairs and settee, the delicate water colours on the walls, the leather-bound books close to his elbow.\n\nGeorgia looked from Celia to Brian as she unwound her scarf and unbuttoned her coat.\n\nHer father's love of order ran not only to arranging books in size, the fringe on the hearth rug brushed out flat, but also to timekeeping. Yet for once he didn't seem aware she was late.\n\n'I'm sorry,' Georgia panted. 'I was talking to Peter.'\n\n'Did you pluck up courage to invite him to the party?' Celia raised one eyebrow, letting her knitting droop to her lap. Georgia had spoken of this boy so often she felt she knew him almost as well as her daughter.\n\n'Yes,' Georgia wanted to sit on her mother's knee, wrap her arms round her and tell her everything. But the child in her was gone now, left back at the church steps when Peter took her hand. 'And he asked if he could take me to the pictures tomorrow.'\n\n'Did he now,' Celia's eyes were more green than grey in the light of the fire, twinkling like the Christmas tree lights.\n\n'Can I go then?'\n\n'I don't see why not,' Celia's soft pale lips curved into a smile. 'As long as he brings you straight home afterwards.'\n\n'Just a moment,' Brian sat up sharply and took off his glasses. 'Don't I have any say in this?'\n\nGeorgia gulped. She and Celia rarely asked Brian's opinion about anything and just lately he seemed to have noticed. His face had a polished look in the soft light, faded blue eyes puckered with irritation.\n\n'I'm sorry, Daddy,' Georgia went over to him and perched on the arm of his chair. His sandy hair was getting very thin and from her position slightly above him, she could see a bald patch as big as a half crown. She slid her arm around his neck, fondling his ears. 'Please don't be a grouch. I didn't ask you first because I was embarrassed.'\n\n'Who is this boy?' Brian's eyes softened just enough for her to know he was at least receptive.\n\n'Peter Radcliffe, he sings in the choir. You'd like him Daddy! He plays cricket.'\n\n'I'll reserve my judgement until I've met him,' Brian half smiled. 'If he isn't one of those ton-up boys and he can be trusted to behave himself with you, I can't really think of any reason to say no.'\n\nAs Georgia got into bed that night she could scarcely contain her excitement. If she closed her eyes she could taste Peter's lips again, feel that strange tugging sensation inside her.\n\nWas she in love? She had all the symptoms they mentioned in magazines. She could hardly wait till tomorrow to phone Christine and tell her Peter had finally kissed her.\n\nShe lay on her back looking at the new party dress hanging on the wardrobe. Celia had bought it just two days earlier and she couldn't wait to wear it.\n\nIt was beautiful. Red satin with a billowing underskirt of net. The bodice was tight and low cut, with just tiny cap sleeves. No one else would have a dress quite like it.\n\nCelia smiled as she peeped into Georgia's room an hour later.\n\nBrown arms hugging a teddy bear, face buried in the pillow. She had noticed the way Georgia looked at this boy. Guessed the big sighs and long periods of idle dreaming were because of him. Tomorrow she would want endless reassurance that he really did want to take her to the pictures!\n\nCelia closed the door softly and went into her own bedroom. Brian was already in bed, covers up to his chin.\n\n'What's this boy like?' he said unexpectedly.\n\n'Very nice,' Celia said sitting down on the edge of the bed. 'Polite, rather handsome, about to do his \"A\" levels.'\n\n'She's a bit young for a boyfriend,' he said.\n\n'I don't know,' Celia climbed into bed beside him. 'Most of her friends have one. Better someone like him than some hooligan hanging around on street corners. Don't get all edgy about it Brian, teenage romances are usually shortlived.'\n\nAs she switched out the light Brian turned over and put his arm round her.\n\n'Don't,' she said brusquely, moving away.\n\n'I only wanted to cuddle you,' his voice sounded peeved.\n\n'You always say that,' she brushed his arm away. 'And I'm not in the mood.'\n\n'Are you ever?' his tone was heavy with sarcasm, and with a sigh he rolled over.\n\nCelia lay there in the dark feeling just a little guilty. So much of their marriage was good, but she found it difficult to respond to him.\n\nMaybe that was why she wanted Georgia to have lots of boyfriends because her own experience was so limited.\n\nCelia Tutthill had always been a 'sensible' girl. Clothes chosen for their hard-wearing qualities rather than style, her hair cut short to save bother, swotting for her exams while others danced the night away and fell in love.\n\nShe came to this house as a lodger already set into spinsterhood at twenty-seven.\n\nMartha Anderson and her bachelor son Brian were wrapped up in each other and for over a year the only contact she had with either of them was when they passed on the stairs.\n\nIt was only when old Mrs Anderson became ill that Celia got involved. Getting shopping for them, helping Brian in the garden, occasionally giving the old lady her medicine and helping her out to the bathroom when Brian was away on business. Martha could be a tyrant, she had kept her son on a tight rein all his life, but Celia was touched by his devotion.\n\nMartha died suddenly one evening. One minute Brian was reading her the paper, the next she was dead, lying back on her lace-trimmed pillows, her wrinkled face suddenly younger.\n\nIt was fortunate Celia was off duty. She heard Brian cry out from across the landing and by the time she reached Martha's bedroom she found him sobbing, his head on his mother's breast.\n\nShe told herself she would stay only until he had got over his grief, then find another home. But without old Martha Anderson bullying him, Celia began to see another side of the lonely bachelor. He was capable yet sensitive, his gentleness was like a soothing balm after a day on the busy ward. She found herself looking forward to her weekends off, accepting his offers to share a meal, to go to the cinema, or even just listening to music together. When he asked her to marry him it seemed a perfect match. They both had their careers, and she could stay on in the house she'd come to love.\n\nIn her na\u00efvety Celia hadn't fully considered what marriage meant. It came as a shock to discover that the sensitive gentleman was also sensuous and demanding.\n\nA glimpse of stocking tops. A hint of nudity. A picture of something titillating in the paper, coupled with a drink or two would arouse him. Before she knew what was happening he was grappling with her, his mouth slobbering over her and suggesting things that made her flesh crawl.\n\nIn the new year of 1946 things came to a head. He was angry at being passed over for promotion, perhaps ashamed he'd spent the war behind a desk. But when he began to taunt her with her frigidity, blamed her for not producing a child, she felt leaving him was the answer.\n\nWhile Brian was away on a course in Brighton, Celia saw it as the perfect opportunity to make the break.\n\n'I can't go on the way things are,' she wrote. 'I blame myself because I can't respond to you the way you'd like. Perhaps I was never cut out for marriage. I care for you deeply, but I know that isn't enough. If I leave you now, maybe you will find happiness with someone else.'\n\nBut for once Brian surprised her by being unpredictable. He came home the moment he got the letter, catching her packing.\n\nTo this day she could see his face. Weak mouth quivering, eyes full of unshed tears. For once his appearance less than impeccable. He begged her to stay, insisting he wanted her on any terms.\n\nLater that year, Brian was finally promoted to manager of the bank in Lewisham High Street and Celia gave up nursing and became a children's officer in South London. They learned to compromise. She tried harder to please Brian, he didn't press her so often. When Georgia arrived, new happiness and purpose made her more loving, at times their lovemaking was tender, if not passionate. But Brian didn't seem to understand that she found it impossible now Georgia was older. Suppose she heard them? Somehow it seemed indecent at their age!\n\n'I want Georgia to marry for love,' Celia said to herself in the darkness. 'Just liking someone and sharing a home isn't enough for anyone.'\n\n##### *\n\nStrains of the Everly Brothers wafted down the stairs.\n\nThe door bell had been ringing constantly since eight that evening. Trudging feet, peals of laughter, shouts and giggles made them feel the playroom must now be packed to capacity.\n\n'Do you think I ought to go up there?' Brian looked up from his book. His round, plump face seemed more irritated than anxious, but his eyes held suspicion.\n\n'No,' Celia frowned. She had put on a new turquoise wool dress, her hair had been set that afternoon, just in case Georgia asked them to come up later. 'She won't get up to anything bad, and she knows where we are if anyone else does. This is her first grown-up party, don't spoil it for her.'\n\n'Who said anything about spoiling it?' His look was surly. He too had put on a clean shirt and his best suit and it felt rather silly being dressed up with nowhere to go. 'But they could be necking up there. We hardly know any of them! As for that dress!'\n\n'There's nothing much wrong with a bit of kissing,' Celia snapped. 'And she looks lovely in the dress.'\n\n'It's too adult,' he snapped at her. 'What are you trying to turn her into?'\n\nGeorgia had come into the sitting room to show it off, her hair put up in an elaborate French plait, tiny kiss-curls on her forehead. Toffee-coloured shoulders, her waist no bigger than a handspan and small breasts peeping out of the tight bodice.\n\n'She looks beautiful,' Celia retorted. 'I know it's sad to see her leave behind little white socks and pigtails. But she's a young woman now. We can't hold her back.'\n\n'I don't like her seeing so much of Peter either,' Brian snapped. 'After tonight I'm clamping down. He's been here almost every day since that time he took her to the pictures.'\n\n'Term starts again on Monday,' Celia said gently. 'He'll have homework and exams to think about. Georgia will be back to her dancing and singing lessons. What is it Brian,' she got up and went over to his chair, perching on the arm. 'You've been grumpy for days. Is it just the party? Or is there something else?'\n\n'Nothing you'd understand.'\n\n'Let's have a drink?' Celia ignored his cryptic reply. She got up and went over to the drinks cabinet.\n\n'Is that a good idea?' Brian raised one eyebrow.\n\n'Of course we can!' Celia looked over her shoulder, amused by his worried expression. 'It's our home, our daughter's birthday. I wasn't suggesting we got plastered.'\n\nShe poured herself a small gin and tonic, but gave Brian a larger one, hoping it would make him relax.\n\n'I don't like Georgia wearing so much eye makeup,' he snapped. 'It makes her look cheap.'\n\n'Don't be such a wet blanket,' Celia returned to her seat by the fire. Any other time she would have found his attitude rather touching, a father afraid that his little girl was turning into a woman. But now it merely irritated her.\n\n'Put a record on,' Celia said. The overhead light was swinging with the dancing going on overhead. They couldn't actually hear the music, just the thumping vibration of the bass notes.\n\nBrian got up slowly. He had put on some weight recently, although his good dark suit covered it well. As he bent down by the radiogram she could see he was getting a paunch which hung over his trousers. Yet even the extra pounds added something. He was actually improving with age. A few lines gave his youthful round face more character. Even the streaks of grey in his sandy hair gave him a note of distinction. Shame he had no remarkable features, his faded blue eyes were small, his nose just a fraction too wide, even his chin and mouth were weak. But he had good skin and neat straight teeth. A perfect face for a bank manager, not handsome enough for anyone to consider he might be indiscreet. Reassuring, neatly average.\n\n'I wonder if any of the boys can \"jive\" as well as Georgia and Christine?' Celia wanted to lighten the mood but she was running out of ideas.\n\nHe didn't comment, just took a record out of its sleeve and dusted it carefully.\n\nCelia was just gritting her teeth at his finicky manner when the phone rang out in the hall.\n\n'I'll get it.' She got up, moving to the door. 'I expect it's someone's mother checking what time the party ends.'\n\nBrian was back in his chair, drink in hand and the opening bars of 'Swan Lake' filled the room as Celia came in.\n\n'That was the police.' The relaxed wife and mother was replaced by a stern, committed social worker. Even her voice was crisper. 'I'll have to go. A child in Stepney has been hurt by his father. The rest of the family are at risk.' She reached behind an armchair for her briefcase and looked down at her clothes as if wondering if she was suitably dressed.\n\n'Isn't there anyone else in the world but you?'\n\n'Not tonight it seems,' she didn't notice his sarcasm, more concerned with a five-year-old with a fractured skull. 'I don't know how long this will take. I might even have to bring the kids back here till tomorrow. I hope Georgia won't mind.'\n\n'What about me?' Brian asked. 'Why don't you ask if I mind?'\n\nThis was the last straw. Everything revolved around Georgia, what she wanted to eat, where she wanted to go. Not once had Celia thought to consult him on anything. Now she was walking out with a hundred feet stamping on the floor above him, more concerned with some damn slum kid than her husband left on his own.\n\n'Don't be silly,' she bent to kiss him lightly on the cheek. 'You know perfectly well I'd rather be here with you. But it's my job, just like you'd have to go out if they robbed the bank tonight.'\n\nShe was gone before he could even think of a reply.\n\nTwo boys lounged on the stairs, below them sat a couple of girls talking with their heads close together. Celia hadn't met any of them before.\n\n'Everything all right?' she asked as they moved to let her past. 'Don't drop that on the carpet,' she looked disapprovingly at one of the boys' cigarettes dangling from his fingers.\n\nGeorgia was jiving with Christine, the red dress flaring out showing the layers of net and slim, shapely thighs. Her golden brown face, neck and shoulders glistened with perspiration, her dark eyes full of excitement. The French plait, which she'd spent hours arranging was already the worse for wear. Stray wispy curls were coming loose giving her a tempestuous look, like a gypsy dancer.\n\nChristine had changed since the early days at Kidbrooke. Still shorter than Georgia and a little plumper, but the baby face had gone. Her blonde 'beehive' quivered as she danced. She had tossed off her high heels and her shoulders were parting company with her low-necked turquoise dress, even the elaborate Eygptian make-up was smeared.\n\nGeorgia grinned as she saw Celia peering in the door, she beckoned for her to come in.\n\n'I can't stop,' Celia was shocked to see the room full of smoke and she was sure there were more than the twenty people her daughter had invited. Gangly lads propped up the walls, more sprawled on the floor. One girl was sitting on a boy's lap, their mouths glued together. A bunch of girls were giggling around the food table and still more were dancing. 'I've got to go out on an emergency.'\n\n'Oh, Mum!' Georgia's mouth turned down at the corners. 'I hoped you were going to come up and meet all my friends.'\n\nGeorgia's plaintive voice cut through her professional concern as Brian's never could.\n\n'I'm sorry, darling,' Celia tweaked Georgia's cheek. 'You know how these things are. I wanted to join you too. But I'm sure all your friends will enjoy themselves far better without me cramping their style.' She turned and smiled at Christine who offered her a sandwich.\n\n'No thank you dear, I really must go. I may even have to bring some children with me if there's no alternative. So make sure everyone leaves at twelve and don't let them disturb the neighbours. Daddy's downstairs if you want anything.'\n\n'Hallo, Mrs Anderson,' Peter was at her elbow. He was wearing smart grey trousers and a white shirt, the first time she had seen him in anything other than jeans. He had the same flushed, happy expression as Georgia, but mingled with concern. 'Is there anything I can do?'\n\nCelia liked Peter the first moment she met him. It wasn't the handsome face, the clear eyes or even the obvious intelligence. There was a kind of openness about him she found refreshing. The odd remark about his parents suggested they were more interested in his earning ability than scholastic achievements, his appreciation of her home was a pointer to his own being far more humble. Yet he didn't ingratiate himself, retaining his own character and belief in himself, while he soaked up information, from food he wasn't accustomed to, to Celia's work in Stepney.\n\n'Help Georgia to keep things under control,' she gave him a stern look, just to remind him of his place. 'Mr Anderson's downstairs. I'll be back just as soon as possible.'\n\n'Don't worry about us,' he glanced around the room as if already checking for trouble. 'Drive carefully won't you? It's frosty out there.'\n\nBy the time Celia had collected her coat from the bedroom, Georgia was dancing with Peter. She paused on the landing for just a second. Peter was no dancer, he shuffled awkwardly, barely in time to the music, but then her daughter's eyes were on his face, not his feet and the way Peter smiled at Georgia brought a lump to Celia's throat.\n\nBrian felt restless. There was nothing he wanted to watch on television and the noise upstairs was getting to him. He opened the drinks cabinet again and poured himself another drink.\n\nHe was almost glad Celia had to go out, at least now he had something tangible to base his anger on.\n\nIt wasn't the party upstairs, nor even the fact he hadn't been consulted about anything that bugged him. Neither had his mood just come on him.\n\nHe was well past fifty, hair thinning, body fatter. His staff called him 'Old Anderson' as if he already had one foot in the grave and sometimes he felt so lonely he wanted to scream.\n\nCelia was to blame. If she could arrange parties for Georgia, why couldn't she throw one or two for them? Her life was full, she had friends at her office, her clients from all walks of life, and she had Georgia.\n\nOnce she'd invited people to dinner, bought tickets for the theatre. They got invited out, they took walks together, they shared things. But lately the phone never rang except for Georgia or Celia, muffled conversations that made him feel shut out. How long was it since Celia cooked him a special meal, asked him what he'd like to do at the weekend? She only played the piano for Georgia and she cringed away from him as if he had leprosy.\n\nWhat had he got for being easy-going? A job he'd been pushed into. His youth lost in caring for his mother, a house that cost a fortune to run. A child who was someone else's reject and a frigid, domineering wife.\n\nHe poured himself another drink, curling his fingers round the glass and wincing at the fire.\n\n'I should have sold up when Mother died,' he said aloud. 'Travelled, changed my job, had some fun.' He glanced up at his parents' wedding picture on the mantelpiece as if half expecting her to reach out and box his ears for even thinking such thoughts. She looked pretty and guileless, gazing up at her uniformed husband in a classic pose of adoration. Was it becoming a war widow and bringing up her son alone that turned her into such a tyrant? She had approved of Celia, the only woman he ever heard her praise. That alone should have warned him off!\n\nHe could remember turning at the altar rail as Celia walked up the aisle on her uncle's arm, his heart almost bursting with pride.\n\nStout-shoed, tweed-skirted Nurse Tutthill, the plain, sensible girl who'd been there for him when he needed a friend was gone. In her place was a new Celia, curvy and feminine in a dark green, peplum-waisted costume and matching veiled hat. A soft voluptuous mouth accentuated with lipstick, shapely legs in sheer nylons, high-heeled shoes and a permanent wave.\n\nIn that moment he thought he'd got everything. Her husky voice promising to 'have and to hold', a waft of jasmine scent, and that small hand quivering as he slipped on the ring.\n\nBut just hours later in the hotel in Brighton that glow of pleasure turned to shame.\n\nHe could remember every detail of that night. The pale green satin eiderdown, the bedside lamps with silky tassels on the shades. The shiny walnut headboard, even the smell of the starched sheets.\n\nMaybe he was guilty of rushing things, but what man wouldn't when his fingers touched big firm breasts under silk?\n\n'Let me put my nightie on?' she whimpered.\n\n'You don't need clothes,' he said burying his face in her neck as his fingers fumbled to unwrap her.\n\nOn the train going to Brighton he had imagined taking her clothes off piece by piece, kissing every inch of soft flesh. Maybe he had only paid for sex before, but he thought he knew how to please women.\n\nHe turned out the light because she was embarrassed, sure that in darkness she would respond as passionately as him. But as his chest covered her naked breasts he couldn't hold back. Her skin was so silky he forgot caution, within moments he was pushing into her, squeezing her plump buttocks, whispering things he said to prostitutes.\n\nIt was only after that he realized she was icy, her face turned from him, every muscle and nerve-ending rigid with disgust. He touched her cheeks and found tears and in that moment he felt a complete failure.\n\n'I tried to please her,' he said aloud as he reached out for the bottle of gin.\n\nIt very nearly ended after the war. No more opportunities to get away and find a more amenable partner for the night. So much pent up excitement in the air as the troops came home, rebuilding all around them, yet for Brian everything stayed the same. Celia wanted a baby, he wanted promotion. A world war was fought and won against all odds, yet still he had a wife who stared blankly at the ceiling while he made love to her. Never actually refusing, but somehow that dutiful subservience made him feel dirty.\n\nPerhaps he should have let her leave back then, divorce wasn't such a big deal anymore.\n\nHe felt that uncomfortable feeling of frustration now. Yesterday at the bank it had been so strong he almost went up to the West End after work. Eight hours of working alongside ten women, watching breasts jiggle as they typed. Miss Baldwin the new clerk with her tight skirts and long slender legs curling round her stool as she served customers. At the Christmas party she'd wanted to kiss him, but always he had to be aware of his position. Clerks, assistant managers, they could have affairs, but not the manager, especially one with a social worker for a wife.\n\n'It isn't fair!' he looked up at the ceiling. The light was still quivering, but the music was softer now. All those kids up there, kissing, cuddling, their whole lives ahead of them. Was it wrong for a man of fifty to want a woman who liked lovemaking? Celia understood every wife-beater, every petty criminal, cared for the sick, the lame and the mentally unstable, why then couldn't she see what she was doing to her own husband?\n\nLaughter on the stairs made him sit up sharply. The record had long since finished, yet he hadn't noticed. He peered at his watch. It was twenty to twelve and he'd drunk half the bottle of gin.\n\n'She won't be back for hours,' he sighed, getting up unsteadily. 'I'd better go and see what they're doing upstairs.'\n\nThe furniture seemed to be in the wrong places. He banged against the settee, almost falling and he had trouble opening the door. It was cooler in the hall and only then did he notice he was still carrying the gin.\n\nChristine was smooching with John on the stairs. One rounded shoulder was free of her dress, an inch of white dimpled flesh above her stocking tops showing as Brian reached the first step.\n\n''Allo, 'allo,' he grinned. 'What 'ave we got 'ere?'\n\nChristine jumped a few inches away from the boy, pulled down her skirt and blushed charmingly. The earlier artful hairstyle was more like a tousled bird's nest now. Blonde tendrils surrounding her mascara-smeared face. She looked like a fallen angel, her blue eyes wide with surprise.\n\n'Hallo, Mr Anderson,' she said. 'Come to join the party?'\n\nThe boy stood up and Brian saw he had an erection.\n\n'I thought I might liven things up,' Brian smirked at the pimply-faced boy. 'But don't let me interrupt you!'\n\n'Can I have some of that?' Christine giggled, fluttering her eyelashes and pointing to the bottle.\n\n'I'll give you a drop in return for a kiss!'\n\nChristine picked up a glass just behind her and held it out to him.\n\nBrian lunged forward at her, almost tripping. The boy caught his arm.\n\n'Steady on!'\n\n'I'm just a little squiffy,' Brian said, plonking a wet kiss on Christine's cheek. 'But it's my daughter's birthday so why shouldn't I be?'\n\nHe glugged some of the gin in Christine's glass, then moved on past her, leaving the pair of them whispering behind him.\n\nThey were playing that record again, the same one Georgia had played almost non-stop since Christmas Day.\n\n'Till I kissed ya'. He'd found himself humming it in the car, singing it in the bath, but it had never sounded so good before.\n\nHe paused on the landing by the open playroom door. A small table lamp over in one corner was the only light. Four couples were shuffling round the floor, girls' heads buried in their partners' shoulders. The decorations were drooping down low over their heads, cigarette smoke swirled lazily up to the ceiling and the other twenty or so kids sat around the edges of the room locked in one another's arms.\n\nBut Brian barely noticed anyone. All he could see was Georgia in the middle of the room, Peter's mouth coming down to hers.\n\nHer upturned caramel face glowing in the soft light, full red lips open slightly, her breasts straining against the tight red bodice.\n\nNo woman had ever looked like that for him. He felt a quiver run down his spine, a stirring inside him.\n\n'Come on in then!' Christine was at his elbow, drawing him into the room.\n\nGeorgia barely moved. She turned, smiled at him, then looked back at Peter.\n\nBrian felt a rush of jealousy. Next to Peter he felt dwarfed, fat and old. The golden hair, the firm resolute chin, those bright blue candid eyes all irritated him.\n\nThis boy had it all, looks, brains and now Georgia. He would never get to fifty and wonder what had happened to his life.\n\n'Hallo Daddy,' she took Peter's hand and walked towards Brian. 'It's not twelve yet is it?' She kissed him just as she always did, one small hand touching his cheek lightly.\n\n'Thought I'd see what you are up to,' he lurched to one side, holding the wall for support. 'Are there any spare girls for me?'\n\n'Daddy!' Georgia frowned reprovingly. 'You've been drinking!'\n\n'Only one or two,' he said. 'I brought some up for you too.'\n\nShe half smiled, but Peter frowned.\n\n'Gin, Mr Anderson! Are you sure?'\n\nPeter's sanctimonious expression irritated Brian still further.\n\n'A man can drink in his own house,' he said sharply.\n\n'I'd like some,' Christine was already holding her now empty glass out to him, batting her eyelashes flirtatiously. Brian poured her a little, then himself one, and went round putting a splash in anyone's glass that was held out.\n\n'Let's have a dance Dad,' Georgia was worried now, he had been odd and moody all over Christmas and if her mother came home and found him like this, it might turn into a row.\n\n'That's nice, a dance with Daddy,' Brian held out his arms.\n\nGeorgia glanced around the room. She could sense everyone thought it was funny to see her straitlaced father drunk, but she was embarrassed.\n\nHe was a good dancer normally, with a fine sense of rhythm. Another time she would have been glad he wanted to join in, but she didn't like the way he clutched her to him, the fumes of alcohol on his breath, or being prevented from dancing with Peter.\n\n'Why don't you go back downstairs,' she wheedled with him. 'The party's nearly over now and I want to be with my friends for a little longer.'\n\n'Don't be like that,' he pouted, holding her still tighter. 'I don't get any fun.'\n\nChristine came up beside them.\n\n'Can I have some more gin please?' she asked. Her dress had split on her hip and creased across the stomach. She looked like a girl he picked up once in Church Street, Kensington.\n\n'Certainly,' Brian spun round, releasing Georgia, picking up his bottle and pouring a big measure into Christine's glass. 'You dance with me Chris? Georgia doesn't like her Daddy up here.'\n\nGeorgia took the opportunity to slip away, leading Peter out to the landing.\n\n'I'm sorry,' she said hanging her head. 'He isn't usually like this. I don't know what's got into him.'\n\n'Just booze,' Peter smiled and took her in his arms. 'My dad's like that half the time, you don't have to apologize.'\n\n'But he's spoilt the party,' Georgia sighed.\n\n'Not for me he hasn't,' Peter bent his head a little and rubbed her nose with his.\n\nGeorgia lifted her lips to his and wound her arms round his neck.\n\nShe longed to be entirely alone with him, somewhere warm and comfortable where they could relax knowing no one would come in.\n\nHis kisses drove her wild. She wanted more, each touch of his hand made her tremble.\n\nAt night she lay thinking about him, imagining his hands creeping under her clothes. She would wake suddenly, hot and sticky from dreaming he was in bed with her, his naked body pressed into hers.\n\nAgain and again they kissed, each kiss more passionate than the one before. Peter leant against the wall on the landing and she pressed herself into him, savouring the male hardness taunting her through her party dress.\n\nIt was Peter who finally broke away.\n\n'It's after twelve,' he said breathlessly. 'I don't want to go but I promised your mother. I'll have to keep in her good books if I'm ever to be allowed to be alone with you.'\n\n'Is that what you want then?' she smiled shyly.\n\nHis face was flushed, hair falling into half-closed eyes, even his lips were swollen with kissing.\n\n'You know I do,' he whispered, lifting her hand to his lips and nibbling at the tips of her fingers. 'I've dreamed of nothing else since that night on the heath.'\n\n'What do you imagine?' She covered his face with tiny kisses.\n\n'Making love to you,' he said dreamily. 'Peeling your clothes off. Exploring you.'\n\n'We can't do that,' she looked into his deep blue eyes, tracing one finger round his lips. 'I might have a baby!'\n\n'I'd marry you,' he said softly, burying his lips in her neck and stroking her breasts.\n\nShe loved it when he did that, she could feel her nipples growing hard and a delicious dizzy feeling creeping all over her.\n\n'Just because I was pregnant?' she was fishing for more.\n\n'No, because I love you,' he put one finger under her chin and lifted her face up to his. 'And so I could sleep with you and hold you for always.'\n\n'I love you too,' she whispered, burying her face in his neck.\n\nAs they rejoined the party, her father was trying to jive with Christine.\n\nGeorgia laughed. It wasn't often she saw her father like this. A lock of hair had fallen over his face, he was biting his lips trying to concentrate and each time Christine tried to twirl round, Brian moved the wrong way. His legs were rubbery, his arms were flaying about, his jacket hanging off one shoulder.\n\nThere was a good atmosphere in the room, laughter, chatter, relaxed, almost loving, it seemed a shame they had to break it up.\n\n'Time to go,' Peter moved first to the boys from his school.\n\n'Not yet,' Brian said, face flushed more with drink than the dance. 'It's only just warming up.'\n\nPeter smiled politely, but still went round getting everyone to leave. Georgia started to stack glasses on a tray.\n\nJohn, Christine's boyfriend was looking anxiously at his watch, then back to Christine as she twirled round with Brian.\n\n'I'm supposed to get her home by half twelve,' he shrugged his shoulders at Georgia. 'Her dad will blame me for getting her like that.'\n\n'Leave her to me,' Georgia said.\n\nCrossing the room she caught hold of Christine's arm, her father danced on alone, oblivious.\n\n'Please go now,' she said. 'Dad's being very silly and Mum will be furious if she comes in and finds him like that. Don't encourage him any more. John's waiting for you.'\n\n'Okay,' Christine smiled stupidly. Her eyes were like slits now, her mouth drooping and trails of mascara running down her cheeks. The split in her dress was bigger now, a bubble of white flesh peeping out and her stockings were laddered. 'Do I look drunk?'\n\n'The walk home will sober you up,' Georgia said, wiping away the mascara with a serviette. 'I'll phone you tomorrow.'\n\n'Lovely party,' someone shouted from the landing as Georgia bundled Christine into her coat. 'See you back at school!'\n\nCouple after couple left till finally there was only Peter, standing just a few inches from her in the hall, his navy blue duffel coat in his hand.\n\n'Happy birthday,' he said. His eyes were heavy with longing. His arms reached out for her, crushing her into his arms, lips hot with desire.\n\nFrom upstairs music suddenly blared out, breaking the moment.\n\nThey both started, looking up at the stairs.\n\n'I'd better stay with you,' Peter took a step towards the stairs.\n\n'I'll be all right,' she replied, tugging on his arm. 'Go on home. Mum will be back soon. She might think we're taking advantage.'\n\n'But what if he turns nasty?' Peter argued. 'My dad does sometimes.'\n\nHis concerned expression made her feel special. The hall light shining down on his blond hair turned him into a Greek god and in that second love overwhelmed her.\n\n'My Dad, the boring old bank manager!' she giggled. 'Don't be daft. He'll be like a little lamb.'\n\n'Well pack him off to bed before your mum sees him.'\n\n'I love you,' she said softly, reaching out for him one last time.\n\nHe pulled her to him fiercely. 'How can I go away to University now?' he said softly, burying his head in her neck, nibbling and kissing. 'I want to get a job and stay here with you.'\n\n'You may be fed up with me by then,' she said, holding his face between her two hands.\n\n'I'll never get fed up with you,' he said.\n\n'We'll see,' she sighed. 'Maybe a year from now you'll have forgotten my name.'\n\n'Not in twenty years,' he shook his head, kissing the tip of her nose, his fingers in her hair. 'I love you Georgia Anderson. For ever.'\n\nShe watched as he walked across the heath. Hands in pockets, shoulders hunched in the frosty darkness. Every now and then he turned and waved again, blowing one last kiss. As he blended into the darkness Georgia closed the door.\n\nThe taste of his lips still lingered, she could smell that soapy smell, hear him saying he'd love her for ever.\n\nGeorgia went up the stairs singing.\n\n'Never knew what I missed, until I kissed you. How did I exist until I kissed you. Oh you've got a way about you, now I can't live without you.'\n\nHer father was still dancing on his own in the playroom. He looked ridiculous, several buttons undone on his shirt, his tie hanging off and his trousers needed hitching up.\n\nThe playroom was a mess. Many of the Christmas garlands were hanging down. Full ashtrays lay everywhere, records and sleeves strewn across the floor, along with balloons and dirty plates.\n\nMost of the food was gone, a few sandwiches remained, covered with cigarette ash, one speared with cocktail sticks.\n\n'That's right, sing to me,' he said, staggering towards her, arms outstretched.\n\n'Go to bed, Daddy,' she laughed, too happy to be really cross. 'Mum will go ape when she sees you, especially if she brings kids home with her.'\n\n'I don't give a damn about your mother,' he said, his mouth hanging open wetly.\n\n'You don't mean that, and anyway I'm tired.' She picked up the gin bottle and held it to the light. 'Daddy! This is nearly empty!'\n\n'Christine had quite a lot,' he said. 'She's good fun. You're getting like your mother.'\n\nGeorgia looked back at him over her shoulder. He had a peeved, sour expression on his face, like a spoilt child.\n\n'Oh, Dad,' Georgia sighed, 'Go to bed, you're pathetic when you're drunk.'\n\n'Pathetic am I?' Suddenly his face turned from benign and very drunk, to angry and dangerous. 'You, of course, are perfect? I saw you necking with that Peter. How far did you go when you went out of the room?'\n\n'Don't be disgusting,' she said quietly, bending over to pick up the plates from the floor. It was tempting to go to bed and leave everything, including her father, but if her mother did bring children home they just might have to sleep in the room.\n\n'Did he put his hand up your frock?' he lunged towards her unexpectedly and his hand went under her skirt and clamped on to her bottom.\n\n'Stop it!' she shrieked, wheeling round and slapping his hand away. He had never said such things before and suddenly she was frightened of him.\n\n'Kiss me like you kissed him,' he said, putting both hands on her shoulders.\n\nAlarm bells were ringing in her head. Fathers didn't say or do such things. She must get away, lock herself in her bedroom, wait for her mother to come home.\n\n'Don't be stupid,' she tried to get his arms off, but he pushed her up against the wall.\n\n'The last thing I am is stupid.'\n\nThis wasn't her father but a stranger. His face was lungeing at her, bloated and flushed. His lips wet and sloppy, pinning her against the wall with all his fourteen stone. His mouth came down on hers and he pushed his tongue into her mouth.\n\nIt felt like a huge serpent, she gagged and pulled herself back from him, moving her head to one side.\n\n'Daddy no!' she shouted as she struggled to get away, but he was too strong, his arms went round her, pinning hers to her side. She tried to bite his cheek but one hand came up and slapped her full across the face.\n\nHis breath came in rasps, stinking of drink as he slobbered at her neck.\n\n'I'm going to have you,' he said thrusting his hand up under her skirt, pulling at her panties. 'You little black bitch.'\n\n'NO, Daddy. NO!' she fought with him, nails clawing his face, legs kicking out, pummelling at him with her fists. But the more she struggled the stronger he became.\n\n'Daddy it's me. Your daughter!' she shouted, willing her mother to walk in the door.\n\n'You're not my daughter,' he replied huskily, his eyes gleaming with lust.\n\nFor a second he loosened his hold, fumbling at his trousers. Like a shot Georgia was off running towards the door.\n\nHe caught her in a flying tackle, knocking her down in the open doorway, flat on her face, then leapt on top of her.\n\n'Don't, Daddy,' she screamed, still in her heart thinking he was playing some sick, drunken joke which had got out of hand. 'Let me go!'\n\nBut she was trapped now. She couldn't reach him with her nails or fists, and she could feel his erect penis against her leg, his fingers tearing at her panties.\n\nShe was trapped, so terrified she felt paralysed, yet she waited a second, assuming he must turn her on to her back, ready to lash out at him the moment he did.\n\nInstead he yanked her hips up towards him and thrust himself into her like a dog.\n\nThe pain was so bad her scream turned from one of terror to anguish. He caught hold of her arms by the elbow, digging his fingers into the soft flesh. Her forehead hit the floor and the force of his thrusting movements grated it on the cord carpet.\n\nAgain and again she tried to get away, but each time he got a firmer grip, first her arms, then holding her pubic hair with one hand, the other holding her shoulder. His breath burning into her back.\n\n'Daddy, no. _Pleease_ don't.' She couldn't even scream any longer. Just a pleading, tormented cry and all the while she could hear him grunting out dirty filthy things that hurt her even more than the pain of being torn in two.\n\nHe went slack suddenly.\n\nOne moment the hideous grunting noise filled her ears, the next all she could hear was her own sobbing. A draft of cold air on her legs and buttocks, alerted her that he had rolled off.\n\nFor a second she just lay there, face embedded in the carpet, too stunned to move. A groan made her lift her head.\n\nHe was lying next to her on his back, eyes closed, his mouth gaping, a trickle of saliva running down his chin.\n\nGeorgia moved then, recoiling in horror as if waking to find a snake beside her.\n\nFirst crawling on her knees, then as her hand came in contact with the wall, she pulled herself up, backing away, clapping her hand over her mouth as the full enormity of what had happened hit her.\n\nHe was just lying there. A crumpled, blank face the colour of raw meat. Shirt open to the waist, white flaccid chest with a sprinkling of gingery hairs. Trousers unzipped, flabby stomach oozing out, his penis like some spent reptile, brown and limp, nestling amongst the wiry foliage.\n\nThe house was silent, just the ticking of the grandfather clock in the hall below and the flapping of the 'Happy Birthday' banner Peter had hung across the chimney-breast.\n\nA faint smell made her gag. A hot, fishy smell which seemed to come from her. As she looked down she saw a trickle of white fluid, tinged with her own blood roll down the inside of her leg and splash silently to her ankle.\n\nSix years of happiness in this house, wiped out.\n\nHis legs were inside the darker playroom, the rest of him on the landing, bathed in bright clear light. The crisp white-painted doors, the thick carpet, all so familiar and comfortable. But nothing would ever be the same again.\n\nHate welled up in her like vomit.\n\nOne moment she was staring at him, the next she found herself in the kitchen, her hand reaching out for a knife.\n\nEight different kitchen knives. Without hesitating she took the biggest triangular one for chopping meat and holding it to her breast went back up the stairs.\n\nNo more tears now, just dry-eyed desolation. He groaned as she stood by his side looking down at him. His eyes were still closed, one hand resting on his chest, her own black hairs stuck to it.\n\nHolding the knife tightly with both hands she drew it up first to chest height, then closing her eyes, plunged it, right down to the part of him she hated the most.\n\nShe saw blood spurt up, heard him cry out as she withdrew the knife, ready to repeat it, but nausea washed over her and instead she turned, running back down the stairs.\n\nCelia parked her car and looked up at the house. She was exhausted, mentally and physically. The porch light was still on, as was the hall and staircase light, but she was relieved to hear the party was over.\n\nIt had been a harrowing evening. At times she wished she'd stayed with nursing, at least there she had the satisfaction of knowing her patients would often recover.\n\nThis family were born victims. A drunken father, a half-witted mother. Five dirty, neglected children living in unspeakable filth. How many years of child guidance would they need to wipe out the horrors they'd seen? There would be no happy endings for them. The father might get a prison sentence, the children a peaceful break in a children's home for a few weeks. But before long they would be back together again. The boys turning into clones of their father, the girls merely training to become the next generation of inadequate mothers.\n\nCelia sensed something was wrong the moment she opened the door.\n\nOutwardly everything looked normal, but there was an atmosphere of tension, which made the hairs on her neck stand on end.\n\n'Brian,' she called tentatively.\n\nThe door to the sitting room was open. She walked towards it, dropping her briefcase in the hall.\n\nIt was too silent. If they'd gone to bed the lights would be turned off.\n\nHer foot touched something hard. Looking down she saw it was her kitchen knife, its grey, steel blade almost concealed in the patterned carpet.\n\nAs she bent to pick it up she saw blood-stains.\n\n'Georgia,' she shouted, pushing the door back, almost afraid to look in.\n\nGeorgia was lying crumpled up on the settee, the fire nearly out in front of her, the Christmas tree lights highlighting the red party dress. The net of the skirt billowed round her, for one brief second she looked like a dying swan in a ballet.\n\nCelia sped the last few feet to her child, dropping to her knees in front of her, her hands automatically feeling for a pulse, eyes scanning for injury.\n\nHer pulse was slow, but not dangerously so. A rough, red patch on her forehead and a swelling across her cheek like a slap mark. But there was no obvious injury.\n\n'Darling, it's Mummy.' Celia caught Georgia up in her arms. 'Tell me what's happened?'\n\nNo reply. Not a flicker of anything in those coal black eyes. No emotion, no tears, not even a trace of recognition in the blank, vacant face.\n\nThe calm nurse vanished.\n\n'Answer me? Who did this? Where's Daddy?' She shook Georgia sharply.\n\nThere was no reply, but she sensed the child's eyes move towards the door fearfully and in the same instant saw dried blood on her hands and a splatter on her dress.\n\nSwiftly taking off her own coat she tucked it round Georgia.\n\n'I'll be back in two seconds,' she said breathlessly.\n\nShe saw Brian's head through the bannisters, well before she reached the top of the stairs.\n\n'Oh my God,' she gasped, racing the last few feet to his side.\n\nBrian was lying in a pool of blood, coming from his stomach, his hands were over it, blood trickling through his fingers.\n\nFor just one second she thought he was dead, but a faint pulse told her otherwise.\n\n'Hold on,' she said jumping up and running to the bathroom to fetch a towel to staunch the blood.\n\n'Which service do you require?' a disembodied voice replied to her emergency call.\n\n'Ambulance,' she shouted. 'Quickly!'\n\n'Someone's stabbed my husband,' she said hurriedly as she was connected, barking out the address. 'Hurry please, it's serious.'\n\nBack again at Brian's side, she held the towel tightly against his wound. He was unconscious still, but now that help was on its way she was able to think rather than act automatically.\n\nHer first reaction had been that someone had come into the party uninvited and the stabbing was a result of Brian asking them to leave.\n\nBut that didn't make sense! The other kids would have called for help. And why was the knife downstairs by the sitting room?\n\nThere was something very familiar about the situation. A child in shock refusing to speak. If her father had been hurt defending her she would have run for help.\n\nCelia moved the towel away from the wound and looked closely.\n\nHis trousers were unzipped. No sign of stab marks in the material and his penis was uncovered!\n\nShe heard herself cry out. Even through the smell of blood there were others. Body aromas, mingling with a stronger one of alcohol.\n\nLike a shot of insulin to a diabetic, the truth came to her.\n\n'You bastard!' she exclaimed, pushing the towel down hard again to cover him.\n\nShe got up, moving back from him in horror and disgust, an overwhelming nausea washed over her, and she clamped both hands over her mouth.\n\nFor the last ten years she had worked with the aftermath of rape and incest. She had learned to control her rage and disgust. But this wasn't a stranger, this was her husband, the man she had promised to love and cherish.\n\n'No,' she shouted. 'You couldn't do that!'\n\nBut he had, she knew it as certainly as if she'd seen the act take place. And now she wanted to finish what Georgia had started. Her hands moved towards his throat, her thumbs were on his windpipe, fingers digging into his neck.\n\nHis eyes flickered momentarily, his lips moved as if to speak.\n\n'No,' she stopped herself. 'It's too good for you. You'll pay for this you maggot. You'll pay!'\n\nShe forced herself to attend to him, just a nurse, going through the motions of emergency first aid. Not out of sympathy, love or any other finer motive. Just keeping him alive so he could pay the price for ruining her child's life.\n\nShe could hear the sirens coming closer. Her heart thumped painfully, her head reeling as she thought of the implications.\n\nGeorgia downstairs, still in her party dress, shocked and witless. Six years of building up her trust, over, through one man's lust.\n\nAnd it was all her fault. While she was out sorting out other families' problems, one had been festering here. She was the expert, the one who should have read the signs. Celia Anderson, the woman who knew all the answers had failed the child she loved.\n\n## Chapter 4\n\n'Georgia! Speak to me. You can't just shut me out.'\n\nCelia sat on the edge of the bed, leaning over to cup Georgia's small face in her hands.\n\n'You don't fool me!' her voice rose in exasperation. 'Dr Towle might think you have some kind of hysterical amnesia, but I know you better.'\n\nThe pretty pink and white bedroom with its rose sprigged curtains and bedspread, the books, games, teddy bears, even the posters of Elvis Presley and the Everly Brothers all seemed so very safe and cosy. Yet Brian had made a mockery of this childhood sanctuary.\n\nGeorgia had said nothing even when the doctor examined her. No tears, no screaming, not even angry accusation. Just a cold, emotionless silence that terrified Celia. Experience told her that rape cases often reacted like this. But this wasn't a case, this was personal.\n\nDr Towle confirmed that Georgia had been subjected to violent sexual intercourse. Brian's injuries and the entire scene Celia had walked in on just a few days earlier was surely proof enough of who was responsible, yet still the police were prevaricating.\n\nThere had been precious little sympathy for Georgia from the police when they arrived a few moments after the ambulance.\n\nInspector Forbes was a bigot. A big bully of a man, red-faced with hair to match. A lifetime immersed in the underworld of South London made him incapable of seeing beyond Georgia's colour. A man who'd peered down so many sewers, he'd begun to believe the whole world was one.\n\n'But everything you say is supposition,' he retorted almost angrily when Celia had once again told him the details of what she had discovered on her return to the house. 'Why should a man in his position, knowing full well you could come home at any time, force himself onto his daughter?'\n\n'Lust brought on by drink,' Celia burned with anger at his arrogance. She had come up against this man before and knew he loathed professional women almost as much as the blacks in his territory. She turned to the young policewoman with him, sure another woman would be sensitive enough to see the truth. 'You saw him lying there. You saw the way Georgia looked, don't tell me you agree with the inspector?'\n\n'Why wouldn't she tell me then?' the policewoman looked nervously at her superior officer, a sure sign she didn't dare oppose him. 'I think it's more likely someone else was involved, these teenage parties can get out of hand.'\n\nCelia heard the soft Sussex accent, noted the farmgirl complexion and knew immediately this girl had no personal experience to fall back on and even less intuition.\n\n'You don't believe my daughter was raped by her father?' Celia wanted to slap both of them to make them see sense.\n\n'But he isn't her father is he?' Inspector Forbes had a look of cunning in his bloodshot eyes. 'Mixed-race girls are volatile. She'd been drinking.'\n\n'He'd been drinking,' Celia corrected the man. 'Not Georgia.'\n\n'Then why won't she tell us?'\n\n'She's in shock.' Celia's eyes rolled with impatience. 'Do you really expect her to sit here and tell you the whole traumatic story?'\n\n'But the knife?' the inspector said, looking down at the weapon in his hand, dried blood sticking to its covering plastic bag. 'She could have killed him. I can't see a girl capable of wielding this, being incapable of defending herself against sex.'\n\n'He weighs fourteen stone,' Celia said through clenched teeth. 'Georgia about eight. If she'd had the knife handy before he attacked her she might have had a chance.'\n\n'Perhaps we'd better try again in the morning,' Forbes sighed. 'This isn't getting us anywhere. I don't see a man like Anderson being a rapist. Let's wait till I've interviewed the boyfriend. To be honest Mrs Anderson, I'm surprised at you not taking your husband's part.'\n\n'I've never heard of anyone attempting to cut off a man's penis unless that same organ was used against them,' Celia lost control entirely, almost screaming at him.\n\n'I do believe you are getting hysterical,' he said disdainfully. 'He has stomach wounds and his loose clothing was consistent with someone who tried to examine himself before losing consciousness.'\n\nIt was after four in the morning when they finally left the house. Georgia sedated by the doctor upstairs. Brian in hospital and there was no one she could turn to for help.\n\n'How can they be so stupid and blind?' she cried helplessly in the kitchen, her head on the table. 'I wish I'd let him die now.'\n\n'I know you can't bear to talk about what happened,' Celia stroked her daughter's face. 'But if you don't talk soon you'll be taken from me. You might even be charged with attempted murder. Think about it Georgia, unless Brian is charged with rape he'll walk out of that hospital a free man!'\n\nBut Georgia just lay in her bed, her eyes blank as if she were deaf and dumb.\n\n'What are we going to do?' Celia sat in the kitchen with Peter later the same morning, her face lined and drawn. She reached out to touch his hand, the social worker at odds with the distraught mother. 'She knows exactly what's going on. She's fully conscious, she goes out to use the toilet. Yet she's eaten nothing, only drinking the water I left by her bed.'\n\n'You're frightened they'll take her away from you?' Even after all the questioning Peter had been subjected to, he was still perceptive enough to understand Celia's fears.\n\nHe looked ill. His face was white, eyes ringed with dark circles. His chin had a rash of stubble, even his shoulders were stooped. Now he was risking more trouble by refusing to go back to school.\n\n'I don't know how much longer I can stall the children's department,' Celia said wearily, resting her head on her hands. She looked old. Her brown hair uncombed, wearing the same old tweed skirt and jumper she'd put on the morning after the event. 'Unless she starts talking they'll almost certainly take her. I keep trying to distance myself from it, work out what I'd do if Georgia and her foster mother were clients. And I don't like the answer I keep coming up with.'\n\n'What about him?' Peter winced as if even using Anderson's name hurt him.\n\n'He's out of danger now,' Celia snorted with anger. 'I never thought I'd admit to such a thing, but there've been times in the past few days I hoped he'd die. She only cut his abdomen, he's got a lot of stitches, but he'll survive.'\n\n'What's he been saying?' Peter asked.\n\nCelia's mouth trembled.\n\n'He claims he fell asleep in a chair, woke to see Georgia smuggling you out of her bedroom after the others had gone and that he had a row with her about it. He insists the last thing he remembers is Georgia coming at him with the knife and when he came round he was in hospital.'\n\n'But even my parents can vouch that I got home just after half past twelve.' Peter flushed an angry shade of red. 'I left only ten minutes after the others.'\n\n'A good lawyer would wipe him out,' Celia reassured him. 'But without Georgia's statement he can't even be charged.'\n\n'You mean he could come home here?' Peter's face blanched in horror.\n\n'It's his house.' Celia's greeny-grey eyes were blank with misery, her face contorted by dark thoughts.\n\nShe couldn't bring herself to tell Peter the full strength of it. Brian claimed to have caught them naked in bed together, that Peter had grabbed his clothes and made a run for it and Georgia screamed abuse at him and even threatened she would say Brian raped her if he told her mother.\n\nAt the hospital they all believed his story, but then they'd never met Georgia or Peter and Brian Anderson was charming and persuasive when he wanted to be.\n\n'Let me try speaking to her?' Peter leaned forward earnestly. 'I might be able to get through to her.'\n\n'I don't think she'll respond to you or any man,' Celia shook her head. 'But you can try. Just don't try to touch her that's all.'\n\n'Georgia!' Peter whispered in the darkened room. 'Are you awake?'\n\nThere was no reply. In the gloom all Peter could make out was a small lump in the bed, her dark hair sticking out of the covers like a chimney-sweep's brush.\n\nPeter walked across the room and drew back the curtains.\n\nIt was bitterly cold outside, a dark, grey day as if all the world was suddenly monochromatic. The heath across the road was deserted, bare branches of trees looked menacingly like skeletons.\n\n'I think it's going to snow,' he said, taking a chair just close enough to see her face.\n\nIt was crumpled, as if she'd aged ten years. Her eyes were open but they showed no signs of recognition.\n\n'You've got to talk,' he said, keeping his voice as normal as possible. 'Maybe not to me, but to your mother. She's tearing herself apart, and she's the one who is trained for things like this.'\n\nNo movement, not so much as a flicker of an eyebrow.\n\n'Would you like some music on?' he asked. 'I could get your record player and plug it in?'\n\nStill nothing.\n\nFor five days he'd waited patiently for this opportunity, convinced Georgia would open up to him. But she lay there like a doll, dark eyes staring into space and now he understood why Celia was so frightened.\n\n'School started again,' he went on. 'I haven't been though,' one hand reached out, but paused in mid air. He could feel tears pricking the back of his eyelids. 'I went to bed dreaming of you that night. I intended to come round to help you clear up in the morning. Then the police came.'\n\nHe had trusted the police until that morning. One moment he was lying in bed thinking of Georgia, the next he was bundled down the stairs into a squad car, accused of having sex with a minor.\n\nFor three hours they interrogated him. First in an almost jocular 'all-boys-together' manner suggesting he had been caught by Mr Anderson with his pants down. But later it turned vicious, with insinuations about Georgia's character that left Peter bewildered.\n\nIt was only when he discovered Mr Anderson had been stabbed that the hideous truth filtered through. He remembered the way Anderson had been as he left, Georgia's insistence she would get him to bed before her mother got home. Why had he let her persuade him to leave?\n\nMaybe it was foolhardy to take a swing at Inspector Forbes, to scream out his anger and frustration at their callous indifference to Georgia's pain, and stupidity at blaming him. But at that moment he didn't care if they locked him up forever.\n\nThere was no understanding or sympathy when he got home eight hours later. No concern that his girl had been raped, or even anger that he was being blamed. His father made lewd suggestions. His mother could see no further than Georgia's colour.\n\n'I'll never get over the shame,' she raved. 'My son mixed up with some wog. I won't have it Peter. Don't you dare go near her again.'\n\nCelia was the only one who shared his outrage. It was her arms he turned to for comfort instead of his own mother's, and now he hoped together they could bring Georgia out of her silence.\n\nPeter wriggled in the small cane chair. There was still no movement from Georgia in the bed. She didn't even look round to watch him.\n\n'I'm not going to give up,' he said petulantly. 'I shall just keep on coming until I bore you into telling me to shut my mouth. Day after day, year after year. I'll tell you what I ate for tea, what I did all day. You are my girl and I'll keep coming till you tell me to go.'\n\nHe peered at her to see if there was even a flicker of amusement.\n\n'Right, I'll try the music,' he said, getting up and making for the door.\n\nThe playroom was much as they'd left it the night of the party. The garlands hanging down, stray balloons and records still littering the floor. Only the food, glasses and plates had been removed.\n\nHe unplugged the record player and sorted through the records, selecting only one.\n\nThen carrying it back across the landing, he noticed the blood-stain.\n\nCelia had obviously tried to get it out of the carpet, but still it stayed, dark and menacing against the pale, flowery design.\n\nThat animal had taken her here, only feet away from the place where Peter had held her in his arms earlier. Rage washed over him, his hands shook and he could understand only too well why Georgia had got the knife.\n\nTaking a deep breath he pushed his way back into Georgia's room.\n\nThe record crashed down from the spigot, the arm moved across and for a second there was only a scratching noise.\n\n'How did I exist until I kissed ya. Oh, you've got a way about ya, now I can't live without ya. Never knew what I missed until I kissed ya.'\n\nIt sounded trite and silly under the circumstances. But they'd played it over and over the night of the party.\n\nHe hummed along with it, wondering what to do next.\n\nLeaning forward he saw a tear trickling down her cheek.\n\n'I didn't mean to upset you,' his hand reached out to touch her, but recoiled almost immediately as he remembered her mother's warning. 'It's just it's our song isn't it?' He was sure she was going to speak now, but still she was silent.\n\n'My feelings haven't changed,' he whispered. 'I love you.'\n\nIt was all he could do to prevent himself from sweeping her up in his arms. He wanted to hold that small crumpled body, breathe life back into that blank face, somehow he was sure the power of touch would succeed where words never could.\n\n'Now I can't live without you.' He sang the words softly, then turned away, stumbling to the door.\n\nGeorgia lay staring at the ceiling. The soreness had faded now, though when she turned over she could still feel the bruises on her buttocks. Nothing felt right anymore. Not her own body, or even her bed. She had felt like this before, in the early morning before Celia had collected her from St Joseph's. Sister Mary's kind words had softened some of the wounds Sister Agnes had inflicted on her, just as Celia's and Peter's tenderness had, but still inside was this core of terror that nothing could make go away.\n\n'Devil's spawn'! That was what Sister Agnes had said about her. Maybe it was her fault. Something bad within her that caused destruction and pain.\n\nShe couldn't stay here, not now. Celia and Peter might want to help, but they couldn't. What good would it do telling the police the truth? So Brian might get locked up, but what sort of hell would she have to drag Celia, Peter and herself through? And for what? It wouldn't make her forget what happened. She wouldn't even be able to stay with Celia.\n\nCelia came in with a tray of food around lunchtime. Once again Georgia lay silently, staring into space.\n\n'Look, dear,' Celia sounded as if she was losing patience. 'You must be hungry, even if you don't want to speak to me. Sit up and eat this, just for me.'\n\nThe smell of the casserole made her feel nauseous. Why did Celia keep bringing food, when all she really wanted was to be left alone?\n\n'I'll put it down here.' Celia's voice was firm and business-like as she placed the tray on the floor by Georgia's bed. 'I've got to go into the office this afternoon. You know how it is Georgia. When all's said and done the children's department will have a final say. By speaking to them now I might just get us a few weeks grace. Even the doctor has suggested you need to be taken into hospital. I can be back in a couple of hours. Will you be all right?'\n\nGeorgia nodded. The first indication she'd given her mother that she even understood what was going on around her.\n\nCelia sat down on the bed and took one of Georgia's hands in hers.\n\nIt was that same look Georgia had seen all those years ago when Celia had taken off her clothes and found the wounds on her back. So much pity and understanding, so willing to give her anything to make things right.\n\n'I love you darling. This evening I want you to come downstairs with me. I know why you don't want to speak,' her voice was breaking with emotion. 'But the sooner you open up to me, the sooner we can put this horrible affair behind us. Together we can find a solution.'\n\n''Bye darling,' she said at the door. 'Eat that dinner just for me?'\n\nIn that second Georgia's resolve nearly crumbled. Celia looked so careworn, the small lines round her eyes deeper, etched with unbearable sadness. She had made an effort to look smart again. Her navy pin-striped suit with its long jacket hid the plumpness, a small brooch at the neck of her white blouse, her hair washed and brushed back from the soft cheeks. Powder and lipstick had done their best to cover the putty-coloured skin. But the apple cheeks Georgia knew so well looked sunken.\n\nGeorgia waited until she heard the front door slam and the car start up. She sat up gingerly, looking down at the tray of food. She didn't want it, but it might make Celia feel better knowing she'd eaten something.\n\nShe forced herself to eat half the meat and some of the vegetables but however hard she tried she couldn't manage the apple pie and custard.\n\nHer legs were stiff and unsteady as she got out of bed, her face in the mirror was pale and drawn but however bad she felt she had to get dressed. She found a holdall in the cupboard on the landing and hastily packed a few warm clothes. She put on the new navy suit Celia had bought her before Christmas, which made her look older, and put her hair up in a French plait.\n\nFinally her thick, grey overcoat, a woolly hat and scarf and a pair of sheepskin-lined boots.\n\nThen stuffing her make-up, hairbrush and washing things in a handbag, she made her way downstairs.\n\nThe house gleamed. Celia always cleaned frantically when she was angry or anxious.\n\nAll the Christmas decorations were gone now, pine needles carefully swept away. Everything looked just the way it always did, except it could never be her home again.\n\nTaking a sheet of paper from Celia's desk in the dining room, she sat down to write a note, her eyes filling with tears.\n\n'Dear Mummy,' she paused, unable to see clearly through the tears, her mind suddenly blank of the right words.\n\n'I'm sorry. I had to go. We both know it's only a matter of days before someone takes me away and if I can't stay with you, I'd rather be alone. I'm old enough to get a job and somewhere to live. I will always love you and be grateful to you for taking me from that convent, no one could have had a better home than me.\n\n'Please don't blame yourself for what happened and try to forget about it. Don't try to find me, it will only make things worse.'\n\nShe paused again, sobs rising up within her. There was so much she wanted to say, so many thank yous. How did you say goodbye to someone who meant so much?\n\n'Explain to Peter for me. He must forget too and go on to university like he planned. Maybe one day we can meet again. You will never be out of my thoughts.\n\nI love you,\n\nGeorgia'\n\nLeaving the letter on the table, she lifted a ginger jar off the mantelpiece where Celia kept housekeeping money. She took twenty pounds and then returned to the desk.\n\n'PS, I took twenty pounds as a loan. I'll send it back just as soon as I can.' She added this on the bottom of the letter, then took it into the kitchen to leave it on the table.\n\nPicking up her bag she walked to the front door. Pausing for a moment to look back one more time.\n\nThere was snow her first day here. She remembered Celia sitting her on the stairs, taking off her shoes and rubbing her toes to warm them. Maybe the little girl who'd stared in wonder at the paintings, the thick, patterned carpets, the polished furniture and the grandfather clock had grown up, but that first impression would stay with her for ever.\n\nShe gulped back tears, opened the door resolutely and walked out, slamming it behind her.\n\nOutside, the cold air made her shrink back into her coat. The heath had a thin coating of frost, fog concealing the walls of Greenwich Park in the distance. It would be dark in a couple of hours. She must hurry now before anyone saw her.\n\nPeter would soon forget, whatever he said now. Brian had taught her how shallow men's love was.\n\nStill, she paused by the church, Peter's face dancing in front of her. She could see those blue eyes fill with emotion as she sang the Christmas Anthem at midnight mass. Remember the kiss he stole as they hung up their surplices in the vestry. She hated her father for a great many reasons now, but most of all for ending something so beautiful.\n\nStanding in Piccadilly with crowds of people milling around her, she felt numb. This was the centre of everything. The big city with its bright lights, smart shops and continuous noise. Neon lights flashing, the never-ending stream of traffic, strange smells. Men in bowler hats carrying furled umbrellas, office girls, shop assistants and shoppers.\n\nSwan and Edgar's windows were piled high with sale goods. Around her were the shouts of newspaper men, music from a one-man-band, wafts of fried onions from a hamburger stall, and Eros in the middle directing the circus. It was the ideal place to hide in, every day of the year girls swarmed to this area to begin life away from home and most probably started with less money than she had.\n\nAt six her legs and feet were aching. She'd seen two rooms with a To Let notice, but both times she climbed the stairs to enquire she'd been told the rooms were ten pounds a day.\n\nShe was baffled. Why would a grubby little room in Soho have such a high rent?\n\nThe answer came to her on her third attempt.\n\nA big-busted blonde girl of about thirty came to the door wearing a black negligee, a cigarette dangling from vermilion lips.\n\n'I've come about the room,' Georgia said wearily. 'Is it still vacant?'\n\nThe girl wore false eyelashes, one was peeling off and she had traces of mascara rubbed onto her cheeks. She looked Georgia up and down, taking in the wool coat, sheepskin boots and holdall.\n\n'You aren't a working girl,' her greyish face puckered into a frown.\n\n'Not yet,' Georgia tried to sound bright. 'I'm going to look for a job in a caf\u00e9 or something tomorrow.'\n\nThe blonde girl studied her for a moment. A quizzical look as if she thought someone was pulling her leg.\n\n'Come off it love!' she laughed, but it came out like a dry cough.\n\n'Sorry?' Georgia frowned. 'I don't understand.'\n\nThe girl just looked at her for a moment, a mixture of amusement and pity.\n\n'You must've heard what goes on in Soho?' She took another puff on her cigarette. 'These rooms are for the girls. Know what I mean?'\n\nGeorgia's mouth fell open. 'You mean?' she couldn't bring herself to say the word.\n\nThe blonde nodded, a warmer look spreading across her face. 'Try the evening paper, or go home love. There's nothing around here for a little thing like you.'\n\nGeorgia backed away feeling foolish and just a little tainted.\n\n'Good luck,' the girl said cheerfully. 'And watch what you are doing love!'\n\nEarlier Georgia had welcomed the darkness. Now it seemed like a threat. She was tired, cold and her holdall was getting heavier by the minute. She bought a paper and went into a caf\u00e9 to read it, wrapping her hands round a cup of tea to warm them.\n\nThe advertisements offered very little. Most of them were too expensive and almost all of them said 'references required'. She ringed eight which sounded possibilities, drank her tea then found a phone box.\n\nFive of them had already been let. One was right out near Wembley and at the other two there was no reply.\n\nTwo policemen walked past as she came out of the phone box. One looked at her bag and then directly at her.\n\nTrembling with fright, she moved off quickly, running down the narrow street, back towards Piccadilly.\n\nThe West End might have seemed exciting with the security of a friend beside her, or looking at Christmas lights from the safety of a car. But alone, in the dark it was menacing.\n\nSo many people pushing and shoving. Tramps mingling with couples out for the evening. Young office girls off to a dance, a gang of rough-looking Teddy boys shouting remarks at passing girls. Taxis, motorbikes, cars and buses, a madhouse of noise and bustle, a sinister undertone to everything. Her bag was heavy and each time someone turned to look at her Georgia sank into the shadows.\n\nTurning again back towards Soho, she walked deliberately up one street, looking at all the notices on doors, then down the next.\n\nThere were plenty of signs.\n\n'French Lessons, apply second floor.' 'Model first floor,' and even one saying 'Strict Instruction, ask for Mitzi.'\n\nGirls and women stood brazenly in doorways. Tight shirts, cigarettes dangling from lips like scarlet gashes, 'beehive' hair do's and heavy eyeliner, clinking keys in their hands. They stared openly at Georgia as she rushed by, her heavy bag banging against her legs.\n\n'Are you doing business?' A swarthy-looking man sidled up to her.\n\nShame overwhelmed her, her eyes filled with tears, all she could do was pretend she hadn't heard and carry on walking as if she had some place to go.\n\nIt was after nine and she'd been up and down each street. Almost every coffee bar she'd passed she enquired in.\n\nAlways the same answer.\n\n'Sorry. Try the paper.'\n\nShe saw one advertisement for a room in a shop window and went round to the house immediately.\n\nAn elderly lady came to the door, opened it just a crack and peered out.\n\nGeorgia put on her most beguiling smile.\n\n'I'm sorry to call so late. I believe you have a room to let?'\n\nShe reminded Georgia of story book grannies, white haired, wrinkled with a crocheted shawl round her shoulders. She opened the door a little wider and peered at Georgia standing on the pavement.\n\n'No blacks!'\n\nThe door slammed shut in her face, leaving Georgia standing there mouth agape, cheeks burning at the insult.\n\nThe cold seemed to have got right into her bones, even the sheepskin boots no longer kept out the cold.\n\nDown she went into the tube. At least there was a little warmth in the ladies' toilets. Locking herself in a cubicle she unpacked another jumper and put it on under her coat and suit.\n\nShe looked odd, shapeless under the many clothes, the woolly red hat seemed to drain even more colour from her face.\n\n'Have you run away from home?' The toilet attendant shuffled out of her small room, wearing a flowery crossover apron, as Georgia appeared for a second visit in an hour.\n\n'No,' Georgia said quickly. 'I'm waiting for someone.'\n\n'Well wait somewhere else,' she snapped. 'This is a public convenience. There's caf\u00e9s up there for meeting people.'\n\nIt was too late to find anywhere now. She was too scared to go to a proper hotel and if she hung around much longer the police might pick her up.\n\nInstead she went back into a caf\u00e9 and bought herself a meal, taking as long as possible to eat it while she thought what she should do next.\n\nThe caf\u00e9 overlooked a strip club. One of many she'd noticed while walking up and down. As she watched she saw men going over to the brightly-lit pictures of naked girls and some went on, down the stairs. All at once she realized she'd made a mistake coming to Soho. It was another myth, like happy families, fathers you could trust and the streets paved with gold.\n\nTomorrow morning she could try the flat-letting agency she'd spotted in Berwick Street. That just left tonight to get through.\n\nJust before midnight she left the warmth of the caf\u00e9. She was so tired now she could hardly put one foot in front of the other.\n\nThere was nothing for it but to look for somewhere to hide, and just wait till the morning.\n\nEarlier she had noticed some large boxes, piled outside a dress manufacturer's workshop. It was a small cul-de-sac tucked away behind the busier streets. She made her way there now, walking quickly to keep warm.\n\nShe passed an old tramp going through a box of abandoned fruit by the market; shuddering she moved even more quickly.\n\nLooking over her shoulder to check no one was watching, she looked in the boxes piled high against a doorway.\n\nOne of them was full of scraps of material.\n\nSelecting the largest of the boxes, she turned it on its side, placing the opening against the wall, then moving boxes either side of it, including the one with material, she crawled in.\n\nIt wasn't large enough to lie stretched out, but curled up it was adequate. Then she reached out, taking handfuls of material until she had covered the floor with a thick layer.\n\nOut of the wind it was much warmer, and the material soft to lie on. She wriggled out of her coat in the confined space, then using it as a blanket, her bag as a pillow, curled up to go to sleep.\n\nA hissing sound close to her head made her wake suddenly. She lifted her head and listened.\n\nShe heard feet walking quite close. Obviously it was a man who had just relieved himself against the wall.\n\nShe cringed in disgust. In the distance she could hear music, the sound of someone dropping a bottle nearby, and shouting coming from the end of the cul-de-sac.\n\nIt was too dark to see the time, she was stiff with cold and she ached to change position and stretch out.\n\nA cat mewed softly nearby and she heard rustlings which might possibly be a rat.\n\nIf she made any noise someone might investigate. The sort of men round here could be as bad as Brian. She turned on her back and bent her knees up, putting her hands under her head, trying hard to stay calm and not cry.\n\n'It's only for tonight,' she said to herself. 'You'll be laughing about this in a day or two.'\n\nTo take her mind off the cold she tried to imagine a bedsitter, small and cosy with a big fire.\n\n'I'll change my name,' she whispered to herself. 'Something glamorous.'\n\n'Come on love, ten quid's too much,' a booming male voice made her almost jump out of her skin.\n\n'Ten quid or nothing.' A woman with a cockney accent replied.\n\n'What! A tenner for here in an alley?' The man's voice was slurred with drink and the couple's footsteps were coming closer.\n\n'Take it or leave it,' the woman said defiantly. 'I can't take you anywhere now.' She sniffed loudly, she was so close Georgia could even hear her pull a handkerchief out of her pocket.\n\nGeorgia hardly dared breath. She could hear the man going through money in his pockets. She shook with fright, expecting any moment that he would sense her presence and root her out.\n\n'I'll give you a fiver,' he said reluctantly. 'That's enough for a bleedin' kneetrembler.'\n\n'You blokes are all the same,' the woman grumbled. 'Well, don't expect me to give you the full treatment.'\n\nA rustle of notes, the click of a handbag clasp and the rasp of fabric.\n\n'Give me a kiss then?' the man said. 'Don't expect me to get it up without some help.'\n\nGeorgia could hear her own heart beating. She had cramp in her leg, she was so cold she felt she might just die and the man's intentions brought her father right into the box with her.\n\nShe tried not to listen but the man's grunts penetrated even her gloved hands over her ears. Stiff joints creaked and the swishing sound of clothes being pushed aside.\n\nThey seemed to be at it forever, disgusting her so much she felt sick and faint. Sucking sounds, heavy breathing, words that made her blush with shame. Then a prolonged thumping sound, like a piece of meat being slapped against a plate.\n\nGeorgia wanted to cry. All those silly dreams she'd had of love. What was going on out there was the real world. Men weren't ruled by their hearts at all, they were just animals needing sex like food and it didn't matter to them who they shoved themselves into.\n\n'Was it good?' she heard the man ask.\n\n'Sure,' the woman replied, the sound of pinging elastic like gun shots in the quiet street.\n\nShe left first. Her high heels like castanets on the road, gradually fading away into the distance.\n\nA loud belch signalled the man was still close by. She heard the flick of a lighter, the smell of a cigarette, then unsteady movements and deep breathing. He stopped, the unmistakable sound of a zipper. A rumbling fart, and the hiss of urine, followed by a deep sigh.\n\nIt was too cold to sleep again. She had pulled everything out of her bag to lay over her, and handfuls more of the material from the other box, but still she shivered.\n\nThere was no more noise from people now. But cats continually prowled, frequently jumping on her box. There were other rustlings she couldn't identify, sometimes a gnawing sound which made her eyes open with terror.\n\nShe must have slept eventually, as she came to with a start when the sound of an engine roared nearby.\n\nWaiting a few moments, as the noise came closer and closer, she was finally brave enough to peep out round the edge of the box.\n\nIt was barely light, her breath like smoke in the cold grey dawn. At the crossroads less than a hundred yards away a dustcart had paused, four men throwing all the boxes and refuse into the back of the van.\n\nHastily she pushed all her belongings into her holdall, flung her coat over one arm and ran, her heart thumping like a steam engine.\n\nShe stopped for breath on the next corner and reached for her handbag to find a hanky. It was gone. In her haste she must have left it in the box.\n\nDropping her holdall, she flew back. All that was left of her bed for the night was a wet patch where one of the men had urinated, and a few scraps of fabric.\n\nA dull rumble alerted her the cart was now in the next street. She tore round the corner, catching it up and running along side.\n\n'Please stop,' she waved her arms frantically. 'Stop!'\n\nOne of the men jumped off the back of the cart.\n\nHe was very small and stocky, a woolly brown hat perched on fair greasy hair, dressed in dark green overalls and a donkey jacket.\n\n'What's up love?' He had a strange speech impediment, and his mouth twisted alarmingly. He was about fifty and very dirty.\n\n'My bag,' she said breathlessly. 'I left it in a box that you've just picked up.' She pointed in the direction they'd just left.\n\n'What sort of bag?' he frowned, looking at her dishevelled appearance, pieces of cloth in her hair.\n\n'A handbag, it's got my money and everything.'\n\n'Why was it in the box then?' He scratched his head through his hat.\n\n'Because I was in there too. But I heard you coming and ran away. I didn't realize I hadn't got it until after you'd gone.'\n\nThe man looked from Georgia to the dustcart. She could see it was fitted with a crusher device, already chomping away the last of the boxes from the road they were now in.\n\n'I can't get in there,' he said sharply. 'You should look after your stuff.'\n\n'But all my money's in there,' she said, tears springing to her eyes.\n\n'Can't help that,' he turned away from her.\n\n'What shall I do?' she ran after him clutching at his sleeve.\n\n'Go to the police,' he said wearily. 'It ain't my problem. What'cha sleeping in a box for anyway?'\n\nHe was gone before she could say anything more and Georgia felt as crushed as if she'd been in the machine herself.\n\nIt was a few moments before the full implications hit her. She went back to where she'd left her holdall and bent down in a doorway to repack it. She was so cold she was no longer shivering, and she knew she must find somewhere to get a hot drink.\n\nA sick feeling wound its way into her stomach. She couldn't get a drink or anything now. Every penny she had in the world was in that handbag.\n\nShe saw her reflection in the glass door. She was dirty, her hair full of bits of cloth and she had nothing at all other than a few clothes.\n\nSinking down onto her haunches she wept. Great heaving sobs that shook her shoulders and engulfed her whole body.\n\nMoney meant everything. She couldn't get a drink, or a meal, much less a room for the night. She couldn't use a phone or get on a bus or train.\n\nThere was no difference between her and the tramp she'd seen going through the rubbish last night!\n\nCold and hunger had brought on a new sort of apathy by five in the evening. A day spent walking up and down Oxford Street, eyes glued to the pavement, hoping to find a shilling or so to buy a drink. She'd been in the toilets of every shop from Marshall and Snelgrove to Selfridges, lingering in a cubicle as long as she dared, trying to summon the courage to swipe a handbag or purse from one of those wealthy ladies wreathed in shopping bags.\n\nBut each time she got close something stopped her. Sometimes an attendant watching, sometimes just a faint stirring of conscience. Eleven hours of walking and all she had to show for it was a yellow plastic comb and two halfpennies she'd found in a gutter.\n\nFor just a brief moment it seemed her luck had changed. Just off Tottenham Court Road she saw an advertisement being stuck up in a sweet shop window.\n\n'Bedsitter to let for business person. \u00a32 per week. 14 York Street.'\n\nShe had run there, memorising the address, so sure it was a sign from heaven that she forgot the cold and her aching feet.\n\n'I believe you have a room to rent,' she blurted out to the man who opened the door.\n\nHe was perhaps sixty, thin and bent with yellowish skin and a big, hooked nose.\n\n'How old are you?' He looked her up and down with sharp eyes. She felt sure he could see the creases in her clothes and the traces of fabric still clinging to her hat and coat.\n\n'Eighteen.' She could see a steep uncarpeted staircase behind him, it looked dark and dirty and she was more than a little scared. 'I've just started a job in Oxford Street.'\n\n'Your name?'\n\n'Georgia.' She paused suddenly remembering she intended to change it. She looked round and noticed a small shoe shop. The sign above it was James's.\n\n'Georgia James,' she said quickly.\n\nThe house was even worse inside than it looked from the street. Four narrow floors with uneven boards that creaked ominously. He led her further and further up, past so many brown-painted doors she lost count and finally right at the top he opened one.\n\nGeorgia gulped. Like the house itself it was long and narrow. A small window opposite the door so dirt-smeared it could have been curtained. The single bed sagged, the floor was bare linoleum, it looked as wretched as she felt.\n\n'I'll take it,' she said, taking no more than a cursory glance at the single gas ring and chipped sink.\n\n'A week in advance,' his hand shot out reminding her strangely of Sister Agnes. His fingernails were black and she noticed he had no teeth.\n\n'Could I give it you on Friday?' she forced herself to smile. 'I lost my bag this morning, it had all my money in it.'\n\n'I don't take charity cases,' he turned immediately, dismissing her. 'No advance rent, no room.'\n\n'Please,' she caught hold of his arm. 'Please, I promise I'll pay you.'\n\n'I wish I had a quid for everyone that's promised that,' his lips curled back. 'Go on push off. Go down the assistance if you've got no money.'\n\n'Look, take this,' she unfastened her watch. 'Please don't throw me out.'\n\nBut there was no softening in his dark eyes.\n\n'What do I want a cheap watch for?' his tone was contemptuous. 'Go on, push off. I can see you're trouble.'\n\nThere was nothing for it but to go on back down the stairs. He followed her in silence, Georgia pleaded silently with him to change his mind.\n\nShe turned at the door.\n\n'If I manage to get some money now, can I come back?' She could feel prickling tears and she hated herself for pleading with him.\n\n'Going to sell yourself?' he retorted, about to close the door.\n\n'How dare you?' She took a step closer to him, drawing herself up and glowering at him. But before she could even get the satisfaction of giving him her opinion of his disgusting house, the door slammed and he was gone.\n\nAt half past five she found herself in Berwick Street, the sixth or seventh time she'd been through the market that day. The men were packing up now, piling boxes of apples, flinging rail after rail of dresses into vans and handcarts.\n\nA weariness had replaced the earlier joviality. Stalls stripped down in hurried silence, the last-minute shoppers almost an intrusion. Hurricane lights softened the rubbish-strewn streets, yet drew attention to the gaunt, cold faces, highlighting abnormalities, turning every last man and woman into a Hogarth caricature.\n\nShe leaned against the lamp-post, her holdall at her feet, too weary to even go through the motions of pretending to wait for someone. Women hurried by, baskets full of shopping, rushing home to their families. Girls little older than her came tip-tapping down the street in high-heeled shoes, heads bent against the wind, perhaps planning the night ahead of them.\n\nThe notice on the club opposite beckoned her. 'Dancing girls wanted, apply within.' She'd looked furtively at the photographs of girls in nothing more than a G-string several times during the day, and now she was desperate enough to join them. Maybe it wasn't the kind of stage she'd seen in her dreams, or the kind of dancing she'd been trained for, but another night on the streets might kill her.\n\nA crippled girl was coming up a narrow street towards the crossroads where Georgia waited, catching her attention by her strange gait, bright red hair and unusual clothes. Caught for a moment under a street lamp she had the look of a Victorian maid in her long, waisted, russet coat with a fur collar, hopping, rather than walking, one foot dragging behind her.\n\nDespite her obvious affliction she was arresting. Glorious, shiny red hair tumbled around a small white face and her slim shoulders, somehow lighting up the whole street.\n\nShe made Georgia think of red squirrels. Not merely her colouring, or the fast hopping motion, but the nervous head movements, as if she anticipated danger. She stepped out into the road, hitching two bags of shopping up into her arms.\n\nA car roared round a corner just a few yards behind her. The girl's head jerked round sharply, she hesitated, then tried to run. To Georgia's horror, she stumbled, falling right into the path of the oncoming car.\n\nInstinctively Georgia waved her arms and shouted. The car swerved, going up on to the pavement, missing the girl by only inches. The driver made a rude gesture with his fist, and drove off round the corner.\n\nThe girl lay spread-eagled face down. Around her the dropped shopping bags spilled out their contents, oranges, potatoes, a bag of sugar, mingling with knitting wool and needles.\n\n'Are you hurt?' Georgia ran over, putting her hands under the girl's shoulders and lifting her up.\n\n'I don't think so.' The girl's voice was shaky, her face a ghastly white.\n\n'He only missed you by inches,' Georgia said, supporting the girl with her arm. She saw a trickle of blood run down the girl's forehead, as bright as berries against her white skin. 'You'll have a big lump there tomorrow.'\n\nShe led the girl over to a wall.\n\n'Stay there, I'll just pick up your stuff,' she said.\n\nAs she retrieved the vegetables and the knitting from the spilt milk she glanced up and noticed the girl was wearing a special built-up boot. She was leaning back against the wall panting, holding her head.\n\nShe carried the bags over to the girl.\n\n'Do you live round here?'\n\nThe girl dabbed at her forehead with a hanky, wincing as she saw the blood.\n\n'Over there,' she pointed to the corner where seconds earlier Georgia had stood. 'I feel funny.' Her accent wasn't a London one, the way she rolled the 'R' sounds smacked of the West Country.\n\n'I'll help you home,' Georgia put both bags in one hand and her spare arm round the girl.\n\nIt was difficult to know if the girl was pale because of her near miss, or naturally so. She was painfully thin, her wrists and hands smaller than a child's. But as Georgia helped her along it was the limp she noticed most. She barely put any weight on her bad leg, merely dragging it along behind her, hence the hopping gait she had observed earlier.\n\nGeorgia hesitated as they came to her own bag under the lamp-post.\n\n'Well that's something,' she said as she bent to pick it up too. 'I left a bag somewhere this morning and when I went back it was gone. Now where to?'\n\n'Just here.' The girl pointed to a door right next to the side of the caf\u00e9 where Georgia had smelt meat pies. She now looked faint, her colour turning from white to pale green and clearly she hardly knew what Georgia was saying. 'Can you open the door?'\n\nGeorgia took the keys from the girl's shaking hand. As she opened the door she could make out a narrow hallway with steep stairs ahead, the dank smell which wafted out suggested dirt and neglect.\n\n'There's no light bulb,' the girl said feebly. Georgia had a feeling she was about to be sick.\n\n'How far up is it?' she asked.\n\n'The top,' the girl sighed.\n\nGeorgia dropped the bags on the floor, bent down and picked the girl up, hoisting her over her shoulder.\n\n'Just hang on, I'll get you up there,' she said, feeling her way in the darkness.\n\nOnce past the bend of the stairs Georgia saw a glimmer of light ahead. The acrid smell indicated a bathroom. She slid her hand round the door and found a light switch.\n\nIt worked and gave Georgia enough light to continue up to the top.\n\nThe girl was so light it was like holding a small child, even through her thick coat Georgia could feel her bones.\n\nThere was only one door at the top. Still holding the girl Georgia unlocked the door and walked in with her.\n\nOne naked lightbulb lit up a pitiful attic room.\n\nIt was big with sloping ceilings that went from seven feet down to three on the window side. Untidy, a little dirty but the overall feeling was one of poverty.\n\nGeorgia put the girl in one of the two old armchairs, unsure whether she should go or stay. It was icy cold, yet when she glanced down at the girl she noticed beads of sweat on her forehead, mingling with the blood and the greeny tinge to her face was even more noticeable.\n\n'You look sick,' she said, looking round frantically for something to give her. Under the sink in the corner was a plastic bucket. She picked it up and handed it to her.\n\nThe girl retched violently. Georgia averted her eyes, trying hard not to gag, and knelt down to light the gas fire.\n\nLooking closer, the room was almost as comfortless as the one she'd seen earlier in the day. Two single old-fashioned beds, both with blankets just dumped on them like two heaps of rubbish. Armchairs with stuffing coming out of them, a table strewn with cups, plates and a sauce bottle. An old white sink was sandwiched in one corner with an ancient cooker, and a battered wardrobe with the door hanging open stood against the wall. Even the square of carpet was so old and dirty no real pattern was visible and the faded and peeling paper on the walls had patches of black mould.\n\nAgain and again the girl was sick. Georgia's empty stomach turned over as streams of vomit gushed into the bucket. She wanted to run out, away from the rancid smell, the miserable room and this odd, crippled girl.\n\nEverything had happened so quickly, a turn of events so unexpected that for a moment she had forgotten her own predicament. But it could be an important turn, at least she might be able to have a cup of tea if she stayed.\n\n'Let me bathe your forehead,' she said, going over to the sink and dampening a face flannel.\n\n'I don't know how I would have managed without you.' The girl looked up at Georgia. 'You've been so kind.'\n\nShe had the biggest, greenest eyes Georgia had ever seen. As intense as traffic lights, fringed with red-brown lashes, her skin so white it was almost transparent.\n\n'Are you feeling better now?' Georgia tried hard not to look at the brown mess in the bucket, still in the girl's hands. She bathed the wound gently, holding her breath so she wouldn't smell the vomit.\n\nA flush of embarrassment spread across the girl's face.\n\n'Yes,' she said weakly, trying to get up. 'But I need to empty this.'\n\n'Let me,' Georgia said, 'I'll get the bags we left downstairs. Stay where you are.'\n\nAs Georgia made her way back down the stairs with the evil-smelling bucket, she wanted to run. There was food in the bags and probably money in the handbag. She didn't owe this girl anything, she didn't even know her name.\n\nNothing had prepared her for the bathroom. It was filthy. The bath was ingrained with dirt, even a spider had climbed in and died. The walls above grubby white tiles were flaking and festering with mould. The toilet was corroded with limescale, the smell catching her in the back of her throat. Cracked lino, encrusted with dirt. Even the ancient geyser hanging over the bath was daubed with more filth.\n\nShe gagged as she tipped the bucket into the toilet. Holding it at arm's length she filled it with water and swilled it round. How could anyone live in such a place? It made her think of slums her mother spoke of over in Hackney.\n\nLeaving the bucket by the bathroom door, she went on downstairs, feeling her way in the darkness.\n\nHer coat was still on, her belongings down here, she could be far away by the time the girl upstairs had the energy to come and look.\n\nLooking over her shoulder back up the stairs, she rifled quickly through the girl's shopping, smelling rather than seeing. A loaf, some corned beef in greaseproof paper, eggs, cheese and bananas. She was so hungry it was all she could do not to rip the bread apart now and wolf it down.\n\nThe other bag contained some tins, potatoes and other vegetables along with the knitting.\n\nThen there was the handbag.\n\nIt was just a cheap plastic one, with a handle so worn it could break any minute, so different from the good leather one she'd lost in the dustcart.\n\n'Have you found the bathroom?' The girl's voice wafted down the stairs.\n\nGeorgia hesitated, her fingers on the bag clasp.\n\n'Yes. I'm just coming,' she called back up through the darkness.\n\nShe couldn't do it. Not to a crippled girl. There had to be another way.\n\n'It's awful down there isn't it?' The girl looked up as Georgia came in with the shopping bags and her own holdall. 'Whatever must you think?'\n\n'In my position I can't think anything,' Georgia managed a weak smile. 'Let me make you some tea?'\n\n'I'm Helen,' the girl turned in her chair and smiled. The greeny tinge had gone, her pixie-like face arrestingly white against the vivid red hair, yet a faint pink tinge had come back into her cheeks. 'What's yours?'\n\n'Georgia.' She moved over to the sink and filled the kettle, speaking over her shoulder. The sink was full of unwashed crockery and saucepans. 'Is it all right if I wash these things up?'\n\n'What did you mean, \"You couldn't afford to feel anything?\"' Helen's voice had a note of anxiety. Georgia turned on the hot tap wondering how she could explain.\n\n'Blow the geyser!' the girl said sharply. 'It'll light up then.'\n\nGeorgia blew and a sheet of flame leapt up, the water turned warm under her fingers, the first time she had been able to feel them all day.\n\n'Come on, what did you mean?'\n\nGeorgia gulped.\n\n'I haven't any money. I was just waiting for the club over the road to open when I saw you. I was going to ask for a job as a dancer.'\n\nThe girl got up, Georgia saw she was still shaking.\n\n'Stay where you are.' She pushed her back into the chair. 'Have some tea before anything else.'\n\n'But it's a strip club,' Helen said faintly. 'Are you serious?'\n\n'Don't I look like a stripper?' Georgia tried to laugh, but she was blushing. She pulled off her woolly hat and shook her hair free.\n\n'No you don't,' Helen retorted. 'You look about fifteen, cold and hungry. Have you run away?'\n\n'Sort of.' She avoided further questions by noisily washing the dishes. All she could think of was drinking hot, sweet tea, maybe a slice of that bread in the bag.\n\nEven the room didn't look so bad now. It was getting warmer, it was even growing cosy. Should she tell the girl everything? What if she turned her over to the police?\n\n'Tell me.' Helen's voice sounded sweet and warm as she handed her a mug of tea. 'I know you don't belong around here.'\n\nAs the warm sweet liquid went down, and the heat from the fire thawed out her icy toes so she felt able to tell a version of the truth.\n\n'I had a row with my foster father,' she said. 'I can't go back. But I lost all my money today and I don't know what to do.'\n\nHelen reached out and touched Georgia's knee. 'Stay and have some tea with me for now. But don't go to that club, Georgia. That's a last resort.'\n\nShe got up to remove her coat and held out a hand for Georgia's too.\n\nHelen prepared a meal then. Fried potatoes, corned beef and egg. She didn't pry further, merely chatted about general things, the market, her landlord who owned the caf\u00e9 on the corner and the two jobs she had.\n\n'I work on a stall in the afternoons and Saturdays,' she said. 'Then four nights a week I'm a cloakroom attendant in a nightclub.'\n\nThey sat at the table close to the fire to eat. Georgia wolfed hers down, hardly tasting it, pouring cup after cup of tea from the big brown pot.\n\nOnly when they were finished and sitting back in the armchairs did Helen bring the subject back to Georgia.\n\n'You haven't told me why you ran away,' her green eyes watchful, but sympathetic. 'Would you like to know about my first days in London.'\n\nHelen was certainly the strangest person Georgia had ever met. She looked so frail, yet a bright vitality shone out of the big green eyes. She claimed to have no real friends but she was as easy and comfortable to be with as Christine had been. The untidy, grubby room didn't go with her neat but old-fashioned appearance. Even the fiery, shiny hair waving over her small shoulders seemed to belong to another century where ladies had alabaster skin and kept their limbs covered at all times. She sat like a prim governess, knees and feet closely together, back straight, her boots concealed under the long brown dress, the only decoration a skimpy, cream lace collar. No one would guess that just outside her window was London's red light district.\n\n'Did you run away too?'\n\n'Hobbled,' Helen half smiled. 'I was seventeen, in a home for handicapped kids down in Plymouth. I knew if I didn't get out under my own steam they'd find me something they considered suitable for a cripple.'\n\nShe used the word 'cripple' like Georgia used the word 'black', getting it in first as if to protect herself.\n\n'What's the matter with your leg?' Georgia asked.\n\n'An injury when I was little,' Helen said lightly. 'I'm going to have an operation soon to put it right.'\n\n'Why London?' Georgia sensed the girl wasn't keen to talk about her leg, or her background.\n\n'Same reason as you I expect. A place to disappear, start again. When you're a kid it seems the place where dreams come true.'\n\n'But yours didn't?' Georgia glanced around her, noting how few possessions the girl had, a feeling that it was only intended as a temporary home, yet poverty had trapped her.\n\n'Well my dreams were a bit far-fetched,' Helen laughed. 'I thought I'd meet a millionaire, he'd whisk me off to the Ritz, you know, all that silly stuff.'\n\n'But you found a job and a home!'\n\n'Yes,' Helen frowned. 'Eventually, and it's not much to brag about is it? But believe me I've seen worse, especially the first few nights.'\n\n'I slept in a cardboard box last night,' Georgia sighed. 'I thought I'd die of cold.'\n\n'I can imagine,' Helen smiled in sympathy. 'I spent mine in St James's Park. It was summer so it wasn't so cold but I was scared witless. I didn't have a clue about anything.'\n\n'How did you get this place then?'\n\nHelen shook her head, blushing a little.\n\n'That came later,' she said uneasily, as if wondering whether she should divulge everything. She looked up at Georgia defiantly. 'I let a man take me in.'\n\nGeorgia was reminded of the man who approached her the night before.\n\n'You mean?' she couldn't actually say it.\n\n'Not for money,' Helen shot back. 'I just accepted a bed for the night. I suppose that amounts to the same thing, but then I was desperate.'\n\n'Was it awful?' Georgia whispered.\n\n'Yes,' Helen winced. 'He didn't hurt me or anything, but he was weird. He made me feel so dirty. After about three days I started to get frightened. I heard him talking about me to a friend on the telephone. I think he was intending to let this chap,' she broke off blushing. 'Well, you know!'\n\n'So what did you do?'\n\n'I nicked his money,' Helen giggled, blushing again. 'He left his wallet behind when he went out. By the time he got back I was gone.'\n\n'That was brave.' Georgia leaned forward in her chair, liking Helen far more for revealing she didn't intend to become a victim. 'What then?'\n\n'Bert in the caf\u00e9 downstairs had an advert on his window for this room. I took it and I've been here ever since.'\n\nGeorgia stared into the fire.\n\nAlready the standards she'd been taught by Celia were eroding. All day she'd contemplated theft, she was even prepared to become a dancer in a strip show. Helen's story made her feel a little better about herself, at least she wasn't the only one to fall prey to temptation.\n\nHelen got up again, hobbled across the floor and put the kettle on again.\n\n'Are you going to tell me about yourself?' she said gently from the sink.\n\nBeing crippled had made Helen perceptive. At twenty-one she had spent most of her life sitting quietly at the side lines of life watching others. But Georgia baffled her. It was obvious the girl had come from a good home. Her clothes were expensive, she spoke well and had beautiful manners. Yet there was deep sadness in the girl's eyes. Something more than a rich kid looking for adventure. Runaways were ten a penny in Soho. They bleated out their misfortunes, lied and conned. Never before had she met one where she felt compelled to tell her own shameful story to try and get them to open up.\n\n'I can't tell you everything,' Georgia said in a whisper, hanging her head. 'I want to, but I can't.'\n\nHelen just stood there, the kettle in her hand. The kid was so young, she might be a liability. For all Helen knew the police might be searching for her right now; if she had any sense she'd make some excuse to go out. Fetch her landlord and let him make the decision.\n\n'Stay here tonight,' Helen said softly. 'Maybe tomorrow you'll find it easier.'\n\n'Are you sure?' Georgia's head spun round to look at Helen. She could feel tears pricking her eyes at the unexpected compassion.\n\n'Quite sure.' Helen moved nearer, passing her hand lightly over Georgia's head in just the same motherly gesture Celia used. 'You didn't hesitate to help me.'\n\nThey had more tea and biscuits. Georgia told Helen about the way she lost her money and how she'd spent the day.\n\n'Would it really be so bad to get a job as a dancer?' she said, yawning widely.\n\n'It would in that club,' Helen smiled. 'But you're tired and I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to make up the bed. I'm sorry the sheets aren't clean. I was going to the laundrette tomorrow.'\n\nGeorgia leapt up, grabbing the blankets and smoothing out the sheets before Helen could change her mind.\n\n'I hope you won't mind if I use the bucket in the night?' Helen said without a trace of embarrassment after she had made a last trip to the bathroom. 'I can't go clonking downstairs, waking everyone up.'\n\nGeorgia winced, as she was reminded she too would have to go down there.\n\n'Doesn't anyone ever clean it?' she asked on her return.\n\n'I used to try,' Helen pulled a wry face. 'But I've given up. I go down the public baths once a week, and the other tenants are hardly ever here. My landlord keeps saying he'll do something to it, but he never does.'\n\nGeorgia hurriedly slipped out of her clothes and into her pyjamas. The bed felt damp and it was lumpy, the sheets and blankets smelled, but she was too tired to care. She put her arm under her head, nose buried in her pyjamas with the faint whiff of home and waited for Helen to put out the light.\n\nHelen wore thick stockings under her long skirt. As she peeled them off, sitting on the side of the bed, Georgia could see how wasted her leg was. She could have put her thumb and forefinger round the ankle, the calf only slightly bigger.\n\nHer other leg was normal, the muscles made bigger by taking the strain from the bad leg.\n\nEarlier, out in the street Helen had reminded her of a squirrel, later that image had changed to one of a prim governess, but now as she undressed so the image changed again.\n\nShe wore a white cotton petticoat, her gleaming hair cascading down her back, like a lady from a Pre-Raphaelite painting. Although she was too thin and her skin so pale, she was lovely in a mystical way. Her features were all small and childlike. Perfect bowed lips, green eyes sparkling under reddish-gold eyebrows and lashes. Not even a freckle as she would have expected with red hair, just pure white skin like a baby.\n\nGeorgia woke with a start, for a moment wondering where she was. It was still dark, but every now and then bright flashes of light splashed on to the walls accompanied by rumbling, banging and shouting from outside in the street.\n\nPulling a blanket round her, Georgia went over to the window and peered out through the dirty glass, rubbing a patch with her blanket to see better.\n\nThe stallholders were setting up. Skeleton-like stalls being hastily assembled by men in donkey jackets and woolly hats, brandishing mallets. The sound of tarpaulins being shaken, the trundle of trolley wheels and the slap of cardboard boxes hurled from vans.\n\nYesterday this same scene had seemed violent and brutal. The coarse jokes, the swearing and the raucous laughter had seemed like a glimpse into a madhouse as she shivered on the corner. Now it seemed jolly, almost a street party. An Indian in a red turban wheeled a rail of dresses. A woman, mummified with a scarf wound round her head and neck arranged flowers in pots. A tall thin man dancing on the spot to keep warm. Teasing banter as they pushed and shoved through the disorder, the cold air making each one of them move faster. Gleaming apples, oranges, tomatoes and bananas lay in boxes, like a feast about to be prepared.\n\nGeorgia looked at the clock. It was only seven. Although she wanted to get up she didn't think she should disturb Helen just yet. She climbed back into bed, buried her head in the pillow and went back to sleep.\n\nShe awoke again to the sound of splashing water. Helen stood at the sink, naked, washing herself as if she were alone. Sideways on she had the figure of a small boy, flat-chested, with a tiny, bony bottom and concave stomach, her thighs so slender it was a miracle she could walk at all.\n\nGeorgia closed her eyes again, afraid she might embarrass Helen, and waited for her to dress.\n\n'Cup of tea?' Helen was now wearing an old faded dressing-gown the colour of mushy peas.\n\nGeorgia sat up and looked at the clock.\n\nIt was only eight.\n\n'I always go out early,' Helen smiled. 'I go down to the library as soon as they open and read the papers.'\n\n'What for?'\n\n'To find out what's going on in the world. Besides it's warm in there, saves on heating. But I suggest you don't go far today as they may be looking for you.'\n\nGeorgia looked sharply at Helen. Could she be intending to go to the police to turn her in? Or did she mean she could stay?\n\nHelen frowned as though she had something on her mind.\n\n'I can't promise anything,' she said. 'Last night I wanted to invite you to stay permanently. But I'm not sure now. You're so young. We'd have to find you a job. I need time to think it over. I don't even know if I could live with another girl. But stay till tomorrow. By then we should both know if it's going to work.'\n\nHelen's honesty touched Georgia deeply, it lit up the drab, cold room and she felt ashamed that she had doubted her intentions.\n\n'But I've got no money,' Georgia reminded her. 'I can't help out until I get some.'\n\n'Another day won't break the bank.' Helen limped over and sat on the bed. 'Take the washing over to the laundrette across the street for me and tidy up. That's enough help for one day.'\n\nShe passed over a mug of tea, put some coins on the table, then under her dressing-gown she started to dress.\n\nHer knickers looked ancient, the petticoat was worn and thin. She sat down on the bed pulling on thick brown stockings held up with a garter of thick elastic. Next a thin sweater full of holes. The brown dress she'd been wearing the day before, and over the top a thick, gold-coloured cardigan which looked hand knitted.\n\nGeorgia gulped. She thought of her drawers full of clothes back in Blackheath, dainty underwear, soft sweaters, dresses hanging on padded, scented hangers.\n\n'You have to wrap up warm.' Helen seemed to sense Georgia's shock, turning to grin at her. 'This place is like a morgue and it's even worse on the stall.'\n\nPulling on her coat and a woolly hat over her ears, she left, shutting the door behind her.\n\nGeorgia sat for a moment, listening to the painful sound of the built-up boot clonking down the stairs.\n\nCelia came sharply into focus. She could almost smell bacon frying, hear the news on the radio. Celia would be sitting at the kitchen table, drinking tea from a bone china cup as she scanned through the post.\n\n'She'll be crying,' Georgia murmured, suddenly aware that until this moment she hadn't really considered how her mother would be feeling. 'She'll be frightened for me.'\n\nAn acute pain made her curl up into a ball. She didn't want to stay here in this dark, cold room. She wanted to be back home with Celia, fifteen was too young to be trying to fend for herself, how could she find a job alone? How was she going to manage?\n\nBut as she dug deeper into the bed, Brian's face came back to her. She could feel his breath on her face as he lunged at her in the playroom.\n\n'You're not my daughter.' Those were his words. Everything she remembered and loved belonged to him. The house, her clothes, the piano, even Celia belonged to him. She couldn't go back, not ever. It was over.\n\nSlowly she lifted her head from the covers. This room wasn't hers either, for now she was dependent on a crippled girl who'd been big-hearted enough to share what little she had.\n\n'You've got to make it work for you,' she whispered. 'Stop feeling sorry for yourself, the worst is over. Get up and get moving.'\n\nThe room was icy, but she must save the money in the gas meter. Jumping out of bed she moved the table to one side, taking the back of one of the upright chairs.\n\nDance exercises were the answer. She must get the blood flowing again, stretch those lazy muscles, warm herself up.\n\nIn the playroom in Blackheath, she had the record player to help her concentrate. Her own barre Brian had put up for her. She would watch each movement in the big mirror to see it was right. Back straight, eyes ahead, moving in time to the music.\n\nShe had to pretend the chair was a barre, imagine the music, forget she was wearing pyjamas and her feet were bare. Maybe she had no dancing teacher or parents now, but no one was going to stop her getting on the stage. All it took was willpower.\n\nFirst one leg, up, down, up, down, repeating it till she hurt. Then the other. Knee bends, high kicks, and toe touching until she was hot with exertion.\n\nVisions of dancing class came to her. Sixteen girls, each identical in black tights and leotards, pink ballet shoes. Hair scraped back into a tight bun, Miss Askell pounding the piano as they pli\u00e9-d and jet\u00e9-d at her instruction.\n\nToday Celia wasn't going to come for her, no flask of hot coffee while she got dressed, no hour of shopping before driving her over to her singing lesson in Greenwich. But Celia had believed in her talent enough to sacrifice each Saturday willingly. She must keep it up for Celia now.\n\nShe washed herself later in the sink, trying hard not to dwell on the sparkling bathroom she'd never see again. Then before she could get cold, she jumped into jeans and a sweater.\n\nShe filled a pillowcase with all the dirty clothes and bed linen, then made her way down the stairs, across the street.\n\nThe laundrette hadn't been open long. A woman in a blue overall was mopping the floor, she turned to look at Georgia.\n\n'Service wash, love?' she shouted above the noise of a radio.\n\nGeorgia stared blankly at the row of machines, round glass doors standing open.\n\n'I, I,' she stammered, blushing with embarrassment. 'What do I have to do?'\n\n'Well are you going to work, or have you got time to watch it yourself?' the woman asked, stepping nearer.\n\n'It's Helen's stuff,' Georgia said weakly. 'Do you know her?'\n\nThe woman's face broke into a smile, showing more gaps than teeth.\n\n'Oh, she gets special treatment.' She reached out and took the bag from Georgia. 'I see's to it for 'er. She comes back later. She ain't ill is she?'\n\n'No, she's fine. I'm just staying with her for a day or two,' Georgia reassured her. Already the woman had the pillowcase open, tossing the washing into two separate machines, whites in one, coloureds in another.\n\n'That's all right then,' the woman nodded at Georgia. 'Come back around twelve, it'll be ready then.'\n\nBack upstairs Georgia stared around her, wondering where to start.\n\nLast night the room had looked squalid, but by day it looked far worse. The small, dirty window cut a shaft of light through the middle, but under the eaves it was still in shadow. Yet looking objectively at the room, part of the reason it looked so wretched was the way the furniture was arranged. The wardrobe so close to the window blocked the light. The beds sticking out from the wall made it seem like a dormitory. So the wallpaper was stained, and the carpet would never curl comfortingly round anyone's feet, but there was room for improvement.\n\nStarting by the fireplace she cleared the furniture to the other side of the room by the sink. Then taking a small stiff brush she began to sweep the carpet on all fours. Again and again she went over it, until at last no more dust flew into the pan. Filling the bucket with hot soapy water she washed down the fire surround, the mantelpiece, the skirting boards and the floorboards around the carpet. Then changing the water again, she went over the surface of the carpet, being careful not to make it too wet.\n\nBy the time she had finished the whole room it was twelve. The furniture stacked by the fire, ready to rearrange. She couldn't count the number of buckets of black water that went down the drain. Her hair felt full of dust, she had tidemarks up to her elbows, but it was so satisfying.\n\nThe carpet was a red-brown. She could even see a swirly pattern now. The windows gleamed, letting in twice as much light, but most of all it smelled clean.\n\n##### *\n\n'Been up a chimney?' The woman in the laundrette grinned at her as she handed her the warm bag of washing.\n\n'Doing a bit of spring cleaning,' Georgia said shyly. She could feel the dirt on her face and her hands were bright red from all the cleaning fluid. 'How much do I owe you?'\n\n'Call it five bob,' the woman said. 'I dried everything real well and folded it. It's good 'Elen's got a bit of company, spends too much time on 'er own does that one.'\n\nThe market was packed with shoppers. Women from offices buying vegetables, young girls looking at clothes. Georgia kept her eyes down as she scuttled back across the street, aware of a policeman standing by the door of the caf\u00e9.\n\nWas he looking for her, or merely taking a break in his beat? Her heart thumped with anxiety as she slipped in the front door. What if he asked the lady in the laundrette about her?\n\nUpstairs again she felt safer and she had a great deal more to do before Helen got back.\n\nHelen smelled bleach and disinfectant as she stepped into the dark hallway. Instinctively her hand went out to the light switch and to her surprise a light on the stairs came on.\n\nShe blinked. Not a sweet wrapper or bus ticket in sight. Balls of fluff and a coating of grey grit on each stair had gone. The carpet was so worn in places she could see the stair treads showing through, but it was clean!\n\nSlowly she hauled herself up by the bannister. She was so cold she couldn't feel her toes, but for the first time ever she felt a rush of pleasure to be going home.\n\nThe open door to the bathroom beckoned her. She paused, leaning heavily against the wall, staring in amazement.\n\nThe smell of bleach was so strong it almost choked her, but in front of her was a clean bath, basin and toilet.\n\nGranted there was still a stain of limescale where the cold tap dripped in the bath, and nothing could be done about the chips and scratches, but the tiles were white! The window-sill was shiny, even the cracked lino was clean. The smell of stale urine was gone. They could even use the bath if they wanted to!\n\nBut there was another smell too as she went on up the stairs in a daze. An aroma of meat pie. Was she dreaming all this, or was it merely a faint memory of something from years ago?\n\nThe door opened as she turned on to the last flight of stairs. Georgia stood there, a smile of welcome on her face.\n\n'I thought you'd never come home,' she said, taking Helen's basket from her arm. 'I've got the tea ready.'\n\nAs Helen limped into the room she stopped suddenly.\n\nThe fire was lit. Curtains drawn. The table was now under the window laid for two, saucepans and kettle rattling on the cooker.\n\nGeorgia had moved everything and it looked almost like a real home. The beds flanked the walls either side of the fire place, made up properly, each covered with the bedspreads she had never bothered to get out of the wardrobe.\n\n'What have you done?' Helen asked, tears for no apparent reason pricking her eyelids.\n\nShe couldn't hold back the tears, she groped for the armchair and sat down heavily.\n\n'I'm sorry,' Georgia said, as if froms a long way off. 'I didn't mean to be bossy. I'll put it all back how it was tomorrow.'\n\n'It's,' Helen couldn't speak for a moment. 'It's just such a shock.'\n\nOnly then did she really see Georgia. She wore a red sweater and jeans, kneeling down in front of her, her heart-shaped face a picture of concern, her eyes bewildered and afraid.\n\n'I didn't mean to upset you. Please don't cry.'\n\nHelen's mouth shook, laughter bubbling up inside her. Georgia's face was so lovely, she hadn't fully taken it in the night before.\n\nThe big, dark doleful eyes, the sooty lashes, the curly hair tied up in a pom-pom on top of her small, beautifully-shaped head. The grace in her movements, the slender hands and the soft voice. Who would have thought a girl who looked like that could be capable of cleaning a stinking toilet?\n\n'I'm not cross,' she said weakly. 'I just didn't expect it.'\n\n'Why are you crying then?' Georgia's voice was tentative, like a child who isn't convinced she'd really won approval.\n\n'I've lived here for nearly four years,' Helen sniffed. 'In all that time no one has ever been up here except me. I can't remember the last time someone had a meal ready for me, or cared enough to tidy up for me. You don't know how good it feels.'\n\nGeorgia's eyes seemed to grow bigger, her wide, curvy mouth quivering.\n\n'I wanted to show you how much I appreciated your kindness,' she said softly, reaching out and touching Helen's cheek. 'If you'll let me stay and help me find a job I'll cook and clean for you every day.'\n\n'I thought you were such a child this morning.' Helen found herself crying again, remembering all the second thoughts she'd had during the day. 'I panicked because I thought you would want me to look after you. That's why I went out early. I even thought of going to the police and telling them you were here.'\n\n'Why didn't you?'\n\n'It seemed cowardly,' Helen sniffed. 'Besides, I half expected you to take the money and go. I couldn't see you wanting to stay with a cripple in a slum.'\n\n'That isn't how I see you,' Georgia looked shocked. 'Maybe I did at first, but then you became just another girl with a bad leg, someone all alone like me with nothing but bad memories behind her. But who knows? Maybe we can have a future together.'\n\n'Oh, Georgia,' Helen reached out for the younger girl, drawing her to her breast, an instinctive action she had never done to anyone before. 'I've got a feeling this was meant to be.'\n\nHelen felt Georgia's tears even through her coat and in that moment she knew something shocking had happened to her, something far worse than a family row.\n\n'What's the smell?' she said, lifting Georgia's chin up.\n\n'Meat pies from the market.' Georgia wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. 'I bought them with the change from the laundrette. I hope that was all right?'\n\n'I love meat pies,' Helen smiled. 'Especially when I've got company to eat them.'\n\n## Chapter 5\n\n'Sometimes I wonder if I'll ever be warm again.' Georgia held her toes up to the fire and massaged them with her fingers.\n\n'It's March next week, spring's nearly here,' Helen sighed in sympathy. She was stirring a pan of soup over the cooker, still wearing her coat. 'Why don't you do some exercises if it's that bad?'\n\n'I ache too much,' Georgia growled at Helen. 'Besides you always laugh at me.'\n\n'Sounds like a feeble excuse. What happened to your fighting spirit?'\n\n'Died of cold.' Georgia looked round at her friend and tried to smile. She didn't want to admit she'd been sick again that morning, or about her fears.\n\n'Did Janet get her letter from the sailor?' Helen plonked half a loaf down on the table and turned to get the teapot.\n\nGeorgia stood up, pushing her feet back into her slippers and went over to the cooker, peering into the pan.\n\n'No, I think she's given up on him now. She made some joke about how she could always pull men, but she hadn't figured out how to keep them yet.'\n\nGeorgia prodded the soup. Her insides were bashing together with hunger, yet just the thought of vegetable soup again made her feel queasy.\n\n'It's ready, pour it out will you?' Helen didn't notice Georgia's grimace as she got cups out of the cupboard.\n\n'I can't eat this,' Georgia dropped her spoon with a clatter after a few tentative mouthfuls. She picked up a hunk of dry bread and wolfed it down.\n\nHelen said nothing, just a slight raise of one gold eyebrow as she lifted the spoon to her lips.\n\n'Go on, say it,' Georgia challenged, her mouth full of bread. 'I'm a spoiled brat and it's my fault there's no money left this week.'\n\n'Did I say a word?' Helen retorted.\n\n'You don't have to,' Georgia sniffed. She picked up her spoon and tried again.\n\nHelen had asked her to buy belly of pork at the weekend, but she'd seen a piece of beef in the butcher's shop and bought that instead. Now she was discovering what a tight budget really meant.\n\n'It's a good job we can get vegetables for nothing,' Helen grinned. 'I bet you won't be so daft again.'\n\n'It's all right for you. You get a meal at the club later,' Georgia said. She had had to buy that beef, her stomach was screaming out for the sort of food Celia cooked. How was she to know how much beef cost? 'I bet you've been eating fruit all day too!'\n\n'What is it Georgia?' Helen put down her spoon and reached across the table to touch her hand. 'There's something wrong isn't there, something more than being hungry and cold. Do you want to go home?'\n\n'This is my home,' Georgia shovelled the soup in her mouth, barely tasting it.\n\nOf course she wanted to go home! Day after day she dreamed of Celia's hot meals waiting for her, the clean sweet-smelling house, her warm bedroom and all the other things that home meant. But there was no way back now, this room, her job as a machinist and Helen was all she had now.\n\n'Is it something at work then?' Helen could be so persistent. 'Is it too much for you?'\n\n'I'm just tired and cold,' Georgia tried to smile, even though she felt a lump coming up in her throat. 'I'll go to bed early tonight.'\n\nHelen said nothing more, just watched anxiously as Georgia finished her soup.\n\nShe hadn't believed Georgia would last a week in Soho, let alone seven. When she sent her up to Pop's workrooms to ask for a job, she hadn't expected her to even go in, let alone get the job and stick at it.\n\n'Pop' as everyone called him in the market was a fiery Greek, his sweatshop a place you had to be desperate to work in. Four tiny rooms over his material shop, stinking of paraffin, engine oil and damp cloth. Five industrial machines and a huge steam press assaulted the ears and if you were capable of dealing with that, there was still his other employees to cope with.\n\nJanet and Sally, two vicious-tongued women, ruled the roost, with Irene, Iris and Myrtle as their dim-witted sycophants.\n\nHelen had spent a week in the workshop herself, before moving on to what she considered a far easier life in the market, but somehow Georgia had not only managed to master the sewing machine, but she'd also made friends with the other women.\n\nHelen pulled two oranges out of her bag and tossed one to Georgia.\n\n'You see I didn't stuff myself with fruit all day,' she chuckled. 'Now, in return I want all the gossip.'\n\nGeorgia was such a child. Helen saw the way her big eyes lit up with glee, grubby fingernails digging into the thick peel, tearing it off and biting into the juicy flesh like a savage.\n\n'Iris isn't Pop's mistress,' Georgia said slurping at the fruit, juice running down her chin. 'She just kind of hints he's in love with her. I reckon she's got delusions of grandeur. She told me her boyfriend is a count!'\n\nIris, the cutter, was in her forties, still attractive in an overblown rose style. Flame-red hair copied slavishly from Ava Gardner, given to fox furs and the kind of glamour that related more to the war years than now.\n\n'What did Janet have to say about that?' Helen giggled.\n\nGeorgia wiped her mouth on her sleeve, she got up quickly and turned her back on Helen, returning moments later with two pairs of socks shoved up under her jumper in a parody of the busty Janet.\n\n'The Count of Monte Cristo?' she put her hands on her hips, imitating the tarty stance, wiggling across the room. 'Famous for his disappearing acts!'\n\nHelen's laughter pealed round the shabby, cold room. Georgia with her slim hips in tight jeans couldn't possibly look like the woman with her blonde bird's nest hair, tight low-cut dresses and ample curves, but she'd got the essence of her as she always did with people she imitated.\n\n'I suppose Iris went into one of her sulks?'\n\n'Not half,' Georgia reported gleefully. 'She cut out the dresses so fast we couldn't keep up. She kept banging the shears down on the cutting table so often I thought she might stab Janet.'\n\n'Are you keeping up with the others?' Helen fished, still convinced Georgia was hiding something. 'It must be hard when you aren't experienced like them.'\n\n'I'm not doing too bad,' Georgia stacked up the plates and took them over to the sink. 'Pop makes allowances for me, besides Myrtle always unpicks the bits I've done wrong. You know what she's like.'\n\nMyrtle was the sweet, uncomplaining one in the workroom. She perched in front of her machine all day like a drab little sparrow, offering very little in way of conversation. Her clothes were carefully pressed and mended but old and shabby. She rarely volunteered any information about herself, preferring to sit on the outskirts, looking in.\n\n'Is she still with that man?'\n\n'She must be,' Georgia looked round from the sink. 'She's got a huge bruise on her arm. I saw it when she took off her cardigan to wash before going home. I wonder why she doesn't leave him?'\n\n'Two kids and a council flat in Hackney, that's why,' Helen said, slowly nibbling the last segment of her orange. 'I don't suppose she thinks life has anything else to offer.'\n\n'But Janet and Sally left their husbands,' Georgia frowned. 'I can't see why anyone would stay with a man who beats you.'\n\n'That's easy for you to say,' Helen smiled. 'You are young and pretty. What chance has Myrtle got of finding a new man?'\n\n'I don't see why women need men. As far as I can see, they are nothing but trouble.'\n\nHelen picked up her knitting. She had noticed how often Georgia made disparaging remarks about men. Was it the influence of Sally and Janet? Or was it part of the chain of events which led Georgia to Soho? She still wouldn't open up fully, in seven weeks all she had was a sketchy vision of a comfortable middle-class home, dancing and singing lessons, then an unexplained row which led to her leaving it. Yet she had asked Helen to get someone to post a letter in Manchester to her foster mother. Why would she even bother if she didn't care, and why did she cry out in the night so often?\n\n'You're getting to be a right little cynic!' Helen said gently. 'To think I was hoping you'd introduce me to Mr Right!'\n\nHelen dreamed of men constantly. At night in her cloakroom job at 'Squires' she would smile at the smart men who came in, hoping against hope one day someone would overlook her limp. Only the thought that the operation she was waiting for would be successful kept her going. It was all very well to be liked for yourself, but she wanted romance and love, a husband and children. To dance in a man's arms, to walk without a limp down the aisle, to be desired.\n\nGeorgia knew Helen guessed there was more to her than she had revealed. She yearned to open up but she was afraid. It would be like opening a door, forcing herself to look at everything all over again. It was almost over now. She no longer jumped and ran when she saw a policeman, she had even adjusted to living in this place without television, music, or dancing and singing lessons. Maybe in time she could forget Peter, stop wanting his kisses. But if she told Helen now because of her fears it would all come back, and if her period was just late, she would have burdened Helen with it all for nothing.\n\n'We'll go out dancing when you've had the op,' Georgia smiled as if there was nothing on her mind. 'We'll make ourselves beautiful dresses and take London by storm.'\n\n'You've got to teach me to dance first,' Helen laughed. 'Anyway, I'd better get ready to go to work. Will you do my hair for me?'\n\nHelen couldn't imagine life now without Georgia. She filled the lonely hours before her night-time job with chatter and laughter. Sharing meals, shopping and cleaning the room was a pleasure where once there had only been a lonely void. When she came home tired from the club it felt secure to see her friend tucked up in bed and Sundays flew by with her company.\n\nBut Helen was a realist if nothing else, maybe Georgia was content to stay in now, but what would happen if she made new friends? Had it already happened? Was Georgia's troubled look because she was tired of living with a cripple who worked so many hours?\n\nYet if Georgia was growing weary of this place and her, it didn't show in the way she did her hair. Brushing it till it shone, coaxing curls round her fingers with an almost loving touch.\n\nGeorgia got up slowly the next morning, waiting for the expected feeling of nausea. Helen had gone out early as she did every morning, regardless of how cold it was, or how late she finished work. The gas meter had run out last night, she couldn't put the fire on, have a cup of tea or even wash in hot water. But she didn't feel sick and it was payday.\n\nThe window was frosted over on the inside. She scraped a small hole and peered out. Fridays were good. At lunchtime she could go into Sid's and have steak and kidney pie and tonight she could turn the gas fire on full and bask in front of it with a library book, knowing she could lie in tomorrow. Janet had promised to take her to a jumble sale up in Primrose Hill in the afternoon, she might find some dresses they could alter on Sunday, or if it was nice they could go for a walk in St James's Park.\n\nShe was still feeling cheerful when she arrived at work, bouncing up the stairs the way she did when she first started there.\n\n'Well that's a good start to the day,' Pop turned round from dumping some bales of cheap tweed on the floor. 'Let's hope the good mood lasts beyond tea-break!'\n\nGeorgia grinned impudently at him, a manner she'd learned from Janet and Sally. She'd been so frightened of him, and his machines on her first day that she almost wet herself, but now she knew his gruff manner hid a kind heart she often took advantage.\n\nPop still had a strong Greek accent despite living in England since he was eighteen. Portly, with thinning heavily-oiled hair it was hard to see him as the slim, handsome youth he was rumoured to have been. His dark eyes had faded a little, a melancholy olive face, thick fleshy lips and a large rubbery nose made Georgia think of an old clown. Yet perhaps it was true he'd been a hit with the ladies in his prime. He did have a comfortable, easy manner with women.\n\n'Can I make some tea now?' she fluttered her eyelashes at him. 'Our meter had run out so I couldn't have one at home.'\n\n'You girls!' Pop shrugged his shoulders. 'One of these days I'm going to make you work like they do down at Switalski's. On to that seat at half eight, standing over you till one. Maybe then I'd be able to get myself a decent car.'\n\nGeorgia took that as agreement, sliding into the staffroom before he changed his mind.\n\nThe staffroom was a joke. It was no bigger than a cupboard, the toilet adjoining it. A shelf for the kettle, three rickety chairs and the cracked window stuffed up with old rags.\n\nFrom behind her in the main workroom she could hear Pop and Iris discussing the cloth and which patterns should be used. She had been excited when she first came here, imagining she would make good clothes, but instead to her disappointment Pop specialised in making frumpy, cheap things for old ladies. Sometimes Janet and Sally would dress up in them during the lunch hour. Drab, shapeless dresses with white collars and cuffs, always in browns, dark blues and greens. Then the pair of them would do a striptease, peeling them off, more like pantomime dames than the show girls they pretended to be.\n\nWhile the kettle boiled Georgia watched through the open door. Janet was threading her machine, a cigarette hanging out the corner of her mouth, her blonde hair still in curlers with a shocking-pink chiffon scarf tied round them. Next to her was Sally her close friend, leaning forward whispering something.\n\nThey were both thirty, without husbands, and three children each. They even lived in the same block of tenement flats down near Charing Cross Road. Noisy, vulgar and aggressive, the pair had seemed like dragons on Georgia's first day, yet now she viewed them almost with admiration.\n\nSally's raven black 'beehive' stood up an alarming six inches from her head, a slick of greasy black fringe across her forehead, with lacquered kiss-curls fixed like cement on her ruddy cheeks. Her make-up was as startling as her hair. Heavy eyeliner and several coatings of thick mascara. Lips dark red and lustrous, a beauty spot painted on her cheek. Voluptuous and wanton, she scrutinised every man who had the misfortune to come into the workshop, dark, lust-filled eyes sparkling at their embarrassment.\n\nSally might be the one with the startling appearance, but it was Janet who had the real character and personality. By night she worked as a stripper, something she made no secret of. She could turn the most mundane of stories into comedy, and her observations about other people were bitingly astute.\n\nHer daytime appearance, the headscarf, shapeless sweater, crumpled skirt and no make-up, was at odds with the glamour snaps they'd all seen of her. Once the curlers were out, the warpaint and false eyelashes on, the metamorphosis from plain Janet Willoughby to exotic dancer Nicole was complete. If Pop and Sally were to be believed she bore more than a glancing likeness to Marilyn Monroe when she wiggled seductively onto the stage.\n\nIf it wasn't for the humour of these two women, Georgia might never have made it through her first week. They teased her, shouted, even swore at her, but an underlying sense of fairplay made them help and encourage her too, and when she was close to tears they had a knack of turning it to laughter.\n\n'You dun'alf talk posh!' Janet had remarked on her first tea-break. 'Why don'cha learn us to speak proper and I'll show you how to strip?'\n\nGeorgia blushed scarlet, twisting her hands in her lap as minutes later Janet came out of the toilet wearing only a length of fabric and proceeded to do a peek-a-boo dance routine with it. She was convinced Janet was naked under the material, as first one shoulder was bared, then the other. The other women sang for her, clapping their hands and stamping their feet and as Janet dropped the fabric as a climax, Georgia covered her face with her hands.\n\nSally grabbed her hands away, and to Georgia's astonishment Janet was standing there wearing a pair of pink, old ladies' bloomers and two paper roses pinned to a large brassi\u00e8re. The sight was so unexpected and hilarious Georgia almost fell off the seat with laughter, and she'd known then she could stand working at Pop's.\n\n'Isn't that kettle boiling yet?' Pop glanced up from the cutting table at her. Iris at his side sniffed loudly in disapproval. She was supposed to be the forewoman, but her instructions were never carried out by anyone other than Myrtle. Iris was wearing a flame-red two-piece which clashed with her red hair, a silk rose was pinned to her lapel as if she were going to a wedding.\n\n'That's not how it was done in my day,' was her favourite whine, covering everything from Georgia making tea so early in the morning, to the way Irene swept the floor.\n\n'When was that? Domesday?' Janet always retorted, sending Iris's heavily pan-sticked face into a vivid flush of frustration. She spoke vaguely about having a man 'in high places', alluded mysteriously to 'cocktails' after work and sometimes to 'our nest' in Brighton.\n\nGeorgia still had no clear picture about where the woman really came from. It was all snippets with no substance, even her carefully cultivated accent was a fake, as sometimes in anger she dropped it, and sounded more of a cockney than Janet or Sally.\n\nThe kettle boiled behind her and Georgia turned to make a big pot for everyone. She heard Myrtle turn on the steam press and at the same moment Irene came through the door late.\n\n'Do you know what the time is?' Iris's high voice rose above a belch of steam. 'This isn't how it was done in my day. We thought ourselves lucky to have a job, you could be dismissed at a moment's notice for unpunctuality.'\n\nIrene didn't answer, but by her shuffling gait coming into the staffroom to hang up her coat, Georgia knew it was one of her bad days.\n\nIrene was not quite right in the head, as Janet put it, 'A penny short of a full quid.' No one seemed to know what exactly was wrong. She could turn up on time for a week at a stretch, neatly dressed, and chat about her elderly mother in the Oval, books she'd read, and television programmes, as normal as everyone else. But then suddenly she'd change for a few days, like today, coming in late wearing men's trousers with a huge shapeless sweater thrown over the top, her dark hair all tousled as if she hadn't brushed it, top teeth missing, lipstick up to her ears, her eyes blank. She would say the oddest things at these times, about men who followed her. Strange spirits in her house, and odder still she would profess to live in Kensington with a man called James.\n\nBut whatever she was like, she worked harder than anyone, sweeping up, pressing, sewing on buttons at twice the speed of everyone else. Sally said she was over forty, but to Georgia, the smooth, unlined face was that of a girl, only the missing teeth suggested Sally was right.\n\nGeorgia gave everyone a cup of tea and sat down at her machine with her own. In front of her was a pile of grey wool skirts, her job was to do merely the seams, then pass them over for pressing. Later Sally would do the waistbands and zips.\n\n'You coming to the jumble tomorrow?' Janet shouted at her over the noise of her machine. 'Our Lyndsey's gonna take the other kids to the park for a bit so we can have some peace.'\n\n'Peace at a jumble?' Sally roared back. 'Have you warned her about the scraps you get into?'\n\nGeorgia felt suddenly dizzy as the hot tea went down in one long gulp. She sat back in her chair, wiping her brow with one hand. The paraffin stove seemed to smell much worse than usual and the hiss of the press sounded as if it was right in her ears.\n\nThe workroom was spinning. One moment Pop was standing on her right, the next on her left and the sickly smell of Iris's perfume caught her in the throat.\n\nWeakly she got up, groping almost blindly across the room, and as her stomach churned she put her hand over her mouth and ran the rest of the way to the toilet.\n\n'What's up with 'er?' she heard Sally shout, but her head was over the pan, vomiting as if her entire insides were coming up.\n\nOn and on it went until there was nothing left but green bile. She stood up and leaned against the toilet wall, so weak she felt she could slide to the floor.\n\n'Ow long's this bin goin' on?' Janet's voice behind her startled Georgia.\n\nFor a moment Georgia just stared at the older woman. There was no laughter now in those dark almond eyes, no hint of malice or sneering. Just sympathy and understanding.\n\n'About a week.'\n\n'Does 'Elen know?'\n\nGeorgia shook her head.\n\n'When did you last get the curse?'\n\n'Just before Christmas.'\n\n'When did you go with 'im?'\n\nTears came then. The sickness was going now but Janet had voiced her own fears and made it reality.\n\n'It was my birthday, January sixth.'\n\n'Is that why you left 'ome? Did yer ma find out?'\n\nOne moment Georgia was just hanging her head in shame, the next she was caught in Janet's soft arms. Her head on her shoulder, crying out all the fear and pain.\n\n'It's all right little 'un,' Janet whispered, kissing her hair and stroking her back. 'We can't talk now, but I'll 'elp you, don't you fret. At lunchtime I'll come back to your place and you can tell me about it. Now dry your eyes and try to smile. We don't want that nosy Iris getting wind of it, do we?'\n\n'Do you feel better now you've told me?' Janet said softly, as she came back into the attic room carrying two bags of fish and chips from the shop across the street.\n\n'Sort of,' Georgia whispered.\n\nAll morning she had thought of lies to tell. She even wanted to deny she could be pregnant, but once Janet sat down beside her in the other armchair, she seemed to know the right buttons to press to make her tell the truth.\n\nUntil now, Georgia had thought it was only women like her mother who could be relied on to be this sensitive. Janet with her curlers, plucked eyebrows and hourglass figure and bawdy jokes belonged to another world, yet she'd listened carefully, then went out to buy food.\n\n'I can take you to a doctor I know tomorrow.' Janet handed her a newspaper wrapped parcel. 'We 'ave to get it confirmed before we do anything else. He's a proper doctor, but 'e's bin struck off. If you go to an ordinary one he might just split on you. We'll make out you're sixteen anyway.'\n\n'But,'\n\n'I know, I know. You wants me to tell you we can wave a magic wand and make it right. I can't do that love. Let's just wait until we know for certain. It might just be the upset that's stopped your period.'\n\nPop sent Georgia out on an errand later in the afternoon and used the opportunity to call Janet into his office.\n\n'What's the matter with Georgia?' he asked bluntly. 'She's been looking pasty for days. Is the job too much for her?'\n\nHe knew Janet was capable of covering up for another girl she liked, but he wasn't in the charity business.\n\n'Just a tummy upset,' Janet distracted him with one of her sultry looks. 'She'll be fine in a day or two.'\n\n'Is there something I ought to know about her?' Pop was sure Janet knew something, she had that sly look in her dark almond eyes.\n\n'She needs a bit of tenderness,' Janet said, perching unasked on his cluttered desk. 'She ain't got no one but 'Elen.'\n\nPop sighed. His material shop downstairs was the legitimate part of his business. He ran the workshop and his market stall without declaring either to the Inland Revenue. All his employees until Georgia had been ones like Janet who could be trusted to keep their mouths shut. He didn't want any further headaches.\n\n'Don't you worry,' Janet picked up on his fears. 'She ain't some nark, or ever likely to be. Trust 'er Pop, she's a good kid.'\n\nAs Janet went back into the workroom she smiled to herself at Pop's na\u00efvety. He'd been married for donkey's years and had five children, the youngest Georgia's age, yet he hadn't suspected pregnancy. He might fiddle the taxman, but as an otherwise honourable man he was almost unaware of the evil some men were capable of.\n\nJanet knew. She knew all right.\n\nShe was the same age as Georgia on VE night, just another silly little girl out dancing in the streets. The big American looked so handsome in his blue uniform, it seemed so right to go and have a drink with him.\n\nShe knew what it felt like to scream your lungs out, and she knew too, even as she was doing it, no one would come to help. The whole of England was out celebrating the end of the war and how many other simple girls lost their virginity that night?\n\n'I 'ope she don't go the way I did,' Janet thought as she made her way back to her machine. She was lucky she didn't get pregnant, but she still hated what that man had turned her into. Off with any rich old man, taking what she could and using her body to trap them. At sixteen she saw Paris with one of them, trading her youth for nice clothes and the good life. Never mind who she hurt, as long as it wasn't her.\n\nYet she wasn't as tough as she thought, she still fell for Pete! Another fast-talking hustler just like herself. Just one year of wild good times, then everything turned sour. He sapped everything from her, the jewellery, the few bob she'd stashed away, he even took her looks. Why she stayed so long she never knew. Three kids, with each one she was pulled further and further down. Finally she ended up where she started, in Soho, a dirty, stinking rat hole of a flat without even a bath. He only came home in the end when he was broke, trying to push her out on the streets, anything for just one more stake. But she'd never done that. No man would make her sell herself in a doorway. Stripping was clean, taking the piss out of old wankers who couldn't get it up any other way, while she fed her kids and tried to build a new life.\n\n'But I won't let you go that way, baby,' she whispered under her breath as she picked up the cheap tweed. 'It ain't a life, it's just survival.'\n\nA raw wind caught Georgia's cheeks as she ran through the narrow back streets to Peabody Court.\n\nOnce away from the market it was quiet, offices closed for the weekend, too early in the morning for the night-time people to surface. Unpleasant odours seeped out of each dark alley, the many piles of vomit an indication of the previous night's revelry. Cellar trapdoors stood open, belching out a stench of beer, while the caf\u00e9s competed with the delicious aroma of fresh coffee and fried bacon.\n\nShe could never be sure whether she liked or feared Soho. For all the dirt, smells and danger that seemed to lurk round each dark corner, it had a warmer side that surprised her. A friendly wave from the old man in the corner sweet shop. A wolf whistle from the boy who worked in the Bastille coffee bar and a smile from the woman on her knees scrubbing her doorstep. Helen had no fear when she walked home late at night, the big bouncers in the clubs watched out for her, even the prostitutes and strippers knew her by name and Georgia was respected as being her friend.\n\n'Coo-ey!' The call made her look up. Janet was leaning over a small balcony on the third floor making a signal she was on her way down.\n\nThe buildings were dismal. Four storeys of soot-blackened dwellings housing sixty families. Small spiral stone staircases behind rusting prison-like bars gave more than a hint of the dark ages this place belonged to. Yet many of the windows sparkled defiantly, sporting brilliant white net curtains as if the owners wanted to prove they hadn't given up hope entirely.\n\nJanet's high heels clattered down the last few steps, bringing a touch of unexpected colour and glamour to the grey surroundings.\n\nWhite-blonde bouffant hair, a leopardskin swagger-jacket, red lipstick and tight red skirt matching perfectly. Now Georgia saw why she held her own against younger girls in the strip clubs, and why she'd earned the title of Soho's Marilyn Monroe.\n\n'You look lovely,' Georgia was touched that Janet had considered taking her to a doctor enough reason to dress up. 'Your hair's so pretty!'\n\n'I got it done last night,' Janet patted the masterpiece, and fluttered her spiky eyelashes. 'Course it's the first time you've seen me done up. Could I con anyone I was yer sister?'\n\n'Your skin's a bit pale,' Georgia giggled despite the turmoil inside her.\n\n'It's not far,' Janet tucked Georgia's hand under her arm and marched her quickly down to Charing Cross Road. They stopped at a door sandwiched between two record shops.\n\n'I'm scared,' Georgia hung back. 'I don't know what to say!'\n\nJanet took her cold face between both her gloved hands and kissed the end of her nose.\n\n'I'll be with you. Just agree with everything I say to him. It ain't so bad.'\n\nA bearded, tall, thin man answered the door, just as Janet was wiping her lipstick off Georgia's nose.\n\n'Good to see you Janet,' he smiled as if he really meant it. 'Come on up, it's bitterly cold isn't it?'\n\nHis voice brought back Blackheath into sharp focus. Resonant, educated. If she closed her eyes she could almost pretend it was Doctor Towle in his spacious antiseptic surgery in the village.\n\nJust one flight of shabby but clean stairs and they passed through a glass-panelled door.\n\n'How's things, Roger?' Janet swaggered into the flat as if she was no stranger to it. 'Never see you down the club anymore. Got a new lady?'\n\n'I spend my time with good books these days,' he laughed, implying that once he had been a regular visitor, waving one hand at a huge oak bookcase full of leather bound volumes. 'And you must be Georgia,' he smiled down at her, holding out his hand.\n\nGeorgia gulped. He had such nice eyes, pale blue, the colour of baby ribbon. When he smiled he looked younger than his fifty years, an unlined, almost boyish face.\n\n'Don't look so frightened,' he led her over to the couch and pulled out a cloth screen to put round it. 'Pop in there and take off your undies, then up on the couch. Janet will be right here with me.'\n\nGeorgia took off her coat, then hastily pulled her knickers off under her skirt. Behind the screen she could hear Janet talking softly. She gave him the date of her last period, mentioned the bouts of sickness as if she were an aunt.\n\nShe had expected someone seedier, maybe foreign, anything other than this tall, bearded man with his gentle voice and kind face.\n\n'If she is pregnant you know I cannot condone an abortion,' she heard him say. 'I hope you didn't think I would help with that?'\n\n'Of course not, Roger,' Janet's voice lost its cockney edge. 'She can stay with me, one more won't break the bank. We just wanted to be certain before I take her to the hospital.'\n\nGeorgia tried hard not to blush when he came back to her pulling on rubber gloves.\n\n'Put your feet up, and let your knees fall apart,' he smiled reassurance. 'Relax. It won't hurt.'\n\nBut it did hurt, not just physically, but mentally. It brought back that other examination after the rape. One more indignity, the shame of exposing herself to a man. Every muscle was tense as his fingers probed her. She screwed up her eyes, her toes and her fingers and wished she could just faint rather than submit to another minute of it.\n\nHis face was thoughtful as he removed his hand. He stood back and peeled the rubber gloves off as she hastily pulled her skirt down over her knees.\n\n'Sit up now and just let me see your breasts. Are they tender or enlarged?'\n\n'A bit,' she said, as she struggled to undo her bra.\n\n'Hm,' he said as he peered closely at them. 'No doubt about it my dear. You are pregnant, around eight to nine weeks I'd say.'\n\nGeorgia could contain herself no longer. Tears rolled down her cheeks and she covered her face with her hands.\n\n'I'm sorry,' he said gently, patting her shoulder. 'Ideally, every baby should be planned. But believe me, few are. In a few weeks you'll get used to the idea, in a couple of months you'll be waiting eagerly for it.'\n\nOnce out on the street, Janet steered her across the busy road to a coffee bar.\n\n'Better now?' Janet was surprised Georgia controlled herself so quickly, remembering her manners and thanking Roger for his verdict. If she didn't know better she would assume Georgia had already come to terms with it. 'I know it wasn't the result you hoped for. But at least we know for sure.'\n\nJanet took a booth at the far end of the coffee bar and ordered drinks for them.\n\nSoho was full of coffee bars, by day office workers bought sandwiches in them, by night they became meeting places for the young. This one had gay red and white checked curtains, with white formica tables and a big bulbous juke box, the only customers two taxi drivers eating breakfast.\n\n'I'd rather leave this till you've had time to think,' Janet said once the coffee was in front of them and she'd lit up a cigarette. 'But time is the one thing we're short on, so I won't go round the houses.'\n\nShe drew deeply on her cigarette.\n\n'We could go right now to the police and tell them the whole story. They'll arrest yer dad, and with a bit of luck they might offer help with an abortion in hospital.'\n\n'But what if they don't?' Georgia's eyes filled with fright. 'I don't know if I could bear to go through all that questioning. Besides, when Mum hears about the baby it will make her even more miserable. I can't do that!'\n\nJanet sighed deeply. The bastard who'd done this to Georgia had filled her dreams last night. She wanted him crucified as an example to any other man who might get the idea of raping a child in his care. But however much she wanted it she was aware of the problems. Social workers would step in, the kid'd be back in care and they'd probably make her go through with the baby too.\n\n'The other alternative is to have the baby, maybe get you into a home for unmarried mothers and have it adopted when it's born.'\n\nGeorgia stiffened. Eyes rolled in alarm, her lovely mouth tightening with hate.\n\n'I can't have it. I loathe it already. No one could expect me to keep his child inside me, could they?'\n\nJanet's almond eyes closed for a moment as she thought what she would have done if those Americans had left her pregnant.\n\n'Then there's only abortion,' she sighed. 'But that's risky.'\n\nWeek after week Janet met women who had illegal abortions. Some women like her who'd already had children and couldn't afford another, sometimes they were prostitutes who'd merely slipped up. But Georgia was a child, how could she help in something which could kill her?\n\n'How bad is risky?'\n\nJanet looked into the dark, determined eyes and saw the same kind of stubborn pluck that had kept her going through countless hardships.\n\n'Infection, blood poisoning, even death. I won't lie to you love, it's heavy.'\n\n'I don't care,' Georgia brushed tears from her eyes angrily. 'Anything's better than having it.'\n\nShe put one hand on her stomach tentatively, hardly able to believe there was a tiny baby growing in there.\n\n'It ain't a picnic,' Janet warned. 'It hurts so bad when the contractions come you'll want to die. I don't want to frighten you love, but it wouldn't be right for me not to spell it out.'\n\n'I can stand it,' Georgia stuck out her little pointed chin defiantly.\n\n'I hope so,' Janet said softly. 'I just hope so.'\n\n'Tonight's the night then,' Janet whispered to Georgia at work. Three, painfully slow weeks had passed since the visit to Roger. 'Did you weaken and tell Helen?'\n\n'No. I said I was minding your kids for you.' Georgia's face was pale but resolute. 'If I could get back home on Sunday she need never know. You know what a worry-guts she is!'\n\nA whole week spent waiting for Janet to contact the man. Another five days while he considered whether he would do it, then another nine of being so terrified she couldn't sleep at night.\n\nOn top of that was the worry about getting the ten pounds needed, along with hiding it from Helen. No lunch, sweets, new stockings or magazines. It was lucky Pop had asked them to work overtime on several occasions for a rush job, otherwise she would have had to borrow some of it from Janet. The longest three weeks she had ever known, but now the moment was close.\n\nWhat would happen if she got rushed to hospital? Would she be brave enough not to implicate Janet? And what if she did die? Would Janet go to prison for helping her?\n\nIt was raining hard as Georgia and Janet left work, for once the streets were almost empty. Neon lights from the clubs and bars were twinkling in puddles, the old yellow street lights giving St Anne's Court a Dickensian quaintness that belied the sordid activities which it was famous for.\n\nSally was the only other person who knew what was going to happen. She had already taken Janet's children down to her flat on the ground floor and she'd promised to look in the next morning to see how things were.\n\n'Well, this is it,' Janet said as she opened her front door. 'Sorry about the mess. I didn't have time this morning.'\n\nTwo months earlier Georgia would have considered Janet's home a slum, but after her attic room with Helen, it looked homely. Small boxy rooms, congested with furniture. A garish, orange patterned carpet vying with a red overstuffed three piece suite. Yet despite the clothes and toys strewn about, it was clean, bright and cosy. Photographs of her children, glass ornaments and seaside souvenirs jockeyed for position on the mantelpiece, window-sill and two shelves on the walls and gave a feeling of security.\n\n'We didn't even have a bath till last year,' Janet yelled at her as she made a cup of tea. 'I used to stand the kids in the sink. Posh ain't it?'\n\nGeorgia looked enviously at the white bathroom, almost as if she'd never seen one before. She may have improved her bathroom enough to use it, but it still made her shudder. Would there ever come a time when she and Helen could arrange their talcum powder, shampoo and face flannels like Janet had done? Or be able to invite friends round and not be embarrassed?\n\nGeorgia was in the bedroom getting herself prepared, when the abortionist arrived.\n\n'It's time,' Janet said softly from the doorway. 'Remember what I've told you. It's embarrassing, but not painful. I'll stay with you so don't panic!'\n\nGeorgia's stomach churned as she saw the man in the bathroom. He was short and very dark with hair that grew right down the back of his hands and thick eyebrows which met in the middle.\n\n'Call me Eric,' he smirked, not meeting her eyes. Seedy was the description that fitted him best. Clean enough, but with frayed cuffs to his shirt, and the trousers which didn't match his suit jacket were shiny with age. As he took off his jacket and rolled up his shirt sleeves, stale sweat wafted out.\n\nGeorgia could think of nothing to say. She stood awkwardly in her dressing-gown, her bare toes curling up on the cold lino as he turned to the bath and bent over.\n\nA tubular chair was already in place, Eric was furiously whisking a bowl of bright pink soapy water. The smell of carbolic took Georgia right back to her ordeal in the bathroom at the convent. She gagged involuntarily.\n\nThe closer she looked, the less she liked him. He had a paunch that hung over his trousers and through his thin shirt she could see bumps of a string vest. How could she let this man touch her?\n\n'I know this isn't the best way to meet people,' he said still whisking the soap. 'Try to think of me as a doctor.'\n\nGeorgia had an overwhelming desire to run away. He had a length of rubber tubing in his hands, testing it by submerging one end in the water and squeezing a round bulb in his hand. The other end of the tube had a firm nozzle, the bright pink water was splashing into the white bath.\n\n'Hop up on the chair,' he said, glancing round and taking her firmly by the hand. 'I expect it's been explained to you but I'll tell you once again.'\n\n'I can't,' Georgia said suddenly as panic washed over her. She had looked at those hairy hands, knew where they were going and the thought disgusted her.\n\n'Yes you can,' Janet said firmly behind her. 'Don't even look at Eric, sit on the edge of that chair and try to relax.'\n\n'I don't see or feel anything,' he said unconvincingly, shrugging his shoulders. 'I'm just here to help girls in trouble.'\n\nBetween the pair of them Georgia knew she could do nothing but agree.\n\nClutching the dressing-gown round her she stepped into the bath and perched on the chair. Janet came forward and lifted the gown, revealing the lower part of her body. Then positioning herself by Georgia's side, she took one hand in both of hers.\n\n'Now first I have to dilate the neck of the womb,' Eric said, already sliding two soap-covered fingers between her legs. 'When you got pregnant, that end sealed over with a thin membrane, first we have to break it, then pump the water in.'\n\nWhen Roger had examined her she was embarrassed, but secure in the knowledge he was a real doctor. This man with his sweaty smell and hairy hands made her feel tainted. As he felt round inside her he kept huffing and wheezing, if it hadn't been for Janet holding her hand so tight and the desperate need for his skill, then she would have pushed him away and run for it.\n\nGeorgia turned her eyes up to the ceiling, and tried to blank out from her mind what was happening.\n\nIt didn't exactly hurt, it was more humiliating than painful. She felt a dull ache at one point, very similar to a period pain.\n\n'That's done it,' Eric said cheerfully, withdrawing his hand and picking up the length of tubing. 'Now this end,' he lightly touched the rigid end and squirted the bulb again to see that it was working. A jet of pink soapsuds trickled across Georgia's thigh. 'This has to go right in there, then I pump the water. Janet please hold the other end under the water all the time, we mustn't risk an air bubble getting in.'\n\nOnce again his fingers felt their way in, this time with the rigid end firmly between them. He groped around for a moment or two then smiled.\n\n'That's it, it's going in now, you'll feel an odd sensation soon.'\n\nIt seemed as if he was pushing the tube forever and the sensation he mentioned came on, making her feel slightly nauseous.\n\n'Ready for the soap now,' he said, checking to see Janet was holding the other end down correctly. 'Here goes.'\n\nHe pumped for what seemed like minutes. The level in the bowl was going down, yet none was coming splashing out as Georgia had expected.\n\n'That's it, job done,' he said, withdrawing the tube quickly. 'It will start working within twelve hours, if it doesn't we'll have to try again. But I'll stake my reputation on you losing the baby before morning.'\n\nGeorgia quickly covered herself as Eric left the room. She was surprised how little it had hurt and she now felt a little foolish. As she climbed out of the bath she noticed her stomach was bloated, and she was shivering, but that was the only ill effect.\n\nShe went back into the living room and found her purse.\n\nEric was pulling on his raincoat, refusing a cup of tea from Janet. It was obvious he wanted to get out as quickly as possible, his tools already packed in a small leather briefcase.\n\n'Can't stop,' he said, his eyes darting about the room. 'Call it a tenner love, and remember not to spill any beans if you have to go into hospital, otherwise you might be very sorry.'\n\n'There's no need for any threats,' Janet moved towards him, her eyes flashing. 'She's one of the girls, she knows how to behave. I'll be contacting you if it doesn't work.'\n\nJanet closed the door behind him and thumped the wall beside it.\n\n'What a piece of human shit!' she exploded. 'He'd sell his own granny for a shilling. He couldn't care less about his victims. I bet he gets \u2013' she broke off suddenly as if remembering how young Georgia was. 'Never mind that! How yer feeling?'\n\n'Not so scared now,' Georgia smiled, a little colour coming back into her cheeks. 'I mean, I can't stop anything now can I? I just have to wait and see what happens.'\n\n'Good for you,' Janet smiled and tickled her under the chin. 'Now let's see what I've got in the cupboard to eat, you don't look as if you've eaten for days.'\n\nGeorgia was seeing another side of Janet now as she cooked chops for their tea, folded clothes and put away toys. She was very much a mother, not the good-time girl she liked to portray at work. The lounge was very warm and it was good to watch television again, almost the same snug feeling she'd had at home in Blackheath.\n\n'How did you come to be a stripper?' Georgia asked after they'd eaten the meal and Janet sat down with her coffee and cigarette, her slippered feet up on a pouffe.\n\n'It started out as a bit of a lark one night,' Janet grinned wickedly. 'My old man had left me with the three kids, I was a bit down and up to my eyes in debt. A mate asked me to go down the club for a few drinks. Well, I was so cheesed off I dolled myself up and out we went.'\n\nShe paused to light another cigarette, offering one to Georgia.\n\n'Sorry you don't do you. Anyway I got a bit pissed and when the strip act came on I fell about laughing it was so bad. The manager challenged me. \"Do it better than her and I'll give you twenty quid.\"'\n\n'So you did it?'\n\nJanet grimaced, as if remembering conflicting emotions.\n\n'Well that twenty quid meant food in the cupboard and new shoes for the kids. So I turns to him and says, \"All right mate, yer on.\" Next thing I knew he was wheeling me up on the stage.'\n\n'Were you any good?' Georgia was torn between shock and admiration.\n\n'Better than the other girl!' she laughed loudly, throwing back her head. 'I felt a bit silly, me undies was a bit rough and that. But I could dance and me bum and tits hadn't sagged that much. By the time I was waving my bra round me 'ead, the whole place was in an uproar. I got called for an encore.'\n\n'Did you get the twenty pounds?'\n\n'Yeah, and he asked me to appear the next night. A fiver for two ten minute slots. Can you think of a quicker way to make that kind of dough?'\n\nGeorgia shook her head.\n\n'I was planning to go to that club in Berwick Street just before I met Helen,' she admitted. 'Do you think I'd have been any good?'\n\n'Don't you even think of it,' Janet snapped. 'I knew all the people round 'ere. I knew what to watch out for. I make it sound glamorous, but believe me it ain't. You know what 'appens to old strippers?'\n\nGeorgia blushed.\n\n'They end up as winos, or brass,' she said. 'I had no alternative back then when the kids was small, but I keep it in mind. I do me turn and I come 'ome. I don't mess with the guys, and I saves some of the dough for a rainy day.'\n\n'Wouldn't you like to get married again?'\n\nJanet snorted with laughter. 'Chance'd be a fine thing. Who wants a woman with three kids for more than a night or two? They come round, want a free meal, a quick screw and they're on their way again. It's better to have a good mate like Sal than a man who just takes.'\n\nIt was like looking in a peepshow as Janet told her things about her former life.\n\n'I don't blame anyone but me,' Janet explained her philosophy of life. 'All the troubles I've had were my own doing. If I'd chosen a different path instead of what I thought was a short cut I'd be in clover now. I got no time for people who grizzle and whine. You make your own luck.'\n\nIt was after twelve when Janet took her into her bedroom. Next to the big double bed, a narrow single one was made up.\n\n'You sleep in there love, and wake me up if it starts. Anything yet?'\n\n'Nothing,' Georgia laughed. 'I don't know what to expect anyway.'\n\n'Well the soap acts as an irritant. It starts up contractions. They feel some'at like period pains. They go on for a bit, getting stronger and stronger, then if all goes well you'll lose it. It can be messy, so put a pad on now. But don't worry about the bed, I've put a rubber sheet on it and the sheets are old ones.'\n\nGeorgia lay awake long after Janet was snoring next to her.\n\nTo help her to sleep she lapsed into her favourite game, pretending to be a famous actress in a West End musical. She imagined the crowd shouting for an encore, and herself sweeping out of the stage door into a waiting limousine. As she raised one foot to get into the car, a voice behind her made her turn.\n\n'I knew I'd find you one day.'\n\nShe turned to see Peter standing there, his blond hair gleaming like gold under a street light, his arms open wide, waiting for her to run to him.\n\nWhen she woke, for a minute she didn't know where she was, until a dull ache in her stomach reminded her. It was still dark, and Janet snored softly in the bed next to her.\n\nCreeping out of bed silently, she fumbled for her dressing-gown and slippers and went into the lounge.\n\nIt was four o'clock, and still raining hard when she looked out of the window. Across the street four men were staggering up the steps of the Black Cat club. Two of them supported the third between them, and a fourth lurched unsteadily behind them.\n\nGeorgia perched on the arm of a chair and watched them. They paused under the club's canopy as if hoping to see a taxi. An illuminated sign was flashing on and off beside them, their faces turning red to green alternately. There was no one else about. Not so much as a light in an upstairs window or a passing car.\n\nShe turned away from the window to take some painkillers Janet had left on the table, and make some hot milk.\n\nShe turned to examine a photograph of Janet's children. It had been taken in a studio. What would happen to them if Janet didn't get rehoused in the next couple of years as she hoped? Would her daughter end up working in one of the clubs? Would the boys spend their nights in smoky billiard halls, waiting to be sucked into crime?\n\nWhen all this was over she would have to think hard about her own future. Soho might be a convenient place to hide, but as Janet had pointed out so clearly, it was full of life's losers.\n\nBy six the pain was so strong she went back to bed. Every now and then the soap oozed out in spurts, the smell of carbolic making her nauseous. She lay on one side, then the other, trying to find a way to get comfortable. Between the pains she counted. At first she could get up to forty, but gradually they got closer and closer together, until they were only seconds apart.\n\nIt wasn't just in her stomach now, but in her back too. She didn't want to wake Janet yet, but it was scary lying there in the darkness.\n\nThe curtains didn't quite meet in the middle. She focused on a triangle of sky, watching as it slowly turned from black to grey. In the distance she could hear a milk float, the crates rattling as it went over bumps, and slowly the hum of traffic increased from the direction of Charing Cross Road.\n\nIt was light enough to see Janet now. Her red nightdress bunched up around her neck, one pale arm curled round her head, wheezing as she slept.\n\nThere were no gaps between the pain now, just great waves of agony that grew gradually stronger. She tried to control herself, gripping the edge of the mattress, but even biting her lips together she couldn't stop a moan rumbling out.\n\nJanet sat up with a start.\n\n'Oh my God,' she said, rubbing her eyes, smearing the night before's mascara all over her cheeks. 'I'd forgotten about you. How is it?'\n\n'Bad,' Georgia said through gritted teeth. 'I've been trying not to wake you.'\n\n'You silly mare,' Janet jumped out of bed and wrapped herself in a shabby blue dressing-gown, her hair like a ball of tangled yellow wool. 'Are you losing any blood?'\n\nGeorgia gritted her teeth as a white hot pain gripped her. This time she felt blood flowing, warm and sticky on her legs.\n\nJanet moved over to her and pulled back the covers. She gasped as she saw the blood and hastily got two more towels.\n\nTime and place ceased to have any meaning as pain consumed her. She was aware of Janet sitting beside her, the cooling touch of a damp flannel on her face, the soothing words of encouragement, but pain drove out thought or hope.\n\nJanet was frightened now.\n\nShe could almost see the powerful contractions tearing at the child in front of her. Her face was contorted with the effort of not crying out. Bathed in sweat, rope-like veins on her forehead, yet still she had the iron-will not to beg for an ambulance.\n\nIt wasn't the first abortion she had helped with, but all those other girls were experienced, most had already got a child. Could she trust Georgia to tell her when she could no longer endure it?\n\nA tapping on the door sent Janet scurrying to open it.\n\n'Thank heavens you've come,' Janet blurted out. 'I'm scared Sal, I think she might die!'\n\nSally slipped in, closing the door behind her. She had left the children still in bed, intending to just check on Janet and Georgia before she went back to get them breakfast.\n\n'Why, what's happened?' She had only a thin coat over her nightdress, hair still in curlers. Her face without her usual thick make-up was as pale as an iced bun.\n\n'She ain't screaming or nothing, she's just taking it. But I don't think she can stand much more.'\n\nSally went whiter still when she saw Georgia. She was struggling now, tossing from side to side, her hair sticking to her head, her eyes rolling back.\n\n'I'll get an ambulance,' she gasped. 'What shall I say?'\n\n'Anything,' Janet almost screamed. 'Just get them here.'\n\nAs they looked back to the bed Georgia tried to sit up. Both women ran to her.\n\n'Stay where you are,' Janet pushed her back, her hands trembling with fright. 'You can't get up!'\n\n'Get me to the toilet,' Georgia croaked.\n\nThe two older women's eyes met. Sally nodded.\n\nTaking one arm each they half carried Georgia across the room, out across the tiny hall into the bathroom. Janet lifted the blood stained nightdress and sat her down, holding on to her shoulders.\n\nThey could see her knuckles turn white as she gripped the seat, her head lolling to one side like a broken doll.\n\n'I'm going to be sick,' she whispered.\n\nJanet grabbed the waste bin, pushing it in front of her just as Georgia retched. Once again her face went purple, eyes rolled back, she bared her teeth and her neck seemed to swell before their eyes.\n\n'Oh Gawd! She's havin' a fit!' Sally cried out. 'What do we do?'\n\nThe swollen veins in her forehead and only the whites of her eyes showing were enough to terrify the two older women but when a low roar rumbled in her throat, Sally crossed herself involuntarily.\n\n'Push it out!' Janet cried, wringing her hands with fear and impotence. 'Push!'\n\nEach second seemed like an hour as they waited in the icy bathroom. Janet held Georgia against her chest, sobbing now in fear. Sally knelt down in front of Georgia, eyes wide with panic.\n\nOnce again her face contorted, neck swelling, but this time her eyes opened wide and her hands gripped at the toilet seat. Her nostrils flared, teeth clenched together, and they both heard a slithering sound, quickly followed by a splash.\n\nShe slumped forward, only prevented from falling to the floor by Janet's arms.\n\n'Was that it?' Sally jumped up, wild-eyed, black hair tossed back from her white face.\n\n'I hope so,' Janet scooped Georgia up into her arms, lifting her as if she weighed nothing. 'You look. She's fainted. I'll get her back to bed.'\n\nSally came into the bedroom minutes later, she stood by the door, her face a pale green. Janet barely turned. She had Georgia back in bed now, tucking the covers round her.\n\n'Blood always looks like pints, even when you lose a teaspoonful,' she said, more calmly than she felt. 'At least she don't seem to be in pain.'\n\nGeorgia's eyelids fluttered, then opened.\n\n'It's over now darlin',' Janet whispered, smoothing back the girl's damp hair. 'You was a brave little soldier! How d'you feel?'\n\n'Just, kind of odd,' she said weakly.\n\n'Let's get you washed and into a clean bed,' Janet said. 'And Sal will make a nice cup of tea before you go back to sleep.'\n\nJanet came back into the bedroom with a clean nightdress over her arm, but stopped by the bed, tears pricking her eyelids.\n\nSally had Georgia lying on a white towel, just drying her legs. Georgia's skin looked much darker now, skin shining like a light brown pebble just tossed out of the sea. Such perfection, long, slender legs, tiny waist and small jutting breasts with dark brown nipples.\n\nBut it was her face that effected Janet most. It was like a small child's when it has just woken, smooth, unlined, dark pink lips in a moist bow. Teeth and the whites of her eyes almost dazzling. Delicate bones that transported her heart-shaped face from being just pretty, to magnificence.\n\nJanet had seen little beauty in her life. Her children's faces, flowers in the market, and a sunset once in Paris were about the only things she remembered as being truly beautiful. But as she looked down at Georgia, tears trickled down her cheeks.\n\n'What's the matter, Jan?' Georgia's voice was croaky.\n\n'You,' Janet retorted quickly. 'I was just thinking that you'd better not take up stripping otherwise there'll be no room for old bags like me anymore.'\n\nSally looked round at her friend, a smirk of understanding and affection playing on her lips.\n\n'Come on, you silly mare,' she said. 'Get the nightie on her before the poor kid freezes. I've got to get back to those little buggers downstairs!'\n\nGeorgia slept all day till nearly nine that night. Janet checked on her constantly, and gradually relief took the place of fear. There was no sign of fever. The flow of blood had turned to a trickle and she was sleeping as quietly and soundly as a baby.\n\nJanet was watching television around nine when she heard the door open behind her.\n\n'What on earth!' she exclaimed.\n\nGeorgia stood there fully dressed in her jeans and the red sweater she'd arrived in. She had her shoes on and her coat in her hand.\n\n'Where do you think you're going?' Janet demanded.\n\n'Home,' Georgia said simply.\n\n'Get back into bed this minute. You ain't going anywhere.' Janet jumped to her feet. 'Never heard nothing so daft.'\n\n'No, Jan,' Georgia said softly. 'It's time you had your children back, you've done enough. I'm all right now thanks to you. But I'm not going to impose any longer.'\n\n'Impose?' Janet roared. 'What's that supposed to mean?'\n\nGeorgia said nothing, just came over to Janet and put her arms round her, leaning her head on her shoulder.\n\n'I didn't realize till just now what you'd been risking,' she whispered. 'I'm so selfish sometimes. I don't think beyond me. You've been so wonderful, I'll never forget it. But your children belong here, not me.'\n\n'But \u2013'\n\nGeorgia lifted her head and put one finger on Janet's lips.\n\n'I'll tell Helen I've got a tummy ache and go to bed. If anything does happen then I'll pretend it's just a bad period. It's safer that way. Our little secret.'\n\n'You can't walk home!'\n\n'Of course I can,' Georgia smiled. 'I'll be back at work on Monday good as new. And I've got you to thank for that.'\n\nGeorgia's colour was almost normal now, her eyelids had a faint purple tinge, but the peachy tone was back in her cheeks.\n\nJanet shook her head. 'You're a funny kid,' she smiled reluctantly. 'Just promise me you'll put all this behind you now and try to forget.'\n\n'I shan't ever forget you,' Georgia said hugging Janet one more time. 'Not ever.'\n\n## Chapter 6\n\nThe smell of damp wool and paraffin on top of the roar of her machine was making Georgia's head ache. Three more identical dark green dresses to be finished before six and the light was so bad she could hardly keep the seam straight in front of her.\n\nShe wriggled, trying to ease her aching back into a more comfortable position, when suddenly the electricity was cut off, plunging the workroom into silence and darkness.\n\n'What's happened?' Georgia spun round in her seat.\n\nThere was enough light from the street lamps outside the window to see the other girls were no longer behind their machines. Irene was missing from the big steam press. Iris's scissors lay gleaming on the cutting table.\n\n'What's going on?' Georgia called out, but the only reply was a muffled giggle from the staffroom.\n\nShe stood up, leaving the half-finished garment still in the silent machine and took one step towards them.\n\nA faint, flickering yellow light, another giggle.\n\n'Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you!' Five voices burst out from the gloom.\n\nNow it was Georgia's turn to giggle as Pop appeared holding a cake. Sixteen candles burning and all the girls singing at the top of their lungs.\n\n'Happy birthday, dear Georgia, happy birthday to you!'\n\n'I thought you'd all forgotten,' Georgia's face broke into a wide smile.\n\nThe day had begun badly when Helen rushed out without remembering. Memories of all those other birthdays came flooding back. Celia waking her with a special breakfast, parcels and cards. A specially magical day where the birthday girl was treated like a princess.\n\nWhen she got into work and found they too hadn't remembered, she'd resigned herself to believing that in an adult world perhaps birthdays weren't important, and she'd been too embarrassed to mention it. Not once had she suspected they were planning something.\n\n'Forgotten?' Janet laughed. 'You reminded us enough times in the last week.'\n\nThey all stood there grinning like idiots, Iris with a bottle of sparkling wine in her hands, Sally with a plate of sausage rolls and Pop flushed with excitement.\n\n'But how could you keep me in suspense all day?' Georgia asked. She'd had to fight back tears of disappointment when she thought they'd forgotten what day it was.\n\n'I told them they had to,' Pop's sallow face was grotesque, lit only by the candles beneath it. He put the cake down on a machine and motioned for the lights to be put back on. 'I threatened them with the sack if they let on before five.'\n\n'Well, you mean old thing,' Georgia thumped him playfully in the chest. 'It's okay to have birthdays as long as they don't interfere with production?'\n\n'Come on,' Janet said, hands on hips, eyes gleaming. She had made an unusual effort with her appearance today, and now Georgia understood why. Her blonde hair was smooth for once, tied back at the nape of her neck with a ribbon, and she was wearing a black sheath dress with a white lace collar. 'One big blow, and don't forget to wish.'\n\nIt was this rag-bag group of people who had helped her to forget the trauma of last year. Pop with his funny Greek accent, Iris's tall tales, Irene's strange moods, Myrtle's quiet shyness, and the continual vulgar banter between Janet and Sally. But as they grouped around her, their faces full of affection, Georgia wanted to cry with happiness.\n\nTaking a deep breath, she blew the candles out. The same old wish that came to her night after night. But now she was sixteen surely it would come true?\n\n'There's more too,' Sally grinned, her mouth red and pouting. 'But we promised Helen we'd wait for her.'\n\nAs she spoke Georgia heard the familiar clonking sound of Helen's boots on the bare wood of the stairs.\n\n'She's coming!'\n\nHelen paused for breath in the doorway, one hand on her side as if severely winded. Two bright pink spots of excitement on her cheeks, wearing the same old russet coat she'd worn the first time Georgia met her.\n\n'Happy birthday,' she said, crossing the room to kiss Georgia and putting a large parcel in her lap. 'I wanted to give it to you this morning, but Janet and Sal said it would ruin their surprise.'\n\nGeorgia tore the wrapping off like a child.\n\nIt was a big, red baggy sweater, just like one Georgia had seen in Oxford Street weeks earlier. She looked up gleefully at Helen.\n\n'You copied it, you clever darling!'\n\nHelen blushed a becoming rose pink, her green eyes downcast with embarrassment.\n\n'They didn't like me asking to get it out of the window,' she said in a small voice. She was never at ease with large groups of people, if Janet hadn't insisted she came to the workroom and joined in she would have waited for Georgia in their room. 'They weren't pleased when I didn't want to buy it.'\n\nThe other girls waited expectantly. Pop with an amused smirk on his lips leant on one of the sewing machines watching silently.\n\nGeorgia pulled it over her shirt. It was the latest style, so huge it looked big enough for two, hanging right down over her bottom, the shawl neckline framing her face, the warm red complimenting her dark skin.\n\n'It's _wooonderful_!' she whooped, jumping around the room, lifting her dark curls and admiring herself in an old cracked mirror. 'I'm going to live and die in it.' She leapt back to Helen and hugged her. 'You are the best friend in the world. How did you knit it without me seeing you?'\n\n'Down in the library. At work in the evenings. Sometimes I even did a bit when you were asleep. It wasn't easy.'\n\nGeorgia could only hug the collar round her face and smile. It was the planned secrecy, the long hours of selfless work that made it such a special gift. A touch of the magic Celia used to weave.\n\n'Come on, open mine,' Sally cried, almost drowned by the others who offered their presents too.\n\nPop stood back and smiled.\n\nHe liked to see his girls happy like this together. He didn't mind one bit that work was halted, or that soon the already untidy workshop would be strewn with wrapping paper, empty glasses and cake crumbs. He had a feeling that quite soon he would be losing Georgia. His workshop wouldn't be the same without her, but a bright young thing like her wouldn't want to sweat over a sewing machine for ever.\n\nShe had changed so much in the year she'd been with him. She'd filled out a little, grown another inch and he'd seen her change from a fearful child to a delightful woman. Georgia was never still. She filled his workroom with chatter and movement. Again and again he had to ask her to get on with her work, but it was like asking the sun not to shine. And shine she did. The ready smile, the clowning, the eagerness to know anything and everything.\n\nHe hadn't known she could sing until one day in early April when he walked up the stairs to hear her in full flight.\n\n'Summertime' that was the song, and she sang it in a way that brought a lump to his throat.\n\nIt was lunchtime. She twirled an umbrella as though it were a parasol, a length of fabric wrapped round her. Another piece around her hair like a turban.\n\nSally, darkly seductive, lounged on a bale of cloth, a cigarette hanging from her scarlet lips. Janet perched on a machine, eyes shining with delight, her messy blonde head nodding in time to the beat. Iris painting her nails, glanced up now and then, not anxious to really be part of it. Irene grinned foolishly, her front teeth missing, standing hands on hips, wearing ridiculous men's trousers. And finally, quiet little Myrtle, eyes downcast, hands in her lap at her machine, drinking in every last word.\n\nNone of them were aware of him until she finished.\n\n'Sorry, Pop,' Georgia giggled, slapping her hand over her mouth.\n\n'I hope you intend to press that length after you take it off,' he said dourly.\n\nLater he wondered why he hadn't told her how much he enjoyed it.\n\nBut she didn't need encouragement. She sang again, day after day, like a little canary in a cage.\n\nThe market men ribbed him all the time as spring turned to summer and the windows were wide open.\n\n'Training nightingales up there are we? When do you become her agent and get your ten per cent?'\n\nPop watched as the girls gave Georgia little presents. A lamp for her room, a picture, a brightly-coloured scarf, earrings and a bracelet. He listened to her shrieks of glee, that gave equal pleasure to the giver.\n\nHe too had agonized for weeks over what he should give her. It couldn't be too expensive as the other girls would see it as favouritism. But he wanted her to know how much he appreciated her help.\n\nWithout this funny little girl his wife wouldn't be wearing a new fur coat now, and it had all started from Georgia's bossiness!\n\n'These dresses are horrible,' she had said one day back in May, eyeing up the row of finished garments ready for the market stall. They were blue, grey, brown and beige with neat white collars, ordinary dresses for women who wanted plain everyday clothes at rock bottom prices. 'Why on earth don't you make things for younger women? Pretty ones?'\n\n'Design me one then,' he challenged her, fully expecting her to back down.\n\n'All right, I will,' she said, drawing a rough sketch of a scoop-necked, full-skirted dress. 'Use that gingham,' she insisted pointing to a bale of cheap cotton meant for kitchen curtains. 'Put broderie anglaise round the hem and they'll be like Brigitte Bardot dresses.'\n\nHe had humoured her by making six. But it wasn't until she tried a pink one on with a wide belt that pulled her waist into a handspan and added a can-can petticoat that he became convinced. Perhaps it was only her brown skin and tiny waist that made it look chic and expensive, but it was worth a try.\n\n'Now get down there.' He shoved the rest of them into her arms, pointing down towards his stall in the market. 'Sell those for me today and I'll believe you.'\n\nHer face and figure were enough to get her noticed, yet she had that bouncy enthusiasm for life that set her apart from other young girls. In less than an hour the dresses were gone, sold to little office girls who hoped they'd look as good as Georgia did in hers. Thanks to Georgia's idea he'd had the best summer season ever and he had money put by for his expansion programme.\n\nIt was silly to think a young girl could change his life, but she had. She'd made him think big, want to reach out and grab things, just the way she did.\n\nHe was going to get a proper workshop. Employ a designer and sell his clothes everywhere. Georgia was right, the future lay with youngsters, not the staid old ladies he'd once catered for.\n\nIt was just before Christmas when the idea of Georgia's birthday present came to him. The workshop was festooned with paperchains. Cotton wool snow stuck to every window, doors decorated with large Santa Claus's, all made by Georgia out of old fabric.\n\nJanet ushered Andreous, an old friend, into his office, bringing three glasses with her.\n\n'Thought you'd want a seasonal drink,' she said, hands on hips, a sprig of mistletoe in her untidy hair. She winked at Andreous.\n\nAndreous owned the Acropolis club in Greek Street and like most women, Janet fancied him.\n\n'Who's the third glass for?' Pop asked, amused by her direct approach.\n\n'For me,' she said, plonking a kiss on his forehead.\n\nPop and Andreous were like brothers, the same olive skin and dark sad eyes. But women failed to notice Andreous's thinning hair and paunch. His charm and a certain mischievous, sensuous look had ladies doting on him.\n\nPop rolled his eyes at his friend who laughed uproariously, patting Janet on her ample backside.\n\n'You can have a drink if you strip for us,' Andreous said, leering at her breasts which almost popped out of her low-cut black blouse.\n\n'I don't want to get you too excited,' Janet put on a motherly expression and patted his cheeks. 'One glimpse of my luscious body sends old men's blood pressure sky 'igh.'\n\n'Off with you,' Pop said, his dark eyes twinkling. 'Andreous is here on business.'\n\nHe poured her a little brandy however and pushed it across his desk at her.\n\nThe idea popped into his head out of nowhere. Andreous had a club, he employed musicians and singers. Why not give it a try?\n\n'Get Georgia to sing for us!'\n\nShe downed the drink in one gulp, and bent to kiss Andreous lightly on the lips.\n\n'Your wish is my command,' she said in a deep throaty whisper as she wiggled out of the door.\n\n'Who's Georgia?' Andreous asked, dark eyes alight with the prospect of a new girl to ogle.\n\n'She's young, beautiful and I want you to just listen,' Pop said severely.\n\nThe machines all stopped seconds later. For a brief second it was silent, then a buzz of conversation started from the next room.\n\nPop waited, resting his head on both hands, his elbows on the desk.\n\nGeorgia started to sing, softly at first, but as she got into it so it became louder.\n\nIt was 'White Christmas', so corny and old hat Pop thought Andreous would walk out laughing.\n\n'She usually goes in for more spirited stuff,' Pop said.\n\n'Shush,' His friend silenced him and opened the office door so he could hear better.\n\nHer voice rang round the old building, filling each corner with sweetness. Perfectly in tune without any accompaniment, each word crystal clear. Andreous sat looking at the floor, his ears pricked up.\n\n'Well I'll be damned,' Andreous looked stunned as the song ended.\n\nPop felt a surge of excitement as Georgia burst into the 'Christmas Alphabet'. He stood up, pushed open the small hatch on the wall that allowed him to watch the girls while they worked and beckoned to his friend.\n\nAndreous peered in, Pop looking over his shoulder. Georgia was dancing round the workroom as she sang, a crown of tinsel on her dark curls, Christmas baubles hung on her ears. She wore a skimpy white blouse tucked into her jeans, slender brown arms waving in time to the song.\n\nAndreous turned and grinned at his friend.\n\n'She's gorgeous, now suppose you come clean.'\n\nIt took a little persuasion to overcome Andreous's conviction he wasn't being an old fool falling for a young pretty girl, still more to convince him Georgia could sing in front of a real audience. But all the time they talked, Georgia sang next door, gently nudging the club owner into seeing his idea was practical.\n\nPop wasn't an excitable man, yet his heart thumped as he waited while Georgia opened her other presents.\n\nThe envelope was in his hand, in it one of the hand-embossed invitation cards telling her that she was appearing at the Acropolis club on Sunday 15th April.\n\n'Happy Birthday, Georgia.' He stepped forward as she sat surrounded by bits of wrapping paper, envelopes and cards. 'It's the sort of present which isn't for just today, but maybe forever.'\n\n'Mysterious,' she laughed, taking the envelope and opening it. 'Is it a treasure hunt and this is the first clue?'\n\n'Sort of.'\n\nShe read the card then looked up at him, her smooth brow wrinkled into a frown. 'I'm sorry I'm not with it. Am I invited to this do?'\n\n'Yes,' he nodded gravely.\n\n'To go with you as your guest?'\n\n'Kind of.'\n\n'And are the other girls coming too?'\n\n'I hope they will.'\n\n'Well, thank you,' she said, clearly puzzled. 'That will be lovely.'\n\n'Did you see who is appearing that night?' He held his breath as he waited for her response.\n\n'Georgia James,' she smiled, but it was clear she hadn't cottoned on. 'Someone with the same name as me?'\n\n'No,' he could hardly contain himself. 'It's you who is appearing there. It's your chance to show an invited audience what you can do.'\n\nShe sat quite still. The other girls looked at one another in astonishment, not sure they had heard it right either.\n\n'You mean I can sing in this club, with a piano and all?'\n\n'A quartet,' he laughed. 'And you have to go along and practise a few times with them first, so they know what songs you do best.'\n\n'So who will be there?'\n\n'All Andreous's best customers.'\n\n'How did you arrange this,' she said, her face pale but with the beginning of a volcano in her eyes.\n\n'Andreous heard you sing. That's all you need to know.'\n\n'And he didn't think I was a joke?'\n\n'I didn't hear him laugh,' Pop said, a lump coming in to his throat as he saw her mouth curl into a wide, joyful smile. 'It's my hope this will change everything for you.'\n\n'Oh, Pop,' Georgia hurtled into his arms. 'That's the most wonderful, exciting birthday present. I can't believe it.'\n\nSomehow this sweet man had picked up on her dream, without her even realizing she had one. She'd talked of being an actress, a dancer, almost forgetting singing came as naturally to her as breathing.\n\nAll around her the other girls were laughing and joking, eating cake, drinking the wine. Each and every present had been carefully planned. But this one was so very special. As Pop said, 'Not just for now, but maybe forever.'\n\n'I can't say what I feel,' she whispered, winding her arms around his neck.\n\n'You don't have to, sweetie,' his voice was gruff with emotion. 'Just make it work for you on the night.'\n\n'Mum's left the office,' Georgia blurted out to Janet the next morning. 'I mean she's gone for good and no one knows where.'\n\nEven last night, with the party going on around her, Georgia had been dying to phone Celia. She had imagined the scenario, the shock, the surprise, even tears. Never once had she considered Celia might leave her job.\n\n'Now calm down,' Janet got up and put her arms round Georgia. 'Is it that surprising she left?'\n\n'But what do I do now?' Georgia's mouth drooped petulantly like a small child's.\n\n'You know where Peter lives,' Janet raised one eyebrow. 'Go on over there. He's bound to know where she is!'\n\nEltham High Street looked different, cleaner, brighter than she remembered. No drunks or tramps, spivs or tarts like Soho. Just middle-aged ladies with shopping baskets, younger women with prams and pushchairs and men driving Fords. Even the gang of youths who stood outside Olive's coffee bar watching the girls go by looked harmless. Suit jackets over carefully pressed jeans, hair cut in the same college-boy style favoured by office workers.\n\nGeorgia checked her appearance in a shop window as one of the boys whistled at her. Her red double-breasted coat came from a jumble sale but Helen had taken in the waist and shortened it for her. Although it was a little old-fashioned she knew it suited her. Her hair hung loose over her shoulders and she had new, pointed patent-leather shoes.\n\nAs she approached Haig Road she wanted to run. It was beginning to rain and she had no umbrella.\n\nPeter's house looked exactly the way it had when she rode passed it on her bike that first summer soon after she'd met him. A bit frowsy, litter in the bare front garden. The gate was hanging off its hinges, the front door still unpainted.\n\nShe knocked on the door, holding her breath with excitement, screwing up her eyes as she willed Peter to answer.\n\nBut instead it was a tall thin woman, a blue nylon overall over her clothes, a duster in her hand.\n\n'Is Peter in?' Georgia smiled at the woman. She had expected Peter's mother to be shorter and fat.\n\n'No,' she said sharply, her face tightening, her mouth a thin suspicious line.\n\n'Oh,' Georgia felt her heart lurch, instinctively knowing she should have written rather than called. 'I'm an old friend. Georgia.'\n\n'He's gone away,' Mrs Radcliffe stiffened visibly, already trying to close the door as if that was an end to their conversation.\n\n'Please,' Georgia moved closer, her bright smile wiped out by the hostility, her eyes pleading now. 'Can I come in and talk?'\n\n'What is there to talk about,' the woman looked at her with dead, cold eyes. 'He's at university. He's forgotten about you and he doesn't need any reminders.'\n\nThe woman's sharp words cut through her like a knife. There was no resemblance to Peter. Pale washed-out brown eyes, white skin with tiny, red broken veins, thin lips and a sharp, pointed nose. Even her hair was colourless. Never golden blonde like Peter's, just dreary light brown, fading to grey at her temples.\n\n'But let me explain,' Georgia pleaded. 'I can't find out where my mother is. You do know what happened don't you?'\n\n'I know only one thing,' the woman's thin face loomed up close to Georgia's, small eyes full of spite. 'You ran off leaving my boy so upset he could barely take his exams. He's got over that now. He's happy with a nice girlfriend. Go away and leave him in peace.'\n\n'Is he staying here for the holidays?' Georgia was getting desperate now. Not for one moment had she expected this.\n\n'No, he's with his girl.' Once again the door started to close.\n\nGeorgia moved forward and held the door. 'I don't want to bother him if he's got a girlfriend,' she blurted out, tears coming to her eyes. 'But he might know where my mother is.'\n\n'He doesn't,' she snapped, pushing Georgia's hand off the door. 'He hasn't seen her since you left. Why should he? You left him high and dry without a word. Got him into all that trouble with the police. Mud sticks you know, and you did nothing to clear his name.'\n\n'But \u2013' Georgia felt sick. She hadn't even considered Peter might be blamed in some way.\n\n'There's no \"buts\",' Mrs Radcliffe folded her arms across her bony chest, her narrow lips set in a straight uncompromising line. 'He's forgotten you. Now push off.'\n\nIt was that same kind of frosty prejudice she'd met when she first left home.\n\n'Please give him my address,' Georgia pleaded. 'Tell him I don't want anything but to find Mum.'\n\nShe thought then she had brought the woman round, she hesitated for a second, letting her arms drop to her sides.\n\n'All right,' she said grudgingly. 'But don't expect miracles. He's got enough on his plate.'\n\nGeorgia took out a notepad from her bag, quickly scribbled her address and passed it over.\n\n'Berwick Street,' Mrs Radcliffe looked at it, then at Georgia suspiciously. 'Soho?'\n\n'Yes. I share a flat with a friend.'\n\nShe sniffed, and put it in her pocket.\n\n'Thank you,' Georgia could feel her face burning with shame. She knew what the woman was thinking and it hurt so badly she wanted to die.\n\nThe door was closed before she even got to the gate. Georgia stood for a moment staring up at the house, her eyes filling with tears.\n\nShe could see a few books on an upstairs window-sill. Was that his room where she'd imagined him sleeping? Why couldn't his mother have been the fat, comfortable, jolly person she expected, opening up her arms in welcome?\n\nSo he was staying with his girlfriend! He had a new life and it didn't include her. Peter's world was closed to her, as firmly as his mother had shut that door.\n\nThe rain grew heavier, but Georgia hardly noticed it as she trailed down Shooters Hill Road towards Blackheath.\n\nThis morning she had been so full of joyful expectation and now it was all gone. Celia had left her job. Peter had been blamed. Instead of solving all their problems by running away, it looked as though she added to them. Celia had told her many times about hysterical teenagers who claimed rape to cover up for staying out late, or going willingly with a man. Was that what they believed of her?\n\nThe moment she saw the old house she knew Celia had long since left. The lawn in front of the house had been paved over and the railing removed. Apart from two forsythia bushes, there was nothing left of the garden. Now there was merely space for two cars, and every window sported net curtains.\n\nCelia had never liked nets. She believed they were unnecessary, spoiling natural light, fussy and old-fashioned.\n\nGeorgia stood just a little way away from the house wondering what to do.\n\nIt was possible that Brian still lived there and the last thing she wanted to do was see him.\n\nInstead she passed the house and called two doors away where Mrs Owen lived. She hadn't been a friend of the Andersons, just a gossipy neighbour, but if anyone knew where Celia had gone it would be her.\n\nShe rang the bell nervously.\n\nA short, plump, middle-aged lady answered the door, wiping her hands on a tea-towel.\n\n'Does Mrs Owen still live here?' Georgia's heart plummeted to even greater depths. She was like Mrs Owen, but smarter and several years younger.\n\n'She's gone to visit her daughter in Australia,' the woman smiled. 'I'm her sister.' Despite her smile she looked flustered, as if caught in the middle of something.\n\n'Oh,' Georgia frowned with disappointment.\n\n'Can I help?' the question was one of indifferent politeness, already she was looking past Georgia out towards the heath as if wondering how long this was going to take.\n\n'I was looking for someone who lived at number nine. Mrs Owen was friendly with her. I thought she might know where she went?'\n\nThe woman stepped forward out of her porch, glancing down the road as if to try and remember.\n\n'Oh yes, you must mean the Andersons,' she said. 'I never met them, but Nancy used to talk about them. They sold the house, dear. There's students living there now.'\n\nGeorgia sensed the brush off. The woman didn't want to talk, already she was retreating back into her doorway.\n\n'Thank you,' Georgia took a step back. 'I'm sorry to have bothered you.'\n\n'Sorry I couldn't help more,' the woman was already closing the door. 'Try the estate agents. It's Goodman and Smith, the first one you come to. They're bound to know.'\n\nBy the time Georgia got off the train at Charing Cross she was wet through and so cold her teeth were chattering.\n\nThe estate agents had given her an address, but it was Brian's.\n\n'Terrible mess the house was in,' the pink-faced, snobby estate agent told her. 'Seems his wife left him and he went to pieces afterwards. He got us to sell off everything. He said he was going abroad.'\n\n'But did he tell you where his wife went?' Georgia was tempted to tell him the whole story if only to get his full attention, but he was so cold and businesslike she merely pretended to be a niece.\n\n'Rumour had it she ran off months before,' the man said haughtily. 'I believe Anderson drank, we certainly found a great deal of evidence to bear that out. We had no reason to contact Mrs Anderson, the house was his sole property.'\n\nShe took Brian's address in New Cross out of politeness, but once outside she tore it up and threw it away.\n\nAs she opened the door to her room, Helen hobbled towards her, green eyes blazing like fireworks, her pale face flushed and hot-looking. Clothes were strewn all over the place and the air thick with the smell of burnt toast.\n\n'I've got a hospital bed at last,' she flung herself at Georgia. 'Next week. Isn't it wonderful?'\n\nGeorgia took a deep breath and tried hard to smile.\n\n'I'm so pleased for you,' she bit back tears and held Helen tightly. 'You've waited so long.'\n\n'I've got so much to do I don't know where to start.' Helen wriggled out of her arms, picking up things and throwing them down while all the time she trembled with excitement.\n\n'What have you got to do?' Georgia had to laugh despite her own misery. Helen was normally so placid and quiet, it was a diversion at least from her own troubles.\n\n'I'll have to give my notice at the club. Buy some new nighties, tell Bert I won't be here. So much.'\n\n'Now calm down,' Georgia said, taking Helen by the shoulders firmly. 'All that will take less than half an hour.'\n\nHelen tried to dance, hopping around on her one good leg, her smile stretching across her whole face. 'Oh, Georgia in a week or two we might be able to go out dancing. By the time you sing at the Acropolis I might be a normal girl.'\n\nAll the previous year Helen had been waiting for this bed. Twice before she had been accepted as a patient and then the operation had been cancelled just days before.\n\n'Don't build your hopes up too high,' Georgia said slowly. 'Think the worst, just in case.'\n\n'That's an odd thing for you to say,' Helen spun round and looked at Georgia sharply, colour draining from her face, as she remembered where Georgia had been going. 'Don't say you didn't find Peter?'\n\n'Worse,' Georgia slumped down into a chair. 'He doesn't care about me anymore. I think his mother hates me. Mum's vanished too.'\n\nIt was only after her abortion that Georgia had finally told Helen the whole story. It had been the opening up, the sharing of pain which had helped her to gain her old confidence. Once again Helen listened, her green eyes filling with tears and she rested her small red head on Georgia's dark one.\n\n'What can I say?' she whispered. 'I don't really believe they don't want to see you. How could anyone turn their back on you?'\n\n'But why didn't Mum leave an address?' Georgia sniffed. 'Surely she knew I'd want to contact her?'\n\n'People do funny things when they're hurt,' Helen said thoughtfully. 'But even though Peter's mother sounds like a real old witch, I'm sure she will pass on your note to Peter. She probably got a shock seeing you on her doorstep.'\n\n'I handled it all wrong,' Georgia sighed deeply. She was beyond crying now and she didn't want to spoil Helen's joy by dwelling on her own problems. 'I should have trusted Peter a year ago and written. You can't keep people in the dark and expect them to just know how you feel.'\n\n'You haven't had much luck have you,' Helen wound a strand of Georgia's hair round her finger, her small bony arms holding Georgia tightly.\n\nGeorgia looked at Helen. The built-up brown boot was peeping out from her long skirt, her green cardigan had tiny darns where moths had eaten it and she was about to face a serious operation which might leave her lamer than before. Yet never once had Georgia heard her sniffle about having no family.\n\n'No luck?' she forced herself to smile. 'I found you. I've got a job and a home. I've even got a chance at the Acropolis. How much more luck does anyone need?'\n\n##### *\n\nIt was after twelve that night when Mrs Radcliffe pulled the address out of her overall pocket. Peter had gone to bed early, his face white and strained.\n\nIt was lucky he hadn't got home from the library ten minutes earlier, otherwise he might have caught her sending that girl packing.\n\nWhy couldn't he be like her neighbours' sons, out with the lads on a motorbike instead of mooning around waiting for her? He had a fine career ahead of him, no mother would gladly see her only son going off with some wild black girl.\n\n'I'm doing this for your own good, son,' she muttered to herself, poking the fire up into a blaze. 'She's probably been on the game all this time. No good for you, my boy.'\n\nShe hesitated for a moment, then plunged the note into the flames before she could change her mind.\n\n'That's it over now.' She wiped her hands on her overall and straightened up. 'You'll thank me for it one day Peter.'\n\n## Chapter 7\n\n'You look exhausted,' Peter frowned with concern as Celia sank into a chair without even taking her coat off, an unopened letter in her hand.\n\nIt was after ten, a cold March night, yet another evening spent fruitlessly in pubs and coffee bars searching for Georgia.\n\n'I'll make some tea, then I'd better get home,' Peter bent down to light the gas fire. 'Are you just going to stare at that?'\n\n'It's from _him_ ,' Celia shuddered at the familiar neat script.\n\n'A letter can't hurt you,' Peter came closer and put one hand on her shoulder. 'Do you want me to open it?'\n\nShe shook her head and slid one finger under the flap.\n\n'The telephone bill,' she pursed her lips with annoyance. 'He's got a cheek, I've been gone three months!'\n\n'No letter?' Peter asked.\n\n'Just a curt note saying the long distance calls \u2013' she stopped suddenly in mid-sentence, making Peter turn his head.\n\n'What is it?'\n\n'A postcard too, from Georgia.'\n\n'What!' Peter came back to her side with one bound. 'Let me see.'\n\nCelia's hands were trembling, her eyes filling with tears. Peter snatched it from her, just the sight of her rounded, childish writing filling him with renewed hope.\n\n'Read it to me,' Celia whispered.\n\n'\"Dear Mum, I'm safe and well. I've got a nice room, a job and new friends.\"' Peter gulped, glanced at Celia's radiant face, then continued. '\"Don't worry about me please because everything's fine. Soon I'll be sixteen and then I can get in touch again. Give Peter my love, tell him I miss him. I love you, Georgia.\" '\n\nFor a moment they could only stare at one another, then Peter dropped down on to his knees beside Celia, running one finger over the few sentences as if committing them to memory.\n\n'Manchester,' he held the card closer to the light, examining the postmark. 'But it's dated January 29th, it's almost two months old.'\n\n'The evil swine,' Celia's face flushed with anger. 'He's sat on it for two months. How could he do that?'\n\n'Revenge?' Peter shrugged his shoulders. 'And all the time we've been wasting our time looking in London.'\n\nIf it hadn't been for Peter's obstinate strength, Celia might have buckled under the strain weeks ago. No one else seemed concerned that an underage rape victim was out there somewhere alone. The police had given up looking for her. Even the agencies who advertised their concern had come up with nothing. Wild goose chases to places where someone had reported a girl fitting her description. A call from a hospital in North London where a girl lay in a coma, another to view a body in the Deptford morgue. Each time Celia rushed there full of hope, or dread, only to discover the only similarity was dark hair and the right age. Even the children's department had lost interest, suggesting it was high time she concentrated on other children in her care. She couldn't count the cost of phone calls, stamps or petrol, that was all incidental. What frightened her most was running out of hope. It was Peter who kept her going night after night. Meeting her to check out yet a few more clubs, pubs or bedsitter houses, never daunted by the size of the task, never flagging in enthusiasm.\n\nKnowing Brian had raped Georgia was the worst thing that she'd ever been faced with. In the early days when Georgia lay in her bed refusing to speak, she kept that thought with her. Whatever came next had to come down on the scale of shock. Yet when she went into the kitchen and found Georgia's note saying she'd left, Celia went to pieces.\n\nThe empty bed, half-eaten meal, a holdall gone from the cupboard. When she threw herself down on the little bed and smelled her daughter on the sheets she thought her heart would break.\n\nEven now, months later the pain was still acute. All the things she once held so dear, gone for ever.\n\nTwo grubby little rooms were her home now, sharing a bathroom with four strangers. Belmont Road in Lewisham wasn't that far from Blackheath in miles, yet it felt as if she were on another planet.\n\nThe rooms were at the top of a large house, divided into a rabbit warren of bedsitters. Cold, draughty, threadbare carpets, dirty bathrooms and continual noise from the other tenants.\n\nIt had been less than a week after Georgia left that Celia arrived home to find Brian back. He was hunched up in a chair, a blanket round him. The expression on his pale face one of a cringing dog who fully expects to be whipped.\n\n'What on earth!' she exclaimed in horror.\n\n'You didn't know I was coming home then?' he said, his eyes cast down, hugging the blanket tighter around him.\n\nIf she'd had some warning of his discharge she would have made plans, at least prepared a speech to make her feelings quite plain. She wasn't prepared for the feeling of nausea that washed over her, or the terror at being alone with him.\n\n'Look, Celia,' he said, mistaking her silence for weakness. 'I know you believe the worst of me, but it wasn't like that at all.'\n\n'You louse,' she spat at him, pulling her coat tightly round her, wanting to walk right out again if it meant sharing the same air as him. 'Don't try to wriggle out of what you've done. Nothing will persuade me to forgive you, but don't insult my intelligence by lying!'\n\n'I knew you'd be like this,' he said in a petulant tone, a crocodile tear dripping down his cheek. 'That girl's the liar and you are a fool if you believe her.'\n\n'She said nothing to anyone,' Celia shook with rage. 'I saw the evidence myself remember. I know what happened as if I'd seen it on a film. You've ruined her life and I can't even bear to be in the same room as you.'\n\nIt would have been far better if she'd packed her bags and left that night. Only the certainty that Georgia would telephone kept her there a further two weeks. But two weeks was long enough for Brian to see it as compliance and she brought on herself that last ugly scene.\n\nLooking back, that period seemed like months. Sleeping in Georgia's old room, going through old diaries and address books, hoping for a lead. She didn't speak to him, not one word. She went out daily, knocking on doors, meeting old friends of her daughter, walking the streets till exhaustion and the prospect of a telephone call drove her home.\n\nBrian shuffled between the sitting room and the kitchen. He cooked food when she was out, leaving the dishes.\n\nCelia did nothing for him. She let the dishes pile up, his clothes stay where he dropped them. She bought no food, she didn't even pick up his mail.\n\nShe knew she was not behaving rationally. It would be better to scream abuse at him, hurt him as he'd hurt her. It was like an abscess that needed to be lanced. Ignoring it just prolonged the healing process, letting the poison slowly spread through both of them. But Celia remained trapped in a silent world, just as Georgia had been.\n\nShe barely noticed the house getting dirty. The dead flowers still sitting in vases and the kitchen bin full to overflowing. Brian was drinking, she couldn't avoid seeing the endless empty bottles, or miss the smell of whiskey gradually permeating round the house. She guessed that many nights he passed out in the chair downstairs, and she hoped he would drink himself to death.\n\nGeorgia was on her mind from the moment she opened her eyes in the morning till sleep finally closed them.\n\nShe could be in some awful tenement, hungry, cold, and in shock. Worse still she could have turned to someone who would betray her trust even more than Brian had.\n\n'Let's talk?' Brian came out into the hall when he heard her key in the door one evening.\n\nHe looked old, dishevelled and desperate, with several days' growth of stubble on his chin.\n\nCelia looked no better. She had lost weight, her once rounded rosy cheeks, sunken and grey. Hair in need of a trim, her tweed coat suddenly too large.\n\n'We can't go on like this,' he said, one hand on his stomach as though in pain. 'Tell me what you want of me and I'll do it.'\n\n'Kill yourself!' All the venom she ought to have released on him earlier came gushing out. 'But you aren't even man enough to do that!'\n\n'Don't Celia!' he begged. 'Come in the sitting room, we can't talk out here.'\n\nShe knew now it was foolish to hope he was going to make a full confession of his guilt, yet in that moment she believed he was.\n\nA stale smell of food and body odour filled the room. She sank onto a chair as far from Brian as possible and averted her eyes from a photograph of Georgia on the mantelpiece.\n\nBrian sat down by the fire and picked up a glass of whiskey.\n\n'Come on then, talk,' she said. 'Start with why you had to rape a fifteen year old, then go on to what you are planning to do about it.'\n\n'I've already told you I did no such thing,' his faded blue eyes looked hurt. 'Think about it again Celia. Why would she run away if she was innocent?'\n\n'You liar,' Celia hissed. 'How can you sit there and continue to make yourself believe that? Do you think you're talking to some half-baked office junior?'\n\n'If you think so little of my integrity,' his tongue flickering across his lips with nervousness, 'perhaps you'd better leave this house now.'\n\n'I will,' she snapped back at him. 'As for your integrity, you'd better stop all that drinking before you forget yourself and go and rape some other young girl on her way home.'\n\n'How dare you!' His face flushed with anger she'd never seen before. 'You are so self-righteous. If I'm drinking now it's because I can't bear you to think these things of me. We've been together for twenty years, yet you'd let the word of some nigger brat come between us.'\n\n'Don't Brian,' Celia got up to leave. She was sickened more by the insult to Georgia than his lies. 'I remember other pointers to your strange sexual tastes. If I have been self-righteous, it's about those. I actually believed I'd cured you!'\n\nHe leapt up, barring her way.\n\n'Cured me?' He caught hold of her arms, whiskey-soaked breath making her wince. 'You stupid, frigid cow! All men look at dirty books, there's nothing strange in that. It's you who's weird, not me. You cheated me, made out you married me for love, but all you wanted was this house. I found that out on our so-called honeymoon!'\n\n'Maybe that was your fault?' she said weakly.\n\n'My fault, eh?' he squeezed her arms tightly. 'I let you have everything your own way. I even came rushing back here when you said you were leaving to keep you on any terms. No wonder we never had a child of our own, you never gave it a chance. But even then I said nothing, I even let you steam-roller me into having that kid here.'\n\n'I did no such thing,' she retorted. 'You agreed to have Georgia quite readily.'\n\n'I went along with it to make you happy,' he shouted, his face growing flushed. 'You call yourself a social worker, dig into other people's problems, yet you can't see ones under your own nose.'\n\n'So you bottled up your lust to save it for her?'\n\nShe tried to push him away.\n\nAt that moment she knew he had got to a danger level. His pale eyes turned dark and a vein was ticking in his forehead.\n\n'I didn't bottle anything up,' he snarled. 'I've had plenty of women. Pretty, tarty girls, ones that like to be fucked and they were all more fun than you.'\n\nCelia was stunned, yet somehow she knew this much was true.\n\n'You sicken me,' she said, attempting to shrug off his hand. 'Let me go this instant and I'll pack and get out.'\n\n'Not so fast,' his voice deepened with menace and his fingers caught her hair, pulling her head back. 'Don't think you can walk out of here and then try to get my money or this house.'\n\n'I don't give a damn about this house,' she screamed at him. 'I don't want anything that reminds me I brought a helpless child into a house with a pervert!'\n\nHis fist hit her cheekbone like a sledgehammer, knocking her backwards over an armchair. He reached out and pulled her back up as if she weighed nothing.\n\n'I'll help you pack,' he hissed. 'Let's go through your clothes together, look at the thick knickers you wear, the great big ugly bras and corsets. You aren't a woman at all Celia, you are a man without a cock. I must have been mad to marry you!'\n\nIf she had ever had the slightest doubt Brian had raped Georgia it vanished that night. He was so strong and brutal, dragging her upstairs, pulling things out of her wardrobe and taunting her with everything from her sensible flat shoes to her choice of underwear.\n\nTime and time again she tried to make a run for it. But each time he blocked her way, slapping her again and again.\n\nIn the back of her mind she could remember telling women at work how to cope with violent men, yet now it was happening to her she was unable to defend herself.\n\nJust after eleven he eventually left her to return to the sitting room. Quickly she stuffed her clothes and personal belongings in a couple of suitcases.\n\n'I'm leaving now,' she returned nervously to the sitting room for her handbag and car keys, poised to make a dash for it if he attempted to hit her again.\n\n'Don't think I'll let you back in,' he said more calmly than she expected.\n\n'There is nothing here to bring me back,' she said proudly. 'I want you to spend the rest of your life reflecting on what you've done. I hope you never have one moment of peace or happiness again.'\n\nThe rooms in Belmont Park were the cheapest she could find. The rickety old furniture didn't bother her, she could wash the soiled blankets and buy new sheets. It was only the little things she missed, photographs, her sewing basket and dainty china teacups.\n\nIt was pure spite that made her write to the head office of the bank in Lombard Street. She laid out coldly and clearly the case against Brian and allowed his employers to consider whether they could trust him amongst young girls.\n\nIt didn't stop the pain of losing Georgia, but revenge had its own kind of sweetness.\n\nPeter made the tea and handed a cup to Celia. She had aged dramatically since the night of the party, not just more lines and grey hair, but that confident bossiness seemed to have vanished.\n\nThere had been times when he felt angry at Georgia. Not for running out on him, but for what her actions were doing to Celia. Surely she knew her mother better than to suppose she'd turn her over to the authorities?\n\nYet even in anger he ached for her. She was under his skin, in his head and heart. Just those few lines on a postcard made him tremble with longing. Nothing would make him give up on her, even if he had to continue his double life indefinitely.\n\nThe ugly scene with his parents soon after Georgia ran away had slammed home their prejudice and inadequacy. If it wasn't for Celia's deep understanding, he too might have been tempted to run off.\n\n'Damn little nigger slut,' his mother shouted at him when he tried to explain how frightened and miserable he was. 'That girl's made a laughing stock of you and now you tell me you're worried about her!'\n\nUntil he met Celia Anderson he'd never thought about his own mother's shortcomings, but that night he saw them all in close-up. Not one ounce of compassion in her thin, stringy body. Jealous of anyone who had more than her, suspicious of everything. The only time she was loving was when she had a few drinks inside her, a slut and an evil gossip.\n\nHe'd tried to reason with her, standing there in the living room, the table still strewn with the leftovers of breakfast even though it was tea-time, the fire concealed by steaming washing hanging to dry.\n\n'What makes you so bitter you have to take it out on Georgia?'\n\n'I've worked hard all my life,' she raved, her mouth wet with spittle, eyes screwed up with hatred. 'Cleaning offices, scrubbing floors when you were little, just to pay the rent. Your father pisses away every penny he earns down the pub. I was banking on you helping us later on.'\n\nIt was the last sentence that cut him to the quick. She was afraid that somehow Georgia would prevent him getting a degree. A degree to her meant nothing more than a well-paid job at the end of it.\n\n'You're best out of it, son,' his father said when his mother tried to drag him into it. He sat by the fire, still in mud-caked boots from the building site raising weary blue eyes towards his wife. 'My dad told me not to marry her. I wish I'd heeded his words, sometimes older people know best.'\n\nIt all came out that night like slugs leaving a trail of slime where they'd passed over a floor. His father's family were well-to-do, Josie's from a slum in Deptford. She faked pregnancy to force Geoffrey to marry her, but the plan backfired when his parents cut him off.\n\nPeter saw both sides of it as his parents shouted at one another. His weak but intelligent father, matched with an avaricious, cold woman. Disappointment and greed had killed any love. Geoffrey turned to the pub for friendship, Josie kept a tight rein on her son hoping he'd fulfil the expectations her husband hadn't lived up to.\n\nIt was safer to keep quiet about Georgia. He did his homework, ate his tea then made an excuse to get out to see Celia. It was ironic that his parents preferred to think he was down the snooker hall in Lewisham, rather than singing in the choir, or seeing a girl. They didn't guess he was knocking on doors, going in pubs and clubs brandishing a photo of the girl they hated.\n\nPeter put his coat on and wrapped a scarf round his neck.\n\n'It's Easter next week,' he said. 'Let's go to Manchester?'\n\nCelia got up from her chair and shuffled wearily across the floor to him.\n\n'Don't pin your hopes on finding her,' she reached up and kissed his cheek to soften her words. His eyes were shining with excitement, the way they had when Georgia first brought him home. 'It's almost as big as London!'\n\nCelia sighed deeply as they approached Manchester.\n\n'Why the big sigh?' Peter said softly.\n\n'I thought you were asleep,' she smiled round at him. 'I guess I'm thinking how it looks for a forty-plus woman to be running off with a handsome young lad like you.' She had to make jokes about their predicament, she had seen the looks people gave them, wondering if he was her son, or lover. Once they got out the pictures of Georgia the looks became even odder. His parents would hit the roof if they found out he wasn't really youth hostelling. How would she feel if the situation was reversed?\n\nPeter sat up and took the map out of the glove compartment.\n\n'I'm happy for them to think you're my mother,' he smiled. 'But it isn't really that is it? You feel guilty.'\n\nOne of the things she liked most about Peter was his perception. He understood Georgia's reasons for running, his own parents, the emptiness inside her and no doubt if he'd talked to Brian he would almost begin to understand him too. But it was this deep understanding of other people which could be his downfall. He had to make a life of his own, he was too young and clever to give up his own needs and education.\n\n'Will you promise me something?' She turned her eyes away from the road, reaching out to touch his hand.\n\nHe stiffened. Every muscle in his face and neck was strained, his eyes scanning the streets as they entered Manchester.\n\n'Depends,' he smiled faintly, returning the squeeze of her hand.\n\nHe was wearing jeans, a pale blue sweater under the denim jacket and his hair was creeping over his collar.\n\n'On what?'\n\n'Whether you want me to abandon the search,' he said, fixing those bright blue eyes on the side of her face as if trying to read her mind.\n\n'Not exactly,' she said choosing her words carefully. 'But I want you to promise me you will go on to university. I really do believe that Georgia will get in touch again as soon as she's sixteen. You'll only add another burden of guilt to her shoulders if you've found a job in London and not used your ability because of her.'\n\nHe frowned.\n\n'Maybe,' he stared out the window for a moment, thinking about Celia's words. 'All right, I promise,' he said. 'But you've got to promise me something too.'\n\n'Go on,' she half smiled.\n\n'That you'll get yourself sorted out too,' he said earnestly. 'Georgia won't write to the old house again, she'd ring me. So there isn't a great deal of point in you hanging around waiting. You look ill, you must look after yourself for her sake. Just as you said it wouldn't do for me to put another burden on her shoulders, neither must you.'\n\n'Fair enough,' she nodded. 'You've got a deal. After this weekend I'll rethink my life too.'\n\nCelia doubted that Georgia was in Manchester. Runaways went to places with a connection with their past. It was a false trail to put them off the scent. But that was a good sign. It meant wherever she was, she was happy to stay there and the message on the card about her sixteenth birthday an assurance she would reappear. Could it be that she had used Manchester, knowing it had one of the universities Peter was keen to go to?\n\nAs they passed the university she saw his eyes light up, for the first time his mind on something else other than Georgia.\n\nIt had been a gruelling weekend, calling in shops, pubs and clubs showing the photographs, knocking on doors, even asking children in the street. But at least the people were friendly here, no slammed doors or rude remarks and that at least was better than London.\n\n'You should apply here,' she said gently. 'If Georgia's around you may run into her, and anyway it's a fine place.'\n\n'Maybe,' he said, his face breaking into that enthusiastic smile she remembered so well. 'But that won't stop me searching other places in the holidays.'\n\n##### *\n\nAs the spring turned to summer Celia saw less of Peter. He was working hard for his exams and for the moment Georgia was taking second place.\n\nCelia pretended it was the same for her. She had taken on a temporary office job which gave her more time to continue her search.\n\nNight after night she went up to the West End of London, Chelsea and Earl's Court, wandering about, looking.\n\nJust a glimpse of a black curly mop of hair was enough to send her heart pounding. Each brown-skinned girl was studied closely, questions asked in coffee bars until she began to think she'd spoken to half the young girls in London.\n\nWhen Peter was accepted at Manchester University she was thrilled for him.\n\n'A new start,' she said hugging him. 'You must work hard now. I'll be here when you come home for Christmas. She's bound to write to you then.'\n\n'But you should find a better job,' he said, looking at her disapprovingly. 'It's no good telling me not to waste my talents when you are doing it too.'\n\n'After Christmas I will,' she promised.\n\nIn October Peter left for Manchester and Celia pressed twenty pounds into his hand.\n\n'Just a little nest egg to help you when you get there,' she said, trying not to dwell on how much she would miss him. 'Come and see me the moment you get back.'\n\nChristmas came and went without hearing anything. She knew Peter was hanging around by the phone and watching for the postman continually and she found it almost impossible to concentrate on anything.\n\nThey both bought birthday presents and cards. Celia made a cake and iced it in readiness.\n\nOn January 6th Celia had to go to work, but all day she jumped when the phone rang in the office, fully expecting good news from Peter.\n\nThere was nothing. Not that Thursday or the Friday.\n\n'What are we going to do now?' Peter telephoned her just before she left for home on Friday night.\n\n'Maybe she'd been working?' Celia said. 'She could be planning it tomorrow as it's Saturday.'\n\n'I haven't left the house,' he said wearily. 'Mum's getting really cheesed off with me. I'll have to go down to the library tomorrow morning, I've got loads of work to do.'\n\n'Don't worry,' Celia said. 'You can't stay in for ever. If she phones and you're out, she'll ring again.'\n\nThe weekend passed without a word, and finally on the Sunday night Peter came down to Celia's flat in Lewisham around nine.\n\n'Nothing,' he sighed, looking dejectedly at the brightly-coloured parcels on the table. 'She can't care about me anymore,' he said, flinging himself down into one of her chairs. 'It was all a dream after all.'\n\nCelia knelt by his side and cupped his face in her hands. 'Go back to Manchester. Get involved with things up there. Who knows, a letter might come any day. Your mother will send it on.'\n\n'But what about you?' he said, tears glistening in his eyes and his sensitive mouth dropping at the corners. 'You can't just wait here. There's no point in it.'\n\n'I think I need a new start too,' she said softly. 'I've applied for a job with the World Health Organization. I was going to back out if Georgia came home, but perhaps I should go.'\n\n'You should,' he said sadly. 'There's nothing to keep you here now. Where is it?'\n\n'In Africa. I don't know whether it will be a big hospital, or a small mission somewhere out in the wilds.'\n\n'You're very brave,' he said in a small voice. 'That's a huge step for you. I'm going to miss you so much. You will keep in touch, won't you?'\n\n'Of course, you silly boy,' she smiled and patted his face. 'I haven't another soul I want to write to and I'm sure once I'm there I'll be clinging to you like a life raft. Now if she does get in contact make sure you write immediately.'\n\n'Who else would I share it with?' he smiled.\n\nCelia smiled bravely as she kissed Peter goodbye. She knew more about rape victims than Peter could ever know. It was common for them to shy away from their old life. They wanted no reminders of their pain. Georgia was a strong person, but not strong enough to come back and re-live her ordeal. Perhaps one day she would be, but as Peter so rightly pointed out Celia couldn't just brood until then.\n\n'You must go,' she said to herself. 'Maybe helping other children will fill the void. Let Peter forget her, pack away the past and start afresh.'\n\nShe sat down at the table and opened a writing pad.\n\n'Dear Sirs, I am writing to confirm that I wish to take up the nursing position you recently offered me. I can be ready to leave at any time.\n\nYours sincerely,\n\nCelia Tutthill.'\n\n## Chapter 8\n\nThe Middlesex hospital was terrifying. From the smoke-blackened stone outside, to wards full of pain-filled faces.\n\nGeorgia looked anxiously at Helen as she climbed into her bed in the new white cotton nightdress Janet had made her. Until that morning excitement had brought a flush to her cheeks, but now she had a greeny tinge, her eyes troubled and afraid.\n\n'I'll be round every night,' Georgia squeezed Helen's small fragile hand. 'Just think of all the fun we'll have when your leg's fixed.'\n\n'It reminds me of the Home,' Helen whispered, glancing along the row of beds. Twenty in all, most of the patients lying still, no talking or laughter, a sense of distress in the air. 'Look at all those crutches, walking frames and wheelchairs,' she pointed over to the middle of the ward where a collection of aids was kept. 'Tell me I'll be able to walk like you when I get out?'\n\n'Of course you will,' Georgia gulped hard. 'Just rest, and think what you are going to wear to the Acropolis!'\n\nGeorgia felt scared without Helen that evening. From down in the street were all the usual noises of car doors banging, people shouting and bursts of loud music as a club opened its doors, but up in her room it was too silent.\n\nShe hadn't fully realized till now how much they needed one another. They had ups and downs, times when they argued and bickered. Yet their lives were intertwined. They were more than just friends, and alone she felt abandoned.\n\nJust outside her window were other young girls meeting friends, going dancing and to parties. At only sixteen life seemed to be passing her by.\n\nWould she ever meet a boy she wouldn't be frightened of? Why was it impossible to think of any male without holding him up in comparison to Peter?\n\nThat night as she lay staring at the ceiling, it seemed dirtier than ever. The paper was peeling off, the brown paintwork on the door scratched and puckered with age. Even the posters they'd put up didn't hide the fact the room was little more than a slum.\n\nThey had made some improvements. Newer bedspreads found at a jumble sale, a bright curtain round the hideous old sink, cushions, and a lampshade hid the naked light. But what it really needed was redecoration.\n\nShe woke early the next morning, an idea stopping her from sleeping any later.\n\nDressing quickly she ran downstairs to the caf\u00e9 where Bert was in the middle of frying several breakfasts.\n\nBert made her think of a bloodhound. Deep lines ran down his cheeks, baggy skin round his eyes, even his eyebrows and mouth drooped. One look at his sallow face was enough to think he'd spent his entire life in misery. But Georgia knew better now, she'd heard him laughing constantly, seen him walking through the market whistling, listened to him telling his customers jokes too many times to take notice of his face. He even made jokes about his sad expression, claiming it stopped anyone asking for protection money, one look at him was enough to buy a three course meal just to cheer him up.\n\n'Want a bit of help?' she called out gaily, squeezing behind the counter and pouring tea for the waiting customers before he could refuse her.\n\nBert and Babs were an odd couple. Bert had been brought up in the caf\u00e9 and had run it single-handedly until ten years ago when he married Babs. Now as they moved into middle-age, it had become their entire world.\n\nA steamy, warm place in which comfort, cleanliness and style meant less than cheap, plentiful food. The customers who came in for Babs' famous steak and kidney pies didn't mind the spindly chairs or the oilcloth-covered tables. Tea came in giant china mugs, bread was cut in doorsteps and when you ordered a full breakfast you got enough to last you all day.\n\nBert and Babs lived in a few chaotic rooms above the caf\u00e9. No one would guess that this frowsy pair had the additional income of rents from their property next door.\n\n'What's up with you?' Bert asked, amused by Georgia's bouncy appearance. 'In love, or after a free fry-up?'\n\nHelen looked upon Bert and Babs almost as parents and both girls gave them a hand in the caf\u00e9 when they needed it. Georgia had often thought privately that Bert could be a better landlord, but Helen never had a bad word to say about him.\n\nRight now Georgia had plans to butter him up.\n\n'Not love, and it's not food I'm after. I wanted to know if I could paint the room while Helen's in hospital?'\n\n'Gor blimey, Georgie,' He wiped one hand across his sweaty brow, flipping some fried bread over with the other. Bert didn't like to spend money. 'That room's big, it'll take more than one coat.'\n\n'I know,' she tried to look as if she really did. 'I used to help at home. Can I?'\n\n'What colour?' He looked at her sideways, his eyes narrowed.\n\n'White,' she said. 'With yellow paintwork.'\n\n'Sit down love and eat this,' he said, tipping a greasy egg on to the bread and picking up a couple of crispy rashers of bacon with his fingers. 'Let me get me thinking cap on!'\n\nGeorgia wolfed down the food as if she hadn't eaten for weeks.\n\nShe watched him as she ate.\n\n'Okay,' he said eventually, his sad, sallow face breaking into a grin. 'I'll get you the paint and brushes. But mind you do it proper like!'\n\n'Can you get it today?'\n\n'Blimey gal,' he groaned. Georgia had the appeal of a new puppy sometimes and he found it hard to resist. 'Ain't you gotta heart? 'Ow am I supposed to find time today?'\n\nAs Georgia came down the street at six, picking her way through the market refuse, Bert was smoking a cigarette at the door of the caf\u00e9. His face broke into a grin and he waved for her to come in.\n\n''Ere you are,' he put his hand round the door and pulled out a huge tin of white paint. 'The yella's coming tomorrow. Mind you do it proper!'\n\nIt was neither as easy or as much fun as Georgia imagined. She soon discovered the paint wouldn't stick to the ceiling unless she washed it first and it was soon clear it would take far longer than she imagined.\n\nShe could only do one bit at a time, moving the furniture one way, then back another. By the time she got back from seeing Helen it was already dark and hard to see bits she had missed.\n\n'You've got white flecks in yer 'air,' Sally laughed during the week. 'What on earth are you doing?'\n\n'I'll tell you when it's finished,' Georgia said.\n\nHelen was due to have the operation on Friday, and Georgia had been advised not to visit until Sunday afternoon.\n\nOn Saturday morning she got up early. The ceiling was finished now and the brilliant new whiteness was enough to spur her on. All day she worked like a slave and at twelve that night with blisters on her hands, she crawled into bed exhausted.\n\nShe woke early on Sunday. A ray of early sunshine bounced off the white walls. For a moment she just lay there looking, smiling to herself.\n\nIt looked wonderful, even with everything piled in the middle of the room. It could be an artist's studio or a nursery, so much more light and so clean she wanted to bounce up and down in the bed.\n\nGeorgia had a bath and washed her hair before going to the hospital. Her hands were red and sore but it had been worth it. Everything was back in place but it bore no resemblance to the way she'd seen the room that first night.\n\nShe wanted to attack the old furniture now. Paint the wardrobe, the table and chairs, make new curtains. When Helen came home it would be perfect.\n\n'Hallo dear', Sister smiled a greeting as Georgia peeped nervously round the door of the ward armed with a bunch of daffodils. 'Can I have a word before you see Helen?'\n\nGeorgia had met Sister Hall when she first brought Helen in. She was very tall and thin, a sharp face, softened only by gentle brown eyes. Yet she had a gracious, kindly manner, almost as if it hurt her personally to see her patients suffering.\n\n'How is she?' Georgia's smile faded as Sister ushered her into her office.\n\n'I'm afraid she's feeling very sorry for herself. She's in a lot of pain and she's not convinced her leg is any better.'\n\n'But it is, isn't it?' Georgia felt a prickle of fear, wiping out her earlier jubilation.\n\n'Yes, it's been more than successful, it's the nearest thing I've ever seen to a miracle. But of course she's going to need an awful lot of physiotherapy before she can walk a step.'\n\n'You mean she can't walk at all now?' Georgia's mouth fell open in horror. Somehow she had imagined that Helen would be jumping around in a few days.\n\n'No, of course not dear.' Sister Hall looked at Georgia as if she were simple. 'Besides she mustn't use the other leg otherwise the weak one will always be carried by the good one. Now go on in and cheer her up. But don't stay more than half an hour.'\n\nHelen had never looked so pale or ill. If her face hadn't been surrounded by the mass of red hair she would have disappeared into the pillow.\n\nHer leg was in traction, she looked terribly uncomfortable and her eyes were red-rimmed.\n\nShe tried to smile when she saw Georgia.\n\n'How are you feeling?' Georgia bent to kiss her.\n\n'Like hell,' Helen whispered, wincing at the pain. 'If I'd known it was as bad as this I would have stayed the way I was.'\n\n'Sister says it's a miracle,' Georgia tried to sound bright.\n\n'I don't believe that,' Helen turned her head to one side away from Georgia. 'I think they are afraid to tell me the truth.'\n\nPop had warned her people were often depressed after an operation, he had said it had something to do with the anaesthetic. He had advised her to disregard anything morbid Helen might say.\n\n'Don't be silly,' Georgia forced a laugh. 'You'll feel better in a day or two. The doctors know better than you do. Trust them Helen.'\n\n'Easy to say,' Helen muttered.\n\n'Sister said they'll be sending you off to a convalescent home after here. That will be like a holiday. I wish I could have a few weeks lying around.'\n\n'You'd make a worse patient than me,' Helen said tartly. 'And don't try to patronize me Georgia, I've lived with pain most of my life and when I say this is terrible, you can believe it.'\n\nEven though Helen never complained, Georgia was sure she was feeling sorry for herself.\n\n'If you want to be like that I'll go home,' Georgia said, convinced she could shame her friend out of it. 'I came to see how you were and spend time with you. Not for you to jump on every word I say.'\n\n'Please go,' Helen said, tears spilling down her cheeks. 'I expect I'll feel better in the next day or two, but right now I'm not fit company for a dog.'\n\n'I can't go,' Georgia felt tears pricking her eyelids. 'Not when you're like this.'\n\nHelen sighed deeply, forcing a watery smile.\n\n'Come back tomorrow, Georgia,' she turned her head into the pillow.\n\nGeorgia bent over the bed and kissed Helen on the cheek.\n\n'I love you,' she said softly. 'You're like a sister to me. Don't think you can get rid of me so you can feel all alone, because I'll be back tomorrow and the next day.'\n\nShe turned and walked quickly away, tears coursing down her cheeks.\n\nIt was only when she was downstairs in the street that she remembered Peter's words to her after the rape. 'I'll come day after day, till you're sick of me.' He hadn't got the chance to carry out his threat, she'd gone almost before he got home, and when she'd looked him up, he had someone else.\n\nOn both Monday and Tuesday evening Georgia went straight to the hospital from work. Helen was still very low and in a great deal of pain. Although she was pleased to see Georgia she was apathetic and touchy.\n\n'Don't think you've got to come here every night,' she said, trying hard to smile. 'I know you must be tired and hungry.'\n\n'But I like coming.'\n\nThat wasn't true, she hated it. The smell of the hospital made her queasy. Drips, oxygen masks, bedpans and syringes all hinted at things she didn't want to understand. She couldn't think of anything to say and even though she loved Helen, she couldn't bear to see her in pain.\n\n'Go on home,' Helen said, turning her face away. 'I want to sleep anyway.'\n\nBert was just about to close up the caf\u00e9 as Georgia got back, on an impulse Georgia put her head round the door.\n\n'Come and see the room,' she begged him. 'Helen's been a real grouch. I'll go mad if I don't talk to someone.'\n\n'Okay,' he smiled, guessing her request had more to do with worry about Helen than wanting to show her room off. 'Put the kettle on, we'll be up in a jiffy!'\n\n'Blimey ducks, what a difference!' Babs gasped as she came in, quickly followed by Bert.\n\nBig was the only way to describe her, wide hips, sagging bosom, hands and feet. Even her features were big, from her sharp eyes, her nose and a sloppy, shapeless, humorous mouth. If Georgia's features had been carved with a scalpel, Babs's had been shaped by a trowel. Yet it was an interesting, mobile face for all that, and her clothes enhanced her slovenly, yet colourful image.\n\nToday, she wore a red jumper and a bright blue skirt, topped with a washed-out yellow pinny. Thick stockings with a hole hastily botched together, and a fraying wisp of pink petticoat trailed behind her.\n\n'What a little palace ducks. Don't seem like the same room do it? Helen's going to be knocked out.'\n\nBabs stood still, hands on her ample hips, her sharp eyes taking in every last detail.\n\n'She's done this for Helen,' she thought. 'And I was the one who thought she'd be trouble when she turned up out of nowhere.'\n\n'You've done great,' Bert cast his eyes round the room as if hoping to find something to criticise. 'Not bad for a little 'un.'\n\n'If the singing don't work you could always take up decorating,' Babs chuckled. She put one big hand on Georgia's shoulder. 'Now tell us. 'Ow is she?'\n\n'Still very poorly,' Georgia's face fell, a doleful look back in the big dark eyes. 'I just wish she'd look on the bright side of things. They say everything is healing well, but I don't think she believes them.'\n\n'We was going up there Friday,' Bert said. 'I thought she was a fighter. She was always chirpy before, no matter what. If only she 'ad some family.'\n\n'She 'as,' Babs said rather sharply. 'Everyone up the market cares, and she's got Georgia. I'll 'ave to tell her a few 'ome truths.'\n\n'Don't be sharp with her,' Georgia turned to Babs, surprised by her tone. Babs was a mother figure to everyone. 'We just have to love her out of it. The thing I'm most worried about is that she won't be able to come to the Acropolis to see me. Not for me,' she added quickly. 'But she was dead set on having a lovely new dress and everything.'\n\n'Well we'll just 'ave to jog her memory,' Bert said, gazing appreciatively round the room. 'Maybe if she's got some goal in her mind she'll buck up.'\n\nGeorgia made them both some tea.\n\n'Do you mind if I paint the wardrobe and stuff?' she asked. She wanted something more to fill up the empty hours till Helen came home. 'They look a bit scruffy now.'\n\n'Course you can love,' Bert sank into one of the armchairs and winced as a spring shot up into his behind. 'I think we can find a better couple of chairs an' all.'\n\n'Really?' Georgia leant over him and kissed him on the cheek impulsively.\n\nHe smiled across at his wife. 'Those green 'uns would look a treat in 'ere wouldn't they?'\n\nBabs laughed, her wide mouth showing blackened teeth. 'I should take lessons from you in 'ow to get round my old man.'\n\nHelen was propped up in bed on Thursday night when Georgia went in as usual. A book open on the sheet in front of her and a huge basket of flowers by her bed from the stallholders in the market. Dozens of cards were propped up everywhere.\n\nOnce again she reminded Georgia of those ladies in old paintings. Her hair showering over the shoulders of the white, almost Victorian nightdress. Her eyes were still listless, but there was a faint hint of pink in her cheeks.\n\n'I'm never going to walk again,' she said gloomily.\n\n'Who said so?' Georgia gasped.\n\n'No one. I just know. They all feel sorry for me but it doesn't help.'\n\nGeorgia was torn two ways. Although Helen looked small and vulnerable in the big bed she knew her friend was tough. Should she sympathize and continue to let her wallow in self pity? Or should she be brutal to make her snap out of it?\n\n'There's only one person who can make you walk again and that's you.'\n\nThe moment the sharp words were out she felt a deep shame, but it was too late to retract them.\n\n'You think you are so bloody clever, don't you?' Helen sniffed. 'Everything you want comes to you. I bet you're glad I'm in here, I expect you have friends round every night, glad I'm not around to interfere.'\n\n'Oh yes, I'm having a ball,' Georgia shot back. 'I come here straight from work, tired and hungry and go back to an empty room alone.'\n\n'Don't give me that,' Helen pursed up her small mouth. 'I'm not stupid, even if I'm crippled, every night you've been here you can't wait to get out!'\n\nGeorgia just stared at Helen in shock.\n\n'That's not true,' she said weakly. 'But if you're going to be like that, I will go.'\n\n'Go on then,' Helen's cheeks were flushed. 'Go down and see Janet, she makes you laugh. Ask her to take you down the strip club.'\n\n'All right, I will,' Georgia turned away from the bed, colour draining from her cheeks. 'If you think that little of me, then I won't come back until you ask me to. Goodbye!'\n\nShe had made some curtains during the day at work when Pop wasn't watching. They were only cheap dress cotton but colourful and bright. She had been looking forward to hanging them, but now she felt resentful and bitter.\n\n'I don't know why I'm bothering,' she said, her voice echoing around the room. 'Heaven knows I'm doing all I can for her.'\n\nShe hung them anyway, tidied up and then crawled into bed feeling depressed and guilty.\n\n'I shouldn't have walked out like that,' she said to herself. 'I should have told her what I had been doing.'\n\nAs Bert and Babs were going to see Helen the next evening she went home instead with Janet. She'd had enough of her own company and a bit of laughter seemed the perfect antidote.\n\n'You did the right thing,' Janet reassured her. 'Leave her be till tomorrow, she'll have come round then. Poor kid, I expect she's feeling as bad about it as you.'\n\nIt was after eleven when she walked home, still chuckling to herself about Janet's family, when she spotted a policeman knocking on the door where she lived.\n\nHer first reaction was to run. For the last year police had been her biggest fear and she still hadn't quite got over it.\n\nBut reason got the better of her and she crossed over to where he stood, one hand on the bell.\n\nHe was young, male, surely she could think of some way to wriggle out of any trouble.\n\n'Can I help?' she asked, smiling brightly up into his lean face, batting her eyelashes when she realized he was nice-looking in a rather severe way. 'I live here.'\n\n'I'm trying to find Georgia James,' he said, blushing a little under her scrutiny.\n\n'That's me,' she said taking out her key.\n\n'I've been asked to take you to the Middlesex Hospital,' he said. 'You have a friend \u2013'\n\n'Helen?' she interrupted him, no longer caring if he looked like a film star. She turned pale under the street light. 'Has she?' she paused unable to say the word.\n\n'She's very ill,' he said gently, his brown eyes grave as he removed his helmet. 'She's been asking for you. Can you come now?'\n\nHe bundled her into a car and drove off at speed.\n\nGeorgia prayed silently as the car sped along the near empty streets.\n\n'What time were you called?' she asked him.\n\n'Around eight thirty,' he said, glancing across at her, seeing the big tears squeezing out from under her long lashes. 'It seems two other people had visited her earlier. She was poorly then but got worse after they left. I've been all round the neighbourhood trying to find you.'\n\n'It's the first night I've been out other than to visit her.' Georgia was crying now. 'I was nasty to her yesterday too. Oh God, please don't let her die!'\n\n'Now calm down,' he said soothingly. 'People often have ups and downs after ops, it doesn't necessarily mean she'll die. Besides you must go in there with a confident face, be strong for her. Is it the little redhead with the bad leg?'\n\n'Yes, do you know her?' Somehow it was comforting to think this young policeman knew about her.\n\n'Only by sight,' he said softly. 'Plucky little thing, always smiling even when she was frozen solid on that stall. Give her my regards won't you?'\n\nGeorgia ran like the wind once inside the hospital. Up the stairs two at a time, her hair streaming out behind her like a black flag.\n\nIt was quiet, the corridors deserted. The lights turned down for the night, bathed in a soft glow. There was none of the hustle and bustle of the day, just the odd clang of a bedpan on the sluice, and the tip-tapping sound of nurses' shoes on the polished floor.\n\n'Sister!' she called as she turned the corner and saw a familiar back view.\n\nSister Hall turned at her name, and came quickly towards Georgia, her hands outstretched. The thin tall woman had concern in every line of her body.\n\n'Oh Georgia, I'm so glad they could find you,' she said breathlessly. 'Helen's very sick I'm afraid.'\n\n'Why?' Georgia's eyes grew huge with fright, filling up with tears. 'She was doing so well.'\n\nThe sister smoothed down her apron, her lips quivering as if unable to find the right words.\n\n'We discovered an infection had set in earlier today, she was a bit feverish and we gave her more antibiotics. But her heart is weak too. We knew this before we operated and she fully understood the risk. Now it's her heart which is giving up.'\n\n'Is she going to die?'\n\nSister put one hand on Georgia's shoulder. Her expression saying it all.\n\n'I'm afraid so,' she whispered, he eyes glinting with tears.\n\nGeorgia just stared at the Sister.\n\n'But she can't,' she said. 'I've painted our room and everything.'\n\nSister half smiled.\n\n'I wish everyone could be cured with something so simple,' she said softly. 'Helen's a very brave girl. She has moaned to you because you were the only one she had. Go on in there now and try to comfort her. Tell her how much you care.'\n\nGeorgia had no experience with death. She stood for a moment trying to collect herself. She had faced the fact that Helen could possibly be left more crippled than she was before, but never had the possibility of her dying entered her head.\n\nEverything about the hospital seemed strange and dreamlike. The silent, empty corridors, the yellowish night lights, the smell of antiseptic. She blinked, hoping she was merely dreaming it, and that any moment she would find herself back in bed.\n\nHelen had been moved to a small room at the end of the ward, partitioned off with glass, curtains all round.\n\nShe was very still, ghostly pale. Her hair cascaded over the pillow like molten lava, her eyes closed, golden lashes lying on her cheeks. Arms as thin as sticks on the sheet, the long slender fingers which normally moved constantly, still and white.\n\nHer mouth looked like a young child's, so small and innocent, perfectly shaped, lips slightly parted.\n\nGeorgia crept to the side of the bed and leaned over her friend.\n\n'Helen,' she said softly.\n\nHer eyes opened.\n\n'Georgia,' she said weakly, struggling to move.\n\n'Stay where you are,' Georgia put one restraining hand on Helen's shoulder, feeling only bone under the white nightdress. She touched Helen's face lightly with one gentle caress. 'What sort of time is this to want to see a friend?'\n\nHelen's lips moved faintly in a flicker of amusement.\n\n'Did you get the curtains up?'\n\n'Yes,' Georgia took a deep breath, glad that Helen had led her into something other than her illness. 'You wait till you see our room. It's like a palace now. White walls, yellow door. I've even painted all the furniture yellow. It's like being in permanent sunshine.'\n\nFor a second Helen didn't answer. Her green eyes studied Georgia's face, as if she were trying hard to memorize it.\n\n'You've been like sunshine to me ever since I met you,' she said at length, her voice faint and breathless.\n\n'And you're my best and dearest friend,' Georgia said, taking Helen's small hand and holding it to her lips. 'I love you. I didn't mean what I said yesterday. I only didn't come because Bert and Babs were.'\n\n'I know that,' Helen turned her head slightly and looked hard at Georgia. 'They told me about the room. How you did it for me. I felt so ashamed at what I said about you having friends round there.'\n\n'It didn't matter,' Georgia felt tears threatening to run down her cheeks. 'You'll see it soon, I'll teach you to dance and we'll find ourselves a couple of rich men to take us out.'\n\n'You do it all for me,' Helen's voice was almost a whisper. 'Become a big star in the West End, wear lovely clothes and have hundreds of admirers. I'll be watching you.'\n\n'You'll do it with me!' Georgia tried to sound bossy and hard but it came out like a plea.\n\n'I'm dying, Georgia,' Helen spoke softly, one thin white hand reaching up to touch her friend's face, her expression one of tenderness. 'I knew I would after the op, it was all a dream, a lovely dream of dancing and being like you. But you must carry on, make my dream a reality.'\n\n'I can't without you,' Georgia's tears couldn't stop now. 'You are my family, everything.'\n\n'Don't cry for me,' Helen's eyes brimmed over. 'I'm not scared or anything now, I feel peaceful and content. I'm too tired of struggling, I'm happy to be going to a place where there's no pain, no striving for anything.'\n\n'But how will I manage without you? You are my only friend.'\n\n'You'll make new ones. Girls who won't hold you back like I would.'\n\n'You wouldn't hold me back,' Georgia pleaded with her, clutching Helen's hand and kissing the palm.\n\n'It's the way it has to be,' Helen's eyes seemed like emeralds, set on white velvet. 'Just think of me going somewhere good. Everything I have is yours. In the bottom of the wardrobe is a box. There's something special for you in there.'\n\nShe made a choking sound in her throat, a flicker of pain passed across her face, her eyes closed.\n\nGeorgia put her finger on the bell. She could hear her own heart pounding with terror, but she was afraid to leave Helen even to summon help.\n\nSister came running in.\n\nShe moved round to the other side of the bed and felt Helen's pulse, her eyes meeting Georgia's tear-filled ones across the tiny redhead.\n\nHelen opened her eyes again slowly.\n\n'Sing to me?'\n\nHelen looked at Sister with wide and troubled eyes.\n\nSister nodded.\n\n'I can't, not in here,' she whispered.\n\n'Please,' Helen's eyes pleaded. 'Just let me hear you one more time?'\n\nIt was so quiet in the small room. Georgia was aware of other patients sleeping just the other side of the partition. It seemed all wrong, to sing while her dearest friend slipped away.\n\n'Sing, Georgia,' Sister Hall whispered. 'Forget where you are.'\n\nGeorgia took a deep breath to calm herself.\n\n'Summertime. When the living is easy.' Georgia's rich contralto voice rang out around the small room.\n\n'The fish are jumping and the cotton is high. Your pa is rich and mama's good lookin'.' She looked down at Helen, her eyes were still glowing, yet they appeared to be getting dimmer.\n\n'So hush little baby don't ya cry.'\n\nHelen's face was at peace again, her eyes on Georgia, drinking in the words and the music.\n\n'One of these days, you're gonna rise up singin', you're gonna spread your wings and fly to the sky. One of these days you gonna rise up singing. So hush little baby, don't ya cry.'\n\nGeorgia felt something in the hand in hers. Not a movement or even a flicker, but she knew without being told Helen had gone.\n\n'No,' she cried out, leaning over to kiss her friend.\n\n'She can't,' she looked up in anguish at the Sister.\n\nSister silently closed Helen's eyes and put her two hands together on the sheet. Then she moved round the bed to embrace Georgia.\n\n'I never saw a more beautiful and peaceful death,' she said softly, holding Georgia against her shoulder. 'Your voice and song took her where she wanted to be. Now you must be strong too. She told me about your singing, she was so very proud of you. You must let her be your inspiration. Achieve everything she wanted for you.'\n\nGeorgia refused a lift home. London's streets held no terrors for her. It wasn't strangers she had to fear. But people she knew and trusted.\n\nWell she had no one now. Her mother, Peter, and now Helen, all gone.\n\nThe dark streets and alleys reflected her feelings. Dark, desolate, empty. Shafts of light here and there from street lamps splayed out an arc of gold light over a small area.\n\nHer life was just like that. A patch of light and happiness, only to go a little further and she was back in the darkness, alone again.\n\nIf she had known the risk Helen was taking she would have prevented it somehow. How could Helen have been so foolish if she knew her heart was weak too?\n\nWearily she climbed the stairs and opened the door of her room.\n\nAs she switched on the light, the first thing she saw was the woolly, emerald green shawl Helen put round her shoulders on cold nights.\n\nShe picked it up and held it to her face, drinking in the smell of Helen it carried in it, remembering the colour of her eyes.\n\nThere was no one to see her now, here alone with all the memories of Helen she could mourn her privately.\n\nNever again would she hear that familiar clonking sound on the stairs. Or wake to see Helen making tea in her long, white old-fashioned nightdress, her red hair flowing over her shoulders.\n\nSo many pictures trapped in her mind like a photograph album.\n\nHelen lying on the bed reading fashion magazines.\n\n'Do you think I could wear my hair like this?' she'd say, holding the glorious mane on top of her head. 'When my leg is normal again I won't need to hide under all this!'\n\nThere was the picture too of Helen on the market stall. Fur collar turned up on her russet coat, blowing on her fingers to warm them. Pale cheeks turned pink with the cold wind, her hair escaping in tendrils from her woolly hat as she animatedly teased the customers.\n\nThen there were the nights she didn't work at the club. Those were special nights when they would giggle and chat until the small hours, drinking tea and eating biscuits in bed and Helen would talk about the man she intended to marry.\n\n'He'll have to be big and strong. Dark hair, blue eyes, a sultry look like Elvis. But he'll adore me shamelessly and buy me beautiful clothes and expensive perfume.\n\n'We'll have two children. A boy with dark hair like him and a little girl with red. We'll have a house on Hampstead Heath with a garden full of roses.'\n\nShe sank onto Helen's bed, shawl in hands, rocking to and fro with grief, tears cascading down her cheeks. A bellow of rage started within her, filling the room with a terrible sound.\n\nHelen would never find that perfect man, run, dance or make love. She would never know the bliss of a man's arms around her who loved her, or have those children she'd longed for.\n\nIt was after three when Georgia finally crawled into bed, her eyes swollen, her heart numb with grief.\n\n##### *\n\n'Georgia!' she could hear Babs knocking on her door and calling. 'Georgia. Pop's been on the phone and wants to know if you're all right.'\n\n'Come in,' Georgia called out weakly. 'It's not locked.'\n\n'What is it ducks?' Babs came bustling in bringing a smell of fried bacon with her. 'Are you ill?'\n\n'Helen died last night.'\n\nBabs stopped short for a moment, her big mouth dropping open. 'But we only left her at seven!' Her work-reddened hands twitched at the stained apron, her mouth sagged as if suddenly all her teeth were gone.\n\nGeorgia had forgotten how long Helen had lived in Bert and Babs's room, and that they thought of her as a daughter. Until now she had been able to feel only her own grief, forgetting she didn't have the monopoly in loving Helen.\n\nBabs's face crumpled, tears welled up in her eyes, hands moving up to conceal them, shoulders heaving.\n\nSo often Helen and Georgia had poked fun at Babs. They laughed about the rag-bag collection of clothes she wore, the way her hair never looked clean, and the missing tooth which gave her a curious wobbly smile.\n\nMaybe she wasn't one of the world's great beauties, but now as Georgia saw her grief, she felt ashamed.\n\n'Her heart was weak, it just gave out. She had an infection in her leg too. She died just after midnight.'\n\nBabs's lips shook. She rolled her eyes up to the ceiling.\n\n'Why take 'er?' she said angrily as if addressing God personally.\n\n''Ow did you find out?' Babs whispered, creeping nearer to Georgia across the dim room, reaching out for her hand like a life raft.\n\n'I was with her, a policeman came here for me about eleven.'\n\n'Oh, you poor love,' now she enfolded Georgia in her arms, rocking her to and fro. 'I know 'ow close you were. We told 'er what you was doing. She was so ashamed she'd thought the worst of you.'\n\n'She was so brave,' Georgia buried her face in Babs's big, soft chest, once again starting to cry. 'She said she didn't mind dying and that I had to do everything we'd talked about for her.'\n\n'Then you must my darlin'.' Babs used that persuasive tone like Celia had, lifting her face up and dabbing at it with the corner of her apron. 'But you've gotta get up and go to work. Sooner or later you'll 'ave to.'\n\n'I know,' Georgia buried her head in Babs's shoulder. 'But I loved her, she was my friend, sister and mother all rolled into one. I don't even know what I should do about her funeral, or anything.'\n\n'Bert and me'll take care of that,' Babs said gently. Her voice, usually so loud, was hardly above a whisper. 'She was our Helen an' all.'\n\n'She said I was to have everything of hers.' Georgia raised a tear-stained face. 'She said there was a box in the wardrobe.'\n\n''Ave you looked in it?' Babs wiped at her own face with a corner of her apron.\n\n'No,' Georgia sniffed. 'I'm kind of afraid to.'\n\n'Well, let's do it together,' Babs said. 'Come on!'\n\nGeorgia got out of bed reluctantly. The mirror on the wardrobe door reflected back a sad waif of a girl. Tangled dark hair, red-rimmed eyes, wearing pyjamas that she'd outgrown several months before.\n\nShe found the chocolate box decorated with faded purple velvet flowers, tucked away under a pile of old jumpers.\n\nGeorgia put it on the table and drew back the curtains.\n\nBabs was lighting the fire.\n\n'Jesus it's cold in 'ere,' Babs said coming back to the table, slapping her raw hands together, eyes glistening with tears. 'Come on, get the lid off!'\n\nThere was a letter on the top addressed to Georgia.\n\nGeorgia picked it up and looked questioningly at Babs.\n\n'She went prepared, I'd say,' Babs smiled affectionately. 'But she was always one to think everything out.'\n\nUnder the letter were three bundles of notes with rubber bands round them.\n\n'There's about sixty quid 'ere,' Babs said in surprise, flicking through the pound and ten shilling notes.\n\n'There's more at the bottom, just change,' Georgia said pulling out handfuls of halfcrowns.\n\n'Read the letter,' Babs urged.\n\nGeorgia opened it, her hands shaking.\n\n'Dearest Georgia,\n\n'I feel a bit silly writing this, I keep hoping that when I get out of hospital I can get this out and we both can have a good laugh about it.\n\n'But I've had a feeling for quite some time that I might die. I've got a weak heart and I've been told about the risks. Anyway, I wanted to tell you, just in case I never got a chance to say it to your face, how much I loved you and how happy you made my last year.'\n\nGeorgia's eyes misted over, for a moment she couldn't see to read further.\n\n'I never had a family, or a close friend. I'd got so used to being on my own that I didn't even try to make friends anymore. But then you came along, filled up my life with your presence and suddenly I felt wanted and needed.\n\n'If I am dead when you read this I hope you'll be strong and not brood about me or feel guilty in any way.\n\n'Without this last year with you I would have died a lonely person. You enriched my life, you gave me laughter, the joy of sharing and most of all you gave me hope.\n\n'Carry on with your singing, fill the world with your beautiful voice. I'll be watching over you forever now. Watching to see you don't get tempted into bad things, or mix with evil people. I saw a lot of bad things while I worked at the club, gangsters, thieves, drugs and all sorts. Please be careful, don't be too trusting and watch out for men who will try to use you.\n\n'All the money in here is for you. Buy a beautiful dress for your special night, something red, sparkly and flashy, the kind of dress we planned to wear when we were rich. You are probably amazed that I had so much. I had to be really careful when I first came to London and somehow I never got out of the habit.\n\n'Give Bert and Babs my love, thank them for all they did for me. I thought of them as my parents. I wish them a long and happy life.\n\n'Don't cry for me Georgia. I'm happy now and I hope you get everything you've dreamed of.\n\nMy love always,\n\nHelen.'\n\nGeorgia read the letter and handed it to Babs.\n\nUnder the loose change were several photographs. Most were of Helen when she was a child, small, crumpled pictures of a painfully thin child with a mass of hair. There was one professional studio picture, taken before she left the home in Plymouth, her hair up, wearing a print dress with a large white lace collar. With this was a snap taken at Christmas of Helen and Georgia in the market, their arms around each other, laughing.\n\nGeorgia remembered the stallholder taking it, but she had never seen the snap until now. She held it out to Babs silently.\n\n'Fancy her sitting and writing all this before she went.' Babs was sobbing now, great tears rolling down her cheeks. She took the picture and looked at it, lifting it to her lips.\n\n'I'm glad you've got this, it's something to really remember her by, you both look so 'appy,' her voice shook and her lips trembled.\n\n'I'll never forget her anyway,' Georgia said brokenly. She scooped up the pictures and the money and put them carefully back. 'Now what shall I do with all this?'\n\n'Exactly what she said,' Babs said firmly. 'She wanted you all dolled-up for that night. You can't disappoint her.'\n\n## Chapter 9\n\nA rush of blood to his head, a tingling down his spine made Maxwell Menzies sit up sharply as the girl's voice soared out across the Acropolis.\n\nHe hadn't wanted to come tonight. Greek family parties were almost as boring as Jewish ones. But Andreous was his brother-in-law, and Miriam had insisted.\n\n'Summertime!'\n\nThe last time he'd heard that song was in New Orleans back in '58 and he defied anyone to surpass the fourteen-stone Negress who had turned his legs to jelly. This girl came close though, she might be young and slender, but her voice had the same depth and passion, and she was better to look at!\n\nMax forgot his drink and Miriam's tiresome family and friends all around him, all he could see and hear was the girl in front of him.\n\nBlack curls piled upon her head, fixed with glittery combs to match the long, spangled red dress. A hint of small brown breasts nestling below the plunging neckline, and when she turned, a deep 'V' of naked brown skin made his heart thump. But it was her eyes which held him, so sad and huge, at times glistening with tears.\n\n'This is it, Maxy,' he said to himself. 'You've found the crock of gold.'\n\n##### *\n\nFew men stood out in a crowd as Max did. It was not merely his rugged tanned face, height, wide shoulders and expensive clothes, but the sheer force of his personality.\n\nAs a young man he had flirted with boxing, but he was shrewd enough to know it would get him nothing other than cauliflower ears and a broken nose. He may not have won any titles, but it had left enough of a legend to intimidate his adversaries.\n\nA burst of applause broke round Max as the first number ended.\n\n'That was lovely,' Miriam put one plump, ring-laden hand on his. 'Fancy her just working in Pop's workshop!'\n\nMax glanced across at Pop. The man's eyes were glued to the stage, a smug look of satisfaction on his usually lugubrious features. Max had barely acknowledged this invitation when it arrived several weeks earlier, much less listened to Miriam rattling on about how excited Pop and Andreous were about this girl's voice, but now he wished he'd been attentive.\n\nShe was now singing the Everly Brothers' hit, 'Till I kissed you'. It was slower than their version, plucking at his emotions in a way the original never had and as her body swayed with the music, Max found himself slipping into a dream.\n\nThe London Palladium, then Vegas and Hollywood. He could see himself in a box looking down at her, hear the applause, see the sparkle of diamonds, smell money. The time was right. American men had dominated the charts for too long. This stunning girl with her powerful voice could be the one to change everything.\n\nAcross the same table, Pop too was struggling with his emotions, but unlike Max he had no thoughts of money or power.\n\nHelen's death sent shockwaves throughout the market. He'd seen Georgia bent to the point of breaking with grief. He hadn't heard her laugh in weeks, her face grey with pain, every line in her body showed the depths of her feeling. Yet somehow she'd found the guts to go on and rehearse.\n\nRight up to the moment she walked on to the stage, Pop had expected her to falter. Yet she'd picked up the microphone as if she was born to it, nodded to the band and straight into 'Summertime' as if she was merely in the workroom. Georgia had more sides than a threepenny bit. But until tonight he hadn't seen this adult and desirable woman.\n\nHer slender body moved sensuously to the beat, eyes flashing, hips undulating in her clingy dress. He couldn't help but wonder if his wife would be quite so maternal to Georgia in future.\n\nGlancing sideways, he saw Christina was as engrossed as the entire audience, one foot tapping, forgetting even her drink in front of her.\n\nIt was the last number of the first set. A Peggy Lee number she loved. 'Fever'.\n\nGeorgia hadn't copied the original version. Her voice was sweeter, more melodic and she sang it with just enough humour and pace to carry it off magnificently.\n\nThe audience applauded wildly.\n\nShe was just Georgia again, grinning as confidently as she did in the market. Eyes shining, beads of sweat glistening on that small brown forehead.\n\nThen as if remembering just where she was, she bowed deeply, and ran off stage.\n\nThe girls from the workshop were practically jumping out of their seats, yelling and stamping their feet, quite forgetting where they were.\n\nJanet had pulled out all the stops tonight. A long black dress, glittery earrings, like an actress at her premi\u00e8re.\n\nShe wiped a tear of pride from her cheeks and grinned at the other girls.\n\n'Our little Georgia,' she sniffed. 'I'm so bleedin' proud of her you'd think I trained her!'\n\n'Now that girl's got class. Don't you think so darling?' Max turned to his wife.\n\n'Oh yes,' Miriam gushed, encouraged by his dark eyes studying her so attentively. 'Couldn't you manage her?'\n\n'That's jumping the gun a bit,' he stroked her plump arm softly. 'She might be able to sing amongst her friends, but she's still a bit raw and we don't know anything about her.'\n\nWhen he married Miriam she had been as slim as Georgia, shiny dark hair with eyes to match. But like most Greek women she had turned to fat, almost as soon as the honeymoon was over. Her place was in the home, a mother and housewife, but tonight she had another purpose.\n\n'Talk to her darling. You know how I trust your judgement about these things!'\n\n'Oh, Maxy,' she cooed. 'What a sweet thing to say!'\n\nMax picked up his glass of brandy and downed it in one.\n\nMiriam could be so simple. Like a trusty dog, wagging its tail after a few kind words, forgetting how often her master stayed away from home and the women his name was linked with.\n\nShe knew how to make the best of herself though, despite her weight. Once her dark hair became grey she dyed it a dark auburn, an elaborate 'beehive' style which lengthened her round face and showed off her jewellery to advantage. The black dress she wore tonight was cleverly cut like all her expensive clothes, drawing the eye to her good points and camouflaging the bad. A low neck revealing her smooth olive shoulders and cleavage, sheer chiffon sleeves and draped empire line, hid away the damage a life of ease and plenty had caused.\n\n'She could be the one to change our lives,' Max whispered, running one finger down her arm sensuously. 'But we don't want to get into anything blind.'\n\nMiriam glowed at his words. He had sulked all day about coming. The best she had expected was for him to be pleasant to her family, then insist they leave before the party even got going.\n\nShe was only thirteen when her family left Greece and opened the restaurant in Greek Street. Her parents had led her to believe London would be wonderful, but all she saw in her teenage years was drudgery. Up to her elbows in greasy dishes, dark dreary rooms and a school where the other girls laughed at her accent. Pop and Andreous both worked as waiters then, and she knew her father had singled out Andreous for her.\n\nBack in Greece she would have welcomed the handsome young man with his soft eyes and ready laughter, but in London she saw them as a trap.\n\nAt seventeen she met Max and suddenly her mind was made up. Here was a man who wanted more out of life than waiting on tables. Little Ruth her younger sister could have Andreous.\n\nMax was a theatrical agent then. Even in his early twenties he showed signs of what was to come. Shrewd, manipulative, with an eye for the main chance. Exciting, not just the way he made her disobey her parents and slip out to meet him, but the way things happened around him.\n\nFaced with the risk of his oldest daughter bringing shame to their family, her father finally agreed to the wedding. Andreous married Ruth and when her father died, he left them the restaurant, and Miriam a few hundred pounds.\n\nAndreous turned the restaurant into a club and barely scraped a living out of it. But Max used Miriam's money to launch himself into the music world. He went to America and found talent, bringing them back to England and putting them on the road.\n\nAt twenty-three Max had been lean and hungry looking. But twenty years on, money, another stone in weight, he was in his prime. Sensuous, hooded eyes and fleshy lips promised passion. Thick black hair streaked with grey, detracted the eye from his Roman nose. A man who knew the effect he had on women and used it shamelessly. The handmade silk shirts, Italian shoes and his ostentatious jewellery were unnecessary adornments. No one ever forgot Max Menzies.\n\nBy the second set Georgia was getting into her stride. Her voice had a new maturity and range. Notes of caressing sweetness, mingled with shots of raw emotion that kept her audience spellbound.\n\n'When I fall in love', had them wiping a tear from their eyes. 'The Locomotion' made their feet itch to dance, and finally when she burst into 'Wonderful World' she wrenched the last dregs of emotion from everyone.\n\nAndreous was more than happy. His sophisticated and cool customers who rarely even acknowledged the entertainment were standing up to clap and cheer this young girl.\n\nTo think he had expected the evening to do little more than break even! They were all ordering drinks like there was no tomorrow, all because this young girl's voice had touched a sensitive spot.\n\nGeorgia mopped the sweat off her face and shoulders in the dressing room and turned to the men in the quartet.\n\n'Thank you all so much,' she said simply. They were packing up their instruments, obviously in a hurry to leave. 'I couldn't have got through it without you.'\n\nShe saw the exchanged glances. Four middle-aged men who'd seen everything and got credit for nothing.\n\n'You've got what it takes,' Jack the pianist smiled. 'But a word of warning. There's a lot of sharks out there. Watch what you're doing.'\n\n'Yes sir!' she grinned. 'But tell me how do I know the sharks from the nice fish?'\n\n'Extravagant promises,' he turned away to pack up his music. 'Now go on, be off with you and enjoy yourself.'\n\n'I hope we get to be together again,' Georgia couldn't find the right words to explain how much she owed her success to them.\n\n'So do we,' Jack touched her shoulder. 'Tonight was a real pleasure.'\n\nGreek music wafted round the club. One wall was covered in a mural of a Greek town, white houses like sugar cubes underneath a turquoise sky. Candles dripping on to bottles on every table, the vine-covered pergola round the bar all gave an impression they were far away from London.\n\nJanet and Sally were already up on the dance floor joining two snake-hipped waiters in Greek dancing. Georgia waved to them, then went over to join Pop, Andreous and their families.\n\n'This is my sister-in-law Miriam,' Andreous said after he'd hugged her and introduced his teenage sons, and Pop's five daughters.\n\n'I thought you were marvellous,' Miriam said, her double chin quivering with emotion. 'I had to find a hanky at the last song. You must tell me all about yourself.'\n\nGeorgia liked Miriam. Warmth and understanding flowed out of her, reminding her just a little of her own mother. Her dark eyes twinkled, her jewellery was dazzling and before Georgia knew it she was telling her all about her room, Helen and her hopes to be a professional singer.\n\n'You'll get there,' Miriam nodded. 'You've got all the right qualities. Your mother must be so proud of you Georgia, is she here tonight?'\n\n'My parents are dead.'\n\nShe didn't know why she said that. Was it pique because she'd had no word from Peter or Celia? Or protecting herself from the past?\n\n'I'm sorry darling,' Miriam leaned closer to her drowning her in expensive perfume. 'You are very young to be alone.'\n\nBut even reminders about being alone couldn't hurt her tonight. A photographer took her picture, men in evening dress kept coming up to kiss her. Women in beautiful dresses stopped by to compliment her. Finally the grey miserable feeling she'd had since Helen's death was actually fading.\n\n'You were very good.' A deep voice behind her made her turn and look up.\n\nFor a moment Georgia couldn't reply.\n\nHe was the most handsome man she'd ever seen. Making her think of thirties filmstars. His dinner-jacket fitted perfectly, his pin-tucked shirt like the kind she'd seen in glossy magazines. Pop had a clip-on bow tie, but Max's was the real thing. He was a human black panther, sleek, just a little flashy and perhaps dangerous.\n\n'Thank you,' she blushed.\n\n'This is my husband, Max.' She heard Miriam speak but could barely tear her eyes from his face.\n\n'May I?' He pulled up a chair, forcing his wife to move along. 'I expect someone will grab you any moment for a dance, but I just wanted to say how much I enjoyed your performance.'\n\nHe talked about everything and yet nothing, his hooded eyes never leaving her face. The only clear thing she remembered later was when he spoke of managing bands and artists.\n\nIt was obvious he made money out of it, just one look at the gold watch on his wrist, the shirt and suit said it all.\n\n'Come and dance?' he said later, holding out a hand.\n\n'I hope Miriam doesn't mind,' Georgia said as he scooped her into his arms. She felt uncomfortably aware of his big hard body against hers and she could see his wife watching them.\n\n'She's delighted to have a chat with Andreous and Ruth', he smiled down at her, his big hand lightly touching the naked skin on her back, sending shivers down her spine. 'They all gabble away in Greek the moment I'm out of earshot. Anyway you're the star tonight.'\n\n'I like Miriam,' she said weakly.\n\n'And so do I,' he smiled, showing flashing white teeth. 'We've been married for twenty years. She doesn't have to worry when I dance with a beautiful girl.'\n\n'Do you think the songs I picked were right for me?' she asked. She was very aware of the touch of his hand, his chin brushing her hair. She didn't want to be so aware of him, she wanted him to talk about her future.\n\n'I'd like to hear you sing some good soul music,' he said, smiling down at her. 'More up-to-date stuff. But only you know the sort of music that inspires you. You are the artist, not me.'\n\nIt was after four when Georgia finally got home.\n\nAs she unzipped the red dress and hung it up she felt a sudden pang of fear. Supposing nothing did come of tonight? How could she spend another year making dresses?\n\nThen there was Max. He'd been watching her with more than just passing interest. What she couldn't gauge was if that interest was professional, or personal.\n\nShe knew now with utter certainty that she was born to sing. If only her feelings about Max were as clean cut!\n\n'It's Miriam Menzies on the phone,' Pop shouted out into the workroom. 'Come and take it in my office.'\n\nTwo weeks had passed since the night at the Acropolis. A small photograph of her in a music paper and then nothing. Night after night spent alone in her room staring at the red spangly dress, watching her dream fade.\n\nGeorgia came back into the workshop looking stunned.\n\n'What did she want?' Janet switched off her machine and the others all followed suit.\n\n'She's invited me to go shopping with her on Saturday and lunch afterwards.'\n\n'Beats the casting couch routine,' Sally sniggered, leaning forward to listen.\n\n'But why?' Georgia turned puzzled eyes on Janet. 'Does this mean something?'\n\nJanet shrugged.\n\n'She's softening you up,' Sally smirked.\n\n'For Max?' Janet looked round sharply at her friend. 'I'd think 'e was capable of doing that 'imself. I'd be his for a gin and tonic.'\n\n'Did she mention him?' Sally asked.\n\nGeorgia shook her head.\n\n'Well girl,' Janet smiled. 'At least you'll get a free lunch. I bet that Miriam don't eat in Wimpy bars!'\n\n## Chapter 10\n\n'Almost Millionaires Row,' Georgia whispered to herself as she hurried along the tree-lined Hampstead avenue. Big detached houses set in neat gardens, gleaming cars on gravel drives. Images of au pairs, tennis clubs and holidays abroad. 'Max must be stinking rich.'\n\nThe Menzies's house was mock Georgian. Double-fronted with a glossy, navy blue door and brass coach lamps.\n\nTaking a deep breath, she walked up to the front door, the gravel scrunching under her feet, intensely aware of her shabby navy suit and run-down shoes.\n\nA girl opened the door, smiling welcomingly.\n\n'You must be Georgia?' she said. 'Come on in, Mrs Menzies won't be a moment.'\n\nShe was only a little older than Georgia, fair, with polished skin and an accent that suggested she could be Dutch or German. The plain black dress wasn't a uniform, but it had the same effect.\n\n'Take a seat,' she said, ushering Georgia into the sitting room, then disappeared down the hall to the back of the house.\n\nThe room was huge. The morning sun bathed the baby grand piano in the front window, glass doors led on to the garden at the back. The sort of room her mother would have described as 'More money than taste', but Georgia was impressed.\n\nA shaggy carpet curled round her feet. She looked around at luxurious fat couches with matching footstools, and huge exotic flower arrangements. Paintings with heavy gilt frames. A mahogany wall unit displaying family photographs encased in silver, along with a collection of porcelain figurines.\n\nThe house was silent, just the tick of a clock from the hall and birdsong from the garden. Georgia perched on the edge of a chair, taking careful note of everything, from the heavy curtains with tasselled pelmets to the imitation twin chandeliers.\n\nMiriam swept into the room wearing a blue silk dress, she looked pretty despite her bulk, and she smelled as exotic as her choice of flowers.\n\n'Hallo, dear,' she said, sitting down for a minute as she checked her bag, and patted her elaborate hairstyle. Georgia was pretty sure it wasn't her real colour, for the dark, burnished auburn didn't go with her dark eyes or eyebrows. It was swept up on to the top of her head, a mass of carefully arranged curls.\n\n'I thought we'd go to Kensington,' she said as she applied a touch more lipstick. 'How do you feel now after your debut?'\n\nHer plump hands were covered in rings, so many that Georgia wondered how she bent her fingers. Her nails were very long, painted a vivid pink to match her lips.\n\n'I'm not sure,' Georgia felt a little awkward. 'I want something more to happen I guess.'\n\n'It will,' Miriam stood up again, smoothing down her skirt, arranging a large, gold twisted chain round her plump neck. 'Max's meeting us for lunch, but let's forget that now. I love shopping, nothing better for giving one a boost.'\n\nSomehow Georgia had assumed they would go by bus or tube. She hadn't considered Miriam could drive, much less whisk her into a sleek black Rover, with seats like armchairs.\n\nMiriam attacked the shops like someone seeing food for the first time in weeks. She bought a cashmere sweater, stockings and a black cocktail dress without even checking the prices and all the time she chatted.\n\nGreece, holidays abroad, her two teenage boys. Between bursts she fired questions at Georgia and pointed out her favourite shops.\n\n'I don't want you to be offended,' Miriam said briskly as she whisked Georgia into the younger woman's department in Barkers, 'but I'm going to buy you something nice as a present.'\n\n'That's very kind of you,' Georgia almost stammered. 'But I hardly know you.'\n\n'Nonsense,' Miriam's eyes were already scanning the rails. 'I have my motives. I want Max to offer to be your manager. Now we can hardly impress him with you wearing that suit can we?'\n\nGeorgia blushed scarlet.\n\n'Don't look like that,' Miriam wheedled, putting one plump bejewelled hand under Georgia's chin and lifting it. 'You look fine for an interview for an office job, but entertainers have to sparkle. You wouldn't think twice if I was your mother.'\n\n'No, but \u2013'\n\nMiriam's nose flared.\n\n'No buts. I'm good with clothes and I know exactly what you need.' Her tone implied there was to be no further argument. 'Now a nice dress with a jacket. Something snazzy.'\n\nGeorgia watched helplessly as Miriam pulled out garment after garment. Each one of these outfits cost more than she earned in six weeks.\n\n'We want something that won't date,' Miriam pushed aside all the dresses with billowing net underskirts. 'And a jacket you can wear with other things.'\n\nThe assistant's arms were piled high. Black, red, blue and pink, stripes, spots and plain colours.\n\n'We'll try all these,' she pushed Georgia into the changing room. 'I think that black and white one is right for you, but we'll see.'\n\nTo Georgia everything was perfect. The size, the colours, but she hated Miriam watching her as she stood in her greying white bra and pants.\n\n'Put that one on again,' Miriam lifted down the one she'd mentioned earlier.\n\nIt was more sophisticated than the others. A silky low-necked dress in swirly black and white patterns, hugging Georgia's slim figure as if it was made for her. A short white jacket went over it, turning a dress that was made for dancing, into an outfit suitable for anything from church to an office.\n\nMirian dug one pink-nailed finger into her plump cheek and looked thoughtful.\n\n'That's it,' she said turning to the assistant. 'Would you mind cutting off the tags? She'll wear it now.'\n\nThe embarrassment grew as Miriam whisked her down into the shoe department and insisted she had a pair of Charles Jourdan black court shoes with two inch heels.\n\n'They're an investment,' she waved away Georgia's protest. 'If I have my way you'll be dancing all night soon. You can't do that if your feet hurt. Besides, if Max takes you on you'll soon be buying clothes much nicer than these things.'\n\nGeorgia's eyes strayed to her image as they passed a huge mirror on the way back to the ground floor.\n\nShe could easily pass for a model now. Elegant and poised. Her brown skin set off the white jacket, her hair tumbling over her shoulders stopped the outfit looking too matronly.\n\n'What do you see?' Miriam said softly at her elbow.\n\n'I look kind of glamorous,' Georgia giggled.\n\n'No, you look beautiful,' Miriam smiled. 'The glamour bit we have to work on. Your nails need shaping properly, you need lessons in make-up and grooming, but if I'm right about you, one day there'll be a million young girls copying you.'\n\nMiriam stopped by the perfume counter and sprayed her with Chanel No 5.\n\n'The finishing touch,' she explained. 'Now let's go and meet Max. Don't tell him about the dress and shoes, this is our little secret.'\n\n'Why?'\n\n'You know what men are like.' Miriam wrinkled her nose. 'He'll think I'm spoiling you.'\n\n'Is Max interested in me?' Georgia felt bold enough to ask as they crossed the busy High Street and made their way towards the parked car. Miriam puzzled her, it felt like a genuinely motherly act of kindness, yet she couldn't help suspecting a hidden motive.\n\n'I'm not quite sure,' Miriam frowned a little. 'He was impressed by your voice, but that isn't always enough.' She paused to unlock the car boot, took Georgia's bag and put it inside with her dress bag.\n\n'Let me tell you something about my Max,' she looked up at Georgia as she relocked it, pausing with one plump hand on the shiny paintwork. 'He's got a reputation as a hard man. You'll meet people that will tell you all sorts of bad things about him. They say he's cruel, unscrupulous, that he'd kill his granny for ten shillings.'\n\n'Would he?' Georgia's eyes were as big as saucers.\n\n'Maybe for a hundred pounds,' Miriam chuckled. 'But what few people will admit is, that he is the best. Maybe not the fairest, or the gentlest, but he's the best because he's tough. And if he decides he is going to make you a star, you will be.'\n\nMiriam stepped back on the pavement and linked her arm through Georgia's.\n\n'You won't be alone though,' she squeezed Georgia's arm. 'I'll be around too. Just remember I'm your friend. You can come to me if you have any problems.'\n\n'I like you,' Georgia said impulsively. She could remember her mother conspiring with her about her father just like this. Somehow it made it all seem safe.\n\n'And I like you too,' Miriam smiled.\n\nMiriam was seething with contradictory emotions. She really did like Georgia, yet still she set her up. Soothing her with maternal advice, stimulating her greed for the 'good life'. Now she was leading the girl into the final trap, and by tea-time she would be just another of her husband's assets. Max would be pleased with her, but just this once she wished she hadn't complied with his instructions.\n\nHarvey's in Church Street oozed quiet, expensive charm. Dark green paintwork with cream lace curtains on brass rails and windows as shiny as mirrors.\n\nMiriam swept in leaving Georgia to follow nervously.\n\n'Good afternoon, Mrs Menzies,' the headwaiter, a thin, whey-faced man glided towards them, a napkin over one arm. 'Mr Menzies is waiting for you.'\n\nGeorgia felt rather than saw the dark oak panelling, the cosy booths for intimate meals. All she could focus on was Max getting up from his table by the window, the width of his shoulders and a flash of white teeth.\n\nShe was out of her depth now. Foreign waiters, French menus. Even her new clothes couldn't hide the fact she had never been anywhere so grand before.\n\n'Hullo,' he said taking Georgia's hand firmly and leading her to the table as if understanding her fears. 'Has Miriam spent all my money?'\n\n'Only one little dress,' Miriam simpered, kissing him on the cheek.\n\n'Do you like chicken?' Max asked once the waiter had tucked in her chair.\n\n'Yes,' Georgia's voice was little more than a squeak. He looked even more handsome in his light grey suit and she was sure she couldn't eat a thing, much less choose.\n\n'Shall I order for you?' His big hand touched her briefly, like a secret message that he understood her fear. 'When I was your age I'd never eaten anywhere except at home.'\n\nOnce the meal arrived Georgia forgot her nervousness. Max told her a funny story about their son David getting lost in Barker's when he was small and how Miriam had wailed like a banshee until he was found, then amazed everyone by pulling down his trousers and smacking his bottom publicly.\n\n'David won't ever go in there now,' Miriam added. 'He's sure someone will remember him.'\n\nThere was something very reassuring in hearing such stories, soon both Max and Miriam were just another set of loving parents and Georgia found herself reciprocating with tales about Pop's workroom.\n\n'Miriam tells me you've no parents.' Max probed so gently she barely noticed it. 'Do you mind telling me what happened to them?'\n\n'I don't know anything about either of them,' she said. 'The records were lost, all I had was a name. Later on I was fostered.'\n\n'I wondered how you got to speak so nicely,' Max's thick lips spread into a wide flashing smile. 'Do you keep in touch?'\n\n'No. They split up after I left, it's not the same anymore.'\n\n'That's sad,' Max sighed. 'A girl of your age should have a family.'\n\n'At least it leaves me free to do as I like,' she said quickly.\n\n'And what is that?' Max enquired.\n\n'Sing again as soon as possible,' Georgia dug into an ice-cream sundae with childish relish.\n\nFor a moment or two there was silence. Georgia sensed Miriam was imploring Max with her eyes, but she hardly dared look up.\n\nDespite the couple's caring interest, Georgia knew this lunch had a real purpose. Was Max going to help her? Or had she blown it all by being too flippant?\n\nPower seeped out of him like a strange perfume. A tiny bell was ringing at the back of her head, warning her to get advice before she made, or let anyone else make any decisions. But who could she go to? Miriam had already told her he was the best!\n\n'I've been giving you a lot of thought,' Max spoke slowly, twisting his big gold ring around his carefully manicured finger. 'But one thing bothers me.'\n\n'What's that?' Georgia said eagerly, wiping her mouth on a serviette.\n\n'Your lack of experience,' he said, his thick dark eyebrows almost meeting as he frowned. 'I mean, your voice is superb, you move well and you have stage presence. But to make it in the music business you have to tour with a band putting on a complete entertainment.'\n\n'How do I find a band?' Georgia's heart sank. She didn't know anyone other than Andreous's quartet. Was Max trying to put her off?\n\n'Well I do have a band on my books which could be the one.' He pulled a notebook out of his pocket and studied it. 'Samson have a singer already, but he's the weak link,' he looked at Georgia again, his eyes narrowing. 'Unfortunately they are all very loyal to him. I've tried to make them part company with him before.'\n\n'But Georgia needn't be a threat to him,' Miriam leaned forward at the table, lightly touching Georgia's hand as if to reassure her. Her dark eyes bore into her husband as if willing him to find a way round the problem. 'Why couldn't Georgia sing and Ian do the harmonies and backing vocals?'\n\n'It might work,' Max beamed at his wife. 'A girl as pretty as Georgia would enhance the whole band.'\n\n'How much work would this involve?' Georgia asked, excitement bubbling up inside her. 'I mean would I have to give up my job?'\n\n'Certainly,' Max smiled at her na\u00efvety. 'Once you'd met them there would be rehearsals. Then off on the road. They play six nights a week now.'\n\n'Where?' she asked.\n\n'All over.'\n\n'But where would I sleep?'\n\n'In digs while you're away,' he said with a slight touch of amusement. 'But living where you do would be handy for the London gigs.'\n\n'Gigs?'\n\n'That's the musician's word for a job,' he said. 'But really the first step Georgia is for you to decide whether you want me to be your manager or not.'\n\nThere was an expectant silence.\n\n'I don't really understand what that means,' she said carefully.\n\n'It means I arrange all your jobs, pay you, organize transportation, publicity and countless other things.'\n\n'It means he virtually becomes your father,' Miriam's maternal, wobbly-chinned smile was reassuring. 'He looks out for you and guides you through all the problems.'\n\n'What do you get out of it then?' Even at the risk of appearing rude and ungrateful something told her she mustn't agree too readily.\n\n'A percentage,' he smiled, but his hooded eyes seemed a little colder now. 'Very little now, but one day when you go out for big money, I'll get my reward.'\n\n'But how much will I get now?' Her voice dropped. 'I mean I have to pay my rent and everything.'\n\nMax laughed then, disarming her.\n\n'This is all hypothetical remember. I haven't got the band to agree yet. But how does fifteen a week sound?'\n\n'Pounds?' Georgia's eyes flew open in amazement.\n\n'Well, of course,' he replied.\n\nGeorgia stared at him. That was more than twice the amount Pop paid her!\n\n'But what happens if the public don't like me. I don't get to make a record or anything?'\n\nMax shrugged his shoulders.\n\n'That's my problem,' he said. 'Do you think I got where I am today by backing losers?'\n\nMiriam smiled, reaching forward and taking Georgia's hands.\n\n'Grab it with both hands,' she said gently, her dark eyes full of excitement. 'Chances like this come just once. I'm sure you don't want to spend your life running up dresses?'\n\nGeorgia sat for a moment looking from one to the other.\n\nMiriam was motherly, a woman like her wouldn't lead her into anything bad. Max might be sharp, but just to look at him was to stare success in the face.\n\n'All right,' she smiled. 'I'd like you as a manager.'\n\n'Welcome to our family Georgia,' Max beamed, taking her hand and shaking it firmly. 'Once I've talked to the boys in the band we'll get an agreement drawn up. Meanwhile I think champagne is called for.'\n\nMax's big hands gripped the steering wheel to control his mounting excitement. She could really sing, she was beautiful, but best of all she was alone!\n\nStage-door Mamas were his b\u00eate noire. Hanging around, poking their noses in his business, demanding this and that and producing lawyers if he didn't comply.\n\nHe wouldn't even need hype this time. Georgia had the face, the body and the voice. She wasn't going to be a one hit wonder, the darling of the kids in youth clubs for two months, then dropped like a stone. No, Georgia was going to line his walls with gold records.\n\n'A \"Roller\", a mansion in the country,' he said aloud, turning his driving mirror so he could see himself. 'Well Maxy, the sky's the limit this time. Straight up, no messing!'\n\nWhen Max was onto something he wasted no time. After saying goodbye to his wife and Georgia he was straight off to Birmingham to see 'Samson'. They liked playing 'The Coconut Club', it was Saturday night with a day off tomorrow, all excellent reasons for them to be in a receptive mood.\n\nSeven unambitious lads from the East End and every one of them a first class musician. They'd paid their dues in London pubs and youth clubs, all they wanted out of life was a regular wage, a bit more crumpet and someone to organize them. Too loyal to split up and join bands with a name. Too thick to realize their own potential.\n\nIan McShane was their leader and singer. Max had plans for him at first, his pretty-boy blond looks could have given singers like Ricky Nelson a run for their money. But despite his gentle charm, Ian was an obstinate young cuss. He wouldn't play bubble-gum music, not even for the lures that Max put out. He had an obsession about soul music and that was exactly why Max wanted Georgia to join them.\n\nThe beaten-up old van was parked outside the club. The equipment all ready inside. Max brushed past the doorman with a few words and went into the club.\n\nWhy exactly it was called The Coconut Club, eluded him, as apart from a cut-out wooden palm tree outside it had no exotic aspirations. Inside it was like a catacomb, with small cave-like seating areas leading off the dance floor. The stage was at the far end, with a long bar which reached all down one wall.\n\nMax took a seat tucked away behind an archway. In a well-positioned mirror he could see Ian crawling around the stage checking wires, but to Max's surprise they were almost ready.\n\nNow with the main lights on, the club looked shabby. White walls gone yellow with smoke, velvet seats with no pile left, drink-ringed tables and a sticky, dirty carpet. Yet in an hour or two it would be transformed with subdued lighting, and five or six hundred kids looking for the Saturday night dream.\n\n'One, two, three, testing,' came the inevitable cry over the PA.\n\n'It seems all right,' Ian shouted to the boys. 'Let's get the balance now, then we can go for a few jars.'\n\nThe usual high pitched whine. Les and Patrick tuning up and John flexing his fingers on the trumpet valves.\n\nThe organ came in, a crashing from the drums and then they started to play.\n\nIt never ceased to surprise Max that these boys could actually unpack a van full of heavy equipment, with miles of wiring, cart it into a club or pub and within half an hour create a decent sound. The drums alone looked like a Chinese jigsaw puzzle to unravel. There were endless extension leads, lights and jack plugs. Yet, at the end of the evening they would pack it all away carefully, no matter how much they'd had to drink, only to repeat the performance the next night somewhere else.\n\nThey were all in their early twenties, all too thin and unhealthy looking, not a muscle between the lot of them.\n\nA bunch of underfed dogs, that's what they reminded him of. Mongrels with more courage and persistence than brain. All too keen to lick his hands for a titbit. On a long leash they were happy. A kick up the backside now and then to show them who was boss, then brush them up, show them off and they gave him undying loyalty.\n\nIn a year Max had learned little about them individually. At times he even had difficulty remembering their names. But then it was always Ian who spoke for them.\n\nHe was leaning lazily on the microphone. Butter-yellow hair falling into his eyes, pale skin and soft girlish mouth. It was a shame his voice wasn't that hot. He could have been a real matin\u00e9e idol. He wasn't a wanker like the rest of the bunch. A bit weak, a gentleman, but a likeable lad for all that.\n\nRod the drummer should have been their leader. He had the height, arrogance and charisma Ian lacked. His angular, almost Red Indian features drew the eye, his glossy black hair, his lean frame were a trap for any woman under fifty. Sometimes Max had an uneasy feeling this lad was biding his time, waiting for his moment.\n\nThe others he lumped together. Anaemic looking, sharp East End faces. In their scruffy jeans and plimsolls they could be the boys he grew up with.\n\nSometimes when he watched the lads performing, Max wished he was in their shoes. Girls looking up adoringly, already damp with excitement. By the interval they were ripe. One drink, a little snogging and before the equipment was packed those fresh-faced girls were waiting with their knickers in their handbags. He might have the money and the flash car, he might even promise a night in a swish hotel, but he still had to take knickers off manually.\n\n'That's it lads,' Ian called out. 'Down the pub.'\n\nMax got up from his seat.\n\n'Ye gods, it's the boss,' Norman leapt down from his organ and landed on the dance floor. 'Hallo Max, what brings you up here?'\n\nNorman was an irritating little know-all, with red hair and freckles, the boy he liked least.\n\n'To watch you,' Max said easily. 'Find out what I'm wasting my money on.'\n\n'We're going over to the pub,' Les said. 'Are you coming?'\n\nLes was the most easy going, possibly the dimmest of the bunch, with rounded shoulders, sallow skin and a hooked nose. Right now he had a spot on his greasy chin that flashed as vividly as a Christmas tree light.\n\n'Why not?' Max grinned, 'I'll even do the buying!'\n\nOnce at the pub Max humoured them by listening to the same old complaints. The van that overheated, no new sheet music for Norman. Why couldn't they have new band suits, and some time off?\n\n'Have you finished?' he said, looking from one to another, fixing them with his bright eyes. 'I didn't come all this way to have my ears bashed!'\n\n'Go on,' Norman said. 'What is it this time? Have we used too much petrol?'\n\n'No,' Max waited until he had their full attention. 'Have you ever wondered why you've never been approached by a record company?'\n\nThere was a nodding of heads all round. Speedy, the bass player stuck his head over Rod's shoulder and grinned inanely.\n\n'It's not because you aren't good enough musically, but because the voice isn't there,' Max said firmly.\n\nMax noted how Ian's face blanched, his blue eyes grew darker, his lip curled.\n\n'Are you saying you want me replaced?'\n\n'Not replaced, added to,' Max had to be careful not to antagonize Ian, after all he only intended them to train Georgia. 'If I could show you a girl singer who could blow the socks off everyone in the room, what would you say?'\n\n'Do we all get to shag her in the van too?' John said dryly.\n\n'She's not that type,' Max replied. John was better known for his irreverent humour than his classy trumpet solos. His brooding dark eyes were watching Max closely, missing nothing.\n\n'Then she's definitely out,' Norman broke into a high-pitched shriek of laughter.\n\n'I'm serious,' Max looked round at each of the boys, that 'Trust me because I know best' look he had perfected. 'I don't want to replace Ian. He has a big following with your girl fans, and he keeps you lot in order. But this girl will enhance everything you do. She's young, pretty and a fantastic singer, and if you've got half a brain, you'll let her rehearse with you and see what you think.'\n\n'Can we just have a moment to talk about it?' Ian said, he looked at each of his friends in silent appeal.\n\n'Fair enough,' Max got up from his stool. 'I'll give you ten minutes.'\n\nHe would have given anything to stay and hear what they were saying. Instead he took his drink to the other end of the bar and watched them from a distance.\n\n'I don't like it,' Rod said immediately Max was out of earshot. His dark eyes flashed with anger. 'He's got something up his sleeve.'\n\n'He's an arsehole,' John scowled. 'This is the first step to kicking Ian out.'\n\n'He can't get rid of Ian,' Speedy smirked. His nickname came from his slow, lethargic attitude. But he was the only one of them that had left school with any qualifications. 'We've got a contract with him as a complete band.'\n\nIan flashed a look of gratitude at Speedy. He looked and acted thick because it suited him to do so, but despite appearances, he was as sharp as a razor.\n\n'Thank, lads,' Ian said softly. 'Max is no fool. He must have found someone special. If she's as good as he thinks she is, she may be the one to help us, too.'\n\n'I don't want no fucking girl hanging out with us,' Norman stuck out his pointed chin defiantly. 'It'll be a drag and you know it. It's probably some tart he fancies and she'll be running back to him with stories.'\n\n'Possibly,' Ian said. 'But on the other hand she could be what we need. Max is right. I ain't got a brilliant voice. There's nothing to separate us from a thousand other bands. Why don't we agree to an audition? Nothing more. If we hate her, if she's his bit on the side, we'll refuse. He can't make us take her.'\n\n'But if she is good,' John surprised them by speaking up. 'Maybe we can swing it to make a record.'\n\n'And you Rod?' Ian knew his old friend only too well, if he didn't agree at this stage, there'd be trouble later.\n\n'It's your funeral,' Rod's slanty eyes flashed a warning message to each of them. 'Girls are trouble. We'll be fighting over who's going to screw her. She might even be Max's tart. But I'll agree to an audition. On our own, without Max sitting in. We'll discuss it further when we've heard her.'\n\nIan raised his hand, Max sauntered back.\n\n'Well?' He turned back to the bar, to order another round of drinks.\n\n'An audition, just us and her,' Ian said. 'We're not going to agree to anything till then.'\n\n'Fair enough,' Max smiled. 'Monday week at the usual place.'\n\nGeorgia was filled with self doubt.\n\nOn Saturday everything seemed perfect. But once she got home, doubts began to crowd her mind.\n\nHow could she even think of getting up on a stage and singing with seven men she didn't know. Living with them in digs, travelling hundreds of miles. She knew nothing about men and Brian kept popping back into her head.\n\nShe thought it was over, but now alone in her room he came back. His mouth slobbering on hers, his fingers digging into her arms and thighs. If a man she trusted could do that, how much more could a strange man do?\n\nOn Monday morning Max rang her before she'd even had time to sit down and start work.\n\n'I've talked to the boys, and they are happy for you to join them,' he said, in that clipped decisive way he had. 'I'm booking a rehearsal room for next Monday, can you make it?'\n\n'Yes,' she said looking across the room at Pop, wondering how she could just tell him she was leaving.\n\n'Good. I want you to come to my office today, about five thirty. I've got some records here I want you to listen to. I'll talk to you then about everything.'\n\nPop didn't know whether to laugh or cry when she told him her news.\n\n'I'm happy for you, my sweet,' he said chucking her under her chin. 'This place won't be the same without you.'\n\n'I'll be popping in to see you,' she said leaning her face against his shoulder and holding him.\n\n'That's what I was afraid you'd say,' he teased her. 'Just don't make it too often?'\n\nHe had his reservations about Max, even if Miriam was an old friend. It was no secret he screwed every performer he got his hands on. But in the same way London had beckoned to him as a boy, the music world was calling to Georgia.\n\nJanet listened carefully as Georgia recounted every detail of her day with the Menzies. She could see under Georgia's excitement there was something troubling her.\n\n'Out with it!' she said as she found Georgia alone at lunchtime in the tiny room adjoining the toilets. 'Did Max make a pass?'\n\n'No,' Georgia giggled.\n\nJanet sat on the broken chair and lit up a cigarette.\n\nThey were all reluctant to see Georgia leave. In Janet's case it was a protective instinct. Georgia was only a child, still limping mentally from what that man had done to her. 'Come off it, love!' she raised one eyebrow. 'I know you've got the screaming hab-dabs about something. What is it?'\n\n'I'm just a bit worried about being alone with seven men,' Georgia giggled and looked at her hands.\n\nJanet studied the younger girl as she sat on a bale of cloth, one leg tucked beneath her. She looked so pretty and fresh, the excitement of the phone call had put a pink glow in her cheeks, matching her gingham dress. Her hair curling over her shoulders like a doll in a toy shop. Somehow she had to give Georgia confidence, yet warn her gently too.\n\n'You must make it clear from the start that you aren't available,' Janet said carefully. 'Men aren't all rapists. But most of them will seize any opportunity going!'\n\n'How do I do that?' Georgia's eyes were full of fright.\n\n'Keep your distance,' Janet puffed thoughtfully. 'Get to know them individually. Men as friends are more truthful than women I've found. Don't have a dabble with one of them unless you're sure he's the right one.'\n\n'How do I know that?' She leaned forward to Janet, taking her hand. 'I'm scared.'\n\n'When it's right you'll know,' Janet smiled, stroking Georgia's face. 'Pick someone gentle and caring. Mother nature will do everything else.'\n\n'I wonder if I'll ever be as wise as you,' Georgia said wistfully.\n\n'Wisdom comes through suffering or old age,' Janet smiled. 'Don't wish either of them on yourself.'\n\n##### *\n\nMax's office was in an elegant town house in Berkeley Square. Smart iron railings, white steps led up to gleaming mahogany double doors. Up a graceful thickly-carpeted staircase with polished wood banisters to a door marked 'Menzies Enterprises'.\n\nA receptionist sat just inside. She barely looked up and continued to paint her nails a vivid pink.\n\n'Yes?'\n\n'I've an appointment with Mr Menzies,' Georgia said in a small voice.\n\n'He's with someone,' the girl said rudely. 'Sit down and wait.'\n\nIt seemed to Georgia that she was there for hours, but at least it gave her an opportunity to look around.\n\nBeyond the sulky, dark receptionist and her switchboard, she could see several rooms going off the corridor. In one a girl was busy typing, another girl beside her was getting the post ready.\n\nThe whole place was decorated in mossy green with white doors. Autographed photographs hung on every wall. Brenda Lee, Gene Vincent, Shirley Bassey and Jerry Lee Lewis.\n\nA door opened further along the passage and she heard Max's voice boom out, breaking the silence.\n\n'An audition won't be necessary I assure you,' he was saying to someone she couldn't see. 'I didn't get an office in Mayfair by selling crappy bands.'\n\nA small man in a grey suit came scurrying back along the corridor, he looked at Georgia and nodded.\n\n'You can go in now,' the receptionist still didn't look at Georgia. 'The far end of the corridor.'\n\nMax was sitting behind a huge desk as Georgia looked round the door tentatively. The window behind him overlooked the square.\n\n'Sit down,' he said, waving a cigar towards a chair and opening a desk diary.\n\nThick carpets, solid wood furniture and a huge cocktail bar in one comer, were even more evidence of his success.\n\nGeorgia looked up, a strange creepy sensation tickling the back of her neck.\n\nIn one corner of the room was a gold spider's web, complete with large gold spider, advancing on a gold fly.\n\nMax put the diary down, glancing up to see what she was looking at.\n\n'Do you like it?' he asked. 'It's real gold.'\n\n'I think it's awful,' she said and immediately blushed scarlet at her rudeness.\n\n'It cost a fortune,' he said in its defence, his thick lips curling a little. 'I designed it myself.'\n\n'I'm sure it's very clever and beautifully made,' she was almost trying to apologize. 'I just don't like spiders. They give me the creeps.'\n\nMax got up and went over to the bar.\n\n'Like a drink?' he said, over his shoulder.\n\nShe knew he was insulted. Just the stiffness in those wide shoulders warned her.\n\n'Just an orange juice,' she said. 'I can't stay long.' She hadn't anywhere to go. It was just something to say, but the moment the words were out of her mouth she knew that was wrong too.\n\nHe wheeled round, an angry flush across his cheeks. He reached her in two giant strides and put one great paw on her small shoulder.\n\n'I think we have to get one thing straight,' he said gruffly. 'If I'm to spend time, trouble and money on you, I expect total commitment from you. You sing when I make bookings for you, even when your grandmother has invited you out for tea. You don't tell me you have other plans!'\n\nUntil now Georgia had thought her days of being answerable to anyone were over. But one look at Max's stern face told her this wasn't so.\n\nHis jacket was off, draped over a chair, she saw the double 'M' monogram on his silk shirt, glanced up at the gold spider, and felt a tremor of fear.\n\nEven his face wasn't so inviting. He had dark stubble on the strong chin, his mouth looked bad-tempered and tough, every line in his big frame told her this man would be nothing like Pop.\n\n'I'm sorry,' she said. 'I didn't mean to hurry you or anything. And I won't ever let you down.'\n\n'Have you got a boyfriend?' his dark eyes narrowed, looking right into hers.\n\n'No,' she said, feeling very uncomfortable.\n\n'Well that's something. I don't want you preoccupied with any man at this stage.' He sat down again at his desk, tilting back his seat, playing with a pencil.\n\n'I'm only serious about singing,' she said, wishing she dared to tell him it was none of his business.\n\n'That's good,' he said, a faint smile playing at his lips. 'You see Georgia, joining a band isn't like any other job. These boys will soon be like your family. If you can't get on with them, really like them, you won't bring out the best in one another.'\n\n'I understand that.'\n\n'You may think you do now,' he smirked. 'Just wait until you've put up with smelling their socks. Listened to them farting in the van. Watched them snogging with girls when you are anxious to get home. That's the stuff that takes the fun out of it.'\n\nGeorgia tried hard to look serene. She was sure he was exaggerating.\n\n'I'll cope,' she said, more confidently than she felt.\n\n'Now for the music,' he picked up a small pile of records. 'I want you to play these until you know every word. We haven't got the music for these songs, the boys play them by ear. Make sure you really know them by next week.'\n\n'I haven't got a record player,' she whispered.\n\nMax looked up, surprise on his face. 'You're joking? All kids have record players!'\n\n'I can't afford one,' she replied, wringing her hands together, wishing she was anywhere but here alone with Max.\n\nShe felt him move, coming round to sit on his desk in front of her. For a moment he said nothing, just looking down at her.\n\nMax had that same feeling he'd had in the Acropolis. A tightening in his gut, a prickle in his heart. She looked so pretty, like a little Sunday school teacher in her pink, checked dress, her hair tied up with a ribbon. He remembered a day when he was fourteen being forced to admit he hadn't any boxing gloves for the same reason, and that prickle grew stronger.\n\n'I've got one you can have,' he said. 'I'll go and get it and give you a lift home.'\n\nAs Max climbed the stairs to Georgia's room carrying the Dansette record player he kept in the office, he felt as if he were going back some twenty-five years.\n\nThe smell of damp, a glimpse of the hideous bathroom, the worn, dusty carpet, the poverty. It was just like the place he lived in as a child. This place was silent, as if they were alone, yet he could almost hear the sounds that had filled his childhood. Babies crying, children shouting and adults screaming at each other, mingled with a stench of boiled cabbage and toilets.\n\n'How long have you lived here?' he asked, trying hard not to reveal his thoughts as she unlocked the door at the top of the stairs.\n\n'Over a year. It's not so bad inside and at least it's near everything.'\n\nShe ran in ahead of him, turning on a small lamp. He understood why, she wanted to soften the bareness.\n\nMax put the record player down. He felt huge against the low, sloping ceiling. 'You've made it nice,' was all he could say. He guessed she had painted it, wondered how she had come here, and above all whether the activities so close to this room had touched her.\n\n'Would you like some tea?' Georgia was flushed with embarrassment, she was moving her weight from one leg to the other, hoping he'd refuse and go.\n\n'I must get home,' he wanted to take her out to dinner, but in the mood he was in he might do or say the wrong thing. 'Shall I plug this in for you first?'\n\n'I can do it,' she said, watching as he placed it on a spindly coffee table. 'As soon as I earn some money I'll buy another and give you this back.'\n\n'Keep it,' he took her two hands in his, unable to control himself. 'It's a present.'\n\nShe just stood there looking at him. Her lips slightly parted, eyes like two dark pools.\n\n'Don't be embarrassed by having nothing darling,' his voice was husky. 'I started out like this too. There's no shame in it.'\n\nNo one had ever touched him like this. He'd had dozens of young girls with less than her, and never once wanted to give them anything. Max took what he wanted. Whether it was their youth, their talent or just their virginity. A meal or a night out in a hotel was the extent of his generosity.\n\nHe wanted to kiss her so bad it hurt. Yet somehow he knew if he touched her she'd back away and maybe she'd be lost to him forever.\n\n'It's not that,' she dropped her eyes from his. 'I've never brought a man up here before. It feels strange.'\n\nShe broke all the rules. Max understood girls who flirted and pretended to know everything, or even ones who ran a mile from being alone with him. She just stood there, still with her little soft hands in his, half child, half woman, too innocent to realize that this older man's interest in her was far from professional.\n\n'You've no need to feel strange with me Georgia,' he squeezed her hands then let them drop. 'I'll be going now, learn all the words, and I'll meet you at ten next Monday, outside Peter Robinson's in Oxford Street. Don't be late!'\n\n'Thank you Max,' she smiled took a step nearer him and standing on tip-toes kissed his cheek. 'You can't imagine how lovely it will be to hear music again.'\n\nHe heard the opening chords of 'Soul Train', even before he reached the street. Max put one hand up to his cheek where she'd kissed it and paused for a moment.\n\nThis was going to be tough. She wasn't going to fall into his arms like an over-ripe peach and just this once perhaps it would be him who got hurt.\n\n'I can't bear to leave you!' Georgia sobbed.\n\nAll week she had been in a state of hysterical excitement, but now as her last day at Pop's was almost over, she realized just how much they all meant to her.\n\nJanet's lips quivered, Sally was chain-smoking, the other women had fussed around her all day, giving her little treats. Myrtle had even run her up a pair of warm pyjamas.\n\n'You can always come back,' Pop said gently. 'The door will always be open for you. Good luck!'\n\nHe hadn't rebuked her all week, just long-suffering sighs at her high spirits. His sad, clown-like face was suddenly very dear to her.\n\n'Thank you for everything,' she said, running to hug him one last time. 'I'll never forget any of you.'\n\nPop held her tightly, his lips quivering.\n\n'You'll never be far from our thoughts. We'll be watching to see your name in lights.'\n\n'None of this would have happened without you.' She lay her head on his shoulder, fresh tears filling her eyes. 'I want to sing, but I'll miss you all.'\n\n'You'll make new friends,' he said softly against her hair. 'Not broken reeds like us lot.'\n\n'Drop us a line when you are singing in London,' Janet's voice was husky with emotion. 'And remember all the things I've taught you about men!'\n\nGeorgia sat hunched up in Max's Jaguar, shaking with fear. In jeans and a sweater, her hair tied up in a pony tail she looked about fourteen.\n\n'Now don't let any of them make passes at you,' Max said gruffly. 'Don't start making them tea and stuff otherwise you'll end up becoming mother to them all, and if you have any problems phone me, either at the office or home.'\n\n'What will I wear to the gigs?' she asked.\n\n'Miriam has all that in hand. I'll be popping in on Wednesday during the day to see you.'\n\nThe church hall was near Aldgate. Dilapidated and sad with ferns growing out of the roof, the wire-covered windows mostly broken.\n\nAs they got out of the car Georgia could hear music blasting out, surprising passers-by.\n\n'That's good,' Max said, grinning broadly. 'They've set up. Now don't be nervous, just sing and forget about everything else.'\n\nAs Max swept her into the dingy hall she almost laughed with relief. She had imagined strong, fierce men, but all she saw were boys, weeds in jeans and sweaters, cigarettes hanging out of their lips.\n\n'Hallo Georgia!' One of them jumped down off the stage, his pale face brightened by a wide smile. 'I'm Ian. Has Max filled you in on the music?'\n\n'I've played the records,' she blushed. Her voice seemed to echo round the hall too loudly now the rest of them had stopped playing and just stared silently at her. 'I know all the words, I think.'\n\n'Well, that's more than I do. I often ad lib.'\n\n'I'll shoot off now,' Max said, backing towards the door. 'Ring me tonight at seven, Ian. We'll talk then.'\n\nHe was gone in a flash, the doors shuddering behind him.\n\nFor a moment Georgia just stood there, eyes downcast. She knew this feeling so well, just the way it had been the first day Celia left her at the new school. Play interrupted as the other kids stared at her, then moving on, forgetting her.\n\n'Nervous?' Ian touched her shoulder lightly. 'Don't be, love, we all know what it's like. Come and meet the others.'\n\nShe knew it would take forever to remember their names. Ian with his gentle ways and angelic face stood out, and Rod the drummer for his dark brooding looks, but the others seemed so alike.\n\n'Speedy's really called Patrick,' Ian waved his hand at the auburn-haired, fresh-faced one nursing his bass guitar. 'You'll find out why we gave him that nickname. Norman on organ, an arrogant little shit-stirrer. Les on lead guitar, thick as two short planks and finally John and Alan the brass section.'\n\nWhy did they stare so hard? Was it because Max hadn't told them about her colour?\n\n'Let's get on with it!' Rod shouted irritably, banging on his side drum.\n\n'We'll start with \"Soul Train\". Norman sat down at the organ. 'I'll play it through to refresh your memory. It might be a good idea to sing by me so you don't get thrown by the backing.'\n\nClammy cold hands, butterflies in her stomach and as the introduction started her face broke out in a sweat.\n\n'I'm on the Soul Train, don't know where I'm going,' the first line came out as no more than a croak. She kept her eyes on Norman's hands dancing over the keys. The second line was easier, by the third she had forgotten her fears, throwing back her head for the chorus.\n\n'Soul train take me with you,' she sang moving back away from Norman, microphone in hand.\n\nThe trumpet and sax were playing thrilling little riffs, Rod's drums sent out a heavy beat and she could hear Speedy and Les joining in with vocals. Tingles went down her spine, she turned to sing to them, forgetting that she'd never seen or heard of them till a few moments ago.\n\nAs the music died away she looked round.\n\nAll seven of them were staring at her.\n\n'Did I do it wrong?' she asked turning pink with embarrassment.\n\n'You did it as good as perfect,' Ian grinned. 'Now let's do it again and I'll do some harmonies.'\n\nAs the day wore on she had a glimpse into each personality. Rod the drummer was the most dangerous, his slanty eyes seemed to be watching her closely. He oozed raw sexuality which made her uncomfortable, when he spoke it was a mere growl. Norman knew his music. Speedy was the calming member of the band and John, Les, and Alan were the quiet ones. But the biggest surprise of the day was Ian. When Max described him as the weak link, he couldn't have been further from the truth. His sweet face, the baby-soft, yellow hair and big blue eyes, hid a committed musician. He made the decisions, knowing each member's strengths and weaknesses and he balanced them like a juggler.\n\n'Sing from the groin,' he said at one point in the morning, making a thrusting gesture. 'This is rock not choir practice. You've got to sell yourself, not just your voice.'\n\n'Let's go down the pub for a few jars,' John said at two, packing away his trumpet before anyone could argue. 'This is the nearest thing we'll get to a holiday for months, so let's make the most of it.'\n\n##### *\n\n'We pool our money,' Ian smirked as Georgia watched him take a brown envelope out of his pocket to pay for the drinks while the others stood watching. 'We keep a fiver each, and the rest goes in here for our rent, food, fags and beer. If there's any left at the end of the week we divide it up.'\n\n'So what do I do?' she asked wondering if this meant she had to hand hers over too.\n\nA wall of hostility seemed to spring up round her.\n\n'Max didn't tell you it was only an audition?' Rod's lip curled back aggressively.\n\n'I'm sorry.' She could have died of shame. Max had put her in an impossible position. Why couldn't he have told her the truth?\n\nShe turned and ran to the toilet, tears springing into her eyes.\n\n'Fuck Max,' Rod said as the door banged behind her. 'He's so bloody \u2013' he paused, unable to find the right word.\n\n'Right?' Speedy grinned. 'Let's face it Rod, for once he's got his head screwed on.'\n\n'She's perfect,' John said quietly, staring at the door Georgia had rushed into. 'She's got the voice, the looks, everything.'\n\n'She'll be trouble,' Norman's face was sharp, as if searching for an alternative argument. 'What happens when she has to share a room with us? How can we change with her around?'\n\n'What do you think Rod?' Ian turned his lazy blue eyes on to his friend.\n\n'I think she's brilliant.'\n\nIan's mouth fell open. He had expected fierce opposition, at best a bet that he could get her into bed first.\n\n'I think she could be trouble,' Rod added quickly. 'I agree with Norman there. But more from Max than anyone. He fancies her, I saw it in his face. What we need to get straight is how she thinks of Max.'\n\n'Let's have a vote on her anyway?' Ian scanned the boys grouped around him. He could see Rod wanted her in, John too. Alan and Les would go along with the majority.\n\n'Hold on,' Speedy's slow voice halted them. 'I like her too, but what we've all got to think of is Ian's position. We've been together too long to split up now. If she stays we've got to integrate her right into the band, never allow her to think she's the important one. You've got to put more beef into it Ian, don't let her take over. Anyway you haven't said a word yourself.'\n\n'I think she's our saviour,' Ian blushed. 'She's just what we need. Did you hear all of you come alive in there? She's got that magic touch to make us all reach new heights. I don't care if it's going to cause trouble. I say we take her on.'\n\nWhen Georgia returned from the toilets she knew immediately they had reached a decision.\n\n'Give us two quid,' Rod said, holding out the brown envelope. 'That'll be your contribution until pay day. We'll work out your permanent share next week.'\n\n'You mean?' Georgia's eyes opened wide, her lips curving into a dimpled smile.\n\n'It means you're in now baby,' Speedy drawled. 'Welcome to Samson.'\n\n## Chapter 11\n\n'Is this it?' Georgia turned surprised eyes on Ian as he banged on a door between a Wimpy bar and a betting shop in Tottenham High Street.\n\n'Wait till you get inside,' he grinned, eyes full of mischief. 'Welcome to de shit-house!'\n\nThe door creaked open and a small, scrawny man in a dirty collarless shirt peered out, behind him was a flight of steep stairs, up which came a warm, fetid smell of dustbins.\n\n'You're early,' the man said. 'I haven't finished cleaning up yet.'\n\nGeorgia clutched the dress Miriam had given her to her chest, her legs turning to jelly.\n\n'You know we like to set up early to get a balance,' Ian prodded the old man in the chest playfully. 'Now come on Sid, don't be awkward.'\n\nGrumbling under his breath the old man tottered off down the stairs on bowed legs. Ian turned to the boys sitting in the van and waved for them to follow.\n\n'You'll soon get used to clubs by daylight,' Ian grinned at Georgia's horrified face and putting one hand in the small of her back, pushed her gently towards the stairs. 'By the time we get back here at half nine tonight it will look different. By two thirty when we leave it will seem wonderful. That's a promise.'\n\nAn hour later Georgia sat huddled on the edge of the stage watching the boys still putting the final touches to their equipment. All they had allowed her to carry down were the small items while they sweated profusely carting the heavy organ, speakers and amplifiers.\n\nThe basement club was a huge clammy cellar, the only seating consisted of rows of school-type benches lining the whitewashed walls. Two long strip lights lit the place, making it as inviting as a morgue. Sid was still washing the floor, or rather pushing the dirt round further with an ancient mop.\n\n'Which one do you belong to?'\n\nGeorgia assumed Sid was talking to her, although his eyes stayed glued to the mop in his hand.\n\n'I don't belong to anyone,' she said. 'I'm the new singer.'\n\n'Bit young for that aren't you?' He shuffled nearer her, pushing the full bucket with one foot. 'Did they tell you what a rough-house it is?'\n\n'Yes.' In fact it had only been mentioned on the way here when Ian gave her instructions to make for the dressing-room and stay there if trouble broke out. Georgia was more concerned with changing in a filthy, tiny hole with one forty watt bulb overhead and a mirror barely big enough to see her mouth in, than it being her sanctuary.\n\nNow that the boys' band suits hung in there too, there was barely room for any of them. How was she going to change into that awful dress Miriam had given her, without the entire band seeing her almost naked?\n\n'Some nights they pelt the band with glasses,' Sid said cheerfully. 'Course, they've never done it to this lot, because they like them. But you get on your toes if anything happens.'\n\nGeorgia's heart sank. She was frightened enough by just singing here, without the threat of violence too.\n\n'Nearly there now,' Rod called down from the stage. 'We'll run through a couple of numbers, then go and find something to eat.'\n\nGeorgia couldn't imagine anyone wanting to come and spend an evening here, even though the boys insisted it was always packed to capacity. They said it was one of their favourite venues, so what must the worst ones be like? The toilets were old and grubby with no hot water. Not one glass on the bar sparkled. The seating was almost non-existent and if fire broke out they'd all be trampled to death trying to get out that one narrow staircase.\n\nNorman began to play on the organ. A haunting little tune she remembered hearing on Radio Luxembourg while still at school.\n\n'I'm Mr Blue, when you say you're sorry,' she forgot for a moment her anxiety and joined in, turning round to face him. 'Then show it by going out on the sly, proving your love isn't true.'\n\nLes and Speedy immediately picked it up, leaning to the microphone and doing exaggerated backing vocals.\n\n'Do Wah doo, Call me Mr Blue.'\n\nIan stood back against a speaker, his mouth twitching with mirth, as Georgia, and the three boys aped the fifties song.\n\n'The balance seems fine,' Ian laughed aloud as they finished. 'Don't call us, we'll call you.'\n\nThe pub on the corner had been empty when they went in at seven. Now at half past eight it was getting crowded, just another reminder soon they would have to leave the comfortable bar and get back to the club.\n\nIan shot a glance at Georgia as though reading her mind.\n\n'I'll go back with Georgia, you lot stay on for a bit,' he said to the others, standing up and beckoning for her to come too. Georgia flashed a look of gratitude at him. She had been dwelling on the best way to get into her dress in that dressing-room without them seeing her underwear and she still hadn't found a way of removing her bra and zipping up the hated dress without revealing something.\n\nTo Georgia with only the scantiest real knowledge of men, it seemed the boys were obsessed about sex. They described breasts in detail, the size of a girl's nipples, the weight and feel of them. Rod claimed they all masturbated at least twice a day and insisted she would get used to it. They spoke of a mysterious thing called 'muff diving' which she knew was something rude but hadn't a clue what it was. No woman under fifty was safe from their bawdy banter and not once had she heard a tender or romantic suggestion.\n\nOnly Ian was different. He too laughed along with them, even pointed out women they passed in the van, but in Georgia's presence at least he didn't swear or say anything to make her blush, and now he was intuitive enough to know she was frightened of changing with them.\n\n'They aren't as bad as they seem,' he said as they crossed the High Street. Flynn's had bright lights over the door now and a big flashing neon sign had been switched on. It was dusk, and the street was full of groups of young people, giving the road a feeling of excitement that had been lacking earlier in the day. 'Believe it or not Georgia, they are merely trying to get you to open up. Until you do they'll keep it up.'\n\n'What do they want me to say?' she asked as they reached the club door. A small desk had been set up at the top of the stairs, but as yet there was no one manning it. 'Do they want me to say I had five men last night?'\n\n'No.' Ian laughed. He turned to her, brushing a strand of hair out of her eyes. 'They just want to know if there's a man in your life. Has Max come on to you. Where you come from and why you say so little.'\n\nSilence hadn't been intentional. She had been so busy listening to them she hadn't considered they might want to know about her. But even if she wanted to open up, how could she? One bit would lead to other bits she wanted left buried.\n\n'There isn't a man,' she hung her head. 'I don't know what you mean about Max. I'll tell you about my past when I feel safe, and I don't talk much because you lot all do it for me!'\n\nIan's hand came up, with one finger he lifted her chin, leaned forward and kissed her on the nose.\n\n'That's enough for me.'\n\nHe had the prettiest eyes she'd ever seen on a man. Saxe blue with tiny flecks of grey. Despite his blond hair, his eyelashes were thick and dark. But then there was a great deal to like about Ian. He was gentle, sensitive and his face held all the purity of a child. He was too thin, too pale. In a teeshirt and jeans he was like a rasher of bacon. Yet he had an adult quality which the other boys didn't share.\n\nTogether they went downstairs. The club looked completely different now. The strip lighting replaced by coloured spots on the walls, and the bar lit up. Only now did she appreciate that the rough wood on the bar was intentional, intended to look rustic. Even the floor didn't look dirty any longer, the smell of dustbins replaced by some kind of lavender smell.\n\n'Sid's been spraying the place for cockroaches,' Ian sniggered.\n\nGeorgia stood up on tip-toe, peering into the gloom suspiciously.\n\n'Not really, chump,' Ian laughed. 'It's just some kind of air freshener. Now get changed before the others get back.'\n\nThe dress was gold lurex. The top, boned and strapless, the skirt a full circle with layers of net underneath which scratched her legs unmercifully.\n\nGeorgia tried to see herself in the cracked mirror, holding the dress closed with one hand. She had been struggling to zip it up for five minutes, and now music was playing out in the club she could hardly go out and search for Ian to help her.\n\nThe shape of the dress was quite nice, but any yellow or brown tones didn't bring out the right colour in her face. She looked brassy. More suited to ballroom dancing than a soul band.\n\n'Can we come in now?' Rod's voice came through the door. 'Are you decent?'\n\n'Yes,' she backed up against the wall holding the dress closed behind her.\n\n'Blimey,' Rod whistled. 'Where on earth did Miriam dig that one up?'\n\nGeorgia could feel her lips quivering. She had hoped they would insist it was nice. Speedy and Alan pushed by Rod, pulling off their shirts as they went. Ian came in next.\n\n'I can't do up the zip,' she whispered to him, turning her back to him while clutching at the top.\n\nIan smiled. Her small narrow back reminded him of his younger sister's, little shoulder blades sticking out like tiny wings, skin so smooth and silky he was tempted to stroke it.\n\n'Zip it, don't kiss it,' John said behind him. 'You're supposed to be the gentleman.'\n\n'It's horrible isn't it?' Georgia turned back to Ian once he had fastened the hook and eye on the top. 'Do I really have to wear it?'\n\n'I can only suppose she thought it would contrast with our red suits,' Rod's deep voice chimed in. Georgia looked round and found him wearing only the scantiest of underpants barely covering a terrifying bulge. Undressed he looked like a man, broad shoulders and a sprinkling of dark hair on his chest. She blushed furiously.\n\n'It will have to do for tonight,' Ian realized her discomfort and distracted her. 'You'll look fine on stage.'\n\n'You can't wear stockings,' Speedy said in his slow, almost dreamy way, gazing at her legs with a slight leer as he too removed his jeans. 'They'll all be peering up your dress all night. Take them off.'\n\nGeorgia wanted to die. Nothing had prepared her for being cooped up in this tiny airless room with seven men only half dressed. Now they expected her to remove her stockings in front of them.\n\n'Speedy's right,' Ian said quietly. 'He could have been more tactful, but that's Speedy for you. Do your hair and stop worrying.'\n\n'You'd have been better in red,' John had already dressed, he was putting on a black shoe-string tie. 'That colour makes you sallow.'\n\nGeorgia was on the point of tears.\n\n'What shall I do?' she whispered.\n\n'Put plenty of rouge on your cheeks,' Ian said. 'And finish your hair, then we'll see.'\n\nSurreptitiously she tried to remove her stockings and suspender belt without anyone seeing.\n\nIt was a horrible feeling. If she bent forward her breasts popped out, her bare shoulders felt chilly. Suppose when she moved on stage the audience could see her knickers?\n\nSomehow she managed to wriggle into the corner, bent over and scooped her hair up into a top knot. Miriam had suggested she wore a 'beehive', but she'd tried that already at home and all she succeeded in doing was making herself look like a tart.\n\n'To hell with everyone,' she muttered to herself. 'I'll be me and if they don't like it, too bad.'\n\nShe stood up, pulling up the front of her dress, then turned.\n\nIan's face broke into a wide smile.\n\nHe could see the defiant look in her eyes. Her hair showered over her head in a mass of bubbly little curls. He stepped forward, and with one finger released a few tiny strands by her ears, curling them round his finger.\n\nHe was already in his suit. He looked bigger, the red contrasting well with his blond hair. His black shoes gleamed with polish, shirt dazzling white and a faint whiff of woody aftershave. Georgia could see now why he had such a big following of girls.\n\n'You need something in your hair,' he said thoughtfully. He was standing so close to her she was sure he could see right down her dress.\n\nGeorgia shamefacedly got out a gold feather plume that was with the dress and held it out.\n\n'Who did she think she was dressing?' He shook his head in disgust. 'That makes you look like something out of the Moulin Rouge!'\n\n'What about a flower?' Rod said, his arrogant face for once alight with interest. 'There's a vase full on the bar.'\n\n'Go and whip a couple, red ones,' Ian said.\n\nRod returned in minutes with two roses.\n\nIan came close to Georgia and pushed them into the band holding her hair.\n\n'That's better,' he said, standing back and smiling. 'Now put a bit more colour on your face, you might look like a clown in here, but up on the stage you'll look fine. Do you want me to do it for you?'\n\n'Yes,' she whispered, by now so nervous she couldn't do anything.\n\nIan stood in front of her carefully applying the rouge. He picked up a small eyeliner brush and added a little more.\n\n'That's better,' he said. 'Now use a lipstick brush and outline your lips in a darker colour.'\n\n'Are you sure?' she asked. She was surprised by his knowledge, and the way he handled her like a sister was very comforting.\n\n'Quite sure,' he said gently.\n\n'I'm in a bit of a state,' she whispered, not wanting the others to overhear.\n\n'Let me give you a cuddle?' he smiled. 'The best remedy for the collywobbles.' He put his arms round her and held her tightly, his lips close to her ear. 'I'm still nervous and I've been doing it for years. But it goes as soon as we get up there.'\n\n'Break it up,' Rod shouted. 'I thought Max said no passes were to be made?'\n\n'Not a pass,' Ian laughed, looking round at the others without letting go of her. 'Just a cuddle to banish nerves.'\n\n'You nervous?' Rod sounded amazed. 'If you can come along to rehearsals when you don't know anyone, you'll sail through this.'\n\n'Will I?' she said, still clinging to Ian.\n\n'Of course you will,' the boys all chimed in together.\n\n'Besides, we can get John to blast out on his horn if you can't reach the high notes,' added Norman.\n\nTheir faces touched something inside Georgia.\n\nThey were all seasoned professionals and she had been thrust on them whether they liked it or not. She was young, green as grass and she was holding them all up. Yet here they were being brotherly and kind, grouping around her offering her their support.\n\n'Thank you,' she said simply. 'I hope I don't let you down.'\n\n'You've got five minutes to have a pee,' Ian said with a lop-sided grin. 'Don't drop that net skirt in the bog.'\n\nFlynn's was filling up.\n\nGeorgia couldn't bear to peer through the door as the boys were doing. She could hear raucous laughter, shouting and stamping feet, it was frightening enough just to listen, without gawping at them too. Hard, pale-faced girls with beehives and heavily made-up eyes in tight sheath dresses and stilettos. The men tough and broad-shouldered in Italian boxy jackets and winkle-pickers. They seemed an unlikely bunch to appreciate a band who didn't play top twenty hits.\n\nBobby Vee's song 'Rubber Ball' was playing so loudly the speakers crackled, a smell of cigarettes, beer and cheap scent taking away all the oxygen she needed.\n\n'Never seen such a big crowd on a Thursday,' a raw-faced bouncer in an evening suit poked his head round the door. 'Looks like they all want to hear your new girl.'\n\n'And now, the moment you've all be waiting for,' the record was halted and the club manager's voice boomed out over the microphone. 'Your favourite band, _Samson_!'\n\nThe boys pushed past Georgia, Rod blowing a kiss. Ian took her hand and squeezed it.\n\n'We go next,' his eyes were full of understanding. 'Don't panic, let me lead you till you get into it. If you find you can't sing, just move with the backing.'\n\nA burst of applause and Rod played a roll on the drums.\n\nGeorgia felt a cold sweat breaking out all over her and she wanted to go to the toilet again.\n\n'You all know Ian McShane, but tonight you're in for an extra treat. Meet the lovely Georgia James, the band's new singer!'\n\nHer legs refused to move, yet Ian was dragging her up the three steps on to the stage.\n\n'Smile,' he said. 'Head up!'\n\nNorman played the opening bars. Georgia saw the expectant, upturned faces lining the stage only feet from her.\n\nSomehow she made it to the microphone. Her mouth was smiling, but her stomach churned.\n\nShe reached for the microphone, and found her mouth and throat as dry as a desert.\n\n'Turn towards the band,' Ian whispered as he adjusted his mike. 'I'll start.'\n\nShe forced herself to turn. Rod was smiling encouragement, John and Alan moved closer to cover any mistakes with their horns.\n\n'I'm on a soul train, don't know where I'm going,' she was mouthing the words but she could only hear Ian.\n\n'You can do it baby,' Rod said, his eyes sympathetic. 'Just keep singing till the voice comes back.'\n\nShe managed the second line a bit better, but by the time she got to the third, her voice came out despite her terror, and the fourth followed without even thinking about it.\n\nShe twirled down, a flash of gold net around slim brown legs. Mouth wide and red, teeth gleaming white. Her voice soared over the crowd.\n\n'I'm on the soul train and I'm coming baby to you.'\n\nTowards the end of the first set something else had taken over. She was dancing, smiling, bending down to young men in the front row and blowing kisses. She forgot the scratchy underskirt, kicking off her shoes as she immersed herself even more into the music. Whenever she turned towards the rest of the band they were grinning like Cheshire Cats, egging her on.\n\nHer voice found new heights, one moment deep and husky, raunchy and sexy, then sounds so pure she could hardly believe it was her.\n\nIan was better than he'd ever been at rehearsals. His singing was more punchy. As his head bent close to share the mike with her on some numbers, she knew he was putting his all into it.\n\nThe applause was deafening as the first set ended.\n\nThe D.J. ran on. 'Well what can I say?' he yelled, waving a hand at the departing band. 'Can that little girl sing, or what?'\n\nAs Georgia reached the dressing-room door she saw Max.\n\n'You were great,' his dark eyes shone like jet. 'I'm knocked out!'\n\n'I didn't know you were out there,' she was breathless, panting like a dog after a ten mile run.\n\n'Would I miss seeing you get started?' he said. 'I even brought a photographer.' He moved closer, taking her two arms in his big hands and squeezed them.\n\n'You were magic,' he said, his eyes burning into her. 'I've never seen the band so good.' He looked round at the boys grouped behind her and smiled broadly. 'Well done all of you. There's a reporter from _Melody Maker_ out there. If I'm not much mistaken you'll get the best review of your careers this week.'\n\n'Do we get a drink boss?' Norman as always was asking for something.\n\n'They're set up in the back bar,' Max grinned. 'And you've earned them.\n\n'We're privileged tonight,' Speedy drawled sardonically. 'This room's usually closed off. They only use it for card games.'\n\nA billiard table stood in one corner, covered with a cloth, in the middle of the room a large table had nine pints of beer standing on it.\n\n'Get a proper drink for Georgia,' Max barked out at John tossing him a note. 'And pay for that round while you're at it.'\n\n'What'll it be?' John smirked. 'Double champagne? Gin, brandy?'\n\n'Coke,' she grinned. 'And lots of ice.'\n\nGeorgia sat next to Ian.\n\n'Thank you for telling me to turn round,' she said softly. 'I thought my voice had gone for good.'\n\n'That's all right,' Ian smiled and leaned back in his seat. 'It's an old trick, works everytime. If you can't see the punters you can forget they are there.'\n\nIt didn't seem possible she'd only known these boys for four days. Just an hour ago she had wanted to run away and forget any dreams she'd had of being a singer. Now as she looked around her she knew their futures were interlinked. She would remember their faces forever, love them for all that support and understanding.\n\n'Her dress isn't right.' Speedy's voice rose over the others as he made sure Max listened. 'It's like something off \"Come dancing\", she needs something tight and sleazy.'\n\n'I think it looks good,' Max argued, he studied Georgia with hooded eyes. 'What do you think Ian?'\n\n'Well, Georgia would look good in a sack.' Ian leant back in his chair, his fair hair flopping over his eyes. 'But that dress is dated. It went out with Glenn Miller. I don't agree with Speedy though, she's not the sleazy type.' He paused, seeming to wake up a little, his soft lips twitching as if in silent amusement. 'I'd like to see her in something that shows her legs, so she can dance too.' He smiled and turned to Georgia. 'You held out on us there too. We had no idea you were such a good dancer.'\n\n'I'll look into it,' Max said his eyes running over Georgia, then moving back to Ian. He was wondering if something had occurred between them. Ian wasn't usually so forceful and there was a light in the boy's eyes he hadn't seen before. 'Anyway lads, is there anyone who doesn't think Georgia did well?'\n\n'She was brilliant,' Rod said unexpectedly. 'You've done us proud, Max.'\n\nGeorgia looked around with bright eyes. She felt fabulous, right now she could hardly wait to get back on the stage and do the rest of the performance.\n\nThe second half was even better. The audience were clapping, stamping their feet and smiling up at her.\n\nShe felt all-powerful, every nerve-ending twitching. She was no longer a frightened little sixteen-year-old. Up here she was a queen, and the audience her loyal subjects.\n\nThunderous applause rained down on them as they finished and the boys' faces told her it was all for her.\n\nBack in the dressing-room the smell of sweat and socks was even worse as they changed back into their ordinary clothes.\n\n'How are you feeling now?' Ian said softly as he unzipped her dress for her.\n\n'On top of the world,' she laughed, clutching the top of her dress to hide her breasts.\n\n'It's like a drug,' Ian smiled. 'Once tasted, you need it for evermore. But don't let it go to your head. Everything went well today, and the audience were great. Wait till you've done a really bad gig. When the crowd stand with their backs to you drinking, the lights fuse and the guitar strings break, and you know you've got a hundred-mile ride home in the van.'\n\nMax looked in the dressing-room, his big, square face looking unexpectedly healthy surrounded by the boys' pallor.\n\n'Okay boys, see you at the office at twelve tomorrow. Georgia, would you like a lift back with me?'\n\n'But the equipment?' she said, trying to get a shirt over her top half while still holding her dress round her.\n\n'Go on home,' Ian grinned at her. 'We can manage without you, besides, there's a bit more room in the van for us.'\n\nShe didn't want to go with Max. They would all be chatting about the gig and she wanted to be part of it. But without making herself look silly she could hardly refuse.\n\n##### *\n\n'How's it going with the boys?' Max asked as his Jaguar glided away down towards the West End. 'Any problems?'\n\n'Everything's just great,' Georgia looked out the window, it had begun to rain and the road looked like black tar studded with diamonds of reflected light.\n\n'Has Ian come on to you?'\n\nGeorgia's head turned sharply towards Max. Ian had said the same thing about Max. She wasn't sure what he meant at the time, but now it became clear.\n\n'Of course not,' she retorted.\n\n'Just asking, he seemed different tonight, that's all. I don't want you getting involved with any of them.'\n\n'Look Max,' something snapped inside her. 'I don't mind you telling me what to do where work is concerned. But I don't see what my private life has to do with you.'\n\nMax pulled the car over to the kerb and stopped abruptly.\n\n'Now look here,' he said, turning in his seat and grabbing her face in one big hand. 'If I turn you into a star you won't have a private life. One whiff of scandal, one bit of gossip can ruin a career. You've got to live at close quarters with that lot and if you hop into bed with one of them they'll be trouble. I've seen it all. I know.'\n\nShe could see something in his eyes. Something deep and disturbing. He was too old for her, she didn't quite trust him, yet she wanted him to kiss her.\n\nThere was a feeling in her stomach, something primitive. Warning bells were jangling in her head, but she could only see those full red lips and feel that hand on her face.\n\n'I feel something for you,' his voice was husky, those lips coming closer. 'I want to protect you, love you.'\n\nHer eyes were closing. She could feel herself drowning and his lips when they touched hers were soft and teasing.\n\n'No,' she moved back quickly, suddenly aware of his maleness.\n\nMax straightened up. She couldn't look at him, her eyes were firmly fixed on her hands in her lap. She knew he was studying her, his elbow resting on the steering wheel.\n\nThe silence was unbearable. She wanted to make a joke, anything to get him to start the car and take her home.\n\n'I can wait,' he said softly. 'There's something there, I know it. You're a little mystery girl Georgia. But I'll work it out in time.'\n\n'There's no mystery,' she said, perhaps too quickly. 'You're a married man. You're too old for me. You said yourself there mustn't be even a whiff of scandal.'\n\nHe turned on the ignition and the engine purred softly.\n\n'I'll take you home,' he said flatly. 'Forget everything, Georgia. I've never forced anyone in my life. I'm not going to start now.'\n\nIt was after nine when Georgia woke. Sunshine poured through a crack in the curtain, the sounds of the market as new and fresh as her first morning in the room.\n\nShe stretched like a cat, smiling to herself as she remembered the gig the night before.\n\nIt had been so wonderful and it was going to be repeated again and again.\n\nShe wanted to go out, stand in the sunshine and sing for joy. Get armfuls of flowers to fill the room. Buy something pretty to wear and to hell with the expense.\n\nThe boys were all in the office when she arrived.\n\nHer hair was hanging loose over her shoulders, the pink gingham dress that Pop had given her, freshly ironed with a wide white belt and sandals.\n\n'Well,' Max turned his attention to her, looked her up and down, noting the pink cheeks and bolder, confident stance. 'Something agrees with you!'\n\nThey were all looking at her, eight pairs of eyes, scrutinizing her.\n\n'It's such a lovely day,' she said lamely. She had put aside Max's behaviour the night before. If she was to be a star many more men would want to kiss her. Why blame him for being the first?\n\nMax cleared his throat. 'Sit down all of you,' he said, lighting up a fat cigar and leaning back in his chair. 'I've had _Melody Maker_ on the phone this morning. They are writing a review about you for the next edition, and they want to do a special in the next week or two.'\n\nHe looked intently at each of them.\n\n'It will be \"A day in the Life of\", type thing. The reporter will meet you in the morning, go with you to the gig, unload with you, set up, the whole bit. So I don't want any cock-ups, this could be the big break.'\n\n'How will he get in the van?' Norman said. 'I'm not sitting on a reporter's lap all night.'\n\n'He'll have his own car,' Max said impatiently. 'And a photographer with him. Ian can travel with them, he can be trusted not to tell them anything too damaging.'\n\nThe boys fell silent for a moment.\n\nBoth Ian and Rod were staring at Georgia as if they'd hardly heard Max. She wondered if Max had spoken about her before she came in.\n\n'I've got a list of gigs for next week,' Max said, handing round some copies. 'As you will see it's mostly in the North, leaving here on Monday for Birmingham, on to Preston Tuesday, Leeds Wednesday, Hull Thursday. Travel back to London after Hull. Friday at the Marquee, Saturday at the Bag of Nails.'\n\n'What about digs?' Ian asked, dragging his eyes away from Georgia.\n\n'I've got those here,' Max said, handing Ian another sheet. 'The rooms are booked, go to them before the gig please, so they know you are definitely coming. Georgia, there's a possibility you'll have to share with someone,' he paused, looking at her directly, through hooded eyelids, his tongue just flickering over his lips. 'I apologize, but it was late in the day to make the bookings.'\n\nHe got up and went over to a safe. 'Your money,' he said, handing out small brown envelopes. 'And the kitty for digs and petrol.' This last envelope he handed to Ian. 'Right, Blue Boar tomorrow, have a good rest today and Sunday, you won't be getting much next week.'\n\nHe looked across at Georgia.\n\n'I'd like a word with you please, in private. Will the rest of you wait in the office outside.'\n\nThe boys trooped out, each of them looking at Georgia, questioning looks in their eyes.\n\n'What is it?' she asked, suddenly afraid.\n\n'Well, dear,' he sat down and fiddled with a paper clip, his cigar burning away in a cut-glass ashtray. 'I'm sorry about the rooms. If you have to share make sure it's with Ian. He's the nearest thing to a gentleman.'\n\n'That's all right,' she smiled.\n\n'About last night, I was out of order and I'm sorry.'\n\n'There's nothing to be sorry for,' she hung her head. 'Perhaps it's my fault.'\n\n'The fault was all mine. But please let's put it aside. I don't want any bad feeling between us. You are a fine singer,' he went on, getting up from his desk and moving nearer her. He put one big hand on her hair, caressing it lightly. 'Perhaps the best I've handled, but you are very young, innocent and wet behind the ears. Now if there's anything in your past, you should tell me now, because believe me, one day it will come out.' He paused, looking closely at her, the hooded eyelids looked almost snakelike. 'I can handle anything as long as I know the truth in advance. But if you hide something from me I can't help. Do you understand?'\n\nGeorgia nodded.\n\n'Right, now the only other thing is about your dress. Miriam is taking that gold one back to the shop to change it. But she dug this one out this morning. It's old but we kind of thought it might suit you.'\n\nMax opened a cupboard in the wall and pulled out something white.\n\nGeorgia stood up and took it from him.\n\nIt was an exquisite dress. White silk with handkerchief points from the hip, each one decorated with tiny seed pearls.\n\n'Go and try it on,' he smiled at her awed face. 'The last time I saw that dress was on the evening of our wedding. Miriam was as slim as you then,' he pointed to the bathroom adjoining the office. 'In there.'\n\nIt fitted as if it were made for her.\n\nThe neckline was low both back and front, skimming over her hips, then flaring out gently to the knee. As Georgia tried a twirl in front of the mirror, the skirt moved, showing glimpses of brown thigh. Although it was a style from the Twenties, somehow it was timeless.\n\nShe bounced back into the office, twirling round in front of Max. Her eyes were shining with unsuppressed glee.\n\n'Perfect,' he smiled, putting a large hand on her shoulder to twirl her again. 'Takes me back a few years!'\n\nFor just one second she thought he was going to kiss her again. His eyes looked soft, the tip of his tongue just showing through his teeth.\n\n'Can I show the boys?' she grinned, tossing back her hair, backing away from him.\n\n'Of course,' he said, almost fondly. 'And wear your hair like that with it tomorrow.'\n\nAn hour later they were all in the pub around the corner. The boys were all sinking pints, but Georgia stayed with orange juice.\n\n'So what was the secret chat for?' Norman asked, his small eyes suspicious.\n\n'About behaving myself, not a breath of scandal,' she laughed. 'Is he serious? Will they really try to dredge up stuff about me?'\n\nIan took her to one side later. 'I got the same sort of chat from Max too, about you,' he said softly. 'I've got to be big brother it seems.' He leaned closer to her. 'Did something happen last night?'\n\n'Not really,' she blushed.\n\n'That means something did,' Ian took her hand in his, stroking it, yet hiding his action so the other boys wouldn't see. 'Look, I know he's got that fantastic charisma. He's rich, handsome and he can pull any bird he wants. But he's dangerous Georgia. You can't play games with him.'\n\n'I didn't,' she leaned closer to Ian, needing to unburden herself. 'For a moment I was tempted. But I'm scared of men.'\n\nShe expected him to laugh. To her surprise he didn't, only squeezed her hand tighter.\n\n'I know. I saw it the first day you were with us. I want us to be friends. Perhaps one day you'll tell me about it. When you want to, I'll be there.'\n\n'You all stared at me when I came in the office. Why?'\n\n'The stars in your eyes,' he laughed. 'We thought you had been in the sack with someone. But it was just the magic from last night's gig wasn't it?'\n\n'I felt so wonderful when I woke up,' Georgia confided. 'It was like the first warm day of spring after the long winter. I'm so happy I could burst.'\n\n'You aren't alone,' Ian looked across to the rest of the band. 'We all felt it too. We're going to make the big time together!'\n\n'She's something else,' Norman said dreamily over his pint after Georgia had left to go shopping.\n\n'Sings like an angel,' John said, his dark eyes smouldering. 'And moves like a whore, what more could we ask for?'\n\n'We'll have to be careful,' Ian looked around at his friends. 'I think Max has big ideas for her, and they don't necessarily include us.'\n\n'You mean he'll get her a recording contract and ditch us?' Rod's face clouded over.\n\n'He's only using us to train her. But if I'm right about her, she won't want to go it alone later,' Ian had been awake most of the night, weighing up every word Max had said about Georgia. 'She's the loyal type and I don't think she's got any family. We must stick with her, be that family. I don't think she'll allow Max to ditch us then.' He looked at his hands, the soft, pale face quietly determined. 'Max fancies her like mad too, so make sure she's never alone with him.'\n\nRod watched Ian carefully. They had been friends from school, shared everything from footballs, bikes and later girls. He had heard his friend tossing and turning last night in bed and he suspected it was more than just concern about the band.\n\n'Don't you feel bitter?' Rod wanted to goad Ian into admitting something. 'I mean until last night you were the front man, the one that got noticed?'\n\n'Not at all,' Ian smiled, his dark lashes fanning over his blue eyes, a hint of pink on his round face. 'She's got everything our band needs and deserves. I'm not a brilliant singer, we all know that. But last night she made me better, took me back to the fun we used to have back in the youth club, before we got all serious.'\n\n'You fancy her?' Speedy's auburn eyebrows rose questioningly. 'I mean we all do, but it's not like you to go ape over a girl.'\n\n'She's special,' Ian blushed a faint pink, picking up his pint to hide in. 'But something tells me there's someone, or something else. Until I get to the bottom of that there's no chance.'\n\n## Chapter 12\n\n_1963_\n\n'I'm sick and tired of this,' Georgia flung her stage dress on the floor of the dressing-room, stamping on it in rage. 'Maybe you lot are prepared to let Max walk all over you, but I've had it!'\n\nNo breeze came in the small open window. Eight people trying to change their clothes in a room less than ten feet square. Cigarette smoke, socks and sweat and a sink with only cold water.\n\nHammersmith Odeon. The name was synonymous with success, a big concert venue where fans queued for hours to get tickets to see their favourite stars. But Samson weren't the stars, just a bottom of the bill support group and they would remain that way until Georgia complied with Max's wishes.\n\nA year earlier Alex Rhodes, a scout from Decca, heard her sing and offered her a solo recording contract. If the man hadn't been such a creep, dismissing the band as if they were worthless, along with trying to seduce her, she might have won him round. But instead she'd lost her temper and insulted him. Now she looked around at the boys and saw what her defiance had done. Seven exhausted, pale, drawn faces, skin that reflected their bad diet and lack of fresh air.\n\n'We can't fight back,' Ian's blue eyes were cloudy with apathy. 'We haven't a leg to stand on.'\n\nMax tried everything to tempt the boys away from her. A new van, long contracts on cruise ships, more pay, new suits. At Georgia's insistence all these carrots were refused. Then he resorted to straightforward punishment.\n\nThe roughest digs. Booking them in at venues so far apart the travelling time was doubled. Seven gigs a week and no extra pay.\n\nThey were trapped. If they didn't do the gigs he booked them for, he could sack them for breach of contract.\n\n'Oh, Georgia,' Ian sighed. 'Haven't you learned yet the way it is? The guys in the record companies are all in it with Max. They've got lawyers, heavies and just about everything else on their side. They can afford to wait until we are desperate enough. They can squeeze each one of us dry, until we crack.'\n\n'But I don't understand their motives,' Georgia wanted to scream at the boys' resignation. 'We're good together. I wouldn't be the same without you.'\n\nThe first year with the band had been pure wonder. Each gig had been a dress rehearsal for the big moment when they would cut the first record. They could laugh at the thousands of miles of motorway burned up as they huddled together dreaming of a bright future. Joke about the poor food, wages, and seedy boarding houses. It had all been preparation for the time when Max swung them a contract.\n\nAs punishment made them draw closer to one another, Max resorted to humiliation.\n\nBottom of the bill. The band that opened concerts with big names like Gene Vincent, Adam Faith, Ricky Nelson, Billy Fury and any other name that was flavour of the month. A warm-up band that no one took seriously.\n\nMax knew that playing alongside big names would weaken Georgia's resolve far quicker than playing in dance halls. The support group was the one the fans chatted through, or missed by queuing for the toilet. They were so hyped up at the prospect of seeing stars, they rarely even listened to Samson. Worse still, Georgia could see at close quarters the beautiful clothes, the comfortable coaches and the money these star performers were paid, and each night of these big tours she and her band were reminded of their Cinderella role.\n\nBelow, in the theatre they could hear thousands of fans screaming, clapping, stamping their feet. Adam Faith was out there on the stage. They had prepared the audience for him, wound them up into near hysteria but already they were forgotten.\n\nEach night in major towns they would walk out the stage door unnoticed, past the screaming girl fans waving autograph books. Back to small boarding house, fish and chips and another night in lumpy beds, while the stars drank champagne in sumptuous hotel rooms.\n\nDisappointment and the endless travel was wearing down their loyalty to one another. Everyone of them had received offers to join another, more successful band. It was only a matter of time before the temptation of recognition, money and comfort broke down their bonds of friendship.\n\n'He's got us by the short and curlies,' John's dark eyes were dull now, his dry humour had turned to mere sarcasm. 'Leave us Georgia. You don't have to put up with this shit.'\n\n'John speaks for all of us,' Ian sighed wearily, leaning back against the wall. He was wearing his best dark suit, ready for the flashy end-of-tour party at the Hilton. But looking closely Georgia could see shiny marks from endless pressing, his best shoes paper thin on the soles. 'We love your loyalty Georgia. Most of us would have sold out a year ago for what Rhodes promised you.'\n\n'I won't compromise,' Georgia gave her dress another kick. It had been mended so often she winced if anyone looked closely at her in the wings and Max wouldn't foot the bill for a new one. 'Everything I know came from you. If I do as he asks you'll never earn any more. How are you going to buy houses, get married and have families?'\n\nShe was too tired to argue any longer. If she walked out on them tonight they'd be content to go back to the old club circuit where at least they got all the adulation. She wasn't even sure why she was fighting Max now. Was it for them, for her own ego, or just to keep Ian safe?\n\nShe had learned so much in those first few heady months with the band. Schooled by them her voice grew stronger, mature and power packed. They taught her how to whip an audience into a frenzy of excitement, hold them spellbound and hungry for more. Teasing, playing with the crowd came naturally, yet even as she moved them to tears with the emotion in her voice, her own life was as empty as a dry river.\n\nOutside of the band she had nothing. On nights when she went home alone to her room in Berwick Street she felt cut off, as if part of her was still travelling in the van, tucked in beside all those men. Without them she was like an electric guitar with no power source, and she missed both Celia and Helen to the point of distraction.\n\nThe boys taught her to live without embarrassment. She could strip off in front of them if necessary. Share a bed when it was cold. Change in the van when they were late. They zipped her into stage clothes, got her to the clubs on time. Critical yet supportive. They had rounded her out, educated her, and in return she listened to their problems, mended their clothes as they drove along and cuddled them when they were sad. They were brothers now, but they could never replace the maternal qualities of Celia or Helen.\n\nThere were fierce rows between them. Hours of frosty silence until the problem was resolved. Fights over girls nearly every week and arguments over places in the van.\n\nBut there was lots of laughter too.\n\nSo many times Georgia had walked into the dressing room and found one of the boys with a half-naked young groupie.\n\nHardly a night passed without one of the boys delaying their leaving by slipping out to make love to someone.\n\nGeorgia had seen it all in two years.\n\nSquirming with embarrassment in the back seat, as a girl gave Rod a blow job while they were driving home. Averting her eyes from the girl's bobbing head, trying to pretend she didn't see it.\n\nThere was the time when John had severe diarrhoea and had an accident in the van. Les, so hopelessly drunk he kept his head out of the window from Manchester to Leeds retching violently. Norman caught in the act of making love by the woman's husband, escaping from the small council house wearing only his underpants, clutching his clothes under his arm, with a sixteen-stone bricklayer in fast pursuit.\n\nLandladies who had threatened to call the police when the boys smuggled girls into their rooms. A Dutch cap left in the van that no one knew the owner of. Disasters on stage when Les's trousers split from waist to crutch and he didn't dare move. The driving lesson Rod gave her in the van where she'd swerved across a grassy island almost into the path of an articulated lorry. And the time Norman had jumped from the van into a field for a quick pee, and landed in a freshly-laid cowpat.\n\nLaughter, tears, fights and the promise of fame. An addictive, heady potion that bound them together.\n\nYet the very first night in digs with them was almost her last.\n\n'Is this it?' Georgia said as Norman pulled up at one of the worst hovels she'd ever seen.\n\nIt was a large crumbling house in central Birmingham. Once a substantial Victorian family home, now it was little more than a slum. The front garden was strewn with cardboard boxes, empty bottles and old carpets. Curtains hung from what looked suspiciously like string, the windows hadn't been cleaned in years.\n\n''Fraid so,' Ian smirked. 'What did you imagine? A cottage with roses round the door? A liveried doorman?'\n\n'No,' she said slowly, trying to quell the rising panic inside her. 'But I expected somewhere clean.'\n\nThe front door was opened by a fat, dirty looking man. He was wearing just a stained vest under his braces, his vast belly quivering like a bowl of jelly. A cigarette dangled from his lips, thinning hair hung in greasy strands down his forehead.\n\nHe didn't even speak, but turned and ambled back down the passageway that smelt of boiled cabbage and drains.\n\n'If it's any consolation,' Ian whispered as they made their way up the grubby staircase. 'This is the \"pits\", nowhere else we stay is as bad as this.'\n\n'Well let's hope we don't get to Birmingham that often,' she replied, wincing with distaste as she got a glimpse of a bathroom as bad as the one in Berwick Street when she first met Helen.\n\nThere were only two rooms, with four single beds apiece, she, Ian, John and Speedy were to share one of them. It was like a bad dream, bare lino cracked and peeling, mere hooks on the wall to hang clothes on, and a dressing table held up with a brick under one leg.\n\nThe sheets were supposedly clean, but the dirt was so ingrained she shuddered as she looked at them.\n\n'Watch out for the bed bugs,' Speedy grinned impishly, standing in front of the smeared mirror and combing back his quiff nonchalantly, amused by her horror.\n\n'I hope you are joking,' she shrieked.\n\n'He is,' Ian put an arm round her shoulder, giving Speedy a sharp look. 'We've never been bitten.'\n\nIt got steadily worse. No hot water in the bathroom and the meal they were served at tea-time was disgusting.\n\n'What is it?' she whispered to Speedy as she shuffled the greasy meat around her plate.\n\n'Probably gorilla,' he quipped, eating his regardless.\n\nNow she could laugh about that dining room. The violent orange roses on the wallpaper, the plastic gold Eiffel Tower and the clock shaped like a guitar. No landlord had ever been as comic as the man who plonked huge cracked mugs of strong tea down by each of them silently, stirred them with a knife, still with a cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth.\n\nHis wife wandered in from time to time, her hair in curlers and the dirtiest apron Georgia had ever seen. She had a grey face, Georgia remembered, as if she hadn't been outdoors for twenty years, or even washed it often.\n\n'We wasn't told about no girl coming,' she said in sullen tones. The front of her hair was a yellowy colour, as if stained with nicotine to match her fingers. 'All that Mr Menzies said was that there was an extra person.'\n\n'I don't mind sharing with the boys,' Georgia tried to appease her.\n\n'Just as well,' the woman snapped. 'But I don't want no funny business in this house. Girls are always trouble.'\n\n'She probably hates another woman seeing the filth they live in,' she whispered to Rod as the woman swept out.\n\n'I heard that!' The woman stuck her head back through the doorway, her grey face contorted with rage. 'Some black tart telling me my house isn't clean. I never heard nothing like it!'\n\nHumiliation took away even the pleasure of her success that night, and later when she got into the lumpy, damp bed she felt dirty and demoralized.\n\nLooking back it seemed ridiculous that she cried the next morning. Floods of tears just because there was no hot water or a lock on the bathroom door.\n\n'I want to go home,' she sobbed to Ian, still wearing her thick pyjamas Myrtle had made her. 'If this is what it's going to be like, I don't want to be a singer.'\n\nBut Ian didn't laugh, or even get cross. One moment she was up there in the dreadful room, the next they were all in the van together and Rod drove them to the local public baths.\n\nThey could have made fun of her, embarrassed her still further, but that day she discovered their sensitivity and their loyalty to one another.\n\n'Feeling better now?' Rod asked when she came out of the baths with a pink scrubbed face and still damp hair. 'We won't let Max book us in a place like that again.'\n\nPerhaps it was inevitable she and Ian should become lovers, but at first it was just friendship borne out of mutual need. The other boys' insatiable need for sex didn't appear to be shared by Ian. While the others paired off to cruise each new town, Georgia and Ian explored together, went to the cinema, swimming or for walks.\n\nHe fitted into the hole vacated by Peter. His blond hair, blue eyes, sensitivity, warmth and compassion were all so similar. He was so easy to be with. He didn't probe at things, or make any demands. He could make her laugh, chat like another girl, yet take her side whenever the others closed ranks on her. Without her even realizing it, he was gradually taking the place of not only Peter but Helen and Celia too.\n\nIn November that first year the mild weather changed suddenly. They were on their way to Plymouth when the wind got up, buffeting the old van so hard, Norman got tired of driving and asked Rod to take over.\n\nAt Exeter it began to rain so hard the wipers couldn't remove the water fast enough from the windscreen.\n\n'We're going to be late,' John said dourly from the back seat. 'Can't you go faster?'\n\n'I can't fucking well see further than a yard ahead,' Rod snapped. 'If you can do better get up here.'\n\nStuck in the back with Ian, John and Speedy, Georgia dozed off to sleep, her head on Ian's shoulder.\n\n'Where are we?' she asked when she woke later. It was dark now but she could see street lighting ahead of them.\n\n'In Plymouth,' Ian said. 'We'll have to go straight to the club and set up. We haven't even got time for a cup of tea.'\n\nShe knew she had missed something while she was asleep. There was a tension in the air, as if they had been arguing.\n\nSomehow nothing went right that night. The bad weather kept the usually large audience away. Speedy broke a string in the first number. John had a coughing fit and Norman threw a tantrum because his Hammond organ had developed a fault.\n\nDuring the second set, just as they were finally getting themselves into the mood, the lights fused and the whole club was thrown into darkness.\n\nGeorgia just stood helplessly, still holding the microphone. She couldn't see anything, but the audience were shouting and screaming.\n\n'Calm down!' she tried to shout above their noise. 'It's only the fuses.' She had visions of a mass stampede in the darkness, bodies being trampled underfoot.\n\nThe manager came on to the stage holding a torch.\n\n'We're trying to fix it,' he shouted above the din. 'Just give us a minute.'\n\nStaff arrived with more torches. Georgia could see them dotted around the club, trying to get everyone to sit down and wait.\n\n'I knew it was going to be a disaster,' Norman said gloomily behind her. 'Any minute now he'll be sending them all off home and he'll blame us for overloading the circuit.'\n\nIt was after one when they finally left the club. The fuses were mended after twenty minutes of pandemonium and the show went on, but they had lost their edge.\n\nThe boarding house was 'The Gainsborough' a tall, sombre looking house of grey stone set on a corner, just behind the Lee's on Plymouth's front.\n\n'I can't be doing with staying up to let my guests in,' Mrs Pengelly the landlady snapped at them, standing in the doorway wearing a brown plaid dressing-gown wrapped round her formidable large body.\n\n'We're sorry,' Ian tried to charm her, explaining as best he could about the storm.\n\nThe rain was still lashing down and it was so cold Georgia's teeth were chattering. She hoped Mrs Pengelly would offer tea and perhaps even a hot water bottle, but instead she just slapped the bolts across the door behind them.\n\n'Rooms three, four and six,' she snapped, taking three keys from a hook on the wall. 'And don't make any noise.'\n\nGeorgia and Ian got the largest and coldest room, set on a corner of the house with two large windows which rattled ominously.\n\n'Christ it's cold in here,' Ian shivered as he pulled off his shirt. 'There's hardly any blankets on the beds either.'\n\nShe was glad to be sharing a room. The house was creepy with the wind howling outside and she was so cold and tired she felt like crying.\n\nWhen she got back from the bathroom wearing her striped pyjamas, Ian was already in the double bed, the covers pulled right up to his chin, curled up as though frozen. She prodded her narrow single bed and banged the hard pillow. It was like so many of their digs. Scratchy nylon sheets, a bedside light with no bulb and a bathroom full of notices about charges for a bath.\n\n'What was going on in the van on the way down here?' she asked once she'd turned the light out.\n\n'The usual,' Ian's voice sounded a long way off, almost drowned by the howling wind. 'Rod wanted to go and look up a couple of birds we used to see down here. I refused and he got a bit nasty.'\n\nRod had girls everywhere. He rarely stayed in digs with the rest of them, even if he didn't have a girl lined up before they arrived, he soon found one.\n\n'Why didn't you want to?' Ian had once been as keen as the others to look up girls, but in the past few months he had become almost a hermit. 'Didn't you like her?'\n\n'She was okay,' he sighed. 'I don't feel the need to prove myself like Rod does. He said I was turning queer.'\n\nRod was very cruel sometimes. He had taunted her too, suggesting there was something odd about a girl who showed no inclination to meet other men. There had been times when he made her so angry she had almost spat out her reasons for not trusting anyone enough. Yet something inside her told her it was better to keep her past firmly to herself.\n\n'Are you cold?' Ian asked, his voice sounded sweet and warm from across the room.\n\n'Freezing,' she said.\n\n'Come in here with me then, this bed's quite comfy.'\n\nGeorgia got out. Her feet were like ice, her breath was like smoke in the darkness. She pulled a blanket off her bed, laid it over Ian's and hopped in beside him.\n\nIt wasn't the first time they'd shared a bed. But it was the first when there wasn't someone else in the room with them. He was good to be close to. He always smelled nice and he didn't try anything on.\n\nGeorgia curled her back up against his stomach, his arm round her middle.\n\n'Better?' he whispered.\n\n'Much,' she curled her feet round so they lay on his warm legs.\n\n'I didn't want to go and see those girls because I prefer to be with you,' he said softly.\n\nShe understood everything with that one simple statement.\n\nIt was she who made the first move. She turned over and nestled her head in the crook of his arm. The warmth of his slim body was comforting, and the faint smell of aftershave stimulated long forgotten feelings.\n\nThe wind howled outside. A tree creaked somewhere down below in the garden. In the distance they could hear the sea hurtling onto the rocks. But the wild night was forgotten as he kissed her.\n\nThat gentle tugging inside her she remembered so well with Peter, warm lips tempting and teasing her, his arms round her so tightly, fear banished.\n\nHis kisses were more practised than Peter's had ever been. She felt herself moulding her body to his, aware her breathing was becoming fiercer.\n\nOne hand crept under her pyjamas jacket, stroking and soothing, slowly upwards till it reached her breast, fingers straying across her nipple.\n\nHalf of her mind was telling her to move away, to stop this now before it went any further, but the other half was responding and wanting more.\n\nHer hand crept down towards his waist, sliding under his T-shirt. His skin was silky, she could feel his spine under her fingers, knobbly and vulnerable.\n\n'Don't Georgia,' he whispered, trembling at her touch. 'Not if you don't mean it to go any further.'\n\nPerhaps it was his willingness to back away which made it safe. All she could do was pull him fiercely to her and offer her lips in silent agreement.\n\nA delicious warmth was spreading over her as his fingers became bolder and unbuttoned her pyjamas, then he moved down the bed to kiss her breasts. She held his head to her, tears filling her eyes with the beauty of it, breathing suspended as waves of sensual delight washed over her.\n\nSlowly his hand moved down to her waist, pushing down her pyjamas, smoothing her belly in circling movements, growing lower and lower with each one. As it moved down to her legs, caressing, teasing, she could feel a strange wetness between her legs and she longed for his fingers to make their way there.\n\nBut each time she thought he was going to touch her, so he moved his hand away, to her breast or to her bottom, his lips covering hers, and teasing her with his tongue.\n\nHer heart was pounding, breath coming loud and harsh. She grabbed his hand shamelessly and guided it to where she wanted it, groaning with delight as his fingers touched her parted lips.\n\nShe hadn't expected it to be so wonderful. Her own fingers had never felt like this. She was on fire, driven to some wonderful secret place, oblivious to anything other than those probing, gentle fingers and the heat of strange sensations washing over her.\n\nAgain and again her hands reached down to touch the bulge she could feel so close to her belly. His deep breathing would pause, she sensed he was willing her to touch it, yet she was afraid.\n\nHe moved away just slightly, his lips still on her breast, sucking at her nipples, taking his pants off with one hand. She stiffened involuntarily.\n\n'I'm not going to hurt you,' he whispered, burying his face in her neck. 'I love you Georgia, trust me.'\n\nInstinctively she knew this wasn't a trite remark made in the heat of passion to persuade her. Their close friendship had been building up to this moment and she was just too na\u00efve to see it before.\n\nHe took her hand, held it for a moment to his chest, then slowly moved it down onto his belly.\n\n'There,' he whispered as he closed her fingers round his penis. 'Is it so bad?'\n\nThere was laughter in his voice, nothing intense or scary. It wasn't even slimy as she'd expected, just hard and warm. He was kissing her again, his fingers probing deep within her and all at once she really wanted him.\n\n'My love,' he whispered. 'You can't imagine how often I've dreamed about this!'\n\nIt was she who rushed things, pulling him on to her, digging her fingers into his back and although she braced herself for pain, there was none.\n\nThe icy room, the wind outside had all faded. Waves of pleasure, coming hard and frantic, getting faster and faster, in time to his movements. Lips reaching for the other's. His hands on her buttocks, hers caressing his back. She was beginning to drift away onto some strange fiery plane, where all sense of time and place had ceased, when he moved back from her, dropping on to her, panting furiously.\n\nFor a moment she didn't understand, her hips were still undulating under him and their bellies were hot and sticky.\n\n'I'm sorry,' he whispered against her neck as his breathing slowly returned to normal. 'I only remembered at the last moment.'\n\n'Remembered what?' she whispered back, feeling strangely let down, but unsure why.\n\n'About Durex,' he said. 'I don't want to get you pregnant.'\n\nHe lay down next to her then, pulling her into his arms and kissing her deeply.\n\n'Did it hurt?' he whispered.\n\n'No,' she wound her fingers into his hair, her heart filled with tenderness for him. 'It was beautiful.'\n\n'Tell me about you,' his voice was husky with emotion. 'I know something happened before. Was it rape?'\n\nTheir act of love was an anaesthetic. She found she could tell him the whole story without pain. For Helen and Janet it had been abridged, the poison left inside the wound to flare up again unexpectedly. But now as she told Ian safe in his arms, she felt the healing process begin.\n\n'I'll make you forget,' he whispered, squeezing her to him. 'One day it will be so perfect he'll be wiped out forever.'\n\nGeorgia stroked his face, feeling the dampness round his eyes.\n\n'I love you, Ian!' she whispered. 'You've made me whole again.'\n\nShe did love Ian. How could she not love someone as special, sensitive and caring as him? He filled a place in her life so fully she didn't need anyone else. They had the same dreams and ambitions for their music. He'd driven the demons out of her head, shown her the beauty of sexual love.\n\nSecrecy was necessary. If Max found out they both knew he would move swiftly to put an end to it. Ian crept into her room after the others had gone to sleep, hidden hand-holding in the van, secret excursions together during afternoons in strange towns.\n\nShe saw new maturity in his angelic face. He put on a little more weight, his delicate features grew stronger.\n\nDisappointment and hardships bound them closer together. He didn't ask for commitment, he was content just to share his days and nights with her. Never asking about his part in her future, urging her to take Max's offer. Yet why with all this perfection were there times when she despised him! What sort of person was she that she was so irritated by his sheer goodness? Why did she want to scream at him, shake him, anything to make him wake up and see things as they really were.\n\nHer feelings for Max baffled her still further. She hated the way he was manipulating her and the boys, yet admired his single-mindedness at the same time. He was cruel, greedy, ruthless. As far apart from Ian as a predatory eagle to a chirpy robin. Sitting back in his plush office watching her struggle helplessly just like that fly in his gold spider's web. What weakness on her part made her feel that eventually he would get exactly just what he wanted? Not just a gold record or two, but maybe her body and soul!\n\nBut one thing was clear, which ever way she turned Ian would lose. Samson would flounder without her; if she stayed the pressure Max created would do the same. Had Ian really thought what would happen if she became a big star and his role was little more than a hanger-on?\n\n'Let's go,' Speedy picked up the red stage dress and brushed it off. He shot a look of understanding at Georgia. 'There's a party to go to, remember?'\n\nThis party was the one thing the boys had been looking forward to for weeks. It would be a glitzy, star-studded event that would hit the newspapers the next morning. Girls in plenty, free food and drink. Enough to make them forget the humiliations Max had thrown at them.\n\n'I don't fancy it,' Georgia said wearily. She was sick and tired of people for now. She wanted to be alone in her room, not getting dressed up and posing as the rising star.\n\n'Don't be daft,' Rod said brightly. 'You can't not turn up. We're all ready to go.' Rod looked like a star himself, in black leather trousers and a ruffled shirt, his hair cut in the new 'Beatles' style.\n\n'You all go,' she said firmly. 'Have a great time, get drunk and screw as many birds as you can find. I'm going home.'\n\nIan was looking at her, one eyebrow raised. A 'does that mean you want me to come home with you' face.\n\n'You go too Ian,' she said turning away from him so she couldn't see the sad look she knew would come into those beautiful blue eyes.\n\nHe followed her out the door, catching hold of her bare arm and squeezing it.\n\n'Have I done something?' he said, his eyes soft like a puppy's.\n\nFor a moment she weakened. His long dark lashes framing his eyes, a perfect straight nose and that soft vulnerable mouth. He was perfection, not just his angelic beauty but the depth of his love and understanding for her.\n\n'No, of course not,' she lifted a hand to his face, stroking it tenderly. 'I just can't cope tonight. I'd only spoil it for all of you. Get drunk and be silly and you can tell me all about it tomorrow night. We've got a week off remember? Maybe we can go somewhere together.'\n\n'I love you,' he took her face in both his hands, regardless of people barging along the corridor.\n\nHis kiss was sweet and lingering. She felt the dressing-room door open behind them and someone look out, but she no longer cared.\n\n'I love you too,' she whispered. 'Now go on and have fun.'\n\nHe was still standing by the door as she reached the end of the narrow corridor. Downstairs there were shrieks of girls' laughter, mingling with male voices and the popping of champagne corks. 'Love, love me do', the Beatles' song was playing at full volume.\n\nShe lifted her hand and blew him a kiss. She could see his soft lips curved into a smile, brushing back his floppy fair hair impatiently from his eyes. Tomorrow she had to come to a firm decision about him, it wasn't fair to take his love yet give him no real commitment in return.\n\nOutside in Hammersmith Broadway she slipped unnoticed through the huge crowd of fans waiting for the big stars to make their appearance. It was a hot night, only just getting dark, the traffic as heavy as if it were six in the evening instead of ten thirty. No one noticed the slim dark girl in a pink dress pushing her way through the crowd.\n\nShe would catch a tube to Piccadilly, wander about the way she used to do with Helen. Tomorrow she would go in and see Pop and the girls. By then she'd be feeling her old self again. It was just exhaustion that made her feel so prickly.\n\nIt was almost twelve as she approached Berwick Street. Nothing had changed here. It was as dirty, smelly and full of noise as always, but just seeing her front door made her more cheerful.\n\nBert had surprised her in the last year. He'd spent money on the house, turning the lower rooms into a suite of offices, and she was the only tenant left. What had once been the small landing outside her room was now a tiny bathroom just for her, only a shower, basin and toilet, but it was bright and new. A fitted carpet had been laid. Not only in her room but up the stairs too. The old cooker and sink had been replaced with a smart fitted sink, a baby belling cooker and a fridge. She knew Bert had made these improvements not for her, but as an investment. When she moved out he would treble the rent, or even sell the entire place at a huge profit. But at least she had no need to feel ashamed of where she lived now.\n\n'Georgia! What are you playing at?'\n\nShe had been so deep in her thoughts she hadn't spotted the new maroon MK 10 Jaguar parked outside. Max was sitting behind the wheel, his arm resting on the open window, wearing a white dinner jacket.\n\nHe could have passed for a film star as he leapt out of his car. His tanned, rugged face, the white jacket gleaming under the street light, his wide shoulders, animal grace and his sensuous features were enough to make any woman stop and stare.\n\n'Why aren't you at the party?' he asked.\n\n'I couldn't face it,' she sighed. 'Don't get at me Max. I'm not in the mood.'\n\n'I didn't come here to get at you,' he snapped. 'I was concerned about you. I was in the audience tonight and I thought you lacked your usual sparkle. Then the boys said you'd gone off alone. What's wrong?'\n\n'I'm just pissed off,' she snapped back at him, getting out her key and putting it in the door. 'Don't say I'm not even allowed an off day or I'll spit at you.'\n\nHis big hand covered hers on the lock.\n\n'Come and have something to eat with me?' His voice was softer, almost understanding. She could feel his body close to hers and for some reason it felt comforting. 'I'll take you somewhere nice and quiet, feed you up and let you relax. I didn't come to fight with you.'\n\n'I want to go to bed,' she said weakly. In fact she was very hungry and she knew the only food she had was a tin of baked beans.\n\n'You don't,' he insisted. 'I know perfectly well you didn't get up till two o'clock today. You may be tired and fed up, but you aren't sleepy. Now hop in the car and we'll go somewhere.'\n\nShe hadn't the will to argue further. Perhaps it was time she talked to him instead of ducking the issue. Maybe if she told him about how bad things were he might stop persecuting the band.\n\nHe drove silently up the narrow road to Oxford Street, then turned up towards Marble Arch.\n\n'Don't even think of taking me to the party,' she said quickly.\n\n'Not all roads lead to Park Lane,' he grinned. 'Though what on earth you've got against a bash like that I'll never know.'\n\n'Girls getting goosed in corners. Loud-mouthed louts making fools of themselves and all the PR birds falling over themselves to get one of the stars into bed,' she said bitterly. 'I can live without that.'\n\n'You sound like an old lady,' Max smiled. 'Could it be you wouldn't be the centre of attention?'\n\n'I'm just tired!'\n\nHe was right of course, when had she ever wanted to pass up a party before? Adam Faith was fun, he wasn't such a big shot, and if the PR girls were a pain, at least all the other performers agreed with her. 'But we can't go on like this Max, it isn't fair and you know it. Our band is far better than any of the others. We deserve more than bottom of the bill.'\n\nMax didn't answer. They were passing the Hilton's glass frontage, awash with golden light. A Rolls Royce drew up outside and the doorman rushed forward to welcome the occupant.\n\n'Petula Clark,' Max waved one big hand, his gold watch gleaming on a thick wrist. 'One day you'll have a car like that Georgia. Just stop being so stubborn and listen to reason.\n\nHe took her to a small restaurant in Chelsea, ushering her through the main area to a floodlit garden beyond.\n\n'It's too nice to be indoors tonight,' he smiled at Georgia's rapt face. She looked like a little girl tonight, in that pink cotton dress and her hair in a pony-tail. Surrounded as he was by predatory secretaries who hid behind masks of make-up, her innocence and straight talking was a tonic. 'The food's good here too.'\n\nIt reminded Georgia of places she'd seen on films. Honeysuckle covered walls, urns of bright petunias and pansies with little stone statues half hidden beneath the foliage.\n\nThey were the only people eating outside, soft music wafted out as they ate French onion soup and Max kept filling up her wine glass.\n\n'It's like being on holiday,' she grinned. Max could be so charming when he wanted to be. She hadn't eaten anything more than fry-ups and hamburgers for weeks and from inside the restaurant she could smell sizzling steaks being grilled.\n\n'Come away for a few days with me,' he said unexpectedly. 'We could catch a flight tomorrow to Spain. You could have this every night.'\n\nFor a moment she could just see a golden beach, turquoise sea and palms waving in a soft breeze. She could feel the sun on her shoulders, the sand between her toes.\n\n'No strings,' he smiled, sensing her temptation. 'Separate rooms. Just time to talk and relax.'\n\n'I couldn't,' she reluctantly pulled herself back to reality, Ian's face full of hurt. 'Besides I haven't any clothes.'\n\n'We could buy anything you need,' he leaned closer across the table, putting one big hand over hers. 'Of course you can come. What's stopping you?'\n\n'The boys,' she merely whispered it. 'They'd think I'd sold out.'\n\n'Would you come if I said I'd allow you to make a record with them?'\n\nGeorgia felt her stomach turn over. Was this blackmail, teasing, or merely trying to find out her price?\n\n'Are you serious?'\n\nHe was such a good-looking man. His face in the soft floodlights had a golden glow, his dark, hooded eyes so sexy she felt she wanted to reach out and touch him even if he was the enemy.\n\nThe waiter interrupted the moment by clearing away their soup bowls. It gave her time to collect herself.\n\nWould the thought of making a record absolve her from being alone in Spain with Max? Would Ian believe nothing happened?\n\n'Of course I'm serious,' he looked at her through half closed eyes, a faint smile twitching his lips.\n\n'What would Miriam say about this?' By turning the tables on him she was giving herself time to think.\n\n'I'd tell her and the boys we were going to see a promoter,' he said too glibly. He hadn't really planned anything tonight. It had all tumbled into his head when he saw her sad, troubled expression. He wanted her. He had from the moment he clapped eyes on her, her combination of girlish sweetness and the tough rock singer was enough to give any man a hard on. But for now he was content to woo her.\n\n'I can't make up my mind just like that,' she said weakly, tempted now to the point where she was almost agreeing.\n\n'There's plenty of time,' he smiled, sensing she was almost his. 'I'm serious Georgia. I can't fight you any longer this way. I can't swing a recording contract for the band, but if they came up with the right song, written by themselves, we could insist they got equal billing. After the first hit, Decca might review the situation.'\n\nThe steaks arrived with a huge bowl of salad. Georgia's mind was still churning over his idea. Was this another ploy to weaken her resolve? Could she hold him to it, get a real promise before they even talked seriously about getting on a plane?\n\nThe lack of contract for the boys wasn't important. If her first record was a hit, there would be enough exposure to launch them in their own right. They would have the shared royalties and her debt to them would be paid in full.\n\nThe steak was perfect, succulent and tender. The wine was giving her a rosy glow and the smell of honeysuckle filled her nostrils.\n\nMax was talking about one of his new bands. Georgia smiled as if she was listening carefully, but all the time her mind was on Ian.\n\nHe was the stumbling block. Samson for all their talent couldn't survive without a strong singer. They would have to replace him or lose all credibility. How could she even think of putting Ian in such a precarious position?\n\nThe steaks were followed by strawberries and cream in huge glass goblets. Max filled up her glass yet again, then sat back and lit up a cigar.\n\n'You're worried about Ian?' he said, looking at her with half-closed eyes. 'How long has it been going on?'\n\nHe hadn't been certain before. Secret looks between the pair of them, the lack of complaints about sharing rooms. Jokes from the other boys. Nothing definite to point to involvement with the lad, but he could see that look of concern in her eyes and he knew it wasn't for the rest of the band.\n\n'Eighteen months,' she sighed. It was too late for lies. Why should she cover it up anyway?\n\nMax crossed his legs, tilting back his chair. The floodlights reflecting on the foliage around him had turned his face green. He looked sinister now. Calculating and mean.\n\n'What made you get involved with him?' he snapped. 'He's a nice enough lad, but by God Georgia, couldn't you look ahead and see the problems?'\n\n'I could say the same about you,' she retorted. 'You've got a wife you don't seem to consider. Did you look ahead and see that coming?'\n\n'Leave Miriam out of this,' his mouth turned mean and bad tempered. 'We're talking about your future. I told you that lad was the weak link. He's useless as a singer and if you stay together he'll be a millstone round your neck. If it had been Rod I could have understood it, or Speedy. They've got a future. Ian's got nothing.'\n\nHe painted the scene she'd seen so often at the back of her mind. Ian waiting patiently at home while she got all the glory, how long would it be before his role was nothing more than a lap dog?\n\n'Don't you dare speak about Ian like that,' Georgia stood up, her chair tumbling over behind her. 'You may be my manager. But I won't stand by and let you belittle him.'\n\n'Sit down darling,' he reached out for her hand. 'People are looking!'\n\nOut of the corner of her eye she could see heads turning, middle-class socialites looking down their noses at her cheap cotton dress and assuming she was a pick-up.\n\n'I don't give a shit,' she snarled. 'You've got no idea how much of Samson is Ian have you? Without his ideas and drive they would never have got off the ground. If you had any sense you'd be looking for another slot to fit him into, on the management side, instead of trying to get rid of him.'\n\nA wave of red-hot anger was washing over her. This was the man who was responsible for all the problems, yet for a moment she'd been tempted to conspire with him!\n\n'It won't be me who gets rid of him,' Max arched one eyebrow. 'The lure of fame and wealth does many things to people.'\n\n'You should know,' she snarled. 'You wrote the dirty tricks book didn't you?'\n\nShe turned and ran then, straight through the restaurant, pushing aside a waiter, tears streaming down her cheeks, out into the street.\n\n'Is the young lady coming back, Mr Menzies?' The waiter approached tentatively, his thin body bending in supplication.\n\n'I doubt it,' Max snapped. 'Just get me a large brandy.'\n\n## Chapter 13\n\nAs Georgia rushed headlong towards Sloane Square, angry with herself for being foolish enough to believe she and Max had anything to discuss, the boys were just leaving the Hilton.\n\n'We'd better get a cab,' John wobbled unsteadily along the pavement.\n\nThey were all drunk. Ian so bad he could barely walk, lost in a silent world of his own.\n\n'We can't all get in one,' Rod said, slurring his words. 'Perhaps we ought to walk anyway.'\n\nSpeedy turned at a high-pitched shriek from behind them. A public relations girl from Decca was tottering towards them. Earlier in the evening her blonde hair had been piled up on her head in elaborate curls, now it was dishevelled, falling over her face.\n\n'Take me home Speedy,' she called out.\n\n'One down,' Rod murmured, pausing against a car showroom window and pressing his face against the glass. A gleaming red Mercedes was turning round slowly on a revolving platform, it made him feel even drunker.\n\nIan swayed, white-faced, eyes half closed a few feet from Rod. John and Alan were sitting on the kerb. Les was throwing up noisily behind a parked car.\n\nSpeedy and the girl crossed the road towards Knightsbridge. The tall blonde girl's white dress was so tight she could only hobble, she trailed a pink feather boa over her shoulder, unaware it was touching the pavement behind her. The pair of them had linked arms and it was hard to see which one was holding the other up.\n\n'He won't be much good to her when they get back,' Rod said to nobody in particular. 'But then I think he's already given her one in the toilets.'\n\nIt had been a wonderful party. Scores of girls milling around, convinced Rod was every bit as much of a star as Adam Faith, Billy Fury and all the others. One tart had given him a wank under the table and he could have pulled anyone he wanted if he'd put his mind to it.\n\nBut Ian was bugging him. He hadn't said or done anything other than drink himself stupid, and he knew it was all to do with Georgia.\n\n'Where's Norman?' he asked, lurching forward towards where John and Alan sat hunched mindlessly on the kerb.\n\n'Gone off with some girl,' John turned bloodshot eyes on Rod. 'Can you get it together to flag down a cab?'\n\nIan was usually the one that rounded them all up after nights like these, but one glance at his blank face was enough to know he was the one who needed looking after.\n\n'All right,' Rod lurched into the road and put up his hand.\n\nA taxi came seconds later.\n\n'Where to mate?' A raw-boned face under a flat cap looked out suspiciously.\n\n'Ladbroke Square,' Rod said. 'Just a minute while I get my mates.'\n\n'Don't any of you throw up in the back otherwise I'll rub your noses in it,' the taxi driver said sharply. 'And open the bloody windows, the fumes are enough to make me sick.'\n\nRod paid the driver as the others almost fell out the taxi. Les rushed back to the gutter, and once again vomited.\n\nThe house was in darkness. Timed switches on the wall turned themselves off even before they climbed slowly to the first landing. A smell of curry came from behind the door of a Jamaican family. Their flat was right at the top of the house. Three large rooms on the fourth floor and another up a flight of steep narrow steps to the attic.\n\nRod put his arm round Ian, supporting him as they made their way up. Alan and John had already reached the top now. Les was hauling himself up by the banisters like an old man.\n\n'What's been eating you tonight?' Rod asked Ian as they finally got in the front door.\n\n'Georgia,' Ian said stupidly, his mouth drooping. 'She's only staying with the band because of me and I can't bear it any longer.'\n\n'Come on now mate,' Rod eased Ian back into an armchair. The whole flat was filthy. He would have to find some bird to come and sort it out. Clothes in heaps, records all over the floor, piled up ashtrays, half eaten food going mouldy on plates left there weeks ago, and at least two dozen empty beer bottles.\n\nThe flat was a mixture of tastes. Speedy's collection of old books. Ian's posters and records of blues and soul artists. Rod himself was responsible for the red warning road lamps, picked up on another drunken binge. There were nude girl posters. A Salvador Dali print and a bull-fighting poster personalized with Norman's name. A black and red pair of knickers had been on the table lamp so long no one could even remember who they belonged to. A messy, tasteless place, but it was a storehouse of good memories.\n\nAlan was lurching up the steep stairs that led to the attic. His new grey leather jacket was stained with drink and he'd burned a hole in his one good pair of black trousers. His small, boyish face grinned inanely, his blond hair brushed down on his forehead made him look like a medieval page boy. He didn't even realize he was making for the wrong room. The attic belonged to Rod and Ian, but Rod couldn't be bothered to turf him out. Les was in the bathroom being sick yet again and John was attempting to make some coffee.\n\n'Get some in here sharpish.' Rod called out. He turned back to Ian and crouched down beside him. Even drunk, Ian was as immaculate as when he arrived at the party. Tie neatly knotted, shirt crisp and fresh. Even his hair was perfect, baby soft, shining pale yellow in the murky light.\n\nRod knew Ian loved Georgia. He'd even been jealous at first, hurt that anyone could come between him and his best friend. But Ian was level-headed. He had maintained all his old enthusiasm in the band, perhaps even increasing it. What had happened to make him react like this now?\n\n'Don't worry about it,' Rod felt a pang of sympathy for his friend. If a girl made him miserable, he just went out and found another, but Ian was different. 'Why don't we give her the elbow? Insist we want to go it alone that way she won't have to feel bad about us?'\n\n'Don't be such a fucking idiot,' Ian seemed to sober up suddenly, his blue eyes flashing ice cold. 'Do you really think I could fill Georgia's shoes as singer?'\n\n'We did all right before she joined us!' Rod said evenly.\n\n'We didn't know what a good singer could do then, did we?' Ian slumped back in his seat, eyes closing. 'You'd be looking to me to make it right. The audience would wonder why you had a wanker like me up front. I'm stuck in the bloody middle holding you both back. That's the reason she won't go. She's afraid for me.'\n\n'Aren't you forgetting we all used to sing before she joined us?' Rod had never seen Ian like this before. 'Mick Jagger's voice ain't so hot, and what about the Beatles? All we have to do is use a bit of strategy. Stop feeling sorry for yourself mate. Georgia loves you, anyone would think she wanted to dump you!'\n\n'Maybe she does!' Ian's head slumped down towards his chest. He looked defeated and old. 'Aren't I more like a brother to her? You can love someone, and be \"in love\" with them, the two aren't necessarily the same. She loves all of us. That's the bloody trouble.'\n\n'Of course she loves you,' Rod said firmly. He sat down on the arm of the chair and hugged his friend awkwardly. 'After all it's you she sleeps with!'\n\nRod wasn't one for soul searching. A girl to him was a diversion, nothing more. They all had their attractions, once he'd played them out, he moved on. He couldn't really understand why other men agonized over feelings, it was such a waste of energy.\n\n'You don't know anything about her,' Ian sniffed. 'Her father raped her when she was only fifteen. That's why there was never any blokes in her life until me. If any of you had been the one to press the right buttons you might be the one sharing her bed now.'\n\nRod was too drunk to think that one out, or even be shocked.\n\n'It's you she loves, you prat,' Rod hauled him up by the shoulders. 'You was always mates, right from the start and she ain't the type to use anyone. All you gotta do is to push her out on her own, 'cos she's too damned stubborn to do it herself.'\n\n'Then why didn't she come with me to the party tonight?'\n\n'I expect she knew we'd all end up rat-arsed like this,' Rod grinned. John was swaying behind him with three cups of coffee. 'Now drink that and piss off to bed. And stop seeing problems where there aren't any.'\n\nIan seemed to pull himself together a little after his coffee.\n\n'I shouldn't have told you about Georgia,' he said as he went on up the steep stairs to the attic. 'I only told you because I know you're a real human being under that flashy exterior. You won't let on to anyone?'\n\n'You're a wanker when you're pissed,' Rod called after him. 'Any more crap from you and I'll tell her what a feeble little prat you can be.'\n\nRod woke up, a faint smell of something in his nostrils.\n\nFor a moment he couldn't quite place where he was, he had cramp in his legs from lying curled up on the couch and as he moved he fell on to the floor knocking over the half drunk coffee.\n\n'Shit,' he exclaimed. It had splattered his new shirt and it would stain if he didn't see to it.\n\nStanding up, he looked around.\n\nThere was a smell, and a strange noise, a kind of faint roaring above him. His head felt as if it were full of cotton wool, his stomach was churning. Yet he was sure he wasn't imagining that smell.\n\n'Fire!' he yelled, running out the door and leaping up the stairs to the attic, three at a time. The door was closed, smoke billowing under it and as he opened it another cloud of it hit him in the face. Beyond the smoke were flames. Licking up by the window, fanned by the draught from the door.\n\nHe closed the door quickly, leaped down the stairs again and rushed into the other bedroom.\n\n'John, Les,' he shouted, shaking their arms. 'Fire! Ring the fucking fire brigade. Alan and Ian are in there burning alive!'\n\nJohn was up immediately. Dark eyes gleaming in the dark. He grabbed his trousers and ran for the door.\n\n'Les, for fuck's sake wake up,' Rod screamed now. 'Fire. Get out now!'\n\nHe stopped only long enough to grap a heap of blankets, his heart thumping like a steam hammer.\n\nRunning into the bathroom he turned the taps on full, then dunked the blankets in, hauled one out and carrying it dripping in his arms he made his way up the stairs again.\n\n'Get the other tenants out, Les,' he shouted back down the stairs as Les lumbered out. His sallow, long face stared stupidly, dark hair hanging over one eye. He wore only a pair of jeans, feet bare, his sunken chest and spindly arms almost pitiful. 'Get going!'\n\nThe smoke made him choke as he opened the door and the heat of the flames made him recoil momentarily. Putting the blanket over his head he got down on all fours and began to crawl across the floor.\n\nThe bed closest to the window was well and truly alight, flames licking over it, but the black smoke prevented him from seeing anything. The curtains had caught, taking the fire to the other bed, and he could just make out the outline of a body, flames just flicking out like evil fingers to consume it.\n\nHe threw the blanket over the body, standing just for a moment choking with the fumes. Then grabbing the body by the feet he hauled it away from the bed.\n\nThere was a thud as it hit the floor, but it was too late to be cautious. Blinded by the black smoke he hauled it back across the floor, towards the door.\n\nIt was Alan. His face blackened by smoke, burns on his arms and legs, his fair hair almost completely gone on one side of his head, sharp little features so familiar, but different seen black.\n\nJohn was coming back in the front door.\n\n'Bring me more blankets!' Rod shouted. 'In the bath.'\n\nRod stood coughing on the landing. His hands were burned but that was unimportant. Somehow he had to get Ian out of there too.\n\n'Don't go in again,' John flung him blankets, rushing up to look at Alan lying inert on the landing bending over him to feel for a pulse. 'The floor might go. Wait for the fire brigade.'\n\n'Try giving him the kiss of life,' Rod hissed. 'I'm going back.' He dropped down to his knees, one blanket over him, dragging the other behind him, as at last the sound of sirens wailed down the street.\n\n'Up the top,' Les directed the firemen at the front door. He had sobered up the moment he knew what had happened, but now he wished he'd had the presence of mind to grab shoes. He had cut his foot on a piece of broken glass and blood was pouring out.\n\n'You stay here lad,' the big fireman pushed him aside. 'Who else is in there?'\n\n'Three of my mates,' Les tried to follow but was pushed back. 'No, four, John went back into help.'\n\nThe two first fire engines were quickly joined by another two making a 'V' shape in the road. Firemen rushed in one after another, hauling hoses behind them.\n\nOutside a crowd was gathering, more stood behind the railings of the communal gardens in the centre of the square. Old women in nightdresses. Children in pyjamas, men wearing nothing but a pair of trousers like himself.\n\n'How did it start?' A fireman tugged at Les's arm as he stared up at the house. Flames were flickering on the roof now, turning the dark sky purple. Thick black choking smoke wafted down, almost concealing the ladder from the fire engine and the man on it wielding a high-pressure hose. Another two fire engines came roaring into the square, the men leaping out even before the engine stopped.\n\n'I don't know,' Les was crying now, tears splashing down over his cheeks, a dew drop gathering on his hooked nose. 'We'd been to a party. We were all drunk. Perhaps it was a cigarette.'\n\nJohn came out first, quickly followed by two firemen carrying a body on a stretcher.\n\nLes broke through the cordoned-off area and ran to John.\n\n'Who is it?' he asked. 'Where's Rod?'\n\n'That's Alan,' John's dark eyes were filled with tears. He reached out for Les like a child, burying his head on his shoulder. 'Rod went back to try and get Ian. I think he's copped it too.'\n\n'Is Alan dead?' He could hardly bear to ask.\n\n'Yes, overcome by the fumes before the fire reached him. I tried to revive him, but I didn't know how. Rod risked everything, for nothing.'\n\nIt was like some hideous nightmare. John and Les stood bare-chested, huddled together. Windows opened, more people drifted onto the square in their nightclothes, all around them were whispers, pointing them out and giving other neighbours their opinion as to who was still inside.\n\nTwo firemen came out again with a stretcher. Their faces black, the whites of their eyes showing clearly in contrast, under their helmets.\n\n'Who is it?' John cried out.\n\n'The one who went in to rescue them. He's in a bad way.' The firemen handed over the stretcher to the ambulance. 'But he's alive.'\n\n'And Ian?' They both knew the answer, but they had to ask.\n\n'He didn't stand a chance,' Another fireman came out of the doorway, he moved closer to them putting one big gloved hand on John's shoulder. 'He was dead before your friend even got in there. I'm sorry.'\n\nGeorgia jumped violently as the doorbell rang. For a moment she ignored it, thinking it was for one of the offices downstairs. Again and again it rang, and slowly she got out of bed to look out the window.\n\nSunday mornings were the only time the street was quiet. Empty of stalls, the only litter from drunken revellers the night before.\n\n'Who is it?' she called down, peering out over the window-sill.\n\n'It's John,' an ashen face turned up to her. He was wearing nothing over his bare chest but an old cardigan. 'There's been a fire!'\n\nShe threw a key down to him, then hastily pulled on jeans and a shirt. She was just pushing her feet into a pair of plimsolls when John came through the door.\n\n'Ian and Alan are both dead,' he said sinking into her arms like a child. 'Our flat's gone, and Rod's seriously hurt.'\n\nFor a moment Georgia just held John staring vacantly at a poster of poppies on her wall.\n\n'Ian, dead?' she whispered.\n\nShe made him coffee, putting in lots of sugar, and found him a shirt of Ian's left in her wardrobe. She was shaking, yet she couldn't cry. She knew she was behaving like a mere neighbour, not like someone who'd just been told her lover was dead. All the time she kept thinking it was a dream, that any minute she'd wake up and find she was alone.\n\nBut John was very real. He was icy cold to the touch. Bristles of beard showed through on his chin. His feet were bare and his eyes were full of tears, why couldn't she share them?\n\n'Let me find you something to put on your feet,' she said. 'Ian left some shoes here.'\n\n'Georgia, have you heard a word?' John shouted at her. 'Ian and Alan are dead, Rod maybe too by now and you worry about my feet?'\n\nHe grabbed her in his arms, holding her so tightly she could barely breathe, sobbing on her shoulder like a two-year-old. She could see Ian standing in the corridor at the Odeon last night, his hand lifted to return her kiss. All at once the reality hit her. She saw flames licking around that slender body, reaching out for his blond silky hair.\n\nJohn held her against his shoulder, patting her back as they sobbed together. 'My two best mates just wiped out and I never even said goodbye to either of them.'\n\nIt was just half past seven in the morning when John woke her and as the day slowly passed there was no end to the misery. Rod had been taken to Hammersmith hospital. Alan's body was already in the morgue and Ian's charred remains followed later. Les's foot was so badly cut it needed stitching and John, after rushing across London to find Georgia, had sunk into shock, barely speaking. Alan and he had been like brothers from the age of six, their whole adult life had been spent together, even most of their possessions were shared. Now he was gone, and the next closest friend, Ian, with him.\n\n'Can you tell me about Rod?' Georgia asked the nurses who scurried by, averting their eyes from the two boys still with smoke smuts on their faces sitting there shoeless and silent.\n\n'He's holding his own,' was all they would say. 'It's too soon to know yet.'\n\nLater, Speedy arrived at the hospital. He had gone home around ten in the morning to find the house still faintly smoking, the whole top floor caved in. He at least was calm enough to find John and Les other clothes and shoes from a nearby friend and to insist they washed and combed their hair.\n\nNorman's whereabouts were still unknown. Soon the parents of Ian, Alan and Rod would be wanting to talk to John and Les, but neither was capable of anything more than nodding and shaking their heads.\n\nMax came striding down the corridor around noon. He had been out when John had phoned him early that morning and Georgia suspected he had probably stayed out all night. He had stubble on his chin, his eyes bloodshot.\n\n'How did it happen?' he demanded of John, even though he could see the boy was hardly able to speak.\n\n'They don't know,' Georgia spoke up. 'They think Ian must have been smoking in bed and dropped it on the floor. What are we going to do?'\n\nShe waited for Max to say something harsh, but to her surprise his eyes filled with tears.\n\n'It's not fair,' he said, turning away so they couldn't see his face. 'So much to look forward to, snatched away in their prime.'\n\nGeorgia stood up, putting one hand on his arm, the other wiped away his tears with her hanky. His shoulders were slumped, his full lips quivering.\n\n'We've got to pray Rod will make it,' she said.\n\n'Speedy,' Max straightened up, getting back his self control. He sniffed, wiping one big hand across his eyes. 'Take John and Les to my house, get Miriam to put them to bed and call a doctor to give them something. Will you stay here with me Georgia?'\n\nShe nodded.\n\nThe clock hands moved so slowly. Each doctor who passed the waiting room made them straighten up and hope it was news. The police called to say that Rod's parents were away on holiday in Devon, but they were passing the information over to the police there. Alan's widowed mother had been informed as had Ian's family.\n\n'None of them were close to their families,' Max said softly. 'Alan's mother rejected him when her husband was killed in an accident when he was thirteen. Ian put up a show of caring about his, but I never knew any of them come to gigs or anything. Yet I still don't know how I'm going to face them.'\n\nIf only I'd taken Ian home with me last night,' Georgia blurted out. 'He wanted to come Max, but I insisted he went to the party. It's all my fault.'\n\n'Of course it isn't,' Max put his arm round her and cradled her to him. This was a side she'd never seen of him before and it touched her deeply. 'It could have happened at any time. If someone's number comes up, that's it. Can you imagine how low I feel now after what we were talking about last night?'\n\nAll at once Georgia felt tears welling up inside her. The same terrible loneliness she'd felt that night when Helen died. She put her head on Max's chest and sobbed and sobbed.\n\n'I wish I could find the right words,' he said softly stroking her hair. 'You don't deserve any of this, baby. I'll find a way to make it up to you.'\n\nThe door of the waiting room opened. A young woman doctor with pale brown hair and kind eyes was smiling.\n\n'He's going to be all right,' she said. 'We had some trouble with his breathing. But it's stabilized now.'\n\n'You mean he's not going to die?' Georgia sat up straight, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.\n\n'Far from it,' the doctor laughed softly. 'He's got a few burns, but nothing too serious. He was a brave lad by all accounts. He won't be running for any buses for some time. I doubt he'll ever want a cigarette in his life again and of course the shock of seeing his two friends burned to death will take some getting over. But go along and see him for yourself.'\n\n'I'll wait here,' Max touched her shoulder. 'It's you he'll want to see. I'll wait till he's stronger.'\n\nGeorgia peeped round the door of the small side ward. There were three beds, but the others were empty. Rod was propped up on pillows, a drip in his arm, his face an angry shade of red. Both arms and his head were swathed in bandages.\n\n'How are you feeling?' she asked, standing tentatively at the end of the bed.\n\n'Sore,' he whispered, his voice unexpectedly croaky. 'I tried to save them,' a big tear rolled down his cheek.\n\n'You were wonderfully brave,' Georgia came closer, wanting to hug him but afraid of hurting him. 'You couldn't have done any more.'\n\n'I should have gone up and got Alan out of my bed,' Rod said. 'I might have seen the cigarette then.'\n\n'I should have taken Ian home with me,' she wiped a tear from her cheek.\n\nShe pulled a chair up close to his bed, laying her head on the covers. Without another word the burden of shared guilt passed from one to another.\n\n'He told me he loved you,' Rod's eyes opened wider, wincing as if they hurt. 'Make a deal with Decca now, Georgia. It's what he wanted.'\n\n'I don't want to sing again ever,' she whispered, unable to hold back her tears.\n\n'You must,' he croaked. 'Wherever Ian and Alan are they'll be waiting for it. Right now I don't believe I'll ever be able to play again either, or even want to, without them. But if I can manage it, so can you.'\n\nShe looked up and saw tears streaming down his face.\n\n'Don't Rod,' she got up and reached out tentatively to wipe them away.\n\n'Kiss me,' Rod whispered.\n\nGeorgia moved forward and put her lips on his.\n\n'I feel better already,' he tried hard to smile. 'One of these days I'll give you a real one and see what that does for you.'\n\nShe smiled at his brave attempt at flirtation, and patted his bandaged hand gently.\n\n'You can have all the kisses you want if you just get better. I think you must be the bravest man I ever met.'\n\n## Chapter 14\n\n'The time's right to cut a record Georgia,' Max sat in his office looking at her under hooded eyelids. 'You've had all that publicity. If we don't get it out now we'll lose the benefit.'\n\n'Do you have to be so ghoulish?' She leapt to her feet, eyes blazing at his callousness. 'Rod still can't hold drumsticks. John can hardly eat for grief. We've lost our saxophone player. Your timing stinks.'\n\nMax ignored her outburst. A fortnight had passed and it was time to crack the whip again.\n\n'I'm talking about you,' he said calmly. 'You cutting a record, not the boys.'\n\n'Don't start that again,' she stared at him coldly. 'Surely they can come in on it with me after what's happened?'\n\nMax studied Georgia. She had lost weight, her hair was dull and lank, she even had a couple of spots on her chin, her skin the colour of porridge. He didn't want to be cruel, but he knew if he gave her too much time she might never get back to work.\n\n'They can work as your backing group,' he said sharply. 'But that's all. I've got plans to find them a new male singer. Someone raunchy who'll get the girls screaming. I've also put the word out I want a new song for you.'\n\n'Why can't we record something we've written?' Georgia stuck out her lip. She was actually glad Max was going to find Samson a new singer. New blood was needed in the band and she knew Speedy, Rod and Norman hungered for stardom in their own right.\n\n'Because I want a big dramatic number with strings and a full orchestra,' he smirked. 'I don't want some drippy bit of bubblegum music.'\n\n'But what if we came up with the right song?'\n\n'Don't make me laugh,' he snapped. 'I'll listen to anything you come up with of course, but don't waste my time Georgia.'\n\nGeorgia wasn't surprised by Max's apparent heartlessness. He alone was behaving characteristically. In a strange way it was more comforting than fan letters and the endless sympathy poured on the band by people who scarcely knew Ian and Alan.\n\nShe had written the words of a song already, sitting alone in her room after the double funeral. Now with Max pushing her she might just find the strength to show the boys.\n\nIt had been such a beautiful funeral. A ray of sunshine shone through the high window at the crematorium, and rested on the two pine coffins side by side, each with a wreath of red roses. The chapel was packed to the doors with fans, old school friends, relatives and more than a sprinkling of musicians.\n\nAll the papers had covered the story, perhaps only because Adam Faith, Billy Fury, Helen Shapiro and Marty Wilde were there. But it meant a great deal to all of the band to see these stars take time off in their busy lives to pay their last respects.\n\nSo many bouquets of flowers and wreaths lined the entrance to the chapel and spilled out on to the forecourt. Some had sheets of music wound into them, some were just simple bunches brought along by unknown fans. The bright colours and the perfume belied the seriousness of the occasion. Few of the mourners wore dark clothes either, as if knowing the boys would prefer them to come the way they remembered them.\n\nGeorgia wore a simple black dress with a white collar. She knew Ian would have told her she looked like a missionary and urged her to wear red, but she was afraid his mother would misinterpret her actions.\n\nSpeedy and Les accompanied Norman with their guitars while Georgia sang 'Morning has Broken.'\n\nUp till that morning she had thought she couldn't sing, but it was Rod who convinced her. The bandages were off his head now, but his hands were still covered. His face was peeling like a bad case of sunburn, but he said he was well enough to attend the funeral.\n\n'You will sing,' he said, raising one singed eyebrow, at her protest. 'They would have wanted you to. It isn't your feelings that count, but theirs.'\n\nPut like that she could do nothing but agree, but when she stood up by the pulpit, she nearly lost her nerve.\n\n'Turn your back away from the audience,' she could almost hear Ian's whisper on stage at the first gig. 'If you can't see them, it's okay.'\n\nShe had turned to the altar to sing, looking up at the window high above. She concentrated on the patch of blue sky so much like Ian's eyes, and as Norman played the introduction and she filled her lungs with air, so her voice came back, filling the small chapel.\n\nDuring the prayers her thoughts were all with Ian and Alan. She could see them squabbling in the changing rooms over a bar of chocolate. Jumping fully clothed in the river at Oxford, sleepy in the back of the van. Laughing over a book of corny jokes. Alan was the one she knew least about. He hadn't been flashy like Rod, or even famous for his dry humour like John. He had none of Norman's know-all tendencies, Les's dimness, or Speedy's sloth to make him exceptional. Just a bright little cockney, happy to be privileged enough to play in a band, and his saxophone spoke for him.\n\nBut Ian. There were a million memories there. The way he wrapped his arms around her when he went to sleep, the kisses first thing in the morning. Day after day of love-filled hours. He'd taught her how to trust again. How to project her voice and wring the last emotion out of a song. One day she'd replace the lover, but her friend would always be in her head and heart.\n\nWhen Rod got up to speak on behalf of all of them, Georgia found it hard to hold back the tears. She wasn't used to seeing him in a formal dark suit, his hair slicked back from his face, and neither was she accustomed to seeing pain in his eyes.\n\nAs he left the altar steps he put his hands over his eyes, his shoulders bowed with the weight of his sorrow. His red peeling face, his bandaged hands were a testimony of his courage. At that moment Georgia understood why Ian had stood by Rod even when he was arrogant, selfish and sarcastic. Had he always known that Rod would be prepared to give his own life to try and save a friend?\n\nIt was late that evening, alone in her room that Georgia's grief and guilt finally surfaced and spilled out. She had been trying to write down her thoughts in a poem, but nothing came to her.\n\nAll she could see was the boys, standing in a group by the gates of the crematorium. They were lost without Ian to tell them what to do. Home, belongings and two of their members, gone. Broken by grief, tormented by the guilty feeling that they could have prevented the accident. Lost like a ship without a rudder.\n\nNorman's carroty hair caught the sunshine as he bowed it towards John to comfort him. Speedy had been in control earlier, talking to both Ian and Alan's mothers, but even he now seemed to have lost several inches in height, his shoulders hunched up in his borrowed suit. Les was deathly pale, his dark hair had lost its shine, his hooked nose almost like a beak, eyes glued to the path beneath him. Rod towered above them, straight-backed, but red-eyed, trying in vain to take Ian's place.\n\n'Why didn't you insist I came to the party? If you'd just stood up to me for once I might not have been so angry.' She put her hands over her eyes and wept. 'I almost went away with Max and now we've run out of time.'\n\nShe didn't know how long she sat by her window crying, but once it was all spent it was dark and Berwick Street was coming to life again as the neon lights were switched on.\n\nAs she undressed, words started to come. 'There's no time baby. It's all slipped away.' She could almost feel Ian's presence in the room, forcing her to pick up her pencil and write it down.\n\n'Do you know what sort of first record Max wants me to make?' she asked the boys a few days after her talk with Max. She had asked them all round for a meal, hoping that by bringing them together again, a little of the old spirit might return.\n\nShe had cooked enough spaghetti for an army and a saucepan full of sauce, there were four bottles of wine and a bowl of trifle in the fridge, but none of them seemed interested in either food or drink.\n\nJohn was staying with his parents in Dagenham. Les with his girlfriend in Wapping. Norman with his granny and Rod and Speedy had found one room together in Fulham. Their equipment was in the van and unless someone pulled them together it would stay there.\n\n'Some big, powerful ballad,' Rod said gloomily, he sat on the floor his back against her bed. His jeans had a hole in the knee and his dark hair needed washing.\n\n'That's right,' Georgia frowned. She wanted to provoke an argument, even at the risk of seeming uncaring. Anything was worth a try rather than this apathy. 'Of course, that's one of Max's objections to you. He thinks you are incapable of writing that type of song.'\n\n'He's never given us a chance,' Norman, sprawled on her bed, lifted his head, eyes sharp with indignation.\n\n'Well get to it,' Georgia snapped. 'Prove him wrong.'\n\n'What's the point?' Speedy sighed. He at least had managed to buy a new pair of trousers and a black polo neck sweater, but his auburn hair needed washing too. 'He won't let us get near the studio with you.'\n\n'He will you know,' Georgia smiled round at them. 'He said I could use you as backing. He even said he would listen to anything we wrote. If we could come up with the right song, written by us. You would all get royalties and publicity.'\n\nSpeedy's eyes lit up, his mouth curled up at the corners. 'Not a bad idea, but it'd have to be good.'\n\nGeorgia looked round at each of them. Five sad faces. Boys who once thought only of the next gig, or the girl in the next town. What would it take to get them all back in one flat again, and bring back their sparkle?\n\n'I've written some words,' she spoke casually, careful not to be too forceful. 'Shall I read them to you?'\n\nRod nodded. He was sitting up again now. His face had turned from red to brown at last. He still had one bandage on his right hand, but the rest of his burns were healing well.\n\n'Go on then.'\n\nShe reached up to a shelf and pulled down a notebook.\n\n'It's called \"No time\",' she said softly.\n\nThere's no time baby.\n\nIt's all slipped away,\n\nI thought we had forever,\n\nNow there's only a day.\n\nI dream of your kisses,\n\nI see only your eyes,\n\nWe have no tomorrows,\n\nOnly goodbyes.\n\nThere's no time baby.\n\nAll we have is now.\n\nThere's no time baby,\n\nThis is the last bow.\n\n'It's a bit morbid.' John spoke up, the first remark he'd made all evening. 'I mean I could just see Ian and you together.'\n\n'We can't forget what's happened,' she said gently. John troubled her the most, his dark eyes had lost their lustre, he was thinner than ever, his skin a putty colour. For years he had shared everything with Alan and now memories haunted him. 'All dramatic songs are sad. Don't you think we need that memory for us to write something worthwhile?'\n\n'It's not bad Georgia,' Norman surprised her. 'I can sort of make out a melody.'\n\n'Let's thrash it out together,' Rod's deep voice seemed to fill the room. 'If nothing else it's a challenge.'\n\nGeorgia hardly dared breathe while they thought it over. The notebook was passed from one to the other, already they looked brighter. She could somehow imagine her words padded out. Speedy and Norman had the ability to find a strong, beautiful melody. John could write the arrangements for brass. Les could be trusted to play a fantastic lead guitar, it only needed Rod to step forward and take command.\n\n'Let's open the wine,' Rod said, getting up and stretching. 'We'll have to find somewhere to rehearse and while we're at it, we'd better look for a new pad.'\n\n##### *\n\n'Where have you been?' Max was red with anger when Georgia walked into his office a fortnight later.\n\n'Resting, rehearsing, helping the boys get themselves organized again,' she sat down without being asked. 'You should have helped them with a flat.'\n\n'Don't come all that holier than thou crap with me,' Max stood up and took a threatening step towards her. 'I paid for the funeral. They've been on full wages. I even gave them extra money for new clothes.'\n\n'Where's the money from the \"Benefit\" gone?' she asked.\n\nSome of the musicians at the funeral had played a gig to raise money for the boys. A cheque for over two hundred pounds had been handed over to Max, but he hadn't passed it on.\n\n'I've got it here,' Max's lip was curling back, but she knew his anger was because he had been caught out. 'I was intending to give it to them today.'\n\n'Don't forget,' her pointed chin stuck out defiantly. 'Because I know you got an insurance payout to cover everything else you've spent.'\n\nShe had been into the office during the week while Max was out. Deirdre on reception had slipped out for a sandwich and Georgia used the time to snoop. Max had been doodling on his blotter. An insurance policy lay next to it and it hadn't taken her more than two minutes to read it, then slip back out before Deirdre even knew she'd been there. Max wasn't out of pocket at all. He was making claims for broken engagements, equipment and possibly claims on the boys' lives.\n\n'Now look here,' he blustered.\n\n'No, you look here,' she said more bravely than she felt. 'You owe the boys. I want you to come and listen to something we've written. Can you arrange a gig at the Marquee so we can try it out on an appreciative audience too?'\n\n'I don't know,' he shook his head. 'I've got a song lined up myself, you don't need the boys. I'll get them a singer and sort them out.'\n\n'Do as I say or I'll start talking too loudly,' she spoke softly, yet with enough menace to make him understand she meant it. 'The boys need to feel wanted right now. I need them too. Or have you forgotten my feelings?'\n\nHe hesitated.\n\nShe could see a rope-like vein quivering on his forehead. She really didn't know why she liked him. He was slippery and heartless. Yet there was something strong about him that was attractive and compelling, neither could she forget his gentleness on that awful day at the hospital.\n\n'Okay,' he sighed deeply. 'I'll arrange it. But don't think you can hold a gun to my head, young lady. If the song's no good, that's it.'\n\nGeorgia got up and walked round his desk. She dropped a kiss on his surprised face.\n\n'That's for saying yes,' she smiled down at him. 'And this is to make sure you listen when you come.' She bent over and kissed his lips gently, just lingering long enough so his hands came up to hold her, then jumped nimbly away out of reach.\n\nAs she backed towards the door, she glanced up at the gold spider's web. More and more she felt like that poor fly. Another year and she would probably be in the spider's jaws.\n\nMax folded his arms on his desk and lay his head down on them. He could never quite analyse his feelings about Georgia. If he wasn't such a cynic he could call it love. Any other girl singer who had worked for him had been in his bed before her first week was up. Yet somehow he'd never fathomed out a way to get Georgia. She couldn't be persuaded by flattery. Presents would merely be laughed at. She certainly wouldn't respond to just grabbing her. Yet she'd nearly agreed to come away with him.\n\nHe couldn't admit, even to himself that his first reaction to hearing about Ian's death had been almost pleasure. With Ian out of the running Georgia could be his, he could run her life the way he had always intended to.\n\nBut the pleasure had been hollow. Even he, tough as he was, cared for Ian, and Georgia's stricken face those first few days had cut him to the quick.\n\n'I should never have put her with that band,' he murmured, sitting up again, tipping back his chair and putting his feet up on his desk. 'I should have dangled her the carrot of a recording contract. Bought her new clothes and set her up in a flat.'\n\nYet Ian and the other boys had produced something in her he couldn't have managed alone. She kept her girlish breathless charm, while learning poise and timing. Her voice had gone from good to incredible and maybe Ian was responsible for adding that extra emotion. Everything was right for launching her. The tragedy of the boys' deaths was still in the public's mind.\n\nLike the phoenix she could soar out of the flames into stardom, and all he had to do was sit back and watch the money come rolling in.\n\nReminded of something, Max frowned and opened his desk drawer. The letter had come for her this morning, yet something had stopped him from giving it to her.\n\nHe turned it around thoughtfully in his hands. A blue envelope. Postmarked Manchester. The writing bold and masculine. It was probably only a fan letter, but there was no harm in checking.\n\nTaking a small silver dagger from his desk tray, he slid it under the flap carefully, in case he had to stick it down again later. He drew out the single sheet of paper and spread it out on his desk.\n\n'Dearest Georgia,\n\nI had almost given up hope of finding you. When you didn't contact me on your birthday three years ago I drew the conclusion that you didn't want me to. I understand after what happened that you wanted to sever all connections with your past. But just when I'd finally reconciled myself to a life without you, I read the story about the fire and the two boys burned to death.\n\nI might never have given it a second thought, but one of my friends up here had seen the band, and went on to tell me about the girl singer. He didn't remember her name, just how she looked, and of course I began to wonder. Then in the story about the funeral I saw the name Georgia. I've never heard of anyone else called that. Could there really be another Georgia who sings like an angel, dark-skinned with long curly hair and eyes like giant pansies? I doubt it somehow! It didn't require much detective work to find your manager's address and here I am writing with my heart thumping wondering how you'll receive this letter.\n\nEven if you have no further interest in me, please write back and tell me if Celia managed to find you? I kept in touch with her up till last Christmas, then gradually she stopped writing. She went to Africa to nurse, moving on several times. I guessed she stopped because she felt it was unhealthy for us both, but it has occurred to me she may now be reunited with you and you stopped her.\n\nPlease let me know how things are with you. I won't pester you, or bring back unwelcome reminders. I just need to know you are happy. Of course I'd like to think that you still hold a small torch for me, but I'm realistic if nothing else. I'm so sorry about your friends, it was a terrible tragedy. God bless you.\n\nMy love Peter'\n\nThere was a depth of passion in this letter that disturbed Max. Whoever this man was he came from a time before Georgia joined the band.\n\n'A childhood sweetheart?' he mused. 'And who is this Celia?'\n\nGeorgia had always been evasive about her past. The way she spoke, her education all hinted at a good home. Yet girls who came from good homes didn't normally turn their backs on them.\n\n'After what happened!' Max skimmed through the letter again. 'What could have happened?'\n\nCould she have been in trouble for seeing this boy? But if so who was Celia? An older sister? An aunt?\n\nMax pondered for some time. If he showed this to Georgia now, in her already disturbed state she might do anything. If she'd hidden from this young man once, she might have good reason to bolt again. Just a glance at the content of the letter and the bold handwriting was enough to know this wasn't some dim, uneducated lout. She was getting ideas above her station already; aided and abetted by intelligent friends she could break away from Max altogether.\n\nHe got up and went over to a typewriter on a small table. Taking a plain sheet of paper out of the drawer he inserted it, sat down and began to type.\n\n'Dear Mr Radcliffe,\n\nMiss James thanks you for your letter and has asked me to reply for her.\n\nAlthough she appreciates your concern, she feels she has nothing further to say to you. Her career as a singer is all important to her and leaves no time for socializing. She wishes me to assure you she is well and happy in her chosen career, and sincerely hopes you are too.\n\nYours sincerely,\n\nDeirdre Richards.\n\nP.P. Georgia James.\n\nMax pulled the letter out of the machine, signed it with a flourish, folded it and put it in an envelope.\n\n'Maybe that will dent his pride enough to leave her alone,' he said to himself. He picked up Peter's letter, screwed it up and tossed it into the bin.\n\nThe Marquee club seen by daylight had little to recommend it. A tiny stage, a plain wooden floor, the only seating further back in a cavern-like room by the bar. But then the people who flocked to the Marquee came to hear music, and they knew this club could be relied on to have the best.\n\nNorman played 'No time' through alone.\n\nGeorgia stood back in the shadows by the bar listening. She and Norman were alone now. The equipment was ready on the stage for tonight's gig, the rest of the boys were out getting sandwiches. A tingle ran down her spine, a rush of affection for Norman as she watched him crouched over his keyboard. This wasn't something he was playing under duress. He was putting his heart and soul into it, and it was good.\n\nIt cried out for strings, a full orchestra, but already it was a powerful melody, the kind that lingered in the mind long after it was finished. It could be a classic in the making.\n\nNorman just sat on his stool as he finished, he looked like a small elf with his red hair and sharp features, chin stuck forward, deep in thought.\n\n'It's brilliant,' Georgia clapped and ran over to him.\n\n'I'm pleased with it,' he blushed, for once less cocky. 'But wait till we get Speedy on bass and Les's throbbing lead. Up till now I've only been able to play it through on piano, but I know they are going to amaze you too.'\n\n'Oh Norman.' Impulsively she jumped up on the stage and threw her arms round him. 'It's beautiful.'\n\n'Ian helped me,' his head drooped as if embarrassed at saying such a thing. 'I felt his presence, almost as if he were humming it to me. You remember the way he used to?'\n\nGeorgia nodded. It had been odd that Ian who could play nothing more than 'chopsticks' on a piano had been able to invent melodies in his head.\n\n'God, I miss him,' Norman's eyes filled up with tears. 'I wish I could take back all the snidy things I said to him over the years.'\n\n'He wouldn't have had you any other way.' Georgia leaned over Norman and kissed his cheek. 'Now play it again and I'll sing.'\n\nAfter several false starts they got it together. Georgia's voice soared out across the empty club, lost in the beauty of Norman's melody.\n\nA loud clapping came from the front door as they finished. Georgia spun round to see Jack Fellows, the club owner, leaning against the wall.\n\nTall, stringy and untidy, Jack looked more like a struggling artist than the successful businessman he really was. His hair hung well past his ears, thinning on top. He had a long, pointed nose and a wide, smiling mouth that gave an indication to his inner nature. The Marquee was more than just a money spinner to him. He would rather have talented unknown bands playing than compromise an inch. But his high ideals had paid off, for his customers knew that any night in his club would be memorable, and the bands knew if Jack booked them, they were worth something.\n\n'That's a beautiful song,' he said, his thin face alight with enthusiasm. 'Did you write it?'\n\n'A joint effort,' Norman grinned. 'We're hoping Georgia might be able to record it.'\n\n'If Max approves?' He raised one bushy eyebrow. 'The man's a complete Philistine if he doesn't.'\n\nGeorgia bounced down Wardour Street just before nine. For the first time since Ian's death she felt the cloud hanging over her was moving back. In tight white jeans, a red T-shirt and boots she felt right. The Marquee was home ground, she didn't have to squeeze into the changing room and pour herself into something swish. She could just turn up, sing her heart out, then go home. No one dressed up for the Marquee, students, beatniks, office people and manual workers flocked there for music, and tonight she was going to give them something special.\n\n'Remember, we're not warming up for another band tonight,' she reminded the boys as they waited off stage for Jack to turn off the records and introduce them. She could see John standing alone, twiddling the valves of his trumpet, the first time he had ever played publicly without Alan beside him. 'You can do it John,' she reached out her arms to hug him. 'I feel the same about walking on without Ian, but we'll get through it.'\n\nShe could hear Jack out there on the stage. A joke with the audience about the price of beer, a word or two to remind them of Samson's recent loss of two members. She didn't have to look behind the worn curtains to know the club was packed to capacity, every face upturned, waiting for them.\n\nRod leapt on first, going straight to his stool and performing a dramatic drum roll. Norman was next, quickly followed by Les and Speedy and they launched into the opening number 'Soul Train'.\n\nGeorgia took John's hand in hers, leading him just as Ian had once led her, out into the spotlights.\n\nShe had to be better than her best tonight. She missed Ian's close harmonies, and Alan's sax, but putting that aside she sang first for the band. She put a new wildness in her dancing, strutting, teasing, bending to the audience till she knew the boys were on form again.\n\nJohn surprised her. He and Alan had tended to fall back on one another, staying together to play, never taking a lead. Now he moved forward, legs apart, blowing like she'd never heard him before, eyes closed, chest fully expanded, bringing out notes of such passion and sweetness, it was as if Alan's spirit had entered him.\n\nWhen the first set ended to wild applause Georgia was drenched in sweat.\n\n'You were something else tonight,' Rod grinned as she stripped off her T-shirt in the changing room and mopped at herself with a towel. 'When are we going to do the new number?'\n\n'Last,' Speedy said pulling open a can of coke and resting it for one moment on his sweat-covered forehead. 'If we do it too early it might kill the mood. Keep to our usual routine, then \"He's no good\" followed by \"No time\", and let's hope we all remember our parts.'\n\nMax came in just after the second set started. He stood by the side of the stage speaking to Jack Fellows giving the band no more than a cursory glance.\n\nGeorgia had relaxed sufficiently to notice there were fans in the audience from back when they played in London roadhouses and clubs a year before. She rewarded their loyalty by singing for them rather than Max, bending to touch outstretched hands, blowing kisses and finding the strength she thought she had lost in their smiling faces.\n\n'He's no good, he's no good, baby he's no good,' she sang cheekily to Max. Pulling off her hair ribbon and throwing it into the audience and tossing her mane of hair round her shoulders.\n\n'Finally,' Georgia mopped her brow to thunderous applause. 'We're going to do a totally new number we wrote ourselves. It's a breakaway from our usual stuff, but we hope you like it.'\n\nThe introduction started. She saw Max turn to look in surprise as Norman played the haunting first few bars. Tingles went down her spine, she tapped her feet to the beat and filled her lungs.\n\nAs the song went on, so Georgia drowned in it. She was singing to Ian all the things she wished she'd said while he was with her. And to Max too, to remind him she was her own person.\n\nShe knew without a shadow of a doubt it was the finest singing she'd ever done. Even if the audience walked out, her own ears had told her the truth.\n\nThe applause was simply deafening. On and on it went with calls for more. They left the stage once but had to go back and do another number.\n\nWhen it was finally over Max came forward.\n\n'So that's it?' He had the oddest expression, surprise, delight, mixed with a tiny amount of pique.\n\n'Yes,' Georgia smiled up at him. 'What do you think?'\n\nHer heart was in her mouth. If he turned her down now she had nothing more to offer.\n\n'A gold record,' he said, a smile stretching from ear to ear. 'You wrote it?'\n\n'I did the words, the boys did the rest,' she said simply, surprised that for once he wasn't hiding his enthusiasm behind criticism.\n\n'I'll get the studio booked for next week,' he said, putting one big hand on her shoulder and gripping it. 'This is it baby. I feel it in my water.'\n\n## Chapter 15\n\n'That's it then!' Max's voice crackled abrasively in their ear phones. Through the glass screen they could see him gesticulating wildly, as if he didn't believe his voice could really reach them. 'As they say on the movies, \"that's a wrap\".'\n\nGeorgia took off her head phones and wiped the perspiration from her forehead.\n\nShe was too tired to even think of celebrating. Nine hours of being stuck in a soundproof room, technicians staring at her through the glass as if she were a goldfish. This was an entirely new ball game to playing live.\n\nMixing, loop tapes and umpteen different tracks. Session men who'd filed in, played their parts then left. She had imagined they would just perform together over and over until it was perfect. She hadn't expected the separate instruments to be added, or harmonies put on afterwards. It was confusing, frustrating, and the constant stopping and starting irritating. But then Max had insisted they produced master tapes perfect enough for the disc to be cut from, a half-hearted demo tape just wasn't good enough.\n\nThe boys had come to the studio that morning dressed as if it were another gig. Rod in velvet trousers and a flowered shirt. Norman in a smart new green jacket. But now they looked like wilted flowers, hot and sweaty, hair sticking damply to their heads.\n\nSteven Albright, the producer was waiting for her, the boys grouped round him in the ante-room, waiting for his opinion.\n\nSteven had the look of an overgrown schoolboy. Not what they expected from a man in his thirties with four gold records already under his belt. Six foot tall, painfully thin, with greasy hair dangling over his thick specs. Even his clothes had a charity shop look about them. A city shirt with stiff collar, an old, stained school tie and suit jacket, then in contrast a faded pair of jeans and desert boots.\n\nIt was difficult to have confidence in someone who blinked owlishly behind his glasses and silently chewed a pencil. But he surprised them, not only was he alert to every last note, he had imagination, flair and a complete knowledge of many instruments.\n\n'Time to play the finished article,' he smiled warmly, his plummy, Old Etonian accent somehow reassuring. 'You look tired Georgia, but you did very well.'\n\nHe sat down at the controls and the introduction started.\n\nThe finished result was perfect. It was the sort of song that would be played last at every dance up and down the country. Bodies entwined, arms round each other's necks. A song for lovers everywhere.\n\n'It's good,' Steven turned off the tape as the last notes faded away. Like Max he was sparing with his praise. All day he had pushed them. They had seen him angry, frustrated, disinterested, even bored on occasions, but now at last his dark eyes shone with excitement and exhilaration. 'You can all be very proud of it. I'd say it will make it.'\n\nSomehow that simple statement meant more than gushing praise and for the first time all day, not one of them came back with a flippant remark.\n\n'You can all clear off now.' To Max it was business as usual. He had come in and out several times during the day, listening half-heartedly, flashing his gold watch and leaving again just as quickly.\n\n'You've got gigs in the Midlands for the next week. Put all this out of your minds and get on with playing.'\n\nMax had seemed preoccupied since the funeral. Georgia couldn't help wondering if he'd found another band who excited him more than Samson. She'd spotted brochures for new vans on his desk and receipts for band suits which she was sure weren't for them. Also there were three new girls in the office who barely acknowledged her. Was she being paranoid? Or was Max about to pull another stroke?\n\nThe next week or two was as if they'd gone back in time. If it hadn't been for the pressure of wondering what was happening in Decca's offices, and Ian and Alan's absence, they could have been back to the carefree days before Max put them on the cinema tours. Their re-appearance at dancehalls was enthusiastically received, old fans coming forward to show their pleasure at seeing them again.\n\nBut Georgia hadn't reckoned with all the old memories. She could handle it by day, wandering around town with John or Rod, even performing in places she associated with Ian. But by night when she crept into a cold, often damp bed, Ian's face came back to her.\n\nShe missed his jokes and chatter, all the little things he helped her with. The other boys were clumsy at zipping up dresses and putting make-up on her when there was no mirror handy. She missed him singing with her, complimenting her, spurring each other on. But it was making love that dominated her thoughts at night. She would torment herself remembering the way he stroked her. The thought of his kisses made her hot and damp. She longed for the blissful glow that followed making love, and waking early to find him aroused and holding her.\n\nWhen she lost Peter there had always been the hope he would return. Even when Helen died she had been able to comfort herself with the thought that she had left pain and poverty behind. But there was no sense to Ian's death. It wasn't right that he missed by just a few weeks the one thing he had aimed at all his life. And neither was it fair that everyone she loved was snatched from her so cruelly.\n\n'You can always count on me,' Rod said one evening as they made their way up the staircase to their rooms. 'My body's free anytime.'\n\nGeorgia stopped and turned to look at him. Two years ago she would have found his arrogance insulting. But now she saw it as a gesture of comfort and perception.\n\nThe boarding house was just like all the countless others they stayed in. Shabby, flowered wallpaper, worn at shoulder height with the hundreds of people that had gone up and down rubbing against it. Candlewick bedspreads, nylon sheets and plastic flowers.\n\nShe saw Rod then as other women saw him. His strange dark slanty eyes, high cheek-bones and thin, almost cruel lips. Raw sexuality seeped out of him, his height, coupled with wide shoulders, narrow hips and his shiny blue black straight hair gave the picture of a primitive savage.\n\n'Things aren't that bad,' she grinned.\n\n'No?' his eyes laughed at her.\n\n'I miss him so much it hurts,' she said softly. 'But it isn't just sex I miss.'\n\n'I didn't think it was,' he said, his hand reaching out and stroking her cheek. 'But sometimes another body can be very comforting.'\n\nWith one finger he traced round her lips. She felt goosebumps come up all over her and she couldn't move away.\n\n'I could make you forget at least for tonight,' he whispered. 'It doesn't have to be forever.'\n\nShe felt a tug in her stomach, a tingle of desire.\n\n'I'm not brave enough to chance it,' she took a step back from him and hesitated, looking down at him two steps beneath her. His eyes were half closed, narrow lips apart showing white teeth. For a moment she almost went back to him.\n\n'One day,' he smiled. 'Just for laughs!'\n\nThat night she thought of Rod's hands on her breasts. His tanned chest above her, skilful fingers playing with her and it was all she could do not to cry out.\n\nAs she let herself into her flat on their return to London, she found a note from Max summoning her to his office the next morning.\n\nThere was little hope of falling asleep after the note. Could this be the stroke she suspected? Or could it be that her dreams were finally about to be realized?\n\n'Go on in,' Deirdre on reception smiled a welcome as Georgia leapt up the stairs on the stroke of ten. 'He's waiting for you.'\n\nThis in itself was a good sign. Max frequently kept her waiting for hours.\n\nMax looked relaxed as she walked in the door. A pale lemon shirt open at the neck, sleeves rolled up revealing thick, brown arms. His chair was tilted back and he puffed on a cigar as if day-dreaming.\n\n'Hallo darling,' he stubbed out the cigar, leaping to his feet, reaching her in two giant strides and pecking her cheek. 'Sorry I couldn't give you more warning. I've been rushed off my feet.'\n\n'How are things going?' she asked, taking a seat by his desk, noticing many changes in the room.\n\nTwo years earlier Max had perhaps ten or so bands on his books. Now it looked as if he had expanded overnight. A new filing cabinet stood with drawers open. Stacks of contracts lay on his desk, glossy photographs of groups unknown to her scattered everywhere.\n\n'I've got some excellent news for you,' he returned to his desk, picking up a gold fountain pen from his blotter, shaking it, then signing a letter in front of him with a flourish.\n\n'They want it?' Georgia felt a rush of adrenalin to her head.\n\n'Yup. They are anxious to get the disc cut and released for the first week in September.'\n\n'I can't wait to tell the boys,' Georgia felt a bubble of glee rise up inside her.\n\n'The contract is just for you.'\n\nShe stared at him, mouth agape. He had that cold look in his eyes she knew so well. Had he actually managed to outmanoeuvre her despite everything?\n\n'Don't look like that,' he snapped at her. 'Their names will be on the recording as backing and co-writers, they'll get their royalties.'\n\n'You've got something up your sleeve.' She stood up, leaning towards him over the desk, dark eyes blazing. 'Are you trying to tell me this is the end of the line for us together?'\n\n'Georgia, darling,' he shrugged his shoulders, spreading his hands wide. 'I'm only thinking of you. The Palladium, the Albert Hall, that's where you're heading. You'll need an orchestra, not a bunch of dance hall musicians.'\n\n'But before we get there we'll still be playing in clubs and stuff,' she said desperately. 'I need them Max!'\n\n'Of course you do, for now.' He moved round the desk and caught hold of her arms. 'As from tomorrow when you sign with Decca you pay them just as you would a session musician.'\n\n'Whaaat!' Georgia stared at Max in horror. 'You mean I've got to tell them I'm their boss now?'\n\n'Just a re-arrangement of finances. I'll still be the one organizing everything. Financially this is far better for you. When you give interviews, television game shows etc, it means that money is all yours, and rightly so, you'll be the one working your butt off.'\n\n'But \u2013'\n\nMax interrupted her. 'Look here Georgia, I'm getting a little tired of this game. Hasn't it ever occurred to you the boys might want a change of direction? I'll get them a new singer. If they deserve it they'll get their own recording contract. Stop bloody well harping on about them.'\n\n'What time is it tomorrow?' she asked weakly. 'We've got to leave for the gig at twelve.'\n\n'Ten thirty. You can catch the train afterwards,' he grinned as if he was giving her a treat. 'The boys left this morning to pick up some new speakers. Soon you won't be travelling with them anyway. It will be limousines for you. Gold stars on the door of the changing room. Now clear off and buy yourself a smart outfit for tomorrow.'\n\nHe had sent them away from town on purpose to avoid any last minute rebellion, now he was opening his wallet and pulling out fifty pounds.\n\n'Something outstanding,' he said. 'I don't want them to think I kept you short.'\n\nGeorgia knew how Judas felt as he pocketed his thirty pieces of silver.\n\nDecca's offices were only a stone's throw from her room in Berwick Street.\n\nFor the last two years Georgia had looked through the big glass doors every time she passed by, dreaming of this very day.\n\nThe dream had come true, but why did she feel so empty?\n\nMax had been brusque with her when they met earlier. More interested in getting into the boardroom than speaking to her.\n\nShe had been left to sit outside, he hadn't even remarked on her outfit.\n\nWas this how it would be from now on? Alone all the time, watching out for people ready to stab her in the back? Once she would have been thrilled to be given fifty pounds to spend on clothes. All the boys would have come with her to choose them. Yet the boys were off buying speakers while she was signing away her future without them.\n\nWas the outfit she'd chosen right? A white knee length dress, with a diamond cutout showing her brown abdomen, and new white shoes. She could see herself mirrored in a chrome plant stand. Her hair in soft ringlets, a white ribbon nestling amongst the curls. Was an impression of innocence the right look? Ian would have insisted on something red and dramatic!\n\nFor a place that employed hundreds of people, it was eerily quiet. The faint tapping of a typewriter in the distance, the occasional ringing of telephones, and a buzz of conversation from the boardroom where Max had gone.\n\nA thick green carpet curled over her shoes. The seats were brown leather, big and comfortable. Huge plants stood in tubs and a brass-topped coffee table held a selection of quality magazines. It was more like a posh dental surgery than a place that dealt with music.\n\n'Would you like to come in now Georgia?' The blonde iceberg of a secretary was holding the door open, a false, rather cynical smile on her china doll face.\n\nBeyond the secretary's notebook, Georgia could see at least ten business men wreathed in cigarette smoke around a boardroom table. All at once she was more nervous than when she went on stage. Her palms were sticky and her stomach turned over.\n\n'This is Georgia,' Max stood up and pulled out a chair for her, his smile a contrived attempt at a fatherly one.\n\nShe sat down, thrown by the lack of interest in the men's faces.\n\n'Hallo Georgia.' A short fat man with small dark eyes held out his plump hand. 'I'm Jack Levy. Might I say on behalf of all of us, how much we have enjoyed hearing you sing. You're a girl with an exciting future.'\n\nGeorgia knew he was the top man at Decca. She had expected someone larger, not a nearly bald man with a wrinkled sallow face, a nose so huge it looked like a beak and gold-rimmed spectacles. He looked more like a banker than a maker of stars.\n\nShe glanced around the table.\n\nAlex Rhodes was there, avoiding her eyes. She had heard he had an administrative position now, perhaps that's why he had abandoned the tweed jacket and corduroys. His sandy head was bent over some papers, as if trying to forget this was the girl he couldn't lure away from her band all those months ago. Had he put Max up to the cinema tours? Had he hoped one day she'd come crawling to him?\n\nMaybe she wasn't exactly crawling, but it didn't feel like triumph either.\n\nMax's lawyer John Cohen she knew slightly. But here he blended in with all the others. They were all the same. Dark men, all of them greying at the temples. Not one of them less than forty, papers spread out in front of them. All with the same dark suits, gold watches, rings and cufflinks glinting, as if showing their allegiance to the same club. Not one look of interest or admiration. Tense faces as they approached yet another business deal.\n\n'We are offering you a three year contract,' Jack Levy went on. 'Under this contract we have the right to choose and oppose any songs which are offered to you. Though of course your opinion will be sought in this matter.\n\n'You may not work for any other record company during your contract with us. Also, work that is outside our field, a film for instance, would be vetted carefully before we agreed to it.'\n\nHe looked at her carefully over the top of his glasses, a shaft of sunlight played on his balding head and his nose seemed to grow larger.\n\n'Do you understand?'\n\nGeorgia nodded. These men were planning to take over her life. Once she'd signed with them she was just another pawn to be pushed anyway that suited them.\n\n'I want you to read through the contract,' he said more gently. 'It may seem difficult in parts, legal jargon does sound odd to someone who isn't used to it. But if there's anything you don't understand, please ask.'\n\nHe handed her a document.\n\nGeorgia had no idea what she was supposed to look out for. It seemed fairly straightforward, mainly revolving around her inability to do anything without their permission.\n\nThen her eyes caught an interesting section about immorality.\n\n'What does this mean?' she asked, pointing to the section.\n\n'Well, my dear,' he smiled condescendingly, his eyes so small behind his thick glasses they looked like currants. 'We understand that young people sometimes get led astray when they find themselves in your position. However, an established company like ourselves do not like scandal.\n\n'Should one of our clients get involved in something which could have a damaging effect on ourselves, we have the right to cancel their contract.'\n\n'What sort of scandal?' All the men were looking at her now, perhaps wondering if she had anything to hide.\n\nHe shrugged. 'Something criminal maybe. Drugs. Not turning up for performances continually. Loose behaviour.' He gave her a half smile as if implying she would never do any of these things.\n\n'I see, and is there a clause in here which protects me if, say, you didn't act in my best interests?' She wasn't going to let them think she was a pushover.\n\n'Why should that be necessary?' Jack Levy looked shocked.\n\nGeorgia could see he was another Max, he had the same expression on his face Max wore when confronted with his deviousness.\n\nHe looked round the room and laughed. 'Do you think all these people would be gathered here today if they didn't intend to look out for you?'\n\nGeorgia had a feeling they were rather more interested in the money aspect than her soul, but she thought it prudent to keep that to herself.\n\nShe continued to read the document, although most of it went over her head.\n\n'It seems okay,' she said at length.\n\n'Of course it is,' Max laughed, sucking on his huge cigar. 'We know what we're doing.'\n\nGeorgia had always imagined the signing of a record contract would be in a party atmosphere, with champagne, streamers and smiling faces.\n\nInstead she signed her name in chilly silence. It was witnessed by the secretary who ushered her into the room and then signed by Jack Levy and one of his colleagues. The men all shovelled their papers into their briefcases and got up to leave, barely glancing at her.\n\n'Is that it, Mr Levy?' she asked as they all filed out.\n\n'That's the boring part,' he said, smiling in a more pleasant manner. 'Now come with me and I'll show you a little more of our operation.'\n\n##### *\n\nIt wasn't until she was on the train that what was really happening finally sank in.\n\nShe was going to be a star. Making a lot of money for Decca, Max and the lawyers. Soon she would be able to move to a smarter home. Employ a cleaning lady, even a cook if she wanted one. She could have proper driving lessons and buy a car. She would be invited to smart parties and buy all the clothes she wanted. People would want her autograph.\n\nShe ought to have been dancing with happiness, yet somehow she felt cheated.\n\n'I've let you down,' she blurted out to the boys as she made her way into the changing room of The Purple Pussy Cat. 'I signed a contract with Decca this morning.'\n\nAll the way on the train she had wondered how to tell them. Should she pretend she was happy with everything? Insist their rights were protected? Assure them that everything would remain the same?\n\n'So that's why he let us get the speakers at last,' Rod sighed deeply. 'I wondered why he'd suddenly become so generous. He just wanted us out of the way.'\n\nSpeedy was watching Georgia. He saw how pale she looked, her hands shaking.\n\n'It's all right Georgia,' he slipped his arm round her shoulder. 'We're happy for you. We didn't expect a contract too.'\n\n'I did,' Norman's voice chipped in, his small face alight with pique. 'I worked my balls off with that song. Now she'll get all the credit.'\n\nGeorgia burst into tears and ran from the room.\n\n'You arsehole,' Speedy exploded with rage. 'What did you have to say that for? The poor kid is already eaten up with anxiety about us. Haven't you learned anything about her in two years?'\n\n'Speedy's right,' Rod sprawled on a bench, a faintly amused expression on his handsome face. 'Georgia's incapable of being selfish, which is more than I can say for myself. Max has beaten her down, the same as he's done to us countless times. But when it comes right down to it she deserves all the success coming to her.'\n\n'I don't begrudge her it,' Norman was sullen now, his lower lip stuck out like a sulky child. 'I just wonder where it leaves us.'\n\n'With a friend in important places,' Speedy snapped. 'Now for God's sake make it up with her. Show some pleasure that she's got what she worked so hard for. That's what real friends do.'\n\nOn September 1st, 'No Time' was released. Two days later it was on Juke Box Jury.\n\nThey were all together in the boys' new flat in Paddington. Later that night they would be playing at the Bag O' Nails in Soho, but Max had rung them while they were setting up the equipment to let them know he had managed to pull strings to get it on.\n\nGeorgia had no television, so they had leapt in the van and rushed back to Paddington. Now the programme was starting Georgia was biting her nails.\n\n'Stop that,' Rod smacked at her hand. 'If you nibble each time it gets on the air you'll be up to your elbows in a few weeks.'\n\nTheir old flat had been grubby and untidy, but it had been a home. This new flat might be tidy, with almost new furniture but it was soulless, like the boarding houses they spent so much time in. No clutter, no personal touches, just another reminder how much they had all lost.\n\n'Memphis Tennessee' was the first record played, a catchy number, guaranteed to hit the top twenty immediately. They listened impatiently while the jury deliberated and finally voted it a good song but one they doubted would make it.\n\n'They haven't a clue,' Speedy said in amazement. 'Does our future really lie with people like them?'\n\nThe next record was a ballad called 'Blue Nights', so dull and banal Rod pretended he had fallen asleep.\n\n'That's what I call a good song,' one of the jury enthused. 'Great backing, a little slow,' said another, 'But it will be a hit.'\n\n'They won't like ours, I know they won't,' Georgia said, sitting on the edge of her seat.\n\nAs David Jacobs introduced 'No Time', Georgia thought she saw him wince. It made no difference that the introduction still gave her goosebumps of pleasure, his impassive shiny face seemed to hold more than a trace of irritation.\n\nThe jury however leaned forward in their seats to listen. The youngest man had his eyes shut, resting his face in his hands.\n\n'Look they love it, they're all spellbound,' John shrieked.\n\nTo their surprise, the dreamy-eyed man said he loved it yet doubted it would be a hit. But the other three gave it a resounding thumbs up.\n\n'There you are,' Rod said triumphantly. 'Aren't I always right about everything?'\n\nMax left no stone unturned. He invited reporters to drop in on their London gigs. Copies of the record found their way on to every important desk in the music world. Bribes were passed out to give it plays on the radio.\n\nThe first week after its release was the worst. Rod reported it played first late at night, then again the next morning, but then nothing.\n\nAnxiety that it might not even make it into the top fifty was quickly dispelled by Max who was suddenly booking them into London clubs only and appearing nightly with photographers, behaving as if Georgia was the only person in his life.\n\n'I'm taking you to a party tonight,' he announced during the break at The Scene in Windmill Street. 'Nip off home and get changed the minute you've finished here. I want you all glammed up.'\n\nIt was on the tip of her tongue to protest she was too tired, but a look of excitement in Max's eyes hinted this was one party she couldn't miss.\n\n'Where is it?' she asked instead, remembering both Norman and Rod had dates later that night and all she had to look forward to was a new book.\n\n'Kensington,' Max had that kind of smug grin which meant it would be very swish. 'It's important, so don't let me down.'\n\n'Is that it?' Georgia saw big wrought-iron gates with the huge house beyond ablaze with lights. Loud music was wafting out, people dancing in front of one of the windows and scores of others sitting on the steps leading up to the front door.\n\nThey had turned off from Kensington High Street just minutes before, but with Holland Park lying in darkness next to this house, they could have been right out in the countryside.\n\n'Don't be scared.' Max patted her knee. 'It's the home of Louise Wainwright the heiress. She collects stars like others collect stamps or matchboxes, but she's a good sort.'\n\nEven with Max's arm firmly round her shoulders, Georgia felt tongue-tied with nerves as they walked into the hall.\n\nMax's cream suit looked just a little ostentatious under a crystal chandelier. Shouldn't she have worn a proper cocktail dress instead of her new white outfit?\n\nShe had seen glimpses of houses like this back in Blackheath. Antique furniture, Oriental rugs, art that had been collected over centuries, not snapped up from some shop in Chelsea.\n\n'Maxy, darling!' A bony woman with bulbous frogeyes and a flame-red, poker-straight bob, rushed to them. 'You've managed to bring Georgia, you absolute angel.'\n\nShe inclined one angular cheek to Max, drowning them both in 'Joy' perfume, then reached out for Georgia, enveloping her in a bony hug. Behind her on a wide sweeping staircase Georgia saw Vogue's top model, Bonnie Jackson in a long chiffon pink dress, her blonde hair caught up with a single rose.\n\n'This is Louise Wainwright,' Max said, winking at Georgia, suggesting silently she made out she had squeezed in the time for parties between other pressing engagements.\n\n'Thank you so much for inviting me,' Georgia stammered, feeling distinctly underdressed next to this formidable woman in her Dior emerald green evening dress. Diamonds glistened on her ears, more on her fingers.\n\n'My darling,' Louise gushed. 'It's my pleasure to meet you at last. All London's talking about you and your record.' She touched Georgia's hair lightly, her frog eyes nearly leaping out of her face. 'I didn't expect such devastating beauty. But come on in and meet everyone.'\n\nWith a glass of champagne in her hand, Georgia found her nervousness leaving her. The huge drawing room with doors open on to a floodlit garden beyond was too crowded to feel conspicuous. Some of the guests might have pedigrees going back to the Armada, others had forged their way out of far humbler homes than her own, but they all seemed to be linked by a common theme, they were people who were on the way up.\n\nA disc jockey modelling his patter on Alan Freeman kept the sounds coming and with Louise Wainwright holding her elbow she was whisked round to meet everyone.\n\n'Bill Johnson, the photographer,' Louise said breathlessly, as she introduced her to a gaunt-faced man in black leather. 'I expect you know his pictures, he did that wonderful spread in _Queen_ a few weeks ago.'\n\nGeorgia didn't know, but she smiled, shook his hand and Louise whisked her on to her next prot\u00e9g\u00e9.\n\nActors, models, debutantes and professional men. People from the advertising world, still more entrepreneurs doing everything from running art galleries to boutiques in King's Road.\n\nBy her third glass of champagne Georgia was doing the 'twist' with a red haired architect called Ivan. Louise had told her he won an award for an office block in the City, but he was more interested in talking about Georgia.\n\n'Get into films,' he said as if he knew all about it. 'That's where the real money lies. Demand to go to Hollywood, you'll be bigger than Doris Day.'\n\nThe entire party was like a film set. The backdrop was the gracious, high-ceilinged room, with its paintings and exquisite furniture. Jewellery glittered and jingled, perfume assaulted the nose. Outrageous dresses on perfect bodies. Dinner jackets and bow ties. Braying 'Sloane' accents mingled with cockney and Liverpool. One minute she was just another singer hoping for a break, now suddenly she found herself amongst kindred spirits.\n\nShe spotted Michael Caine's blond hair and glasses across the crowded room, dancing with an equally tall languorous brunette. His friend Terence Stamp was said to be there too but she didn't see him.\n\nDance after dance. Friendly chatter as if she had always been part of this exclusive club, shared jokes and invitations to everything from dinner to a country house weekend.\n\n'No Time' was played while she was in the dining room helping herself to food. She giggled with embarrassment as heads turned towards her, and Max caught her eye.\n\n'This is what it's all about.' He came up behind her and whispered in her ear. 'By tomorrow you'll be the name on everyone's lips.'\n\nAs Georgia sipped yet another drink she contemplated whether she would ever be rich enough to have even a small house of her own.\n\nApart from the drawing room, and the dining room she'd only had glimpses of the other rooms in this huge place. A library lined with old books, a sumptuous sitting room with silk-lined walls and matching peachy-coloured armchairs. Upstairs there were at least six bedrooms and there was another floor above that and a basement too. What would you do with all that space? Would you end up like Louise, throwing parties all the time just to fill it?\n\n'I think this had better be the last one,' Max's deep voice came from just behind Georgia as he handed her yet another glass of champagne, an hour later.\n\n'Who says?' Georgia giggled. They hadn't been together for more than a few minutes at one time all night, yet she'd been aware of his presence. Even amongst all these dynamic people he was still a man to catch the eye. His shoulders broader, his tan deeper than most. The expensive cut of his cream suit, the animal grace. 'Have you been watching me?'\n\nShe was on a real high, not just drunk. Everything really was going to happen for her at last. It was as if she were standing at a doorway, looking in on a whole new world and all it took was one more step to be part of it.\n\n'Of course I've been watching you,' Max said, taking her elbow and steering her towards the drawing room to dance. 'Everyone has, and I don't want you to get so drunk you make yourself look silly.'\n\nGeorgia leaned against his big chest. She was already a little wobbly but it felt good.\n\n'I'm proud of you,' Max said putting his arms round her. 'I don't think I've ever felt so proud of anything. Come and dance with me. You've danced with everyone else.'\n\nShe looked up at Max's rugged face, felt his arms around her and his words of praise ringing in her ears, gratitude overwhelmed her. The sharp practice, the bullying were all forgotten. This was the man who had believed in her. Without him she would still be back at Pop's on the sewing machine.\n\nThe wild dancing had slowed to smooching. Small groups of people sat on the stairs, in corners, even in the garden to talk.\n\nMax held her close, his lips against her hair. The heat of his body, the sweet music and the slow dancing made her feel almost unbearably happy.\n\n'The summer's nearly over,' Max said softly in her ear. 'How about those few days in Spain now while we wait for the record to reach number one?'\n\nShe giggled softly.\n\n'Why the giggle?' he asked putting one hand under her chin and lifting her face up to his. 'I just thought you needed a rest.'\n\nHis dark eyes weren't probing into her as they often did, they were soft and loving, his lips wide and smiling showing his white even teeth.\n\nIt was two years since that night when he'd kissed her, but it was a memory she hadn't forgotten. A strange and wonderful feeling was creeping over her, like she was being sucked into something she couldn't and didn't have to fight any longer. His hands were holding her so firmly, fingers just running down her spine, making her knees turn to jelly.\n\nHis eyes closed as his lips came down to meet hers, one hand moving up to caress her cheek. This time there was no fear, just a sense of something stronger than both of them and that this was the moment they'd been waiting for.\n\nShe felt his tongue first, flickering round her lips, sending out messages to each nerve-ending. Sensual, light touches that set her body on fire.\n\nThe music seemed to be engulfing her, as if written specially for them and slowly his mouth covered hers.\n\nNever before had a mere kiss been so intimate. It was everything, blocking out the other guests. It wasn't just a kiss but making love. She could feel her nipples growing hard, dampness seeping from her and at the same time she could feel his hardness pressing into her belly.\n\nInside she was trembling, her arms were reaching out to draw him closer, her tongue thrusting against his. Her fingers caressing his ears, neck and cheek, wanting him, now.\n\nShe had no idea how long they stayed wrapped in each other's arms. It was no longer teasing or tempting, but a need to possess so strong there was no question of backing away.\n\n'I've wanted you for so long baby,' he whispered against her neck, licking and stroking until her legs almost buckled under her. 'I want to kiss every inch of that beautiful body, I want it to sing for me.'\n\nGeorgia didn't remember Max suggesting they left, or even walking out the door. It was as if they floated out, one moment in a music-filled room, the next in the front garden, the smell of roses and damp earth mingling with the smell of their bodies.\n\nIt was hard to break away even to get in the car. Before Max turned on the ignition he had to pause to kiss her again.\n\nGolden light from a street lamp bathed them as his big hands cupped her breasts. She found her hands reaching for buttons on his shirt, wanting to touch flesh so badly it hurt.\n\nShe didn't ask where he was taking her, it didn't matter. Her pulse was racing, her limbs ached for him, if he had pulled into the side of the road that would have been enough.\n\nHe drove only a few streets away and stopped, turning to her and taking her in his arms again, his mouth devouring hers.\n\nWhen he released her and opened his car door, only then did she notice they were outside a block of Victorian flats with railings and marble steps up to plate glass doors.\n\nLike a child she took his hand trustingly. She leaned closer to him as he unlocked the door and his arm encircled her and drew her inside.\n\nUp a wide staircase with olive green carpet and delicate silk wall coverings. On past polished wood doors with brass numbers, the sort of place she imagined snooty ladies and gentlemen living.\n\nOn the second floor Max pulled out another key, he drew her closer and opened the door.\n\nA glimpse of honey coloured carpet stretching up a long narrow hall, gilt wall lights and hessian-covered walls.\n\nHe kissed her again, kicking the door shut behind them, then scooping her up into his arms, he carried her into the dark bedroom.\n\n'Watch this,' he whispered. She couldn't see much, just his hand reaching out for something in front of them. She heard him flick a switch and the room was filled with soft light.\n\nIt was a huge room dominated by a giant bed with a suede headboard. As he touched another switch, so gold velvet curtains slowly closed over the big window and sweet music filled the air.\n\n'What do you think of that?' he looked down at her in his arms. His expression was almost boyish, showing off his latest toy, but rather than spoiling the moment she loved him for it.\n\n'Amazing,' she smiled, unable to look at anything other than him. His big, rugged face looked softer now, his lips so red, eyes full of fire. 'But just kiss me again?'\n\nHe lowered her to the floor as he kissed her, his fingers already unzipping her dress, slowly peeling it from her shoulders, letting it drop to her waist.\n\n'Even more beautiful than I imagined,' he whispered, touching her breasts reverently. 'I've always loved you Georgia.'\n\nThe satin bedspread caressed her back. He kissed her feet as he took off her shoes, slowly licked her thighs as he moved slowly upwards to peel off her panties.\n\nOnly when Max stood up to tear off his own clothes did she realize something wasn't quite right. Her eyes didn't focus as they should, her breathing felt odd. The music seemed to be right inside her head and her heart was pounding with more than just desire. She was no stranger to drink, it was something else entirely. But she was helpless, a fire seemed to be raging within her, she wanted him so badly it burned.\n\nNaked, Max seemed even bigger. Wide muscular shoulders, tanned dark brown with a matt of black hair on his chest. His stomach was flat and taut with muscle and as he pulled off silk shorts, his penis rose up alarmingly large.\n\n'You're so perfect,' he said moving beside her and bending to kiss her small pink-tipped breasts, his tongue flickering over her nipples. 'I'm going to love you tonight like you've never been before.'\n\nLove-making with Ian had been sweet and tender, his hands gentle but unsurprising. With Max it was like being on a whirlwind of pleasure, one moment rough and demanding, the next so sensitive she wanted to cry. One moment his arms were crushing her, the next he moved away using only his tongue to tease her into rapture.\n\nAgain and again he brought her almost to the point of orgasm, then he'd pause, almost laughing at the way she tossed her head on the pillows and clawed at him for more. One moment he was on top of her, his hands holding her buttocks, driving himself into her, then suddenly he would roll over, taking her with him, lifting her gently, his lips back on her breasts.\n\nIt was naughty and delicious, rough and passionate, beautiful and gentle all at once. Georgia saw his red pointed tongue slithering down her body and she felt as if a pit of fire was about to consume her.\n\n'Make me come,' she heard herself cry out, catching his head between her hands and pushing him down onto her.\n\nBliss so exquisite she could only claw at the bedspread, writhing under his tongue. 'Harder, harder,' she shouted. 'It's wonderful!'\n\nShe was out of control now, carried away to a plane where only sensation mattered, all sense of reality gone. A million fireworks were going off inside her, she could hear brass bands.\n\nHer hands reached down to Max to draw him into her arms, but instead he knelt up beside her as she lay trembling.\n\nShe opened her eyes to find the room was spinning. Max was grinning down at her, tiny curls had crept round his face, lascivious red mouth and hairy chest made her think of a satyr.\n\n'Don't,' she said involuntarily. She couldn't say what it was that disturbed her, but she wanted a more tender look, more words of love.\n\n'Don't what?' He reached over to a drawer beside the bed, pulling out a packet of Durex. The ease he bit off the packet with his teeth and the speed with which he slid the rubber on his erect penis was further proof of how often he seduced girls.\n\n'I'm going to fuck you senseless now,' he whispered hoarsely as he scooped her up and turned her on to her stomach. Before she could protest he was pushing his way into her from behind, gripping her like a dog with a bitch.\n\n'Please don't, not like that,' she called out. Memories she'd thought she'd buried for ever were rushing back. But Max was oblivious.\n\nShe tried to wriggle away but he grabbed her round the middle so tight she felt nauseous, his breath rasping on her back.\n\nShe was no longer on a satin-covered bed with a man who'd taken her on a brief trip to heaven.\n\nIt was her father. Forcing his way into her, humiliating, degrading and hurting her. She could smell the smoky room, the drink on his breath. Feel the carpet beneath her, the prickle of her net petticoats against her thighs, even hear the filthy things he was saying.\n\n'No,' she whimpered. 'Please don't.'\n\nShe heard his breathing getting louder, grunts of animal joy, and finally he shuddered to a halt, slithering onto the bed beside her like a deflated balloon.\n\nFor a moment Georgia just lay on her stomach, face buried in the pillow. She wanted to cry, but no tears came.\n\n'Come here for a cuddle.' His voice wounded her further, she could hear the tenderness in it. He didn't even know he'd hurt her.\n\nThe room looked hideously vulgar now, all gold and ivory. This was his lair. Satin, mirrors, even the electronic devices to operate the curtains and music. Every last thing designed to impress and seduce silly drunken girls. She could see his silk shirt lying on the floor, the double 'M' monogram in gold thread glinting in the light.\n\n'What's up?' he asked, turning heavily towards her, one hand on her arm.\n\nWhat could she say? Was it possible to explain to any man that one moment she'd been almost fainting with desire, the next he made her remember a rapist?\n\n'Georgia,' his voice was soft as he realized something was very wrong. 'Tell me what it is? What did I do?'\n\n'I don't like it like that,' she whispered. 'Didn't you hear me telling you to stop?'\n\nHe sat up then, moving round to look at her. The face looking down at her was stricken with remorse.\n\n'I didn't hear you. I'm so sorry.'\n\nThe anger at him faded, replaced by a sick feeling about herself. He wasn't to blame, she was. What on earth had possessed her to even kiss him, let alone come here with him?\n\n'It's all right,' she whispered back. 'Get into bed, I'm just going to the bathroom.'\n\nHe moved then pulling back the gold satin covers to reveal black satin sheets.\n\n'It's just down the passage,' he said softly, crawling into bed. 'Come back quickly and we'll talk.'\n\nShe could see the sleepiness in his eyes. His face looked lined now, revealing his age. She pulled the covers up round him and dropped a chaste kiss on his forehead. As she reached the door she looked back.\n\nHis eyes were closed already, his hand snaking up to turn down the lights and music. Bending down she picked up her clothes and boots and backed out of the door.\n\nThe bathroom gleamed with opulent bad taste. Mirrored walls, soft lighting. A bath big enough for four people sunk into the floor. The basin set into white marble with gold taps, a purple carpet with matching sets of towels hanging on thick gold rails. Erotic pen sketches were framed in gilt, a naked male statue in one corner.\n\nWhen she opened a drawer under the washbasin there was even more evidence of who Max entertained in this place. A variety of cosmetics, even a vaginal douche.\n\nFor a moment she wanted to be sick. She was one of his groupies now. For two years she'd laughed at these vacuous, wide-eyed dolly birds. Not one memorable, designed like paper tissues to be used and thrown out. Yet mindless as they were, surely none of them had been foolish enough to think it was love that motivated Max?\n\nTen minutes later, Georgia stole back up the corridor towards the front door fully-dressed, her shoes in her hand.\n\nGlancing to her left, she could see Max lying on his back, mouth open, snoring softly. She opened the door and let herself out silently.\n\nAs the cool night touched her flaming face she knew with certainty she had been drugged. Her legs were unsteady, her heart beating too fast, throat dry. Some of that could be explained by the champagne, but not the strange way things looked, the brightness of colours, or her losing her inhibitions so suddenly.\n\nShe could blame Max for that perhaps. He was a practised seducer who would use anything at his disposal. But the rest of it was all her fault, and somehow she would have to live with that, and the repercussions later.\n\n## Chapter 16\n\nGeorgia heard the doorbell ring but ignored it. It was nearly four in the afternoon, and she was certain it was Max.\n\n'I can't face him,' she whispered to herself.\n\nThe door bell rang again.\n\nHer window was open, a soft warm breeze wafting in, the street below was silent, the way it always was on Sundays.\n\n'Georgia!' She heard a voice. 'Come on, open up.'\n\nNot Max but Rod. She didn't want to talk to him either, but he spotted her peering over the window-sill.\n\nSlowly she went downstairs. It had been nearly five in the morning when she got home. The drug she'd been given let her walk all the way home without noticing the distance, but it hadn't numbed the shame of what had happened, or allowed her to sleep. How was she going to face Max again?\n\n'Being a recluse, eh?' Rod grinned at her. He looked like an Apache warrior as the afternoon sun caught his high cheek bones and made his blue-black hair gleam. Even his faded denim shirt and jeans fitted the image. 'So how was the party?'\n\nRod's dark eyes skimmed round Georgia's room. It was unnaturally clean and tidy, as if she'd been cleaning all day, the smell of polish and disinfectant worse than a hospital. Her eyelids had a faint mauve tinge, the way she always looked when she'd been up all night worrying. Even her hairstyle, two childish fat plaits either side of her face was a sure sign she was insecure.\n\n'Someone's upset you,' he said with sharp perception, noting the blue-checked shirt she wore over her jeans was Ian's. 'Come on, tell me everything.'\n\n'The party was wonderful,' she said in a small voice, going over to the window and staring out rather than face his probing eyes. 'I'm just kind of hungover.'\n\nShe couldn't tell a man who shared Max's attitude to women how things were.\n\n'You're hurting,' he said softly, coming up behind her, sliding his arms round her waist and putting his chin on her shoulder. 'Is it missing Ian, or something more?'\n\nHis brotherly hug brought tears to her eyes. She wanted to tell him the truth, but she couldn't.\n\n'I'm fine, really,' she sniffed. 'I just did something last night I regret. Don't try and get me to tell you. I couldn't explain.'\n\nIt was odd how Ian's death had changed Rod. Two years ago she wouldn't have dared to be alone with him. But the tragedy had revealed more than his courage. Underneath the arrogance and sardonic wit, he had a deep insight into human behaviour.\n\nFor a moment he said nothing, just increased the pressure of his hug.\n\n'Don't waste time with regrets,' he said softly. 'I can imagine what happened, you met a man who sweet-talked you, now you feel like a tart.'\n\nGeorgia turned her head, nuzzling her cheek against his.\n\n'That's about the strength of it,' she sighed. Perhaps he wouldn't be so understanding if she told him it was Max, but at least in principle he knew the full story.\n\n'I do it all the time,' Rod gave a hollow little chuckle. 'I don't learn. But you will, you aren't as thick as me. The only advice I can give you is to tell the man the truth. Don't turn one mistake into a series of them as I usually do.'\n\n'You mean you regret things sometimes?' Georgia's dark eyes grew wide with surprise.\n\nShe could remember all the times the band had picked him up from girls flats, the cocky way he swaggered out, his ribald comments, never a look back at the pale sad face at the window.\n\n'Yeah,' he moved away from her and filled up the kettle. 'The ones that wanted more than I could give them.'\n\n'Have you ever thought it was love?' she said. 'You know, when everything seems so perfect, then \u2013' she stopped short, unsure she should say more.\n\n'Lots of times,' he smiled and took two mugs out of the cupboard. 'But you mean when you realize right in the middle of it, that it's a mistake?'\n\nShe nodded.\n\n'That's a bummer,' he laughed cheerfully, almost dispelling her gloom. 'I usually tell them I was attracted to them because they reminded me of a girl I lost, but I can't go through with it now I know what a fine person they are.'\n\nGeorgia giggled. 'Does it work?'\n\n'Rarely, they usually go so chilly on me I have to leave,' he pulled a woebegone face.\n\n'Oh Rod,' she was really laughing now. 'I'm glad you came round, you've made me feel much happier.'\n\n'Well, take Ian's old shirt off,' he said as he made coffee. 'Put something snazzy on and we'll go and see a film. Regret's a mug's game.'\n\nDelivery vans woke her early on Monday morning. She got out of bed and put the kettle on, but only then did she realize she had no milk left.\n\nSlipping on a pair of jeans, and the first sweater that came to hand, she ran down the stairs.\n\nThere was a cold, crisp autumn feeling in the air. Even though the sun was shining it was too low in the sky to reach her side of the street as it did in the summer.\n\n'Good morning Georgia.'\n\nShe stopped and looked around. The market men were always calling out to her. But this voice didn't belong to a cockney barrow boy.\n\nTwo men were pushing their way through the stalls towards her. Both had cameras slung round their necks, but she didn't make the connection immediately.\n\n'Good morning,' she replied, aware several stallholders had stopped work to watch. 'How do you know my name?'\n\nOne was in his thirties, neatly-combed brown hair, wearing a tweed jacket, a pleasant open face that invited trust. The other was older, fat-faced and balding, wearing a beige three-quarter-length raincoat.\n\n'Don't tell me you didn't know your record reached number forty on Saturday?' the younger one said, smiling as though amused by her surprise. 'Surely we aren't the first reporters to track you down?' As he spoke he lifted his camera and took a picture of her.\n\n'Yes. No,' she was flustered, aware her hair was uncombed and her sweater had a hole in the elbow. 'I mean, yes you are the first, and no I didn't know it had reached the charts.'\n\n'They reckon it could be number one in a couple of weeks,' the older man said. 'It could topple the Beatles. How do you feel about that?'\n\n'Thrilled.' She didn't actually feel anything, in fact she was sure it was some kind of hoax. If she'd known they were hanging around her door she wouldn't have come out at all. 'What paper are you from?'\n\n'The _Mirror_ ,' the older man's hand shot forward to grasp hers. 'Dave Barnet's the name, could I buy you some breakfast and have a little chat?'\n\nThe younger man lifted his camera again, she turned to him waving her hand to stop him, suddenly anxious.\n\n'Couldn't you have phoned or something? Are you from the _Mirror_ too?'\n\n'No, I'm from the _Evening News_ ,' the younger put down his camera and advanced on her. 'Giles Went-worth. I tried to telephone yesterday, but you aren't on the phone here. This must be just a temporary place?'\n\nHe was gazing around the market, noting the pile of empty boxes and refuse by her door. His tone was warm, yet she bristled at the implication behind his words.\n\n'No,' she said, running her hand through her hair, wondering if she should be charming, or send them away quickly. 'I like it here. It's where I belong.'\n\n'You were born here then?' the older man chimed in.\n\n'No, in the East End.' She saw the pit yawning before her. She would have to get a grip on herself, make a sensible background for herself before she said something she might regret later. 'Now look, I'm surprised and flattered by your interest,' she batted her eyelashes at the younger reporter. 'But it's too early for questions or pictures. I haven't even had a cup of tea yet this morning. Why don't you phone my manager Max Menzies and he'll arrange a proper interview?'\n\nThe market men were getting really interested now. They pressed in closer and from out of their depths came ribald comments and encouragement.\n\n'Give 'em a song Georgia!'\n\n'Tell 'em 'ow hard you've worked love!'\n\n'They seem to be your friends,' Giles Wentworth looked almost nervous at the crowd gathering around him. 'Could you pose with them for me?'\n\nShe never knew whose arms came up and lifted her off her feet, one moment she was vertical, the next horizontal lying in the men's arms supported by four of them.\n\nA click of the shutter, someone tickled her and another picture caught her laughing.\n\n'Just tell me Georgia,' the older man moved closer as the men released her. 'Is \"No Time\" in memory of Ian and Alan?'\n\nShe was flustered. She should have thought all this out before. One wrong statement now and she could be damned forever.\n\n'Not exactly, though the words came to me after their funeral.' Was that the right thing to say? She hadn't wanted anyone to dwell on Ian and Alan's death, and after the evening with Max she felt she'd betrayed Ian.\n\n'You were in love with Ian McShane,' the younger man said. It wasn't a question, more a statement he wanted confirmed. 'It must have been a terrible blow?'\n\n'The worst kind,' Georgia felt tears rise in her eyes. 'But you must excuse me now. I've got an appointment later on this morning.'\n\nAn hour later as she showered and washed her hair, the significance of the two reporters sank in. This was what she could expect now, people popping up at all times, trying to catch her unawares. Even though she didn't want to see Max, she had to. Like Rod said, regrets were a mug's game!\n\n'Why did you run out on me?' Max sat at his desk twiddling a paperclip. Thick dark stubble covered his lower face. If he wasn't wearing a different suit and tie she would have thought he hadn't been home since the party.\n\nRod had made her feel better yesterday. The news of the record making the charts suggested at last things were about to blast off. She had to find the right words, make Max realize that Saturday night was something behind them both.\n\n'It was all a mistake,' Georgia blushed, it sounded so cruel. 'Someone slipped something in my drink.'\n\nTo her surprise Max grinned, showing his white even teeth.\n\n'Well, that's a flattering thing to say. I take it you mean letting me make love to you was the mistake, not walking out the door?'\n\nFor a second she thought Max was relieved at her attitude, that he'd thought it over and decided it was a non-starter.\n\n'I shouldn't have let it happen,' she hung her head. 'You're married and my manager, you're even old enough to be my father. It would be best if we buried and forgot it.'\n\n'You don't claim it was rape then?'\n\nGeorgia's eyes flew wide open, she stiffened visibly.\n\n'What did I say?' Max got up and came round the desk towards her.\n\n'N \u2013 nothing,' she stammered.\n\nMax shook his head, a faint glimpse of amusement in his eyes. He perched on the desk just inches from her, staring at her hard.\n\n'I can't forget,' he said softly. 'You can play hard to get if you like. The terrified virgin if that's how you feel. But I know you enjoyed it, whether or not someone slipped something in your drink. I know I'm too old for you, but there's always been a spark of something between us, even you can't deny that.'\n\n'All right, maybe there was,' Georgia looked up defiantly. 'But it's something I don't want to repeat. If it had been right I would have been happy about it. All I feel now is misery and shame.'\n\n'You certainly know how to flatter a guy,' Max folded his arms, his mouth turning down at the corners. 'I can't say I won't try again because I want you Georgia, any way, any how. But if you want breathing space, you've got it. Can I be fairer than that?'\n\n'I want Saturday night to be wiped from your memory and mine,' she said in a whisper. 'I want us back where we were, business only. If you can't handle that then I'm sorry.'\n\nShe couldn't look up at him. She knew he was hurt, yet if he felt so badly why didn't he come round to her flat the next day, or even ask how she got home?\n\n'Is this all you came here for?' his tone was icy now, and she remembered all those secretaries and office girls who'd been sacked once he'd lost interest in them.\n\n'Not exactly.' She had to remember he needed her. She must be adult even if she felt like weeping inside. He wasn't going to grind her down like he did everyone else who crossed him. 'There were two reporters outside my door this morning. They said the record's at number forty. I thought we ought to talk about both things.'\n\n'Did you now,' Max sneered, not even a flicker of affection in his eyes. 'I suppose you realized the old man has some uses?'\n\n'Fuck off Max,' she snapped, getting to her feet. 'I've done my best to be straight with you. If you don't want to be my manager then I'll find someone else. Don't try and make me crawl to you, because I'll start to hate you.'\n\nHe caught hold of her wrist, digging his fingernails into her flesh.\n\n'Getting a bit above ourselves?' he hissed. His breath stank of cigars and uncleaned teeth. Georgia recoiled in disgust.\n\n'I learned that from you,' she snapped. 'Now either we talk about what we say to the press or I go out and say whatever I feel like. It's up to you!'\n\nHe dropped her wrist immediately, stood up and backed away, returning to his seat behind his desk. She could see a vein throbbing in his forehead and she guessed he was trying to control himself.\n\n'Let's pretend Saturday night ended with the gig at the Scene,' he said slowly, looking down at his big hands clenched on his blotter in front of him. 'I won't bring it up again, I'm just your manager.'\n\nIt was a hollow victory to see him like this. Part of her wanted to rush round the desk and hug him, to reassure him he wasn't old and ugly, that he would always have a place in her life. But she didn't dare. Max would take it as a sign of weakness.\n\n'So is it true? The record is number forty?' she said, sitting down again.\n\n'Yes.' He sighed deeply, as if struggling to control conflicting emotions. 'I heard last night, and came over to your place to celebrate with you. But you were out.'\n\n'I see.' She wasn't going to apologize, or explain where she was. 'I take it you found someone else to celebrate with?'\n\nHe half smiled then, rubbing one hand round his bristly chin.\n\n'You could say that.'\n\n'Well I suggest you get in that bathroom and shave.' Her tone was brisk and unsympathetic. 'I'll sit here and write a profile of myself while you're gone.'\n\nMax looked at her for a moment, then threw back his head and laughed. It echoed round the big office, shaking the framed photographs of Bill Hayley and Jerry Lee Lewis.\n\nGeorgia was stunned, but at least his laughter was better than morbid self-pity.\n\n'You can be a right little bitch sometimes,' he said, still spluttering with laughter. 'But you've certainly got a head on your shoulders.' He pushed a sheet of paper towards her and his gold pen. 'When I've made myself presentable we'll talk photographs and press releases. You'll need new clothes and somewhere better to live. Berwick Street might have been handy when your face was just another pretty unknown one. But by the time the _Evening News_ has printed something tonight you'll have fans and weirdos camping on your doorstep. With you alone at night in that house, anything could happen.'\n\nMax stayed in the bathroom for over half an hour. When he came back into the office he found Georgia resting her head on folded arms on his desk. The litter bin beside her was piled up high with screwed up pieces of paper.\n\n'Have you done it?' He came round behind the desk and looked down at what she'd written.\n\n'You've said nothing about yourself!' he exclaimed. 'Orphaned during the war. Left school without any qualifications, spent some time as a machinist before getting a first chance to sing at the Acropolis club in Greek Street.' He flung the paper down angrily. 'You'll have to come up with a bit more meat than that!'\n\n'There is nothing else,' she grinned up at him. 'We'll just have to be mysterious.'\n\nMax sat down heavily on his chair, loosening his tie and undoing his top button, a waft of Moustache aftershave reached Georgia's nose.\n\n'I wish I could believe you,' his eyes narrowed with suspicion. 'What is it you're hiding?'\n\n'Nothing.' Georgia stood up and stalked across the office to the window, keeping her back to him. 'I just don't think my childhood can possibly interest anyone. Who cares anyway what school I went to, or whether I was happy. It's now that counts. Let them ask me what I'm interested in, what books I've read, or who influenced me. That's enough for any fan surely?'\n\n'Just think, Rod,' Georgia said later that evening as together they pored over a copy of the _Evening News_ , in the dressing-room at the Marquee. 'In a couple of weeks we might be eating at the Ritz!'\n\nMax's phone had rung constantly all day with press wanting to know more about her. The paper in front of them proved the public was hungry for information.\n\nShe liked the picture of her in the arms of the stallholders in Berwick Street, but she wasn't exactly sure about the rest.\n\n'Berwick Street beauty tipped for the top,' was the headline.\n\n'Georgia James races up the charts with her record \"No Time\". Two years ago Georgia was selling frocks in Berwick Street on a market stall, now she's on her way to stardom with a heart-stopping ballad written by herself and her band Samson. Two of the boys in the band died in a fire earlier this year and the song is dedicated to their memory.'\n\n'Shit,' Rod exploded. 'Why did you say that?'\n\n'I didn't exactly,' Georgia said. 'Neither did I say I sold dresses.'\n\nMaybe the article was corny. Yet she couldn't help raise a smile about her love for Soho and the market.\n\n'They've made me sound like a cockney sparrow,' she giggled. 'Look at what Bert in the caf\u00e9 said!'\n\n'\"She's got a knockout voice. Of course she'll go all the way to the top, we never doubted it round here. She's a lovely girl and we're all very proud of her,\"' she read, wiping a tear from her eye. 'Bless him.'\n\nThat night people were turned away from the Marquee. Inside it was packed so tight with fans the temperature rose to the nineties. No dancing for the fans now, just pressed up together, hundreds of people clamouring to see her, prepared to face the discomfort just to hear her before she moved on to bigger venues.\n\nThe next day it was the _Mirror_ 's turn, taking it a stage further with pictures of her against piles of fruit, her door in the background. Another one of her on stage in Miriam's old white dress, belting out a song, head thrown back, hair like a storm.\n\nThey re-capped on the tragedy of Ian and Alan's death and the star-studded benefit concert that followed it.\n\n'No time', seemed almost prophetic now. There was no time to visit her old friends, no time to catch her breath. She had caught the public's imagination and as the week passed, so the record flew up the charts.\n\nMenzies Enterprises was besieged with callers. Club owners wanted to book the band while they could still afford them. Magazines wanted profiles. Radio and television producers offered guest appearances and fans stood outside hoping for a glimpse of her.\n\nBut to Georgia it became real when people turned to stare at her in the street and bolder ones came up to her and asked outright for her autograph.\n\nTwo days after the reporters found her home, Georgia was whisked off by Max to The Sunderland, a small hotel close to Sloane Square, leaving most of her belongings behind in Berwick Street.\n\n'We'll carry on paying the rent,' Max said as he closed the door behind them. 'Let the public think you're still here for the time being.'\n\nNo more long hours of lying in bed catching up from the gig the night before. No afternoons spent wandering around new towns or listening to records with the boys. Max would ring first thing in the morning to arrange her day, every minute planned to give her the maximum publicity.\n\nWhether she was buying clothes, or eating a meal, somehow the press were always there. Cameras zooming in on her, microphones poised to catch even the most trivial of remarks. She had to learn to think before speaking, to keep her guard up at all times.\n\nIt was exciting, yet frightening. Like that drug, it distorted her feelings, one moment she was high as a kite, the next strangely alone.\n\nMax was in his element as 'No Time' approached number one. He didn't miss a trick. Sending men ahead to gigs to erect crash barriers for crowd control, creating mass hysteria himself. Press releases were timed to keep her image high, and almost every day there was a picture of her in one of the papers.\n\nAt each performance the crowds got steadily larger. Queues stretched down the roads outside for hours before, and as she arrived in a limousine with blacked out windows the fans would surge forward, hands reaching out to touch her.\n\nGeorgia was amused yet frightened by Max's ploys. She understood that he had to promote her with everything within his power to make sure he got a return on his investment, but there was something vaguely dishonest about the flashy way he approached it.\n\nOnce it had been hard to get him to watch an entire set, but now he never missed one. He strutted around in his expensive clothes and gold jewellery, opening magnums of champagne. He ordered people around as if he were the star, with a retinue of vacant-looking girls posing as personal assistants clinging to him.\n\nSuddenly everything had to be the best. A luxury coach, to get the band to gigs. A couple of tough-looking men to act as 'minders.' A permanent photographer. Hairdresser and make-up artist. Public relations girls, a woman to look after their stage clothes, and roadies to unload and set up the equipment. Hotels were booked for them, dinners, parties and press conferences. It was a circus, with Max as the ringmaster. He didn't consult the band about anything. But who was paying for it all?\n\nThe big black Daimler cruised almost silently down the Strand. Georgia wriggled forward in her seat, her heart thumping with excitement.\n\nJust three hours ago she had heard 'No Time' was finally at number one, pushing the Beatles off their perch. Tonight she was going to a party at London's Savoy Hotel, where she was to be the guest of honour.\n\n'I used to come down here late at night with my friend,' she confided to the chauffeur. 'We used to watch all the rich people and pretend we were rich too.'\n\nIt was New Year's Eve, she remembered most distinctly. Helen with the fur collar of her coat turned up against the cold wind, her hair like gold under the street lights, shivering as they stood in a doorway to watch a stream of cars like this one, disgorging women in furs and silk dresses at the hotel.\n\n'You never guessed one day it would be you?' The man chuckled, surprised by the star's childish confession.\n\n'Not even in my wildest dreams,' Georgia laughed softly, breath hot on his neck, her perfume filling his nostrils. 'I wish Helen was with me now. She died before I got my first singing job.'\n\n'Are you nervous?'\n\nRobert Wells was over fifty. He'd been working for this company for almost ten years and in that time he'd driven more famous people than he could count. Actors, opera singers, lords, members of Parliament and film stars, but never once had he driven anyone so pent up with excitement.\n\n'Terrified,' she admitted. 'Do you think I look all right?'\n\nHe glanced into the mirror. All he could see clearly were her sparkling eyes, but he could remember the way she looked as she walked out of the hotel.\n\nA long red clingy dress, dark curls tumbling over her bare shoulders, and a face so lovely he could hardly drag his eyes from it.\n\n'All right?' he laughed softly. 'You look fabulous. You'll knock 'em all dead!'\n\nRobert slowed the car, ready to turn into the forecourt. The Savoy had never looked more beautiful. Floodlights had turned it into a golden temple framed by a black velvet sky. Gleaming plate glass doors, beyond, white marble, rich carpets and chandeliers. A perfect setting for this enchantress.\n\nGeorgia smoothed down her dress, spreading her fingers out to check she hadn't chipped the matching nail varnish. She could see Rod waiting for her by the door and she wondered if he was as nervous as her.\n\nHe looked so handsome. A white suit straight out of a Hollywood film, his black hair sleek and shiny, restyled with a middle parting, accentuating his Red Indian looks.\n\nThe car cruised slowly to a halt. A liveried doorman leapt forward to open her door. A group of fans pushed against the security men who tried to contain them.\n\n'Have a great time.' Robert turned round from his driving seat to look at Georgia one more time. 'I'll be back to pick you up later.'\n\n'Well, you look the business,' Rod said softly, taking her arm and leading her towards the open door.\n\n'I could say the same about you,' Georgia touched his bow tie lightly. 'Thank you for waiting out here for me, I'm scared stiff.'\n\nAhead of them as they walked up the few heavily-carpeted stairs, Georgia could see the ballroom. It was already very crowded, the soft music almost unheard under the barrage of chatter and clink of glasses.\n\n'I never thought we'd end up anywhere as posh as this,' Georgia giggled to Rod, pointing up to a chandelier above them. 'That's the real thing, not like the kind Max has in his hall. Don't any of you get too drunk and show us up!'\n\nThere was a hush as they walked in, people turned and stared at her and in that instant, Georgia felt a charge of something strange.\n\nIt lasted only a second. A glass of champagne was put in her hand, and all at once there were people clamouring to speak to her.\n\n'Congratulations on reaching number one. I'm so thrilled to meet you at last. I just love the song.' The flattery wrapped her in a warm blanket. These sophisticated people in evening clothes, dripping with jewels seemed to know so much about her. Every one of them looked important.\n\nAcross the crowded room she could see John and Norman with two leggy, blonde girls. Les looked almost handsome in a grey suit, as a red-haired woman talked to him earnestly. Speedy's auburn hair caught under the lights, complemented his grey velvet jacket and his dancing partner could have been a model.\n\nYet for all the glamour, there were no friends in the crowd. Where were all the other stars she'd met on tours? People who she could really talk to. Charming as most of the guests were, Georgia felt a little out of her depth. Lawyers, promoters, club owners, business men and their wives, surely if this party was thrown for her, real friends should have been invited too.\n\n'Georgia,' Max pushed his way through the crowd, took her hands and kissed both of them. He wore a dark dinner jacket with a plum-coloured cummerbund. 'You look gorgeous!'\n\nWith him was a tubby smaller man, reptilian eyes flickered behind gold-rimmed spectacles, his large forehead glistened with perspiration.\n\nWith one arm round her Max introduced them.\n\n'This is Al Green from Memphis, he flew over this afternoon to meet you.'\n\nThe name 'Al Green' was one Max often brought up in conversation. Georgia understood he was responsible for the glut of American pop stars that dominated the charts. He arranged tours for everyone from Elvis Presley downwards.\n\n'Hi there.' The man put a podgy hand into hers, his thin lips barely moved and she could see no pupils in his dark eyes. 'You're quite a girl Georgia. We've been hearing your name even back in Memphis. This is one helluva party honey.'\n\n'I've heard a lot about you, too,' she smiled politely. 'How nice of you to come all this way just to meet me.'\n\nShe didn't like him. It was ridiculous to feel something so strong when she'd only spoken a few words to him. Maybe it was just those eyes, how could anyone feel anything but repulsion for a reptile?\n\n'I don't know whether I'd have come if you hadn't been footing the bill,' he laughed, double chin wobbling, taking out a flamboyant red handkerchief and wiping his shiny brow. 'But now I'm here, I'm just loving it.'\n\nGeorgia looked round for Max, only to see his back view retreating into the crowd.\n\nFor a moment she just stared at the man. His dinner jacket was midnight blue, as he moved she caught a glimpse of silver lining. It was vulgar, even for someone in show business, the mark of a man who had no taste.\n\n'Me footing the bill?' She could feel her heart thumping just that little bit harder. Something smelled fishy, and she was going to get to the bottom of it.\n\n'Well, Max is your manager,' he licked his thin lips focusing on her cleavage. 'Don't that mean the same thing honey?'\n\nWhat was it Max had said right at the outset? 'I lay out all the money, and when you start earning that's when I'll get it back.'\n\nAll those chauffeur driven cars, champagne, new clothes, photographs, hairdressing. Everything was being logged down against money she was earning. But why should she pick up the tab for a party that was supposed to be for her? Or pay to fly this jerk over to meet her?\n\n'You and Max are lining up an American tour?' The man must have got his wires crossed. Maybe Max just implied the expenses would be met by him to try and impress Al.\n\n'Sure thing, honey,' he drawled. 'I'm gonna take a look see round this little island, get myself a piece of the action.'\n\n'How do you think I'll go down in the States?' she smiled sweetly. 'Has the record reached the charts there yet?'\n\n'It's been played honey,' he shot her a scathing look. 'But what our kids want is good old rock and roll.'\n\nAll at once Georgia understood. Max was offering free seats on the gravy train. This man wasn't interested in her. It was an excuse to get his podgy hands on some British rock and roll bands, kids with stars in their eyes and no experience. The pair of them were intending to expand their interests, using her earnings to finance it.\n\n'Where are you staying?' she asked through clenched teeth.\n\n'Here, honey,' he drawled. 'Max booked me into a suite overlooking the Thames.'\n\nHe couldn't even pronounce Thames correctly, making an awful th sound.\n\n'It was nice to meet you,' she lied. 'I must go and talk to the band now. Goodbye.'\n\nHer earlier euphoria vanished. Already the vultures were gathering and if she didn't keep one jump ahead, she might end up with nothing.\n\nSlipping out unnoticed to the reception desk, using the excuse she wanted to know who to thank personally for the evening, she discovered the whole event had been booked by Menzies Enterprises.\n\nChampagne by the truck load. Smoked salmon, caviar, breast of chicken, roast beef, fresh cream gateaux, mountains of salad, all paid for by her. She was the guest of honour and the mug who'd paid for it.\n\nNow she understood why none of her friends had been invited. It wasn't to celebrate her success. Just another way for Max to climb further up the ladder. She was just another trophy he'd won, and tonight he was displaying her publicly.\n\nAs the prattle of high-pitched snobby voices washed over Georgia, she felt murderous.\n\nThat feeling she'd had when she first walked in! She knew what it was now. Everyone here had the same motive as Al Green. They weren't interested in her talent, just how they could get a slice of the action.\n\nSoon these people would be involving Max in further deals. Films, tours, advertisements, public appearances. Money flowing backwards and forwards, but somehow never reaching her bank account.\n\nShe hadn't had a penny yet. Everything spent had been charged to Max's office. She didn't begrudge the boys new clothes, they deserved them. Norman's green mohair suit must have cost a hundred pounds, John's leather jacket another fifty, that was mere chicken feed to the amount of food and drink being consumed. Deirdre the receptionist from Max's office in a sparkly dress costing probably twice as much as her own. Miriam across the room with a pair of diamond earrings she kept touching protectively. Max no doubt had a new car in the garage.\n\nWas the man who owned the limousine company dancing with the Sloaney woman from the King's Road boutique? Could the fat man with bow legs be the printer? The tall man with the beard a director of the musical equipment store? They were leeches who would suck her blood until she was dry, then spit her out and look for another victim.\n\n'Wonderful party darling.'\n\nGeorgia smiled at the elegant redhead who sailed past her on Jack Levy's arm. She owned a string of secretarial agencies in Oxford Street and by Monday morning she would have a list of new contacts.\n\n'Don't let anyone know you've cottoned on,' she whispered to herself as she slipped into a toilet to compose herself. 'Just stay cool and observe. They'll soon find out you aren't quite as dumb as you look!'\n\nIt was easy to play the role of the little innocent. The glass in her hand was just water with ice and lemon, no one guarded their tongues when faced with a girl they thought was tipsy. Listening, watching, observing, remembering names and filing them away for another time.\n\nIt was late, almost one o'clock when she overheard something interesting.\n\nShe had stopped by the buffet, helping herself to some chicken and salad. Standing just a foot or two beside her were two men. One of them she knew slightly. He was the lawyer from Decca who had been there when she signed her contract. Slim, dark haired, an accent like cut glass which belied his swarthy Mediterranean looks. The other man was smaller, sandy haired and stout. But by the way he was speaking she suspected he was a lawyer too.\n\n'I knew he'd be trouble when he said he had Riox acting for him,' the man from Decca said. 'Damn me if the little guttersnipe didn't start asking all kinds of questions.'\n\nShe guessed the men were talking about a singer called Ricky Delaney. A tough Liverpool rock singer that Max had attempted to handle and then abandoned because of his wild behaviour. Or at least that was what Max claimed!\n\nWas this Riox a new manager on the scene?\n\n'I've heard the name,' the stout man replied frowning as if trying to put a face to the name. 'Is his office in Chancery Lane?'\n\nGeorgia sidled closer, pretending to be engrossed in the food.\n\n'The Strand,' the Decca man was swaying slightly as if he'd drunk too much. 'Old established law firm. Riox's got a bee in his bonnet about protecting the interests of young entertainers. Sharp as a razor.'\n\n'Eton man?' the stout man asked.\n\n'Rugby I believe. Strange fellow. French father, mother, one of the Asprey family. One has to admire his integrity, but there's such a thing as loyalty to one's peers.'\n\n'Did you have a good time?' Robert the chauffeur was waiting for her, the car gliding silently towards the steps at just a wave from one of the porters.\n\n'It was interesting,' she said slowly as she sank back into the comfortable leather seat.\n\nRobert glanced over his shoulder. The spark had gone from her, she wasn't tired, or drunk, just kind of sad.\n\n'Not your sort of people?' He had a desire to ask her if she wanted to ride in the front with him, but that would be too impertinent.\n\n'No,' her voice was faint, like a child about to cry. 'And I've got a feeling I'll need to watch my back from now on.'\n\nGeorgia sat before Simon Riox's desk and wondered if somehow she'd got it wrong.\n\nHe was only a junior partner in the law firm of Hollins, Burke and Gibson, too young, too lanky to be the formidable lawyer she'd imagined. His brown hair threatened to stand up in spikes, dark-rimmed glasses reminded her absurdly of Buddy Holly. Behind the thick glass his dark eyes were as soft as a spaniel's.\n\n'Of course I know who you are,' he laughed softly at her suggestion he wouldn't.\n\nHis voice at least was the kind she expected, deep, resonant, entirely at odds with his almost feminine small features. She could see now he was older than he looked, at least thirty-five. 'What I'd like to know is how you heard about me. I'm not a visible attraction like yourself.'\n\n'Eavesdropping,' she admitted. 'I heard a lawyer complaining you had too much integrity.'\n\nShe had tried four different lawyers' offices in the Strand before she found him and now as she sat in the small oak-panelled office she was beginning to lose her nerve.\n\nShe had put on a red trouser suit because it made her feel strong and decisive, but in this formal place it looked too loud.\n\n'I find that very flattering,' his eyes never left hers and all at once she knew she could open up to him. 'I expect you feel nervous Georgia, let me order some tea, then you can tell me what's troubling you. If I can help, I will. I'm sure I hardly need tell you anything you tell me is in the strictest confidence.'\n\n'I haven't had any money yet,' she said simply. 'I found out last night I was footing the bill for a party at the Savoy, and flying over men from the States who aim to fill their pockets at my expense.'\n\nHe listened carefully to the whole story, looking at her over his thick glasses from time to time, writing copious notes in a thin, spidery hand.\n\n'Don't be put off by my notetaking,' he said at length. 'I actually have an excellent memory, but writing it down helps cement it in here,' he tapped his forehead with a pencil.\n\n'I felt used last night,' she wrung her hands in her lap. 'Humiliated even. I mean can you imagine thinking you are the one they've all come to see, and then discovering almost every guest is on the make?'\n\n'I understand your feelings,' Riox smiled sympathetically. 'This kind of thing happens all the time, it's all show, glitz and promotion. Max was probably astute in throwing this party. Perhaps he even had good reason to oil the wheels in America. But he should have discussed it with you. Made it clear it was ultimately your expense.'\n\n'But that Al Green wasn't even interested in me. I just paid for a free holiday for him!'\n\n'I wish you'd come to me before you signed the contract with Decca. I could have acted for you independently, protected you from sharp business practice,' he sighed deeply, as if afraid he was too late to help. 'I despise people who prey on young talent and grow rich while they wear out their prot\u00e9g\u00e9.'\n\n'Is it too late to change things?'\n\n'The contract with Decca is rock hard.' He flicked through the copy she'd brought with her. 'But it's a fair one. However, your contract with Max Menzies is another story.'\n\n'Really?'\n\nRiox smirked, almost as if he relished a challenge.\n\n'Less than three months to go. He slipped up there, but maybe he was too busy thinking about Decca's contract. This will be a good lever to make changes. To make sure you get what you've earned. For goodness sake when he suggests you sign another, consult me first.'\n\n'Do you think it would be better to find a new manager then?'\n\n'Not necessarily.' Riox had a look of cunning in his eyes. 'Max Menzies may be too sharp, but he is the undisputed king of promotion. If you got yourself a gentler character, the chances are Max would outwit him, just for spite. There is only one way to beat him, and that is by being just as sharp yourself.'\n\n'What should I do?'\n\nSimon Riox weighed up the girl in front of him and he liked what he saw. He had heard her record soon after it was released, liked it so much he actually bought a copy, and since then he had watched her shoot to overnight success.\n\nPerhaps it was merely the blanket coverage in the press that had put him off her a little. Somehow he had formed the opinion she was just another vacuous pop star who would burn herself out with the high life. Now he could see beyond the beautiful face and passionate voice. She was highly intelligent, brave and resourceful. How many girls of her age would balk at throwing a Savoy party surrounded by all those socialites fawning at her? Indeed how many would stay sober and work out what was happening?\n\n'I was going to say I'll handle it all for you,' he smiled at her, suddenly boyish and mischievous. 'But I can see you are a woman of action. Go to him now, tell him you discovered last night's bun fight was at your expense. Demand to see his books and tell him I'm your lawyer. That is, if you want me to be?'\n\n'Yes, please,' she said softly. There was strength in him, she felt it now, flowing across his desk to her.\n\n'I'll write to him today. I'll outline how we expect your affairs to be managed in future. If you need advice on handling your money I can do that for you too.'\n\n'I'm so glad I came,' she breathed a deep sigh of relief, as she got to her feet. 'I felt murderous last night, but now I feel calm.'\n\n'I'm glad to hear it. A murdering pop star makes too many ripples,' he laughed, standing up and pushing back his chair. 'I think you'll find he will play reasonably fair from now on,' he said as he shook her hand. 'He'll probably be hiving off a bit, but a man like that is so practised at deceit even an auditor would have a job to catch him out. I'll do a little double checking from time to time. Just so he knows he can't be greedy. Ring me if you have any further problems.'\n\nGeorgia was fired up now. She caught a taxi straight to Berkeley Square and ran up the stairs two at a time.\n\nWithout waiting for Deirdre to invent some reason she couldn't see Max, she barged down the corridor and straight into his office.\n\n'What is it?' Max looked up from his desk, surprise and some irritation showing in his face. 'I'm busy.'\n\n'So am I,' she said sharply, slamming the door behind her. 'But neither of us is so busy we can ignore what's going on.'\n\nMax sighed deeply and pushed his papers away.\n\n'Five minutes,' he said. 'That's all I can spare.'\n\nShe sat down opposite him and crossed her legs.\n\nThere was never a time when she wasn't struck by his looks. The broad shoulders, the dark handsome face, gold jewellery, handmade suits, silk shirts and Italian shoes all added to the image of a man to be obeyed and feared. But she wasn't going to let him get the better of her this time.\n\n'Has it ever occurred to you that you work for me? Not the other way around?'\n\nMax's hooded eyes shot open, they were as dark as her own, for a moment stunned by her statement.\n\n'What?'\n\n'You heard.' She held herself in check. Not for one moment must she falter, or the chance might never come again. 'You're treating me like an idiot Max, and I won't stand for it any longer. I'm your best client. The golden goose if you like.'\n\n'Georgia darling,' he gave her his widest, most disarming smile. The one he always used while frantically thinking how he could outwit his opponent. 'What is this? What on earth do you think I'm guilty of?'\n\n'Using my earnings to finance other deals,' she said quietly. 'Last night for example. Not only did you omit to tell me I was paying for it, but Mr Green seems to believe I'm in the English holiday business.'\n\n'Now come on Georgia,' Max stood up threateningly. 'Have I ever kept you short? Don't you trust my judgement to make a shrewd move?'\n\n'A sharp move,' she corrected him. 'I wouldn't have paid to entertain that load of wankers. I'm the one with a number one hit. I don't need all that. You did it for your own ego, at my expense. I want to see your books. I want every penny accounted for. You can have your percentage, and I want the rest.'\n\n'But Georgia, you already owe me. I've been keeping you on full wages for over two years even when you didn't bring in a penny.'\n\n'Bullshit,' she exclaimed. 'I've done my sums. You've been on to a nice little earner from the day I started with Samson.'\n\n'But expenses have to come out of that,' he said smarmily. 'What's this all about Georgia? Do you want money for a new frock?'\n\n'No. I want what's mine,' she put her hands on her hips, glaring at him defiantly. 'The books Max, the ones you keep each week. I'm entitled to see them.'\n\n'Who's put you up to this?' He turned his back on her, moving over to the window.\n\n'No one. Are you surprised I have a brain as well as a voice?'\n\n'I never doubted you had a brain.' She knew Max was struggling to find a good excuse for his behaviour. 'You don't know the business like I do. Even a singer as good as you needs promotion.'\n\n'Thousands of pounds are being made out of me each day,' she snapped, striding across to him and grabbing his arm to turn him. 'Every gig, every personal appearance brings in a fortune. I hired you to manage my career. Not my money. Like I said. You work for me.'\n\n'How dare you?' His dark eyes flashed. She saw his hand clench into a fist.\n\n'Don't even think of hitting me,' she hissed. 'You've done some shabby things in your life I'm sure. But don't add hitting women to them. All I want out of you is straightness. Itemized accounts showing every penny I've earned, and every penny you claim you've spent on me. Then we'll come to the point where you hand over the rest.'\n\n'But you must understand that the money coming in now is paying back all I spent on you earlier,' he said with a snake-like smile. 'New equipment, the van, the band's suits.'\n\n'Bollocks,' she retorted. 'You might have spent money on Samson, but not on me.'\n\nShe waited just a moment or two for the implications of this statement to filter into his mind.\n\n'I'm on my own! Right?' she snapped. 'You diddled the boys out of a shared contract with me. When did I ever sign anything to take over their expenses?'\n\n'Come on, play fair,' his mouth opened and closed like a goldfish. 'You were part of that band!'\n\n'You didn't think so when you wanted me away from them. The only equipment I need is in here,' she touched her throat lightly with one red talon.\n\n'Who put you up to this?' his eyes narrowed.\n\n'No one. But I have found myself a lawyer just in case you're tempted to try and wriggle out of it. Simon Riox.'\n\nShe knew as she saw the colour drain from his face that Riox really was the best.\n\n'I understand my contract with you has only another three months to run,' she added airily.\n\nMax stared at her. For the first time ever she saw indecision in his eyes. He looked hunted.\n\n'Don't be like this Georgia. Aren't you forgetting that I was the man who believed in you two years ago, gave you a chance and supported you?'\n\n'I haven't forgotten anything,' she said softly. 'But let's clear the air Max. You knew you were on to a good thing, the moment you met me. You didn't do it for love, or charity. Just money. That's okay. It's a good pure motive. But during that time you've thrown a great deal of shit at me and I'm just calling time if you like.'\n\n'You wouldn't find another manager!' It wasn't a question, more a statement of belief in himself.\n\n'Not if you play straight. I like your strength and singlemindedness. But from now on there are new ground rules. I will not pay for this office, the legions of girls who work for you, yachts, gold toilet seats or villas in the South of France. I'll foot the bill for last night, but not for that cocksucking Yank's holiday and suite at the Savoy.'\n\n'But \u2013' he spluttered.\n\n'But nothing. I'm telling you that I don't need or want any of the hangers on. As from today I select who stays and who goes. I pay the boys, a couple of roadies and perhaps I'll find a wardrobe mistress I like.'\n\n'I only took people on to make life easier for you,' he was almost whining now. 'Some thanks I get for it.'\n\n'I can appreciate that,' she snapped. 'But from now on I want to have people around me I have chosen. I didn't wear myself out for two years, just to watch other people take over my life!'\n\n'And if I agree?' He looked deflated, for the first time since she had met him, unsure of himself.\n\n'You can continue to be my manager,' she smiled charmingly. 'I'm sure you don't want to kill the golden goose, not when it may lay a golden egg each month or so for years. But if not I'll start legal proceedings.'\n\n'Look Georgia,' he shrugged his shoulders, 'I'm not a crook. Most of the money hasn't even come in yet. I'm not a fool either. But you are young, and inexperienced with large sums of money.'\n\n'True,' she cut in on him. 'But unless you hand it over I'll never learn. By next Friday I want accounts and a cheque. If not you know what to expect. Have I made myself clear?'\n\n## Chapter 17\n\n_1965_\n\nMax pulled the girl closer to him, thrusting one big hand up her skirt and pulling at her lace panties.\n\n'Oh Max,' she sighed against his chest. 'You're so big. I don't know if I'm ready for this.'\n\n'Of course you are baby,' he buried his face in her blonde hair. 'Come and sit on my knee and show me those lovely titties.'\n\nA room that overlooked the Thames, pale green brocade settees, a drinks table laden with bottles, fruit piled up like a feast in a cut glass bowl. Through open double doors he could see a huge bed beyond, turned down in readiness for them, soft lamps illuminating it invitingly.\n\nBut Max's heart wasn't in it. Georgia had even spoiled this for him. Once he would have taken this dumb little dollybird on the office floor. Screwed her senseless in ten minutes and been off to a meeting within half an hour. Now for some reason he'd spent over fifty quid on a meal and champagne and even booked the pair of them into the same suite Al Green had stayed in.\n\nJenny pulled up her skirt and sat straddled across his lap. Once a glimpse of smooth white thigh above stocking tops was enough to give him a hard on in two seconds flat, but now the sight of white panties with dark blonde hair curling round the lace wasn't even giving him a twinge.\n\n'Look what Jenny's got for you,' she said in that idiotic baby voice. She unbuttoned her prim secretary's blouse to reveal breasts like two melons. 'Does Maxy want to hold them?'\n\nMax took hold of her breasts roughly, pulling them free of the restraining push-up bra. He tweaked her big pink nipples and waited for the expected sigh.\n\n'Oh Maxy, kiss them,' she said, pushing herself up against his face.\n\nOnce this was his idea of heaven. A willing sexy girl, pretty as paint, with knockers that made every man in the room turn round to look. Why did he still dream of small breasts, ones with tiny brown nipples that reminded him of the wild strawberries he used to find hop picking in Kent?\n\nHe was merely going through the motions, sucking at her tits, sticking his fingers up round her pants and hoping he'd get hard enough not to disgrace himself.\n\nBut he felt nothing. No passion, not even disgust. She could be an inflatable doll, bland, obedient and perfectly formed.\n\n'Suck me!' He pushed her down on to the floor between his legs, unzipping his fly and pulling her head to him. He would be all right in a moment, just stick it in that big red mouth, feel that drooling tongue and he'd forget Georgia.\n\n'I will if you lick me too,' she said already pushing his silk shorts aside. With one hand she released her skirt and wriggled out of her pants, leaving only her blouse, the suspender belt and stockings.\n\n'Let me see how good you are at it first,' he said drawing her head towards him. 'If you're a good girl I'll suck you all night.'\n\nThis girl wanted what they all wanted. Only an hour ago she had informed him she had a good voice. She really believed that if she went to bed with him then he'd be getting her a recording contract within a week. Didn't the silly bitch know London was full of girls who thought they could sing?\n\n'Is that good?' she asked, running her tongue down his cock. It was lucky he was so well hung. She hardly noticed it was still flaccid. He'd have to turn his mind on to something else. Make up some fantasy with three negro girls pandering to his every whim.\n\n'Wonderful,' he groaned, looking down at that triangle of damp hair in front of him. She was fingering herself and that usually turned him on a treat. 'Make yourself come for Maxy, darling,' he sighed. 'Be a rude little girl. I like that.'\n\nIt was beginning to work. The combination of her mouth and watching those fingers sliding in and out of that damp fanny made his cock rise up. He'd wait until it was right up then pause to take one of those pills in his pocket. Then he'd give her something to think about.\n\nIt was after two now. Max glanced at the clock by the bed wishing he could come and get it over and done with. That guy in the bar downstairs knew what he was doing giving him these pills, they really did keep you going. But he'd fucked little Jenny in every position he could think of and now she was almost asleep.\n\n'Sit on my face,' he ordered her. 'I'm going to wank myself off while I suck you.'\n\nThat was better. He could close his eyes, taste that damp hot pussy and make believe it was Georgia. Her waist was as tiny, even if her skin wasn't as smooth, as long as she didn't try to drag his hands up to those great melons again.\n\n'I love you Maxy.'\n\nWhy did they always have to say that? They didn't mean it anymore than he did. There was only one woman he loved and she didn't want him.\n\n'Think of those long, brown legs,' he told himself. 'That juicy pussy. She wanted you more than any other girl that night. You'll get her yet.'\n\nHis strokes were getting frantic. He willed Jenny not to speak and spoil the illusion. He was tired of being told what a wonderful lover he was. He wanted a girl who hadn't experienced any of this before.\n\nHe came then, quivering, shaking, his mouth biting into that hot, furry mound.\n\n'I came again,' she sighed, rubbing herself all down his chest. 'That's twelve times.'\n\n'No, you didn't,' he said rolling over to get away from her. 'Why do women make such preposterous claims? Twice maybe, that's enough for anyone.'\n\nShe was hurt now, sitting up in bed with her blonde hair falling over those huge breasts, arms clamped around her knees, ready to cry.\n\n'You don't really like me,' she said, full lips turning down at the corners. One of her false eyelashes was coming loose and she had mascara streaked down her cheek.\n\n'Of course I do.' Max reached up from his position on his side, half-heartedly fondling her leg. 'Now cuddle down and go to sleep. It's late.'\n\nShe fell asleep almost at once. Max heaved himself up on to the pillows and looked down at her. She looked about sixteen now. She said she was twenty-two but the truth was probably eighteen. Once a girl like her could have kept him interested for weeks. Silky blonde hair, eyes like a couple of cornflowers all wrapped up in a cool presentation which didn't give a hint of how sexy she was.\n\nHe was sorry now he had treated her badly, he liked his women to fall asleep smiling.\n\nWhat was happening to him? Once he wouldn't have given a shit whether he'd been a brute, or the world's greatest lover. Women liked a combination of the two, Miriam always told him that.\n\n'Poor Miriam,' he murmured softly.\n\nMax loved his wife. Perhaps he had never been 'in' love with her, but he cared deeply. She was a good woman, warm, comfortable and caring. Did she notice he stopped making love to her around the same time he met Georgia?\n\nHe had thought he had it all that night Georgia let him take her to his flat. A number one hit in the bag, money pouring in and the girl of his dreams at his side.\n\nSex didn't really come into it. He would have held her all night without making any demands and he still didn't understand why she'd suddenly frozen on him.\n\nBut even after she'd said she wanted it forgotten, Max hadn't given up hope. Georgia wasn't the type to give herself to a man without really caring.\n\nThen there was that damn party at the Savoy. Of course he was using her money, that's what the game was all about. But the way she attacked him was ridiculous.\n\nNow she had Simon Riox in her court and between them they'd sewn him up so tight he could barely manage to buy a new car.\n\nIf she just let him direct her to the places he'd negotiated deals, that would be something. But no, she didn't let him get a look in.\n\n'A thousand pounds that bird in Sloane Street offered me for getting Georgia to wear her clothes,' he muttered. 'The fucking bitch wouldn't even walk through the door of the boutique. She's even made some private deal with a chauffeur to ferry her about, that's another five hundred down the Swanney.'\n\nThe contract with the stage management team was torn up before it was even signed. Now she had two great hulks who were so protective to her Max couldn't get near enough to even smell her. She even had the men at Decca eating out of her hand.\n\nHer could overlook all that. After all he was making a fortune from her straight. It was the ideas she might give other entertainers that bothered him. If everyone ran their affairs themselves there would be no more room for men like Max.\n\n'First Love' had been even bigger than 'No Time' and that bouncy, snappy 'Dancing with you,' would still be played in clubs when he was getting his pension. Now he heard she'd written another winner, rumour had it Jack Levy had been heard singing it in his office, yet Georgia hadn't even mentioned it to her manager.\n\nThat was what hurt the most. Somewhere along the line Georgia had stopped needing him. She really believed he knew nothing about music, she didn't want to confide in him. She didn't even care if he was in the audience.\n\nTake his idea of booking the Albert Hall with a full orchestra just after she got her first hit. She laughed at that!\n\n'Don't be silly Max,' she said, standing there with her hands on her hips in a pair of jeans so tight it took his breath away. 'It would alienate my fans. It's too soon. I don't want them to think I've sold out already. Book me into places the kids can dance in. Let's carry on with soul music and rock. When I've made my first long player that's the time to lure the listening people in.'\n\nDidn't she know he wanted her to be more than just a pop star? He wanted her in cabaret in Las Vegas, chatting on the Johnny Carson show, then moving on to making a big musical. She could be Carmen!\n\nWhy did she have to make such a big thing about her band too? How could he separate them now without causing ripples? She pushed each one of them forward, made sure everyone knew what a stud Rod was, or that Speedy was the thinker in the band. They were supposed to be faceless men in the background. She'd managed to make each one of them a star in his own right. Les even claimed she was going to pay for him to have his nose fixed!\n\nHow the hell could Max push them back into line after she'd spoilt them all?\n\nWas there anything left up his sleeve to pull out?\n\n'More long tours,' he murmured, banging the pillow and lying down beside Jenny. 'That should knock the stuffing out of her, piss the boys off. I can get a few backhanders again and fiddle the expenses. In a year or two she'll be dying to sing at the Albert Hall.'\n\nMax smiled to himself as he slipped off his suit jacket and opened his office window. In his briefcase he had enough cash to buy himself the new 'Roller'. A white one this time with red upholstery and his double 'M' on the doors in gold.\n\nThe second LP was already the top selling album for '65. He had five gold records on his wall, and any day he would be getting the sixth.\n\nWhere did she get the inspiration from to write such brilliant songs? Every one fresh and new, the latest 'Devil Man' he liked to think was about him, but she only laughed when he suggested it.\n\nAugust in London was usually impossible, but right now it looked wonderful.\n\n'Strange how things work out,' he said aloud, posing in front of the mirror. That masseur in King's private health club in Pall Mall was doing him a power of good, he'd tightened up his muscles, made him look ten years younger. 'I send them off to Europe thinking they'll soon be urging me to bring them back home, and what do they do? Make it fucking well work for all of us!'\n\nSell-out concerts in every major city, promoters ringing Max offering him anything to book a return date. That was where this new wedge had come from. Five thousand pounds, slipped under the table. Riox, Georgia and the taxman couldn't trace it.\n\n'They've been working their arses off,' Max chuckled, opening his silver cigar box and lifting one out. He paused to smell it, savouring the moment before lighting it. 'Yet somehow they found time to write enough material for an LP and a string of new singles.'\n\nA tap on the door surprised him. He wasn't expecting any visitors today and Deirdre always used the intercom.\n\n'Come in!'\n\n'I'm sorry to disturb you.' It was Deirdre, her dark hair dyed a deep auburn and cut into a ridiculous copy of Cilla Black's. 'There's a man in reception and he won't leave.'\n\n'Who? What does he want?' Max's earlier feeling of well-being fizzled away. 'You know I don't see anyone without an appointment.'\n\nThere were times he wanted to get rid of this girl. He never had fancied her and she was far too thick with Georgia. But at least she wasn't hysterical like most of them.\n\n'I told him that. He say's he'll just sit there and wait until you are free. He says it's personal.'\n\n'Do I know him?'\n\n'I don't think so.' Deirdre was hopping from leg to leg, her mouth twitching with nervousness. 'He's different from the usual boys we get in here. He's kind of stern.'\n\n'I'll give him stern,' Max snapped. 'What's this creep's name?'\n\n'Peter Radcliffe,' she said softly. 'He isn't a creep Max, he's got a kind of,' she paused.\n\n'Peter Radcliffe?' The name came back to Max, as sharp and clear as if he'd heard it earlier today. 'All right, I'll see him.'\n\n'You will?' Her brown eyes opened wide in surprise, mouth dropping open.\n\n'Why not?' Max regained his composure quickly. 'I don't know him from Adam, but I can't have people cluttering the reception area all day. If he's selling something you'll be for it.'\n\nThe cigar was still unlit in his hand. Max grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair, put it back on, returning to his desk just as the knock came at his door.\n\n'Come in,' he lowered his voice to a growl, opened a file and bent his head over it as the door opened. 'I don't know who the hell you are, but you've got five minutes.'\n\n'I'm Peter Radcliffe, sir. An old friend of Georgia's.'\n\nMax looked up. The voice was deep and well rounded, just a trace of a London accent, but the face in front of him gave him a jolt.\n\nThat day as he wrote the fake letter back to Manchester, he had imagined some weedy academic with acne and greasy hair. This lad was like a Greek god, blond hair, blue eyes with the deepest golden tan Max had seen away from St Tropez. Big shoulders almost bursting out of a washed-out denim shirt, jeans that fitted so snugly round his narrow hips he could be a male model.\n\n'Georgia is away on tour,' Max said picking up the cigar and lighting it. 'But even if she were in London I doubt she would see you. Every day we get people claiming to be an old friend of hers.'\n\n'I understand that sir,' the boy had no trace of belligerence in his voice or face. 'But I do believe she would like to see me. I can't believe she's changed that much.'\n\n'Sit down. What did you say your name was again?' Max waved his cigar at a spare chair by his desk, tilted his chair back and narrowed his eyes.\n\n'Radcliffe, Peter.' He sat down, his arms bent slightly, resting his fists on his knees and leaning forward.\n\n'Tell me where you know Georgia from?' Max said. The lad was looking unswervingly into his eyes, he wasn't sure he liked that much honesty.\n\n'We were sweethearts,' Peter said. 'That sounds a bit trite I know, but it's the best explanation. She ran away from home.'\n\n'When was this?' Max wanted to know what happened, and where, but he'd have to take it one step at a time.'\n\n'January 1960,' Peter said. 'She was fifteen then, I was seventeen. She sent her mother a postcard saying she'd be in touch when she was sixteen. But we heard nothing more.'\n\n'Well, there we are,' Max shrugged his shoulders. 'It's an open and shut case. She didn't want to know.'\n\n'But I think she did,' Peter insisted. 'Her mother moved and the only address she knew was mine.'\n\n'Mother?' She's an orphan!' Max said quickly.\n\n'That's right,' Peter half smiled. 'I should have said foster mother. Anyway Celia moved on. I suspect Georgia called at my house and my parents never told me.'\n\n'Now why would they do that?'\n\n'Because she has mixed blood.' Peter raised one perfect golden eyebrow. 'They thought she would mess up my career.'\n\n'Which is?' Max had a sinking feeling this lad was going to be more difficult than he imagined.\n\n'Teaching,' Peter replied.\n\nMax felt a bubble of pleasure. Thank goodness he wasn't a lawyer. Any man with looks like his who wanted to spend his life with kids couldn't be dangerous.\n\n'But if all this happened five years ago why are you concerning yourself with her now? Aren't you just jumping on the band wagon?'\n\n'Her mother and I looked everywhere for her.' Peter didn't turn a hair at Max's suggestion. Pride and truth shone out of his handsome face. 'Until I read about the fire and a friend described Georgia James to me I was in the dark, assuming she had forgotten me. I wrote to this office then and I received a letter back making it quite clear she had no time for me.'\n\n'But why persist then?' Max puffed on his cigar, blowing the smoke up to the ceiling.\n\n'One of the tracks on her LP.'\n\nMax gulped. He knew immediately what the boy meant. He had listened to the track himself so many times, wondering where the inspiration came from. Yet until now it hadn't clicked.\n\n'We were so young, we thought we had it all,' Peter said slowly. 'Nights of crying for you, are you out there crying too?'\n\n'Don't be daft man,' Max chuckled. 'It's just a love song. They all have the same theme.'\n\n'Do they all mention kisses in the hall, a glimpse of blonde hair, waving goodnight in frosty air?'\n\n'You know the lyrics better than I do,' Max raised one eyebrow. 'But even I could work those words around to any number of old loves. Anyone could.'\n\nPeter reached behind him and pulled a cutting out of his back pocket.\n\n'This is from _Honey_ magazine,' he held it steady and Max knew he intended to read it to him. 'An interview. \"Do your lyrics have special significance, or do you write about general feelings?\" That was the journalist's question. Georgia replies, \"Mostly it's general, but now and then it's like a secret message to someone. 'The girl with red hair' is an old friend of mine who died. 'No Time', was for Ian and Alan. 'Crying' for someone very special.\"' Peter folded the paper and put it back in the pocket of his denim shirt buttoning it deliberately as he calmly stared at Max.\n\n'That doesn't mean it's you!' Max retorted, feeling just a little hot under the collar. How come he hadn't read this interview?\n\n'No?' Peter looked up at Max. 'Why does she go on to say \"It was someone who coloured my idea of love, when I was very young. Someone I lost and still hope I'll find again.\" Does that sound general?'\n\nMax gulped. He could see now why Georgia had been attracted to Ian. He was a watered down, punier version of this lad. Everything made sense now. The way she turned down dates, kept herself at arm's length. If only the women in his life had been so constant!\n\n'Let me tell you something in confidence,' Max leaned forward in his chair, trying hard to be chummy and pleasant, yet he knew he was going to assassinate Georgia's character.\n\n'We keep it well under wraps, but Georgia has had many love affairs. Every one to her is special for a week or two, then she moves on. Ian McShane is the only man she ever moped about, and if he'd lived it would have ended the same way as all the rest.' He wanted to add more, imply the girl was a bitch and a whore, but somehow he knew Peter Radcliffe might just get angry. 'Forget her Peter, she's not the girl she was any longer. Singing and making money is what drives Georgia these days. Stay with the beautiful memories you've got, don't try to see her and find yourself disillusioned.'\n\n'I'm not a kid,' Peter leaned forward, eyes flashing dangerously. 'I haven't sat on the sidelines of life pining for her. While she's been setting the world alight, I've done my share too. Of course there've been other men in her life. There've been women in mine too. I'm not some jerk with a broken heart.'\n\nMax noted the muscles straining the denim shirt. He hadn't got those just lifting books!\n\n'I didn't think you were a jerk,' Max said carefully. 'But I've been very close to Georgia for a long time. I know her as if she was my daughter. To be honest she can be a pretty cold, calculating girl.'\n\n'Has she talked about her childhood?'\n\nMax had a feeling he was being tested and he felt trapped.\n\n'Which incident?'\n\n'Why a fifteen-year-old felt running away from home was the only option?'\n\nMax tried to bluff it out. 'Oh, the row! She regrets that now.'\n\nPeter sat back in his chair. 'Just as I thought,' a cynical smile played on his lips. 'If Georgia was really close to you, she would have told you.'\n\n'Don't be a smart arse with me boy!' Max half stood up, clenching the edge of his desk. 'Come on, out with it!'\n\n'No,' Peter's lips moved into a straight determined line. 'I didn't come here to blab her secrets. Just tell her I called.'\n\nMax's heart thumped. This boy had the missing bit of the jigsaw and he wanted it.\n\n'Why don't we go down to the pub?' Max said. 'It's hot in here and I could do with a pint.'\n\n'It won't work Mr Menzies,' Peter looked right into his eyes. 'I'm not about to spill the beans, even with eight pints inside me. All I ask is that you give her my address.'\n\n'Sure,' Max pushed a pad and pencil across his desk. What was it about her that inspired such integrity? Riox couldn't be bought, or the boys in Samson, and now this guy?\n\nPeter stood up, flicking back his golden hair in a weary gesture and picked up the pencil.\n\n'Don't hold your breath,' Max said flippantly. 'The way things are going with Rod, she might just be married by then.'\n\nHe saw the lad's neck swell, and a tinge of pink colour rose to his tanned cheeks.\n\n'Just give it to her sir.' The 'sir' sounded more of a threat than respect. 'I'll be away till October, but if I haven't heard anything by Christmas I'll be back to check up on you.'\n\nIt was as if the sun had suddenly been blotted out. In the past few months Max had regained Georgia's affection. He'd helped her buy her first car, even gone with her to choose furniture for her flat. Granted he hadn't got beyond giving her the odd cuddle, but at least she looked on him as a father if nothing else.\n\nPerhaps it was because he played it straight with her about that flat. He'd wanted her to buy something ritzy, not the top floor in a block full of old Brigadiers and snooty blue rinses. But when she took him to see it he could see she had her heart set on it.\n\nIt was huge if nothing else, with a nice view of the Thames from the balcony. But the old lady who'd died hadn't had any repairs done for years. The kitchen was something out of the dark ages, the Regency striped wallpaper was almost peeling off the walls.\n\n'But can't you just see it Max?' she wheedled. 'The lounge all painted yellow, white carpets and huge comfy settees. I can get someone in to do all the work.'\n\nShe had magic eyes that day, she'd even managed to make him enthusiastic. It took him back to the thrill of buying his own first home.\n\nOf course she didn't let him get anyone in he knew. A poncy woman from Sloane Street drew up all the plans. Swedish pine in the kitchen, a bathroom designed to look like a tropical jungle. All Max got to do was oversee the workmen and make sure it was all done to Georgia's plans while she was away.\n\nYet she knew immediately she arrived home that he had put in some work for her. She didn't miss a thing. The row of little yellow duck soaps in the bathroom. The tubs of flowers on the balcony, food in the fridge, even a hot water bottle to air the new bed.\n\nThe woman from Sloane Street had laughed at his idea of hundreds of red roses, or a silver champagne bucket. But he had to admit the freesias and the Nottingham lace bedspread she did approve of him buying, were more Georgia's style.\n\n'Let me cook you and Miriam a meal,' she said, bouncing around the place like a puppy when she saw the finished work. 'You've been an absolute angel Max, without you I bet it wouldn't be so perfect.'\n\nHe had to settle for the meal. He would rather have sat in her tub amongst the palm trees with that ridiculous monkey grinning down at him, seeing those small breasts again and carrying her later into that pink and ivory bedroom. But instead he had to listen to Miriam advising her on the best places to buy bedlinen and china, and eat over-cooked roast beef.\n\nMiriam leaving him should have made everything right, yet for some strange reason he felt gutted. She went home to Greece for a holiday and the next thing a letter came saying she was staying there permanently.\n\n'I think I'll always love you,' she said in her letter. 'But I want more than being your hostess and housekeeper. I want to sit in the sun with a man who needs me, grow old with a man who desires me. I didn't come out here looking for that, but I found him, here in the village which has always been my real home. Be happy for me Maxy. Find someone for yourself that makes you feel like this too. I hope we can always be friends.'\n\nWhy wasn't he rushing around like a man with two cocks? He could have it all now. Georgia was so concerned she was even inviting him over for drinks and meals. He was top unattached male on every hostess's list. So why did he get a lump in his throat thinking about Miriam with her fat Greek? What made him keep recalling the way she looked on their wedding night?\n\nGuilty conscience maybe? Afraid that if Peter Radcliffe did find a way to Georgia he'd be snookered? She might not care about the guy any longer, but she sure as hell wouldn't like Max playing God. If she wrote him out of her life too, he'd be finished.\n\n## Chapter 18\n\n'Something wrong, Georgia?' Rod shook his head like a dog, spraying her with water. 'Don't you want a swim? You've been quiet all day.'\n\nGeorgia pushed her sunglasses up on to her head, dropped her book to the ground and smiled up at him.\n\n'Just thinking,' she reached out for her suntan oil and rubbed a little into her legs, stomach and arms. She could see now how tanned she was getting, her skin had turned from coffee coloured to a rich dark brown, her white bikini standing out in vivid contrast. 'I was just thinking about how lucky we've been. Even if we don't get time to appreciate it.'\n\nThree days earlier they were playing in Paris and with over a week before their next gig they had flown down to Barcelona to catch a few days of sunshine and sea.\n\nRod dropped his towel on to the ground beside her, picked up a bottle of water and guzzled it down before replying.\n\n'Thousands of miles of travelling, more success than we ever dreamed of, fame, money, the works. And now this place.'\n\nThe villa they were staying at belonged to the family of a saxophone player who had joined them for many of the European gigs. Set amongst pine trees, above a deserted stretch of beach, it was the closest Georgia had ever seen to paradise.\n\nSeen from the road it looked like a dilapidated fortress, peeling shutters firmly shut against the strong sun, a neglected, abandoned home. A huge old door creaked open as if protesting against visitors, but once inside, it was obvious it had been cared for with love, its outer neglect protecting it from unwanted intruders.\n\nDesigned in a traditional Spanish style, the villa was built round a central courtyard, complete with fountain, palm trees and a vine-covered pergola. A Moorish influence was strong, with vivid blue and yellow tiled steps to the upper floor, white stone walls and wrought-iron balconies. Purple bougainvillaea and scarlet hibiscus, scrambled up the walls. Urns full of bright orange lilies, geraniums and daisies filled each nook and cranny. Everything was simple, cool marble floors, heavy dark furniture, brightly coloured, scattered rugs and huge cushions, walls painted dazzling white. Yet for all its simplicity it was comfortable and inviting. Tiled bathrooms adjoined each of the spacious, airy bedrooms, a kitchen with every modern device to make their stay a happy one.\n\nTwo local women came in daily to clean, bringing with them fresh bread, salad, fruit and eggs. They scuttled about their work, heads down, clearly intimidated by five half naked young men with only one woman. Georgia's attempts at making herself understood were met by laughter and a torrent of fast Spanish.\n\nThe other boys had left yesterday to drive into Lloret further along the coast. Two days of swimming alone in clear turquoise sea, sunbathing without admirers and drinking the local wine had been enough for them. They wanted excitement which really meant girls and right now Georgia was hoping they wouldn't bring them back here.\n\n'Perhaps you should have gone with the boys?' She turned over on to her stomach, resting her chin on her hands. 'I wouldn't have minded being on my own.'\n\n'I can live without the fleshpots for a while,' Rod laughed softly, dropping down on to his towel and leaning back with the sun on his face. 'I don't mind you being silent, it's nice. Just unexpected that's all, after last night.'\n\nThey had sat out on the terrace overlooking the sea. Watching the sun like a huge fiery orange slowly dip into the sea. Talking about their childhood, revealing things to each other that once were taboo.\n\nRod was different without the other boys around. He dropped his sarcasm, his cynical approach to life, and when he began to admit what a failure he felt as a child, Georgia understood what had made him the way he was.\n\n'I thought it was my fault because my Dad left. Somehow I was responsible for the lack of money, the slum we lived in and Mum's bad temper. When she started to go out all the time drinking, I kept quiet, never admitting how much I wanted her home with me. She caught me once cuddling and sniffing her nightdress, she accused me of being weird. She never understood it was because I missed her, that her perfume kind of made me feel safe.'\n\nHe told her that he worried because he was too skinny. That he saved up to buy a bullworker and hid it in the wardrobe. He spoke of men that came late at night, his mother laughing one minute, crying the next. The insecurity with the lovers who didn't leave.\n\n'Some were nice,' Rod grinned. 'Took me to Southend or to the football, but I was afraid to like them in case they left too. But mostly they were mean types. They hit me when Mum wasn't around, resented me as much as I loathed them.'\n\n'Did you ever tell her how you felt?'\n\n'You can't tell Mum anything. She's either on a high when she laughs at everything, or so low she's practically suicidal,' Rod grimaced. 'If I went out she said I didn't care about her, if I stayed in she said I was spoiling her chances. I couldn't win with her.'\n\n'How do you feel about her now?' Georgia asked.\n\n'Embarrassed more than anything,' his dark eyes looked thoughtful. 'She's so flashy and empty-headed. I haven't got anything in common with her, but because I'm making money she pretends I mean everything to her.'\n\nGeorgia remembered her from the boys' funeral. Bleached blonde hair piled up in elaborate curls, wearing a black dress so low cut and tight it had embarrassed everyone. Not for one moment had she looked distressed at the boys' deaths. Her dark flirtatious eyes had merely wandered off to the more famous people present. She hadn't even shown any real pride in Rod's bravery at trying to save Ian and Alan.\n\n'It's because of her you don't like women much,' Georgia said softly. 'I mean, you pull so many girls, but you don't choose them for company do you?'\n\n'I guess that's right,' he laughed. 'Except for you I can't ever remember telling a girl the truth. I put on an act about everything. I don't feel anything inside for them. It's like there's a basic function missing.'\n\n'Emotion,' she said. 'But you do feel that Rod. You felt it when Ian and Alan died, it comes out in music. It's there all right, you just haven't had anyone tap the right keys.'\n\n'We're a lot alike,' he said ruefully as they moved back towards the house once the wind turned chilly. 'Tell me why you don't trust anyone enough to give love another stab. You can't still be mourning for Ian?'\n\nThey lit a log fire in the huge old hearth, sitting on cushions close to the blaze, opening yet another bottle of wine.\n\n'I don't think Ian has anything to do with it,' she said at length after staring into the blazing logs, thinking about Rod's question. 'I'll always miss him, just the same way I miss Helen, my old friend. But I was never convinced we were made for each other.'\n\n'The other guy?' Rod looked round at her and lightly touched her hand. 'Ian told me there was someone before.'\n\n'Maybe,' she said. 'I keep telling myself it's stupid to hold a torch for someone who doesn't give a toss for me. But it isn't only him either, there's my mother too.'\n\nRod listened carefully as she told him the whole story about running away from home.\n\n'Why hasn't she come forward?' she asked him. 'I mean my records have sold in just about every corner of the globe. How can she have missed seeing my picture or read things in the papers? It must be that she changed her mind about me, decided I was to blame. What other reason could there be for her silence?'\n\n'You're in a position now to do something about it,' he said thoughtfully, gazing into the fire, poking it viciously. 'You've got enough money and connections to get her found. Why don't you? At least that way you'd know for sure.'\n\n'I'm scared too,' she whispered. 'Everyone I've ever cared about deeply has gone. Sometimes I think I'm some sort of jinx. Peter, Celia, Helen and Ian. Even my real parents abandoned me. On top of all that I'm afraid if I dig too deeply I might just meet up with Brian, my foster father again.'\n\n'Maybe that's the real hurdle you need to overcome,' he said. 'That man can't hurt you again. By facing him you might be better for it.'\n\nRod's high cheek-bones stood out in sharp relief lit only by the fire, his black hair shining like a raven. A primitive face, like so many of the Spanish men, the whites of his eyes and teeth contrasting brilliantly against his dark skin.\n\n'I know it sounds daft,' she said reluctantly. 'But recently I've had a feeling he's watching me.'\n\n'That is daft,' Rod laughed, throwing back his hair. 'You've hardly stayed still long enough for us to watch you, let alone him.'\n\n'I don't mean he's actually watching me in the flesh,' she explained. 'More a feeling he's observing me from a distance, noting everything about me, biding his time, if you like.'\n\nThe reason she'd been silent all day was not from dwelling on the past, their lack of time to enjoy things, or even the thought of Brian watching her. It was Rod. She had a feeling something was starting up, something she couldn't fight, avoid, or protect herself from. Since Ian's death they had grown close. But last night there had been a brief fiery spark of something more. Should she quash it now? Save any further heartache, or take the initiative and worry about the results later?\n\nThis morning she'd woken without any solution, and silence had seemed the only way out, just as it had the morning after Brian raped her. By doing nothing and saying nothing she was preventing either steps back, or forward.\n\nThey had raked out the fire. Turned out the lights and walked together up the tiled stairs to the rooms above.\n\nThe moon shone down into the courtyard, reflecting clearly in the pool around the fountain and picking up the white of a towel left lying on a chair. Enough light to see the gallery on which they stood, wrought-iron railings going right round into a rectangle, dark wood doors invisible against the white stone walls, like yawning holes in a piece of cheese.\n\n'Back in Stepney I never thought I'd ever see a palm tree,' Rod said softly. 'The moon looks as if it's hanging on it like a Christmas tree bauble.'\n\nIt was beautiful. A star-sprinkled sky and the moon lighting up the feathery fronds of the tree.\n\nRod stood with her at the balcony, two pairs of hands so close on the railing, their sides just touching.\n\n'Whatever happens I'll remember this forever,' he said, so softly it was almost a whisper.\n\nShe could feel a current flowing between them, like two magnets so close they wanted to jump across the void. But instinctively she moved a step away to prevent it.\n\nHad Rod's words meant that he knew something was going to happen? That this was the moment when it started? Or did he mean that seeing the moon and the palm tree was the first time he'd been aware of the beauty of his surroundings?\n\n'Come with me for a swim?' Rod jumped up, dipping his hand in the pool round the fountain and splashing some on Georgia's hot back.\n\n'You swine,' she laughed, rolling over on to her back and rubbing the cold water off on the sunbed.\n\n'Please?' he said softly, a soft boyish plead in his eyes.\n\nHe was tanned almost as dark as Georgia now. His black brief trunks almost disappearing against his skin. His body had filled out remarkably in the last year, good food and a little exercise had given him broader shoulders and muscles in his arms. Slim hips, straight firm legs and a narrow waist coupled with his six foot height was enough to make any girl turn her head and look. But for Georgia it was his smooth olive glistening skin that attracted her and a face which reminded her of Red Indians. Such high cheek-bones, dark narrow eyes which could turn from laughter to anger in a second. A straight, proud nose and thin, stern lips. Even his hair completed the picture. It was much longer now, almost touching his shoulders, straight, sleek with blue black lights. Sometimes she wanted to put a band round his forehead and turn him from just Rod to a warrior.\n\n'All right,' she sighed, pulling the band from her hair and tossing it down. 'I'm just about frying anyway.'\n\nThey walked through the arched wrought-iron gates that led on to the patio where they'd sat last night, the tiles warm under their bare feet. There were steps hewn in rocks down to the beach, smooth, as if polished daily by someone they never saw. A small green lizard ran across in front of them, disappearing into a crack in the ground silently.\n\nIt was five in the afternoon, the desperate, sweaty heat at noon replaced by gentle soft warmth. A breeze was getting up, whipping little white horses on to the beach.\n\nThe nearest house was nearly a mile away, but here they were able to feel as if they were the only two people left in the world.\n\n'It's like heaven,' Rod said, pausing at the bottom of the steps. The last one had a big jump to the beach and he held out his hand to her.\n\nShe saw her hand go out to him. Only seconds in reality but it seemed like a lifetime before his fingers closed over hers. That spark again as skin touched skin, and she jumped, right into his arms.\n\nFor a moment they just stood together, his arms were round her, chests just touching. Her eyes were on line with his naked shoulders, the sea just visible beyond. Her hands rested on his hips. She dared not look up, not yet.\n\nHis hand moved so slowly up from her waist, over her shoulder blades, pausing on her shoulder lightly.\n\nFingers creeping up her neck, his thumb cupping round her chin, lifting her face to his.\n\nRod's eyes were closed, his mouth curved into a smile, just the tiniest glint of white teeth before he bent his head to hers.\n\nCoarse sand between her toes, more blowing up her legs, the breeze taking his hair and hers, bonding them together.\n\nA kiss that made her think of drowning. Sweet, peaceful on the surface, yet already an undercurrent rising to pull her down. His hand was holding her head, the other arm so firmly round her there was no escape, even if she'd wanted it.\n\nShe didn't know how long that kiss lasted. It was frantic, deep, world shattering. Strings inside her only vaguely remembered were being tugged and all the time her hands were caressing his smooth skin, pressing herself closer.\n\n'Oh Georgia,' he whispered at length, taking her face in both his hands and holding her away from him a little. 'Is this for real?'\n\nThey held each other as they walked to the sea, hands touching waists; the unexpected nakedness of their skin so available made it seem harder to touch.\n\nThe sea was warm. They entered it as one person, walking until it came up to their waists. Only then did Rod turn to her to hold her and kiss her again.\n\nA swim apart, then back together again, hands searching for each other, lips drawn back like an addict for a drug.\n\nSalty kisses, hair flapping like seaweed against their faces, skin that had lost the smooth warmth from the sun.\n\n'Let's go back now,' Rod said, taking her hand and walking up the beach.\n\nA shower stood just inside the courtyard. They stood under it together, blasted by the icy water and Rod unfastened the top of her bikini, letting it drop to their feet. Next the pants, one tie on each hip until she stood naked under the jet of water, reaching out for his trunks to push them down his legs.\n\nThe towels lying in the sun were hot to the touch. Rod wrapped one round her, pressing himself against her, rubbing her back, flicking back the strands of wet hair from her face, kissing her again and again until she could see nothing but him.\n\nA mattress still lay under the pergola where Georgia had retreated at midday to cool off. Rod led her there now, half carrying her, his lips on her neck and shoulders, breath hot and sweet.\n\nDappled sunshine filtered through the grapevine above them, the wind rustling the palm trees. Rod's lips were on her breasts, her whole body arching towards him.\n\nIan had been gentle and sensitive. Max rough, experienced and compelling, but Rod was so sensuous she wanted to scream out how much he was pleasing her.\n\nStroking, biting, kissing and probing. He made her feel like a woman and she could barely wait for him to enter her. Surprise at the hardness and length of him. Shock that he could immerse himself so far into the act of love he barely knew it was her. His mouth devoured hers, his tongue fierce and yet loving. His hands on her buttocks squeezing, kneading, a steady rhythm that sent shock waves pulsating through every nerve-ending.\n\nGeorgia could feel her heart thumping, it was joyous and wonderful, mixed with a fear that it would be over too soon.\n\nPerhaps Rod sensed it. He moved back from her, playing with her with his fingers, bringing her to the edge of an abyss again and again. She could stand it no longer. Grabbing his buttocks in her hands she pulled him to her, forcing him back inside her, head tossing from side to side, then reaching back to his mouth to kiss and bite him.\n\nWhen she came it was like a roller-coaster in pitch darkness, stars shooting past her, falling, then rising each time higher and higher. A hot feeling, burning, sucking her into oblivion.\n\nGeorgia lay with her eyes closed, holding his head against her shoulder, fingers wound into his hair. Words of love were on her lips, but she was afraid he would laugh at her.\n\nHow many times had she come upon him, during or just after lovemaking? In dressing rooms, hotels, even in the van. The girls would look like she felt now, but Rod's eyes were always cold and calculating. He was just a tom-cat with no finer feelings, he rarely even tried to protect his girls, often he made a sarcastic remark about them.\n\nShe felt him move away from her, taking his weight on his arms. Slowly she opened her eyes, fully expecting him to be looking around for a cigarette or a drink, already bored.\n\nBut instead he was looking down at her, narrow almost slanted eyes brimming with tears.\n\n'You are the most perfect woman in the world,' he whispered.\n\nNo words were necessary. She lifted her arms and reached for him pulling his face down to her again.\n\n'I'd like to stay here forever,' he said later that evening as he cooked her an omelette.\n\nGeorgia sat on a high stool at the breakfast bar. She had put on a red cotton housecoat with nothing underneath. He wore only a pair of faded denim shorts, his bare chest gleaming under the light above the cooker.\n\n'You wouldn't,' she said. 'We've got no sounds, no car, there's not even a bar for miles. What would we do all day?'\n\n'Play house,' he grinned. 'Make love all the time, go for walks, swim. I never thought I'd see the day when I dreaded the lads coming home.'\n\n'We've got tonight,' she said softly. 'They won't come back now.'\n\n'Let's pray they get arrested,' he said turning the omelette onto a plate. 'We won't answer the phone, we'll just let them languish in gaol.'\n\n'We'd better be careful,' Georgia blushed at the need to discuss something like contraception in such a tender moment. 'I don't want to get pregnant.'\n\nRod pulled a packet out of his pocket.\n\n'I'm a regular boy scout,' he grinned. 'Sorry I didn't have them with me this afternoon, but I didn't expect to be seduced. Let's just hope it isn't too late!'\n\nThey ate by candlelight close to the fire. The wind had got up, shaking the palm tree and rattling the iron gates that led to the beach. The empty plates were left on the table, while Rod fed her black grapes picked from the vine in the courtyard. They drank more wine, made love again, and dozed by the fire.\n\nGeorgia woke first the next morning. Sunshine was creeping through the slats in the blinds, making stripes on Rod's face and chest.\n\nIan had always slept curled up, one hand around his face like a small child, but Rod looked like a man. Flat on his back, arms and legs sprawled out, his angular face could have been carved from a piece of mahogany.\n\nHer cheeks, chin and lips felt tender from the dark bristles which had sprouted up overnight on his chin. Her arms, thighs and breasts felt bruised and pummelled, but her heart was singing.\n\nNo remorse, no fear, guilt or worry. Every moment of last night was one to savour. She was happy.\n\nWhen the phone rang later that morning Georgia stiffened. Jokes about the boys getting arrested were one thing, but she knew when Speedy and Norman went on the rampage it could happen.\n\n'How's it going?' Rod said quite casually, leaning nonchalantly against the wall blowing kisses at her. 'What are we doing? Nothing much, just going down to the beach. When are you coming back?'\n\nSilence while he listened.\n\n'Do we want to go to a party tonight?' Rod shouted out to Georgia. She could see him shaking his head, not quite tough enough to admit to his friends he didn't want to go. 'The usual stuff, loads of crumpet, booze and loose living.' Georgia shook her head. Rod grinned cheerfully.\n\n'No I don't think we'll bother. It's nice doing nothing. No, we don't care about the car. We'll get a taxi if we want to go anywhere.'\n\nAgain a silence as Rod listened.\n\n'Okay we'll meet you at the airport. We can pack your stuff for you and call a cab. Just don't miss the plane, blockhead or Max will castrate you.'\n\nHe put the phone down and leapt out to where Georgia sat in the courtyard.\n\n'Our prayers were answered. They don't want to come back here. They were feeling guilty because I was missing all the fun.'\n\nShe had never seen this side of Rod before. The boy in him that had been stamped out perhaps by his own mother. His eyes sparkled, his thin lips fuller. Once Rod would have refused to even make tea he was so full of arrogant chauvinistic ideas. Yet since they'd been alone he had cooked, washed up, even washed her hair and dried it. Now he was choosing to be alone with her, instead of rushing off to join more hedonistic pursuits.\n\n'So what's going on?' Georgia smiled. 'Let me guess. They've pulled some birds?'\n\n'Partly. Speedy got chatted up by an older woman with pots of money. She's a French film star, living in a fabulous Hollywood-style place along the coast from Lloret. Anyway they all went back there with her for drinks and she invited a bunch of English people she knows round, and it's turned into a mini orgy of sex, drugs and rock and roll.'\n\n'Drugs!' Georgia's eyes flew open.\n\n'Only cannabis I think,' Rod said airily. 'Anyway they want to stay there. Speedy said this place was too isolated and the road so awful he didn't fancy driving back to pick us up. I think he was relieved when I said we didn't want to join them, perhaps he was scared I'd nick his tart.'\n\n'Would you?' she laughed.\n\n'I'd be too frightened someone might nick you.'\n\nThree days more of loving and being loved. An unspoken knowledge that maybe once they got back on the plane everything could change. Long hours walking along the beach, swimming, lazing and talking. No dressing up, nor fans interrupting the peace. In a capsule where gigs, money and other people couldn't touch them.\n\nAgain and again Georgia looked for signs of his boredom. She had never known him able to even stay in one room for longer than an hour, he liked noise and confusion.\n\nBut there were no signs. When he flopped down on the beach he was totally relaxed, reaching out for her hand as if to reassure himself she was still with him. He told her more stories about his early youth, of meeting Ian and the others. Yet he never spoke of the future.\n\nHours and hours of lovemaking, made sweeter with the ending being so uncertain. But finally the last morning came and Georgia woke to find Rod standing by the bed with a cup of tea in his hand.\n\n'Time to go,' he said. 'I packed the boys' things and booked a cab. We've got just an hour to say goodbye.'\n\n'Is that it then?' she asked. His face was full of something she couldn't quite define. Sadness certainly, but something more.\n\n'You know how it will be when we get back,' he sat down beside her and put the tea into her hand. 'The fans will be there, the press. We'll revert to our usual ways.'\n\n'My usual ways would include you,' she whispered. 'Do you think I'll change with the click of a camera?'\n\n'No girl, you won't, but I will. The old flash Harry bit will come back. I'll be chatting up birds because it's the way I am. You'll get pissy and before we know it will turn ugly.'\n\nSomehow she knew he wasn't telling her he didn't care, rather that he cared too much to hurt her.\n\n'Are you always going to run from everything?' she asked. 'Because that's what it is Rod, running.'\n\n'No my sweet,' he turned and took her by the shoulders. 'I could try and trap you now, get a commitment from you and you'd stick to it whatever happened. But I know I'm not the one for you, not deep down where it counts.'\n\n'Was all this for nothing then?' She reached up and traced his tanned cheek-bones, ran one finger round his thin lips.\n\n'I wouldn't call it nothing,' he said looking right into her eyes. 'We've given each other something special in these few days, not just our bodies. You've made me realize I can feel love. I've freed you from that bogey man of a father. Perhaps you don't know it yet, but I have.'\n\nHe took her down to the beach later, kissed her again in the same spot where it all started and together they looked back up at the villa.\n\nIt was just nine in the morning, the sun barely rising above the palm tree. Through the iron gates they could see the cool courtyard with its splashes of purple, red and orange flowers. The white walls of the house almost a symbol of the peace they felt. The bedroom where they'd done so much of their lovemaking had the shutters wide open. The sheets white against the dark wood of the heavy oak bed.\n\n'We're too much alike,' he said softly. 'We could get lost in a power struggle. We both need gentler people to complement us.'\n\nShe knew he was right, but it hurt so much. Here alone they could be everything to each other, but once the real world stepped in between them, with jealousy, greed and vanity it couldn't be the same.\n\n'So we leave it here?' she whispered.\n\n'Yes baby,' his lips were against her hair, she felt his shoulders quiver and knew he was crying.\n\n## Chapter 19\n\n_January 1966_\n\n'Fasten your seat belt sir,' the red-haired stewardess leaned over to touch the black man's hand lightly. He had slept for almost the entire flight from New York and now they were landing.\n\n'Sure was fast,' he opened his eyes and sat up sleepily. 'Don't seem mor'an hour since I got on. I hope that's England down there?'\n\n'It is,' she smiled, more at his delightful Southern drawl than his little joke. 'Good old wet, cold London. Is it your first visit?'\n\n'First time in such comfort, ma'am,' he smiled showing gleaming white teeth. 'I was here last during the War.'\n\n'Well you're gonna find a few changes,' she said. 'The only thing the same is the weather.'\n\n'Sleeping Beauty's awake at last.' Sonia buckled herself into her own seat and smirked at Muriel her dark-haired friend on the seat next to her. 'If only they all slept like that our job would be easier.'\n\n'Did you find out about him?' Muriel enquired. It had been an uneventful flight and they had spent much of the time playing guessing games with each other about the passengers. The sleeping black man was the most intriguing because he'd given nothing away about himself.\n\n'I reckon he's going to see a woman. But I could hardly ask him, could I?'\n\nMost of the passengers were business men. Smart, seasoned travellers who either drank themselves into a stupor to relieve the boredom of the long flight, or put on their glasses and studied files and papers as if they were still in their office. No mystery with any of them, some of them flew backwards and forwards across the Atlantic like commuters.\n\nThere was a young couple near the rear of the plane who they guessed were newly married. The way they held hands, dozed on each other's shoulders and wrapped themselves up in each other was a sure sign. There were three younger men, travelling alone. Students, judging by their desert boots, jeans and thick sweaters, presumably running short of money as they only accepted free drinks.\n\nTwo blue-rinsed American ladies visiting their offspring in England. Five middle-aged couples who'd spent Christmas in New York. But it was the odd balls on the flight who gained the girls' real interest.\n\nCould that nasty little weed from Dallas be a dealer in pornography? Was the woman in a shabby coat with the huge frightened eyes a runaway nun? And was the group of couples from Philadelphia really on a church mission? Wasn't it more likely they had heard about swinging London and they just wanted a slice of the action?\n\nThe black man had a magnetic presence. Something that invited curious glances. Although he had spoken to no one, they sensed this was from being caught up in his own thoughts rather than unfriendliness. His clothes were old, but they had style. A leather officer's flying jacket with a fur collar, dark green cord trousers and a checked, warm-looking shirt, faded around the collar. Just the confident way he moved, looked and spoke gave a feeling that he was someone special, even if he had no money.\n\nThey knew from his passport that he was from New Orleans, that he was forty-three, a musician and his name was Samuel Cameron. If he hadn't fallen asleep they would have got to the bottom of it.\n\n'Such a good-looking man,' Muriel leaned closer to Sonia, dark eyes full of mischief. 'Just look at that face!'\n\nHe was sitting in an aisle seat, his head lolling over to one side as if he was about to go back to sleep. Rich goldeny-brown skin with high cheek-bones and long curling eyelashes. His nose was straight, almost Roman, lips wide and fleshy as might be expected with his dark skin, yet shapely and well defined. Even his ears were perfect, like two small shells flat against his beautifully shaped head.\n\n'I could go for him,' Sonia said. 'That black treacle voice gives me goose pimples.'\n\n'I'm more interested in his body,' Muriel giggled. She loved the way his hair was cut in a close crop, his broad shoulders and his muscular thighs. 'You know what they say about black men!'\n\n'Well it's too late now,' Sonia sighed. 'We should have kept him awake right from the start.'\n\nSamuel Cameron wasn't just tired. He was exhausted. Greyhound bus from New Orleans to New York, then two days of partying with old friends before catching the plane. It had seemed a good idea to avoid the expense of a New York hotel. But now he wasn't so sure. Men he hadn't seen since his de-mob, musicians he'd promised he'd look up when he was in town. Twenty years of catching up, packed into forty-eight hours.\n\nThey all believed landing a six week residence in Ronnie Scott's club in London was the big break he hoped for. But now in the early morning, tired and needing a bath and a shave, Sam had misgivings.\n\nThe money was little better than back home. By the time he'd sent something back for the kids and found himself somewhere to live there would be precious little left.\n\nYet he had to take a gamble. The war had changed nothing in the South. Still the same old prejudices. The whites got the good jobs, the decent homes. Which was worse, to leave his kids with his sister to chase a dream? Or to let those kids see him stay for their sakes and grow old and embittered?\n\n'Damn you Ellie for taking off,' he thought as through a gap in the clouds he caught a glimpse of London. 'If you'd been a proper mother we could have worked something out between us. But then you never cared for the kids.'\n\nHe ought to have known a barfly like Eleanor wouldn't settle for diapers and strollers instead of dancing all night and pretty clothes. Yet he managed to turn a blind eye to the way she neglected Jasmine and Junior, put up with her sulking, and worked longer hours to bring in more money. He didn't guess she was running off to meet this white guy. If it hadn't been for that freak storm and a cancelled gig, he wouldn't have found out his kids were alone at home, night after night.\n\n'I have to get out,' that was her explanation. 'The kids drive me crazy and you don't love me enough.'\n\nThat was the last night he spent with her. He could see her now as she threw herself into his arms begging forgiveness. The red satin dress she said her sister had lent her, damp from the rain, clinging to her curvy little body, her black hair a shower of tiny tight curls glistening with water. He'd believed her that night, loved her hard and long, promising to try harder to make her happy.\n\nBut the next evening when he got back from work, she was gone, taking everything worth selling and the savings from the box under the bed. She didn't even leave a note for her children.\n\nIt was left to the neighbours to fill him in about the man from Vegas who promised her a job as a dancer. And he had to tell his children Ellie wouldn't be coming back.\n\nFive years of trying to be mother and father. Finding babysitters so he could work. But Jasmine was ten now, Junior twelve, old enough to understand he wasn't deserting them for ever as Ellie had done. Just trying something new which might make a whole new life for all of them.\n\nThere were far more people in the arrivals lounge than he expected so early in the morning. Women rushing forward to hug their husbands. Children's faces alight with expectation. A feeling of pent up excitement in the air, shrieks of laughter, questions, perhaps the inevitable row brewing.\n\nSam stood still for a moment, his kitbag on one shoulder, his tenor saxophone in his right hand. Everyone had someone, except him.\n\n'Sam, over here.'\n\nHe could hear Clive's voice yet he couldn't see him. His eyes prickled with affection for the man who had not only arranged his contract, but also made the time to meet his flight.\n\n'Sam! Good to see you.'\n\nClive was pushing through the crowd, a wide grin spread over his small face. 'I thought you'd missed the flight, everyone else got off ages ago. What kept you?'\n\nSam's friend was smaller, paler than he remembered. His dark hair thinner, the moustache tinged with grey. But the grin was the same, pale brown eyes dancing with excitement, his mouth stretching from ear to ear.\n\n'Customs, what else!' Sam shrugged his shoulders. 'Only black guy on the flight. So it goes without saying they'd pull me.'\n\nFor a moment Sam felt unsure of himself. He had remembered Clive in old jeans and a sweat-soaked T-shirt. He hadn't expected the dapper grey pin-striped suit and neat polished shoes. Was this really the man who had dared to penetrate Harlem just to see and hear his jazz idols play?\n\n'Did they find anything interesting?' Clive took his sax from him, and squeezed his arm, the nearest thing he could get to hugging the man.\n\n'Just a pair of smelly socks I'd forgotten about under the sax,' Sam laughed. 'It sure is good to see you Clive. I've been havin' more than a touch of the collywobbles.'\n\nIt was strange to find their roles reversed. Three years earlier in the Ghetto club in Harlem, Sam had been the big man who saved the drunken Englishman from being rolled if not murdered. He had seen the raised eyebrows as the white fool flashed a wad of notes, and he found himself suddenly protective, just because the man had an accent that plucked at some forgotten chord.\n\nPulling a knife and bundling Clive out the club could have backfired on him badly, but fortunately by the time Clive sobered up, with his money still in his pocket, he was astute enough to understand Sam's motives.\n\nNow it was Clive's turn to be protective, leading Sam to his world.\n\nThat night in Harlem he thought Clive was a jerk. A white man who wished he was black, hung up on all the old jazz legends. But that was before he found out the guy was sincere, knew about music even if he did play the shittiest trombone he'd ever heard. And the guy had a big heart.\n\n'You got collywobbles?' Clive laughed heartily. 'You've got a contract, your air fare paid. You'll be knockin' em dead in Soho tomorrow.'\n\nIt hadn't seemed much to take Clive back to New Orleans with him. What else could he do with such a likeable jerk, hell bent on his own destruction? The man had a wife and kids at home in England. Someone had to straighten him out, let him hear some good music and get him on the plane home.\n\nHe didn't expect the guy to keep in touch. Clive was from the white middle classes with a high-flying job in the motor trade. He had money, good connections and education. Why would a man like that want to befriend an itinerant musician who lived in a cold water, one bedroom apartment with two kids to slow him down?\n\nPerhaps it was music that sowed the seeds of real friendship, but an understanding of each other made it grow. Clive had his problems. Sam had his and somehow as they shared them, they began to care.\n\n'What the heck!' Sam stopped and stared. Just outside the doors of the arrivals lounge was a vast crowd of kids, shouting and hollering, pushing and shoving. For a moment it reminded him of a riot scene he'd witnessed in Alabama, except most of these kids were white.\n\nPolicemen stood by, forty or fifty of them. The helmets and blue serge uniforms just the same as he remembered all those years before. Around twenty of them had linked arms to form a human fence, but the kids were still pushing to get through.\n\n'Georgia! Georgia!' they chanted. Girls, some no older than thirteen or fourteen, in white socks and school scarves, faces contorted in their screaming.\n\n'What's goin' on Clive?'\n\n'Shit.' Clive caught hold of Sam's arm, blushing furiously. 'I'd forgotten.'\n\n'Forgotten what? Is it a riot?'\n\n'Georgia, the singer. She's leaving with her band for the States. We may as well go back and get a drink at the bar, we won't get a taxi now.'\n\nIt was impossible to talk over the babble of noise from outside. Each time they started to speak, the doors would burst open and fans would rush in looking for another vantage point to get closer to their idol.\n\nThere was something hysterical about so many youngsters waiting for a celebrity Sam had never heard of. A sad reminder that he was too old and cynical now for such foolishness. A whole generation born and raised since he was last in England.\n\n'So who is this Georgia? I thought it was only the Beatles who got this kind of scene?' Sam laughed as he saw one girl trip another and she landed on her face, her short skirt flying up, revealing a pert bottom in white panties. 'I'd like to thank the person who's giving me this free show.'\n\n'Georgia James. Don't tell me you haven't heard of her?' Clive's face registered surprise. 'She's had five or six top twenty hits.'\n\n'I don't listen to that pop shit,' Sam grinned. 'Is she any good?'\n\n'Brilliant,' Clive's pale face took on that look of worship he'd once kept for giants like Duke Ellington. 'Beautiful girl with a voice that makes your toes curl up. She's one of the greats, buddy. Pop star or not.'\n\nThey sensed the arrival of the limousine even before they caught a glimpse of the gleaming black car. It started with a roar, a surging forward that made Sam leap to his feet despite his natural inclination to stay where he was. With long strides he made it to the window, forgetting even his kitbag and instrument left lying by the bar.\n\nHe was tall enough at six feet three to see over the heads of the fans, but even so he jumped up on a chair to see better.\n\nThe police had made a chain along each side of the car. More police were holding open the doors, and still more waited inside the departure lounge.\n\nBy now there were thousands of fans, elbowing each other, fighting to get to the front. Screaming at the top of their lungs, waving autograph books, handkerchiefs, scarves, even hats.\n\nA policeman rushed forward to open the car door. Sam saw first a long, slim, brown leg in white boots snake out of the car, then the other, and his eyes travelled upwards.\n\nShe was beautiful! Coffee coloured like the mulattos in New Orleans. Long black curly hair with a white fur pill box hat perched at a rakish angle that matched her short white fur coat.\n\nShe said something to the crowd. Dark eyes dancing with pleasure at seeing them, but a hefty man with shoulders like a barn door was grabbing her arm and urging her to get inside the airport.\n\nGeorgia looked up and Sam caught her eye, just for the briefest moment. Her hand flickered at him, and she was gone, dragged inside to the comparative safety of the airport.\n\n'Wow,' Sam jumped down, Clive had joined him, but his short stature had stopped him from seeing anything. 'She was something else, man.'\n\n'If you'd been here two weeks earlier you might have got to play with her,' Clive laughed at the animated expression on Sam's dark face. 'She often pops into Ronnie Scott's. She used to live in Soho and from what I hear there isn't one musician who wouldn't cut off his balls to play for her.'\n\n'I sure wouldn't go that far,' Sam smiled. 'But I'll have to check her out.'\n\n'I've found you a pad,' Clive said later in the taxi. 'I'd have liked you to stay with me and the wife, but Surbiton's too far out of London.'\n\nWas Anne, Clive's wife as enthusiastic about this Yank arriving in England? Clive had come to the States that time because his marriage was on the rocks. Maybe Sam was the man who sent her husband back, but as he remembered, sometimes women's minds worked differently to men's.\n\n'That's swell of you,' Sam sighed with relief. He didn't want to impose on Clive anymore than he had to. 'How much does it cost?'\n\n'Just a fiver a week will do,' Clive said. 'It belongs to a mate of mine. He's away on business right now. It's just a place he takes his chicks to. But don't have any wild parties there and upset anyone.'\n\nSam was too immersed in looking at London to reply.\n\nThere was nothing he could pinpoint to reassure himself this really was England. Somehow he hadn't expected streams of traffic, or tower blocks of apartments and offices. The only real point of reference was the biting cold.\n\nFunny little houses in rows. Millions of them as far as he could see. The big red double-decker buses and all those small chunky cars. The England Sam had imprinted on his mind was full of small green fields, thatched cottages and gardens full of flowers. Bars where old men played darts and dominoes. Women with scarves tied round their heads queueing up for rations. Little boys who asked the Americans for chewing gum and chocolate.\n\nLondon had meant Katy. Begging a lift in a jeep, or jumping on a train, barely noticing the bombed houses, or the narrow streets. Leave, to most of his friends had meant drinking, dancing and parties. To Sam it had been his girl in his arms.\n\n'Has it changed much?' Clive asked. It was strange to be with Sam again. Perhaps he'd built up the friendship to more than it really was. Maybe it was a mistake encouraging him to come over. Was that coldness on the other man's face, or just memories of something he'd never opened up about?\n\n'I guess so,' Sam looked round at Clive, his mouth straight and severe. 'But then I didn't know this part of London. Bayswater was one bit I knew. Soho and Whitechapel. But most of the time I was out at Lakenheath. Ask me again when I've seen them.'\n\n'I expect you went to the service men's club in Bayswater?' Clive needed to find some common ground. 'The Douglas House?'\n\n'That's right!' Sam grinned suddenly, happier memories chasing away the blues. 'Is it still there?'\n\n'Still there,' Clive chuckled, pulling out some cigarettes and offering Sam one. 'Packed with G.I.s on paydays. Maybe we can get up there one night. Georgie Fame and the Blue Flames play there.'\n\n'Mockingbird Hill!' Sam's eyes twinkled. 'I thought they were black guys when I first heard that song. Couldn't believe my eyes when I saw he was a little white guy.'\n\n'I think Georgie Fame would take that as a compliment,' Clive laughed.\n\nClive had been on the verge of cracking up when he went to the States. He was successful, he had a lovely wife, home and three kids, but he wasn't happy. It was like he had a self-destruct button attached to his chest. He wanted some excuse to push it, and blast away all the shit in his life. Sales managers, targets, social climbing, he'd had enough of all that. He wanted something more, something meaningful. He wanted to listen to music, fall in love with a wild woman, break out and be different.\n\nIf he hadn't met Sam he probably would never have got home again. His idealistic dream was already tarnished. He heard all the great jazz he hungered for. Yet the free spirits he'd expected were as trapped as himself. They had problems too, drugs, drink and poverty.\n\nSam put it all into perspective for him. Showed him the real America you didn't get on package holidays. The hospitality, the hypocrisy. Scenery he'd only ever dreamed of, poverty he wished he could forget. A country that had so much richness and beauty, but with an underlying core of greed and corruption.\n\n'You've already got the things that are important man,' Sam said. 'Go home to your wife and kids, learn to be happy with what you've got. Don't go crying for the moon.'\n\nClive knew when he said goodbye to Sam at New Orleans airport that if he couldn't break away from his own life, then he would make sure Sam got his just reward. No one in England could play the sax like him. Somehow he was going to make the breaks for this big-hearted black man. He had the connections in London, and he was going to use them.\n\n'Say, man,' Sam turned to Clive as the taxi came near to Piccadilly Circus. 'Hell, I don't know how to say this,' he paused suddenly embarrassed. 'I mean, I appreciate you setting this up. Finding me a place to stay an' all. But I don't want you to think you've gotta wet-nurse me. Okay?'\n\nColour had never been an issue in their friendship. But now looking out of the taxi window and seeing people who were predominantly white, Sam felt a pang of the old fear.\n\nClive was a true friend, but he had a white wife and kids, an important job. He didn't want to stretch that friendship so far it broke. In the States things were clearly defined. There was some sort of rough honesty in the prejudice. Here he didn't know how things stood, and he wouldn't find out for certain leaning on a white jazz buff.\n\n'Sure.' Clive grinned. 'I know what you're trying to say Sam. You need to find your feet on your own. Call me when you want company. I'd like to think we can get out to hear some bands together now and then. But I won't be on your back.'\n\n'Thanks man,' Sam really smiled at last. 'Say, can you imagine how great it is to see all this again?'\n\nHe knew this bit of London. Eros had been boarded up then. The shops hadn't looked so gawdy. But there was the White Bear he used sometimes and down this road was surely the theatre he'd taken little Katy to?\n\nThe taxi turned outside the Dominion, swung round to the right and stopped.\n\n'I remember this bit.' Sam got out, looking around like a kid on a Sunday school treat. 'Used to be a musical instrument shop here.'\n\n'Over there.' Clive paid the driver and slammed the door. 'Some things don't change. They call this bit Tin Pan Alley still. 'Cept now it's all electric guitars and organs. Back in the 'fifties there were men playing pianos in some shops to sell sheet music. Now it's record shops and coffee bars.'\n\nIt was still only nine in the morning. Clive had gone to work and Sam's body clock was so mixed up he didn't know whether he wanted to eat, sleep or get drunk.\n\nHis kitbag sat on the double bed. His saxophone on a settee and this tiny place was his for the next few weeks.\n\nOne room, a tiny kitchen and bathroom off the small hall. It had that quality he remembered about England, a sturdy, comfortable feel. Smart enough with its plain dove-grey walls and dark red curtains. The oak table and chairs scratched enough for it to feel homely. Clean but not antiseptic. A place where a loner like himself could be inconspicuous. Was it Clive who stocked up that icebox with eggs, bacon and beer? Enough coffee for a month and a cupboard full of tins?\n\nIt was on the third floor above a coffee bar. The window looked out over Charing Cross Road and there was that theatre almost winking at him.\n\nWhat was the show he'd taken her to see? Darned if he could remember now. All he could see was her face shining up at him.\n\nSuch a pretty face. Small and heart-shaped, with big brown eyes under those shiny bangs. He could still feel that shiny straight hair as he ran his fingers through it, thick, sweet-smelling and so silky it drew his fingers back to it again and again.\n\nIt had been her hair he noticed first that night in Lakenheath. He was playing with the band when he saw her walk through the crowd with her friend.\n\nAll the other girls had theirs curled. Weird styles rolled up round scarves and God knows what. She was just natural in a green and white print dress, her waist so small she looked about fourteen and that thick dark hair just touching her shoulders.\n\nShe didn't exactly dance. She just stood there jigging up and down and clapping her hands. As she moved her hair swayed like a heavy silk curtain, gleaming under the mirrored ball.\n\nHe shouldn't have even looked at a white girl. He wouldn't have dared back home. But it was different then, a feeling in the air that nothing was permanent. You had to take chances, because tomorrow you might just be dead.\n\n'Well Katy,' he said aloud as he watched the endless stream of traffic forcing itself down the narrow streets. 'What happened baby? Did you lose your nerve?'\n\nSuddenly he couldn't stay in. London was beckoning him. He had only his tuxedo and shirt to hang up, everything else could wait.\n\nOnce out on the street he stopped to get his bearings. It was all so familiar, yet so strange. It was usually night when he came here before. Yet surely that was the tube station he'd run to once when the sirens went off?\n\nLeicester Square. He knew where he was now. They went dancing here sometimes and she wore that little red costume he bought her with some sort of frill round the waist.\n\n'Wouldn't navy blue be more sensible?' she asked, giggling as she stood there in the dress shop. 'What about the points Sam? I haven't got enough.'\n\nThe Brits were funny about their ration coupons. He'd done a deal with the woman who owned the shop. Katy wasn't so worried about the money it cost, more about not handing over the damn points.\n\nHe was into Piccadilly without even being aware he was still walking. It was smaller than he remembered. What was that song they used to sing? Something about lights going on again in Piccadilly. They didn't look much, he'd expected it more like Vegas. Perhaps it was more spectacular at night?\n\nRegent Street. This was where the rich folks bought their clothes, wasn't it? Kind of like Fifth Avenue in New York. The girls were different to ones in the States. Kind of bolder, all that long flowing hair and big dark-ringed eyes. The short skirts were kinda neat though, women wouldn't go for those back home.\n\nHe didn't know why he got on the tube at Oxford Circus. One moment he was standing by the subway, the next walking down the stairs.\n\nThat dry, warm wind coming up from the platforms took him back. Strange dank smells that made him feel safe. No one felt safe on the New York subways. But he could remember everyone in London running to them when there was an air raid.\n\nPlatforms crowded with people. Women with picnics and knitting in baskets, small boys with a puppy or a kitten under their coat. A man with only one leg who played an accordian. Old ladies wrapped in blankets, babies crying, young girls giggling together and men who had to start work early trying hard to catch some sleep. Someone would start to sing and before long it was a party.\n\nPerhaps that was why Sam still liked Brits so much. That ability to hold on to what was important, no matter what life chucked at them. He was sure they would have licked the Germans even without the Yanks to help them.\n\nSam stood holding the strap, his body swaying with the motion of the train. The stations were all so familiar as he looked at the map. Lancaster Gate, that was the station he used from the Douglas House. Marble Arch, Bond Street, then Oxford Circus. He must have taken that ride forty or fifty times. Back then, the train had been packed with servicemen. Americans and Canadians in their blue uniforms. British soldiers in khaki, Royal marines in navy blue and a smattering of sailors in bellbottoms. There was always an atmosphere of comradeship, mixed with rivalry. Showing off for the shy girls with fresh faces, passing round cigarettes and telling jokes.\n\nNot a uniform in sight now. No conversation or jokes. Men in dark suits hugged their briefcases. Middle-aged ladies with bags bulging with shopping. Boys with their hair cut like the Beatles. Office girls with their knees neatly tucked together, eyes glued to magazines. What had happened in London that people avoided any human contact?\n\nIt was then he knew where he was going. He knew nobody else in London apart from Clive. He couldn't call into Ronnie Scott's until late tonight. What else could he do but make the trip to Whitechapel and get it out of his system?\n\nOutside Whitechapel Station he stood helplessly. It had changed, yet he couldn't say how.\n\nThere was the old hospital across the street, blackened by smoke, as forbidding as he remembered. Surely the main road was never that wide? Where were all the tiny shops he remembered and that Yiddish theatre on the corner?\n\nIt ought to smell the same. Smoke was still coming out of chimneys, the little market was still there. But now there was spice in the air instead of fish, the roar of traffic instead of the shouts of costermongers.\n\nSam stood for a moment watching the scene at the small market.\n\nDark faces outnumbered white. Indians in turbans behind the stalls, women in saris queueing next to plump West Indians. Girls in their late teens pushed strollers, pale, harassed, with untidy hair. A heavily pregnant young woman bent over to spank a small boy, his screams unnoticed by anyone but Sam. A big white Ford drew up at the kerb, disgorging four young black men in leather jackets. An old woman in a red woolly hat was sorting through some fruit left out for the garbage men, and a burly man hopped along on crutches, one trouser leg pinned up with a safety pin.\n\nIt was good to see there were no ragged urchins standing listlessly outside the pub on the corner. None of these people looked hungry or pinched. Rosy-faced children in bright, warm clothes hung on to their mothers' hands. There was food aplenty and money to spare.\n\nBut what had happened to the cheery greetings Sam remembered? There was isolation, just the way he noticed on the tube. Men in cloth caps, their jacket shoulders worn shiny with unloading ships down at the docks, were replaced by menacing looking youths, hair cut short like convicts. Car horns instead of the jangle of trolley bus bells.\n\nSam sighed. It had lost something more than its slums. Despondency had taken the place of character. Maybe there was less dirt and disease, but Whitechapel as he knew it was gone.\n\nAcross the street he saw a young black man holding a white girl's arm. In the Southern States that would be asking for trouble, yet here they passed unnoticed.\n\nThe Black Bull on the corner looked the same. White painted with black beams, the lattice windows twinkling invitingly. He had thought it was really old until Katy told him differently.\n\n'It's just mock Tudor,' she explained as he gawped at it. When Henry the Eighth was on the throne this was all fields.'\n\nWell fake or not, Sam liked it. Besides it stood on the corner of her street and back in '44 it had meant he was nearly there.\n\nIf it hadn't been for the Black Bull he might have thought he was mistaken. Valance Road had once been filled with tiny houses. A few gaps like broken teeth where bombs had dropped. Windows boarded up, shrapnel holes in some of the doors but it had been alive with people.\n\nNow it was quiet. New apartment blocks in the place of all the rows of old tiny houses he remembered. Scrubby grass stretched round them. Swings for the children, seats for the elderly. Those old houses were dark, damp places, infested with rats, overcrowded as his own childhood home, yet they had a quality of welcome which was lacking now.\n\nTo his right was another empty site, this one still not cleared. Stumpy grass grew over uneven ground, but behind it he could see that creepy railway arch.\n\n'Jack the Ripper got one of his victims here.' He could see Katy's eyes full of horror as they ran through that road one night soon after she moved here. It had been foggy, that evil yellow fog London was famous for, the kind that made every face look sinister.\n\nHe hadn't wanted her to move here. She should have stayed in Suffolk with her folks until they came round. A girl like her didn't belong in this place with its dark little alleys, the smells and the dirt. But he'd wanted to be with her so badly he didn't say any of that. London was the place where they didn't mind a girl having a black Yank. There was too much going on to dwell on tomorrow.\n\nHe remembered a hospital here. Not a big place like the one in the main street. A saint's name. Was it Peter? When did that get pulled down? It was an ugly, dark place, like a workhouse he'd seen pictures of before he came to England.\n\nIt was very cold. Sam zipped up his jacket and pulled up the fur collar. Hughes Mansions was up ahead of him. It looked different now too. Kind of forgotten. Old-fashioned compared with these new places.\n\nWhen Katy lived there it was a good modern place. She took pride in telling him they were all business people who lived there and for Sam who had been brought up in a shingle shack, it was the nearest thing he'd seen to luxury.\n\nA bathroom with a geyser to heat the hot water. Electric light, an indoor john and a proper kitchen with a boiler for the washing. Katy had a little room of her own, with roses on the walls and a satin-covered eiderdown on her bed.\n\nSam stopped at the gateway and stared up. It looked the same but it wasn't. Three blocks set on three sides of a square. Katy had lived in the one at the back. Five floors of red brick, stone balconies running from a central staircase. She used to wait on that landing in the summer, three floors up, just her head and shoulders visible above the stone wall.\n\nBut now there were four blocks, they seemed to press in on each other, shutting out light from the middle square.\n\n'You looking for someone?'\n\nSam was startled to find a middle-aged woman standing by him. She was pushing a basket on wheels piled high with laundry. Her hair in curlers with a scarf over them, a plaid, shapeless coat with a fur collar.\n\n'I used to know someone who lived here,' he said almost reluctantly. The expression on her tight face was one he knew meant resentment. 'It looks different now, but I can't make out why.'\n\n'Those three are new blocks,' she said pointing to the three buildings furthest from the road. 'They may be new but they ain't as warm and dry as the old one.'\n\nSam could see now. They were copies, the brickwork and doorways different. Only the one on the road was an original.\n\n'But why leave that one?' He pointed to the old one and frowned. 'It don't make sense.'\n\n'A bomb hit two of them.'\n\n'Bombed?' Sam felt his head reel. 'When?'\n\nShe looked at him as if he were simple-minded.\n\n'In the war of course!'\n\n'I meant what year. Which month,' he said quickly. His heart was pounding, a dry feeling in his throat.\n\n'I dunno,' she turned to walk away. 'I've only lived here five years.'\n\nShe was gone before Sam could question her further. He saw her pulling her basket over the central tarmac square and disappear into a flat across the other side.\n\nThere was a sick feeling in his belly. Was that why Katy didn't reply? They moved her on somewhere and his letters never got delivered?\n\nSam sat down on a low wall. He was cold, colder than he'd ever been before. The sky was black and threatening above him, the four apartment blocks were dark and gloomy, yet twenty-two years ago this had been the place where dreams came true.\n\nAll those years of thinking she'd just stopped caring. Never once had it crossed his mind she might be homeless, alone or frightened. Love had turned to bitterness. He had been so engrossed in self pity it had blinded him to considering she might have had her own problems.\n\nSam saw an old man turn into the yard. The man paused for a second, leaning heavily on his walking stick, his shoulders bent, breath like smoke in the cold air. He looked at Sam suspiciously, old rheumy eyes watering in the cold wind.\n\n'You waiting for someone?' His tone suggested Sam should wait somewhere else. The kind of arrogance Sam understood.\n\n'I came to look for an old friend,' he replied, standing up and taking a step towards the man. 'One of your neighbours just told me two of the blocks were bombed.'\n\n'You took yer time coming,' the old man said, taking a handkerchief out of his coat pocket and blowing his nose noisily. 'Twenty years ago that was.'\n\n'Well I'm American,' Sam said. 'I got posted to Germany, then I went back to the States. Did you live here when it happened?'\n\nThe old man wobbled on his stick. The suspicious look replaced by one of interest.\n\n'Yes son, thought I'd lost my wife and kids when I heard the news. But they was all right, it was the people in that block that copped it.' He lifted his stick and pointed to the block where Katy had lived. 'Was your friend in there?'\n\n'Yes,' Sam felt his eyes welling up. 'When did it happen? Did many die?'\n\n'March '45. It were one of those V.2S. No warning, nothing. Seven in the morning. Over a hundred and thirty killed.'\n\nThe sick feeling in Sam's stomach grew stronger. He swayed on his feet, closing his eyes momentarily.\n\n'What happened to the survivors?' he whispered.\n\n'Mostly men that had gone out to work.' The old man's tone softened, seeing the pain in the black man's eyes. 'Who was it you knew?'\n\n'She was called Katy. Small, dark-haired, shared a place with two other girls. I think it belonged to one of the girls' aunts. Number twenty-four it was.'\n\n'Don't remember her.' It wasn't often someone wanted to talk about the old days and he was anxious to prolong the conversation. 'But my daughter might. She's in there now, getting me some dinner. Come on up and ask her.'\n\nThe old man lived on the first floor of the old block. He took the stairs slowly, clinging on to the banisters.\n\nIt was dirty now, the way these blocks never looked back when Katy lived here. Someone had written on the walls, the stairs hadn't been swept for years and there was a smell of urine.\n\n'They was supposed to be moving us old 'uns out,' the old man held his chest and wheezed. 'But it never came about. I reckon I'll be here till the last. Eighty next month. Been here since they was built.'\n\n'Come on Dad. What kept you?' A rosy-faced woman came out on to the landing, a flowery apron over her dark jumper and skirt. Not fat exactly, but big hips and breasts. A round, unlined face as if life had been kind to her. Calm brown eyes and a soft mouth.\n\n'My fault, ma'am.' Sam flashed a brilliant smile at her, hoping charm would make it easier for her to talk to him. 'I kept him talking about the bombing here. He thought you might know my friend who lived in the back block.'\n\nShe smiled then, dimples showing in her pink cheeks. She had a girlish quality, even though she was in her late thirties.\n\n'You're American? You were here during the war?'\n\n'That's right ma'am,' he held out his hand. 'Sam Cameron. I've come over here to play at Ronnie Scott's. I just wandered down here to look at the old place, and it's gone.'\n\n'Well Sam,' she fluttered her eyelids a little at him, her hand in his was soft and warm. 'May I call you that? I'm Hilda Croft. Come in and have some coffee while Dad has his dinner. I'll see what I can remember.'\n\n'This is real kind of you,' Sam said once he was sitting by the fire with a cup of steaming coffee in his hands. 'It's my first day back in England and here I am in a room just like the one I remember from last time.'\n\nIt was almost identical to the living room in Katy's place. A heavy old polished table covered with a cloth and a sideboard of the same wood. A small couch covered in dark red material, worn thin on the arms and two matching armchairs, placed round the fire. If it hadn't been for the big television under the window and a gas fire replacing the coal one, he could have gone back in time.\n\nAt number twenty-four there'd been a wireless in the corner. A big shiny wood one with cut out sun-ray effect. He could almost see Katy perched on the arm of the chair, twiddling with the knobs to tune it. There was a wind-up gramophone too, pictures of horses on the walls and a plaster plaque of a cottage with roses round the door. It was always warm there, even though the girls had to carry bags of coal up the stairs.\n\n'I was only sixteen when the rocket hit.' Hilda sat down in the chair opposite him. She was wearing red fluffy slippers and her ankles were surprisingly slim. She made an impatient gesture to her father sitting at the table just behind them, half rising as if expecting him to ask her to cut up his dinner. 'I got married soon after and moved on out to Chigwell. But I know some of the people who lived in that block. What was your friend's name?'\n\n'Katy Collins,' Sam sipped the hot coffee, curling his fingers round the cup to warm them. 'Small, dark and pretty. She lived with Doris Lessing in number twenty-four.'\n\n'I remember Doris,' Hilda frowned. 'Big strapping girl. She was in the Fire Service.'\n\n'That's right,' Sam's face broke into a smile. 'Can you remember Katy?'\n\nHe could see she was struggling to put a face to the name. He willed her to remember.\n\n'She had a baby?'\n\n'No,' Sam chuckled. 'Not Katy.'\n\n'One of those girls did,' Hilda insisted. She frowned as if she knew she was right. 'I remember walking home with Doris once just after Christmas. She showed me the pattern for a coat she was knitting. She said her friend was about to have a baby.'\n\n'Maybe that was Ruth?' Sam said easily. 'The other girl who lived there.'\n\nHilda shook her head.\n\n'No, she was a glamour puss. She had long red hair and was always out dancing. The one that had the baby was a dressmaker. Doris told me she'd made lots of little nighties.'\n\nA strange feeling ran down Sam's spine.\n\n'Was she a dressmaker?' Hilda dropped her voice, aware she had hit a sensitive note.\n\nSam nodded. 'What happened to Doris?'\n\n'She copped it, and the other two. Same as most of the folk did in that block,' she stopped short, covering her mouth with her hand. 'Oh Sam, I'm sorry.'\n\nSam's face blanched. 'Are you sure?'\n\n'Of course I'm sure,' she lowered her eyes and twisted the ring on her finger round and round. 'I had stayed the night with my girlfriend across Mile End Road. We heard the bang, saw the smoke and dust. Someone said our flats had been hit and I ran all the way here. I knew Dad would be at work but Mum and the kids were here.'\n\n'Were they safe?'\n\n'Oh yes,' she closed her eyes as if reliving it. 'The rocket hit the back block, it left a crater thirty foot deep in the courtyard. The side block was almost entirely blown away too. All the windows here were broken. Some of the people were blown out of them. But Mum fell on the floor and the kids were still in bed.' She looked up at Sam again, a look of pain in those dark eyes, all flirtation gone.\n\n'There's lots of things I've forgotten, but not about that day. They laid the dead out there as they found them. It was the worst thing I ever saw. Old ladies and men, blown out their beds. Kids blown to pieces, arms legs,' she shuddered, pausing and wiping her hand over her eyes. 'Doris, Ruth and the other girl were all together, still in their nightclothes. I can remember seeing Ruth's red hair as they put her body on a stretcher, it was hanging down over the end, almost touching the ground. So pretty.'\n\nTears trickled down her cheeks. Sam reached out and touched her hand.\n\n'Don't mind me,' she sniffed. 'I wish I could say your girl wasn't there. But the three of them were all together. Doris in striped pyjamas. Ruth in a silky nightie and the other girl in between them, she had a blue dress. I even remember someone saying they must have been eating breakfast together.'\n\n'I'm sorry I brought it back,' he said.\n\n'It's okay,' she tried to smile. 'We got hardened somehow by it. Days and days of funerals, living in the hall across the road till it was safe to come back. We learned so much about one another, kind of shared the grief.'\n\n'But the baby. Was that with them?' He was sure Hilda was mixing Katy up with someone else. The only evidence was Doris making a coat. That could have been for almost anyone.\n\n'I don't remember,' she sighed deeply, frowning with concentration.\n\n'I remember about the baby.' The old man's voice surprised them both. They turned sharply. His open mouth revealed few teeth left and some half-chewed cabbage.\n\n'You don't remember anything,' Hilda said sternly. 'Get on with that dinner before it gets cold.'\n\n'I do,' he retorted, putting down his knife and fork. 'They never found it until the evening of the second day. I was out there helping clear the site. A young fireman found her, he heard crying under the ground. I was there when they lifted it out.'\n\nSam looked at Hilda, waiting for her to snap a denial at her father. Instead she looked thoughtful.\n\n'Dad's right,' she said slowly. 'I remember now. One of the women came tearing across the road to the church hall to tell us. There was women who'd lost their children, nearly out of their minds with grief. They all ran back to the site to see it.'\n\n'It was a black baby,' the old man piped up again.\n\nHilda looked sternly at her father, then back again to Sam.\n\n'Was it?' Sam said softly.\n\nShe didn't speak for a moment, as if trying to sort out real memories from rumours.\n\n'Mrs Kirkpatrick, she was the old girl who acted as midwife around here, said it was, but I never saw the baby. They said she was around ten weeks old. We were all so amazed the baby wasn't dead or even hurt. She was buried alive, still in her pram, trapped under rubble.'\n\n'Did anyone claim her?' Sam's voice was little more then a whisper. 'I mean, did this baby belong to a survivor?'\n\nHilda shook her head, eyes filling up with tears.\n\n'You think she was yours?'\n\nSam couldn't reply.\n\nA flashback took him back to that bedroom with the satin eiderdown. White curtains with red roses moving in the early morning breeze.\n\n'I should have been careful.' He was damp with perspiration, his face pressed into her small pink-tipped breasts. His hand against Katy's face looked so dark in contrast to her white skin. 'What if I've put you in the family way?'\n\n'I wouldn't care,' her laugh was like a caress. 'Besides, that only happens to other people.'\n\nHe remembered watching her as he dressed that last time, fastening his blue uniform slowly, anything to prolong the moment of leaving. She lay with her dark hair tangled on the pillow, dark eyes full of unshed tears.\n\n'You will come back?' her voice wobbled. 'I'm counting on you.'\n\n'I don't know,' Sam's voice shook as he answered Hilda. 'In her last letter she said she had a surprise for me. But I just thought she had made something for me. Why would a girl hide something like that?'\n\n'Maybe she was frightened you'd run out on her?' Hilda sighed. 'I mean men do, don't they?'\n\n'But we were going to get married,' Sam insisted. 'I left for Germany in April of '44. She wrote to me nearly every day. If I'd known I'd have found some way to get back. The last letter I got was dated March twenty-fifth. Then nothing.'\n\n'It was the morning of the twenty-seventh when it happened,' Hilda said softly.\n\nSam just stared at Hilda. She was counting on her fingers.\n\n'They said the baby was ten weeks old. That works right back to happening just before you left for Germany.'\n\nThe room was spinning. It was too hot. He wanted to run out denying what this woman was telling him.\n\nWas this some sort of bad dream? Why should he believe this baby belonged to Katy anyway? Twenty years distorted everything.\n\n'What happened to this baby?' he asked.\n\nHilda shook her head.\n\n'I don't know,' she said softly. 'Mrs Kirkpatrick would have known, and my mother too, but they both died years ago. I almost wish Dad hadn't brought you up here. Perhaps it would have been better if you'd never known about any of this.'\n\nA spotlight glinted on his saxophone as he raised it to his lips. He filled his lungs with air, fingers poised on the keys.\n\n'Watermelon man', a fitting number for a poor black man from New Orleans. He hadn't been prepared to sit in with the band tonight, but they'd insisted.\n\nScores of people sitting out there in the smoky darkness waiting to see if he could truly make his horn sing and all Sam could think of was Katy.\n\nHe tried to cut out the ugly scene Hilda had described and remember Katy how she was.\n\nThe notes came out as he pictured her running to him down the lane at Lakenheath. The fields were yellow with buttercups, she was wearing a pink dress that clung to her slim legs, her arms held out to him, hair flowing back from the small heart-shaped face. Cherry lips, cheeks pink with excitement.\n\n'I've found a place we can be together,' she shouted even before she reached him. 'I love you Sam.'\n\nHe didn't know he was putting all that into his music. It was all so real he could smell the fields, feel the sunshine on his neck and face, hear her voice.\n\nA roar washed over him, bringing him back to the present.\n\nOut beyond the stage he could see nothing but a blur of white faces and clapping hands.\n\nSo she was dead. Yet, in a way it was kinder than thinking she stopped loving him. He was back in the country that made him a man, and by that applause he knew he'd played a great solo.\n\nHe had turned a corner in his life. So Ellie had run out on him, but how could he blame her? Hadn't he ever only loved her with half a heart? He knew the truth at last about Katy and he had his children.\n\nMaybe the baby found in the rubble wasn't his, but he couldn't rest until he found that out for certain.\n\n'I'm counting on you.' Those were Katy's last words to him, and this time he wouldn't let her down.\n\n## Chapter 20\n\nThe headline mocked him even though he had moved away from the table where the newspaper lay. Even if he closed his eyes he could still see it.\n\n'Our Georgia, home again in triumph.'\n\n'How dare she smile like that after what she's put me through?' he muttered. Yet he still couldn't bring himself to screw up the paper and throw it to one side without reading further.\n\nMoving slowly back to the table, he bent over and tried to bring the small print into focus. His glasses were broken, and he had no money left to replace them. Dirt-encrusted fingers twitched with a kind of palsy. He was cold, his chest hurt, and now this.\n\n'Are you in there Mr Anderson?'\n\nHe heard the Irish voice at the door but ignored it. He could imagine Mrs Dooley's fat face squashed against his door as she listened, vast breasts straining her overall. Swollen purple feet incongruous in furry pink slippers.\n\nShe kept in with the landlords by acting as unpaid rent collector and stool-pigeon, while taking bribes from the black tenants upstairs to keep quiet when another friend had swelled their numbers even further.\n\n'I know you're in there!' she called out. 'You know what will happen if you don't pay me, don't you?'\n\nHe knew all right. Those bully boys from the landlord would come round and threaten him, maybe even throw him out on the street.\n\nIt wasn't as if the room was worth anything. A filthy hovel in Ladbroke Grove sharing the toilet with blacks and Irish. They hadn't mended the window since he fell against it, the gas meter was fixed to make money out of him and the sink was blocked up.\n\nA sagging single bed. A sink and old black cooker. Hooks on the door to hold his only coat. Two fireside chairs, one with a broken arm. A table and two chairs. The proportions of the room were all wrong. A giant black marble fireplace. An eight foot ceiling and a long narrow sash window covered in grey net curtain, in a room twelve foot long by six foot wide. Once the room next door had been part of it, until the landlords hastily erected a thin plasterboard partition. To Brian Anderson it seemed almost coffin shaped.\n\nGeorgia's face in the paper tormented him. She was wearing a ridiculous cowboy outfit, with a Stetson, fringed jacket, indecently short skirt and even cowboy boots. They said she'd taken America by storm and London airport was besieged with fans waiting for her arrival home.\n\n'They wouldn't like you so much if they knew what you'd done to your father!' he muttered, forcing the scissors between swollen, twisted fingers.\n\nHis room was full of her pictures. Glossy, glamour shots of her running along a beach in a red and white sarong, the wind catching her hair and holding it out behind her like a black flag. Another one and she was curled up sensuously in a white armchair, a hint of brown cleavage and those long, slim legs tucked round her. In sequinned evening dress, regal and beautiful. On stage, her hair sticking to her head with perspiration, that wide mouth open, head thrown back. Walking through fallen leaves in a park wearing jeans and a man's jacket over her shoulder, laughing as though interrupted in some private moment of fun.\n\nHe had them all. Each mention in the press. Every picture no matter how tiny. A private collection which gave him no pleasure. She was responsible for his plight and one day he would ruin her.\n\nSometimes he had dreams when he saw her coming for him with a knife. He would wake up sweating and shaking. But it soothed him to look at the pictures. She was the evil one, not him. He must never let himself forget that.\n\nHe picked up a thin, worn donkey-jacket and put it on. He had to go and collect his money from the post office, he couldn't risk Mrs Dooley calling the landlord again. Perhaps just one drink to warm him and stop the shakes.\n\nThe wind outside was icy. The soles of his shoes had holes in them and he had no socks left.\n\nWas he going mad? He knew there had been a better life before. He could see himself mowing a lawn, or sitting in a sweet-smelling room listening to a piano. He imagined opening a drawer and taking out a shirt fresh from the laundry, putting gold links into the cuffs and slapping cologne on his smooth shaven face. But if he had that life once, why was it he ended up here?\n\nMost of the time his mind was stubbornly fixed in Ladbroke Grove as if the startling memories that came to him were nothing more than something he'd seen on a film. Except for Georgia. Her face remained constant in his mind, only the details of how and why she made him suffer hazy.\n\nDown the grey street he shuffled, eyes down in the gutter. Past dustbins spewing out on to the path. Black faces everywhere. Standing on steps gossiping, lounging on corners with malice in their dark eyes.\n\nWhere had they all come from? Surely there was a time when everyone was white?\n\nHe crossed the road at the lights, turned left and into the post office.\n\nFor once it was quiet. Only two people before him. Sometimes the queue stretched right to the door. Black women with prams, out-of-work youngsters, all the old, sick and poor people of Ladbroke Grove waiting for their state benefits.\n\n'Have you got your book Mr Anderson?'\n\nHe liked the post office. They treated him properly here. Remembered his name and gave him respect.\n\nHe felt inside his coat and pulled out the crumpled yellow book.\n\n'You haven't signed it.' The big woman with red hair smiled at him. She was tapping her nails on the counter with impatience, but then she was a busy woman. 'Have you got a pen?'\n\n'Of course,' he said, feeling in his pocket again.\n\nThe snotty-nosed brats in his street called him 'The Banker'. He couldn't always remember why this was, but the pen was a clue.\n\nHe signed the book and pushed it under the grille. She counted out the notes and pushed them back to him.\n\n'Good morning,' he said, and shuffled off to the door, his money still in his hands.\n\nHis mind was cloudy again. It was like that most days now. Like the grey net at his window had got inside his head. It stopped him from thinking or planning and each day it grew thicker. He knew he needed to buy something but what was it?\n\nA bus stopped in front of him, then another right behind it. He was caught in the middle of a human whirlpool, trapped by women with pushchairs, old ladies with shopping baskets, young men in leather jackets and a group of school children.\n\nHe didn't see who pushed him, just a sharp thump in his chest, and the next thing he was on his back.\n\n'Are you okay?' A male voice was speaking to him, but he couldn't see anything but a blur of white above him.\n\nFor a moment he thought he'd just tripped, as he often did these days, yet why was he on his back instead of on his knees?\n\n'My money,' he clawed at the air, suddenly aware his hand was empty. 'Who's taken my money?'\n\nThe man was leaning over him, touching his shoulder, but he was talking to someone else. Something about a black man who pushed him and stole his money. He was urging another man to telephone the police.\n\nHe didn't know he was crying, just a damp feeling trickling down his face.\n\n'Poor old chap,' the man said. 'How could anyone be low enough to rob him?'\n\nThrough the grey mist he knew he must regain his dignity.\n\n'Help me up please,' he asked. 'I can't see very well, but I'd like to get in somewhere warm.'\n\nA hand went under his elbow and hoisted him up, he could see the man's face now. It was young, fresh and even kindly.\n\n'Would it be too much to trouble you for a cup of tea?' Brian asked. 'I need a moment to get over the shock.'\n\n'Of course,' the man said. He turned to someone behind him. 'I'll just take him into the caf\u00e9. Tell the police to come in there.' He took Brian's arm and led him into warmth. 'Sit down and I'll get you some tea.'\n\nIt was odd that the grey mist floated away suddenly. One moment confused, the next aware of everything. Just as if someone had opened curtains on a darkened room. Aware how shabby his clothes were, his dirty hands and the stubble on his chin. His tongue flickered across dry, cracked lips and he averted his eyes from a mirror on the wall.\n\nHe looked at least seventy. So thin, the skin on his face just hung in bags. Little hair left on the top of his head, but round his ears it sprouted out, grey\/brown and greasy. His mouth appalled him most. It was sunken, his lips drooping at the corners and when he opened it his teeth were stained brown.\n\nIt wasn't tea he wanted, but whiskey. He looked across the caf\u00e9 at the man who brought him in and wondered if he'd be good for a handout.\n\nThe man was young. Arty looking in his leather-patched tweed jacket. A long, serious face and his hair hanging over his collar. He could be a social worker or a teacher. Not someone with money.\n\nThe caf\u00e9 was one he often had lunch in when he first came to Ladbroke Grove. They greeted him like a friend then, telling him about specials on the menu and chatting about the news. He liked the red and white tablecloths, the smell of ground coffee and baking. It reminded him of his old home.\n\nFor some reason that eluded him, they asked him to leave. Was he drunk, or perhaps they didn't like his shabby clothes? Whatever the reason was they seemed to have forgotten it now, for the two plump women behind the counter were looking at him as they spoke to his rescuer, nodding in sympathy.\n\nThe man came back, putting down two teas on the table and sat opposite Brian. He was frowning, a kind of impatient look, as if he wanted to leave hurriedly, but couldn't bring himself to.\n\n'Are you feeling better now?' His brown eyes were gentle. A soft, generous mouth with a cleft chin. His light brown hair had a shine to it, flopping down to his eyes. 'The police will be here soon. They'll help you.'\n\n'I didn't see anything.' Brian felt confused now, the present mingling with the past. 'I felt someone push me, then I was on the floor. Did you see who did it?'\n\n'Two young black men,' the man frowned again. 'I saw you just standing there. I was just going to make you put the money away and they pounced. They moved so quick I couldn't do anything.'\n\n'Blacks!' Brian almost spat out the word. 'The place is overrun with them.'\n\n'I picked these up for you.' The young man dug into his pocket, and pulled out Brian's payment book and a couple of photographs.\n\n'Thanks.' Brian snatched up the book, but left the photographs on the table. Just the sight of them made his shakes come back. 'I'm sorry. I'm not well. You must excuse me.' This clarity of mind was far more painful than the grey mist and it was unreliable. He could start a conversation, think things out, then suddenly he could be thrown back to the confused man the children laughed at.\n\nThe photographs had been in his good overcoat. It wasn't until he tried to sell it that he found them. He must have had them all this time tucked into the back of his payment book.\n\n'I saw your name is Anderson,' the young man smiled, glancing down at the pictures. 'I'm John Adams. Who's this?' Adams picked up one of the photographs. It was one of Georgia in a swimsuit, taken on the beach at Hastings the summer before she ran away. 'What a pretty girl. She looks like Georgia, the singer.'\n\nBrian felt a hot flush creeping up his neck.\n\n'It is Georgia. She's my daughter.'\n\nHe had often wondered what it would be like to tell someone. He expected ridicule, laughter and questions, but he didn't expect the shock he saw in this man's eyes.\n\nHis jaw dropped. He blinked hard, picked up the picture and looked again. Lowering the picture he looked right into Brian's eyes, the sort of look that meant he wanted to believe it, but couldn't.\n\n'It's true,' Brian said. 'Look at the other one too. She's there again with my wife and I at a bank dinner and dance.'\n\nIt felt good to admit it. The hazy grey mist was lifting so quickly he could remember other things too.\n\nGeorgia sitting between them, in a light-coloured dress with a kind of ruffle round the neck, smiling at her father in dinner-jacket and bow tie. Celia, on her other side was in a chiffon, low-necked dress, a glass of wine in her hand. That night all his staff had been there, formality forgotten with Christmas coming. He'd given them little presents, shared jokes and pulled crackers.\n\nHe saw a red flush creeping up Adam's face, his eyes narrowed as he looked at the snap, going back to Brian's face, then back to the picture.\n\n'She changed her name of course,' Brian picked up his tea and tried to control his shaking hands. 'There's things I could tell you about her.' He paused, sensing something more in the man's expression.\n\nNot disbelief or scorn. But excitement.\n\n'How can she be your daughter?' the man asked. 'She's black.'\n\n'Half-caste.' Brian was surprised how easy he found to explain. 'We fostered her, gave her everything, singing and dancing lessons, nice clothes. We loved her like she was our own.'\n\n'But \u2013' The man's mouth was hanging open again.\n\n'But why am I like this if I've got a famous rich daughter?' Brian's laugh was hollow. 'Because she's a little bitch. That's why.'\n\nJohn Adams wasn't a man who was shocked easily. He had grown up in Ladbroke Grove and knew many of the odd characters who lived there. Pimps, prostitutes, thieves, faded actresses, doctors who'd been struck off, he'd even met a few titled people who'd fallen on hard times. It was an area where people ended up. A dustbin of human life. Yet if he believed everything he'd been told in pubs, listened to every old wino who bleated out a sob story then it would be him next for the funny farm.\n\nHe'd seen Anderson before. He knew he drank heavily and sometimes he shouted and talked to himself. He had guessed the man wasn't as old as he looked, and there were the rumours.\n\nDidn't Jock down at the Bell claim he was a retired bank manager? That a couple of years ago before he got this far out of it, he advised him on a couple of investments? Then there was Martha at the Black Horse, who felt sorry for him one night and put him to bed in her spare room. Later he'd written her a letter thanking her and that letter had been passed round the bar. Beautifully written in a stylish copperplate handwriting, the type of letter that could only be written by a man with a first-class upbringing and education.\n\nThe man lived in squalor now. His clothes were little better than a tramp's, he was dirty, unshaven, neglected and definitely half way round the bend. But his accent was impeccable. He had good manners. Despite his present appearance he could see Anderson was the man in the photograph. Suppose it was true? The story could make a fortune.\n\n'Look,' John leaned closer across the table. 'I'll be straight with you. If what you are telling me is true I can get you enough money to make up for what those guys took. I know you're ill. You may have even had a bang on the head. But if you are making it up for God's sake level with me now.'\n\n'Can I have made that up?' Brian pushed the picture of the family group towards him again. 'You can see plainly that's her, even if she was only a kid then. You can see it's me too, if you take away the fine clothes. How else would I have that picture if it wasn't true?'\n\nA picture five or six years old. How could it be a fake? Only a practised confidence trickster could engineer something like that, and this sad old man wasn't that.\n\n'Would you tell me everything about her?' Adams asked gently. 'I'm a writer you see.'\n\nCalling himself a writer was stretching the truth a bit. He'd been paid for a couple of articles on local history, written a few letters to _The Times_. But he could string a few words together, and he had got a couple of mates in Fleet Street.\n\n'All right. I will.'\n\nAdams could only stare at the old man. He'd expected haggling, even straight, sober people asked for money up front. He remembered one of his journalist friends words. 'They either spill the beans for money, or revenge.' Revenge would pay the most!\n\nBy the time a policeman had been and taken a statement and John Adams had bought him a big breakfast, Brian was feeling better.\n\nAdams had suggested he go home with him for a talk, he'd even suggested there might be some money in it for him. Maybe his luck was turning at last?\n\nIt was close to six o'clock when Adams showed Anderson the door. He had been tempted to ask the man to stay the night and finish what he'd started, but he was so overwhelmed by what he had heard he needed to be alone.\n\nHis feelings about Anderson had swung violently from pity to suspicion during the day, and now he wasn't sure whose side he was on.\n\nPity had been the major feeling when the man came out of the bathroom. He could see shame on his face, now it was scrubbed clean, further evidence that he hadn't always lived the way he did now.\n\n'I'll get these cleaned for you and return them,' he almost whispered, touching the clean shirt and old grey flannel trousers as if they'd come straight out of the window at Burton's.\n\n'They're yours.' John hid his own discomfort by digging out a pair of black shoes which had been left behind by a friend. 'Try these for size.'\n\nHe had felt bad taking a photograph of Anderson before the transformation. Even worse putting his old clothes into a bag and tying up the top to keep as evidence to back up his story. His mind was whirling with disgust at Georgia allowing her father to get to this stage, loathing at himself for cashing in on it, and an even greater desire to get to the hard truth.\n\nHe felt more pity too when he realized just how confused the man was. He had a story all right but it came out backwards, sideways, upside down, but rarely running straight.\n\nAdams' old tape recorder went round and round as he led Anderson through Georgia's first days at his home. He heard about her being beaten by the nuns, her injuries and the way she brought sunshine into their home. Sometimes it sounded as if she was just a toddler on arrival, sometimes far older. One moment his eyes filled with tears, the next they flashed with hate.\n\nBut when Anderson got to the bit about the party, nothing sounded right. The emotion had gone from his voice, it sounded like a story he'd rehearsed. No unnecessary detail as there had been earlier. Like a journalist's story in fact.\n\n'My wife had to go out you see,' he kept saying. 'I stayed downstairs because I didn't want to spoil their fun. But I sensed something was going on.'\n\nIn one huge gulp he told the tale of how he saw her come out of the bedroom with her boyfriend.\n\n'I packed the kids off sharpish,' he said. 'Then I asked her what she thought she was doing. She told me to mind my own business and I slapped her. Next thing I knew she was coming up the stairs with a knife. She lunged at me, sticking it in my stomach. When I came round I was in hospital and I'd nearly died.'\n\nThere was the scar to back it up. A vivid red slash against his white belly, the skin puckered and wrinkled around it. But even as he looked at it, he wondered why she had hit her father so low. A frenzied attack was usually in the direction of the heart.\n\nJohn wanted to go back over details. There was more, he knew it, but he was afraid to stop the man in case he dried up.\n\nHe could understand Georgia running away to escape punishment. But why did his wife leave? What had been left out?\n\nIf he was to believe everything Anderson told him, the man was a victim of not only his daughter's cruelty, but his wife and employers too. Why should the bank sack him? It didn't make sense.\n\nAnderson was an alcoholic, that much was plain. His hands shook, his eyes constantly strayed around the room as if searching for drink. But was he already one when Georgia ran away, or was she the trigger that had started his downward spiral?\n\nJohn Adams understood how bitterness could warp a person. A bright kid from the wrong side of the tracks who won a scholarship to public school, only to find he was a social outcast. Later at university he worked while everyone else enjoyed themselves. He got his 'First', but they got the girls, and later the good jobs.\n\nWhy did he end up in a laboratory testing paint while others less able set the world alight? All he had to show for his hard work was a poky one-bedroomed flat, a beaten-up Ford and no savings. Maybe he too could have turned to drink to cope with disappointment.\n\nBrian Anderson lay on his bed shivering. He'd managed to get home without going in the pub and he'd paid Mrs Dooley what he owed, but it was a mistake to be sober in this room. The damp patches seemed to press in on him, and the sink full of weeks-old dirty dishes appalled him. He had to remain sober though; unless he did, John Adams wouldn't help him any more.\n\nThis time with Adams' help he was going to pull his life together. There was no way she could spoil things now, not like she had before.\n\nIt was November 1960 when he went up to the West End. The house in Blackheath was sold at last. The money safely in a bank until he decided what to do with it. A nice little flat in New Cross. A fresh start in a place where no one knew him.\n\nHe told his landlord he had retired early because of an old war wound. He liked the sound of that, it made him sound romantic, a man of action. He wasn't going to drink again, not the way he had in those last dreadful months when everyone, Celia, the bank, friends and neighbours had turned against him. Maybe he would leave the country if he didn't find a job that suited him, but that night as he went to the West End he was just looking for some company.\n\nIt had been some years since he last visited Soho. As he stood in Piccadilly looking at the neon lights flashing out messages and advertisements he felt charged with new life. He cut a smart figure in his new blazer, military tie and grey slacks. Somewhere in that square mile was a woman who'd share drinks and supper with him, someone to make him laugh and forget the past.\n\nHe found her sitting in the White Bear bar. Red hair curling to her shoulders and a vivid green dress that echoed her eyes.\n\n'Is there anyone sitting here?' he said, pointing to the empty bench seat beside her.\n\n'Feel free,' she said, moving up just slightly and crossing her long, slim legs.\n\nHe knew she was a prostitute, but that made it all the easier. She might try to con him out of a few bob but it was better than picking up a girl on the streets.\n\n'Hasn't it changed around here?' he said brightly. 'Last time I came in here it was packed. Don't people drink here anymore?'\n\n'It's early yet,' she said languidly, looking at a cheap imitation of a diamond-studded bracelet watch. 'Are you from out of town?'\n\n'No,' he laughed lightly, letting her know straightaway he understood the West End. 'South London, just came up to have a little fun for a change.'\n\nShe was probably around thirty-five, though from a distance she looked nearer twenty-five. She smelled of apple blossom perfume that took him instantly back to a girl in Birmingham once. She wasn't pretty, her face was too long and thin, her lips rather thin, but she had good breasts, pushed up to reveal deep cleavage.\n\nThe best thing about her was that she wasn't obviously a tart. She could be a secretary or shop girl waiting for her boyfriend.\n\nHer red hair was maybe a little startling, the dress a flashy cheap one, but then that made it more exciting.\n\n'I suppose you're waiting for someone,' he said as she picked up her glass and drank the last drop. 'Can I buy you a drink while you wait?'\n\n'Okay,' she flashed a brilliant smile at him, which sent shivers of delight down to his toes. 'Gin and orange.'\n\nHer name was Paula, she said she'd been a dancer and she had a flat nearby, and she was open enough to name her price immediately.\n\nTen months had passed since Georgia's birthday and for the first time since that day he felt like his old self. Instead of gulping down drinks in an effort to forget, he found himself slowing down, listening to Paula's chatter, enjoying the pressure of her thigh on his, his mind calm, his body relaxed.\n\nHe told her he was a retired bank manager, hinted at wealth and encouraged her natural sympathy by telling her he was a widower and their only daughter lived miles away and never visited.\n\n'Well you aren't alone tonight, love,' she said warmly. 'Come on, drink up, let's find somewhere to dance.'\n\nEven when she softly asked for the money up front she did it gently, winding her soft arms round him and kissing him outside the club.\n\n'Better to get it over first,' she smiled, pressing herself against him. 'I want all the guys in there to think you are a date.'\n\nBrian had been in the Mandrake club before. A damp basement that smelled of mould and beer. Hot, stale air wafted up as they went down the dimly lit stairs. The music came from a juke box in one corner of the room, jangling and distorted. The seats were little more than wooden benches, the floor solid concrete and apart from a few candles spluttering in Chianti bottles, the only light came from the small bar. But with a pretty woman on his arm and the promise of a night of love, it could have been the Caf\u00e9 de Paris.\n\nIt didn't matter that each drink cost nearly a pound. Tomorrow would be soon enough to worry about money, right now he had a girl who cared about him. He was pleasantly tight, the club was warm and friendly. It had been so long since he held a woman in his arms, the smell of her perfume, the softness of her skin was like a soothing drug.\n\nWhen they walked up the stairs after one, the fresh air caught them by surprise. Paula was staggering in her high heels and Brian put his arm round her.\n\nAt the end of St Anne's Court they stopped for a moment in the shadows to kiss. It was quiet now, just the distant sound of music in another bar and fainter still the traffic from Piccadilly and Shaftesbury Avenue.\n\nShe kissed beautifully, slow, deliberate and sensuous, her tongue flickering across his, sending shudders of delight down Brian's spine. In her arms he could forget the mean streets, the glaring neon signs, the overflowing dustbins and the smell of rotting rubbish. It looked almost pretty, an old street lamp sending a golden arc of light across the road, Dickensian and quaint.\n\nFurther down the street the sound of high heels tapped out a staccato rhythm. As the footsteps came closer Brian heard a peal of laughter that made him stiffen involuntarily.\n\n'What is it?' she whispered, her lips against his neck.\n\nBrian didn't answer but concentrated on listening as the feet came closer.\n\nTwo pairs, one with a bouncy young step, the other older, more plodding.\n\n'Did you see that old bloke? He must have been at least fifty.'\n\nThe woman speaking wasn't the one with the laugh that jolted him, her voice common and rough. Brian shook himself and pulled Paula closer.\n\n'He was quite sweet though.'\n\nThis voice sounded exactly like Georgia's. He'd heard it night after night as his eyes closed with weariness and now he was hearing it again only a few yards from him.\n\n'Shall we go now?' Paula was saying, but Brian merely held her tighter, burying his lips in her neck as he watched over her shoulder.\n\nThe two women came under the yellow arc of light, their heads close together, blond against dark.\n\nBrian saw only the black pom-pom of hair, the big eyes that looked right into the alley where he and Paula stood and his blood ran cold.\n\n'Don't bite me!' Paula's squeal of pain made him loosen his grip on her. 'What's your game?'\n\nThe two women had passed the end of the alley. Brian ran forward, forgetting Paula.\n\nThe women stopped outside a door, standing close together whispering. Hearing his footsteps they looked round.\n\n'What's up mate?' the blonde one called out. 'Isn't one girl enough for you?'\n\nThe dark girl laughed, her hand poised to put a key in the door.\n\nIn profile Brian could see it wasn't Georgia. She was white, at least twenty-five and she had thick legs.\n\nHe backed away, feeling shaken and foolish.\n\nPaula was standing at the end of St Anne's Court with a puzzled look on her face.\n\nThe short fur jacket she wore over her green dress hanging off her shoulders.\n\n'What is it? You look as if you've seen a ghost.'\n\n'I thought I had. I could have sworn that was my daughter,' he said weakly.\n\n'That was Shirl and Denise,' she linked arms with him, urging him along. 'Nice girls don't roam around here at night. Come on, let's go back to my place.'\n\nThe small flat was just a block away. A door half hidden between two shops. They climbed up some narrow, grubby stairs and Paula opened a door on the first floor.\n\n'You did get a shock,' she smiled and drew him in. 'I'll just light the fire and make you a drink. You've gone all pale!'\n\n'You're very understanding,' he said, looking all around him furtively as if expecting someone to jump out on him.\n\nIt was one room, the walls and floor uneven as if the house was subsiding. A cooker and sink were curtained off in one corner, through the other door he could see a bath and toilet.\n\nShe was a hoarder. Every shelf, every surface was full of ornaments. Even the wardrobe wouldn't close because so many clothes were stuffed in there. The double bed was covered in red satin, a profusion of frilly pillows and soft toys arranged on it. Cheap prints hung over the bed, chosen for their garish colours rather than their artistic appeal. Behind the door hung a green silky dressing-gown with black lace and over one chair hung a red and black basque.\n\n'This is cosy,' his spirits rose again as she switched on twin red lamps either side of the bed.\n\n'Relax dear,' she said crossing the room to him. 'Take off your jacket and make yourself at home. Would you like some whiskey?'\n\nNever before had any prostitute offered him a drink. They took their money, did the business and then expected him to go. Maybe he was already special to her? Perhaps this could be the start of something good?\n\nShe poured him a large drink, dropped a kiss on his cheek and disappeared into the bathroom.\n\n'As they say at the movies,' she shouted through the door. 'Just slipping into something more comfortable.'\n\nBrian took off his jacket and shoes and sat on the bed nursing his drink.\n\n'There, I wasn't long was I?'\n\nPaula was standing in the doorway, a black negligee open to reveal a bra, knickers, stockings and suspenders.\n\nHer skin was very white, her thighs bulged at her stocking tops. Brian could say nothing, instead he reached out for her, putting his arms round her waist and buried his head in her breasts.\n\nShe smelt perfect, the perfume just a little too sweet and heady.\n\n'Let me undress you?' she said, bending down to him and lifting his face up with one finger. 'You're shy aren't you?'\n\nAs her fingers reached out to unbutton his shirt he felt restored. He pulled her down onto the bed beside him and covered her face with kisses. He could feel an erection starting and he knew she wouldn't insist on turning off the light.\n\n'You're lovely,' she whispered, her tongue flickering over his, 'Let me get your things off?'\n\nAs she slid his trousers down his legs she touched him lightly on the front of his white 'Y' fronts.\n\n'That looks very healthy,' she smiled up at him impishly, her auburn hair tumbling round her face.\n\nBrian could hear his heart hammering. She knelt up on the bed beside him slowly unbuttoning his shirt. As she undid the cuffs she kissed both his wrists and let her lips travel up the soft insides of his arms.\n\n'Now the pants,' she said, gripping the waistband firmly and lowering them, moving her lips down towards his penis as she pulled the pants right off his feet.\n\nHe was holding his breath now, wearing nothing but his socks and his vest. Her lips were only an inch away from his penis and her hand was poised to grasp it.\n\n'What a lovely big one,' she whispered, looking up at him and smiling. 'I think I've just got to kiss it!'\n\nHer tongue flicked over the end. He drew in his breath and watched her, leaning back on his elbows.\n\nIt was his favourite fantasy. A near-naked woman, about to take him in her mouth. Her breasts were full, spilling over the low cut bra, her skin very white and clear. The negligee had fallen off one shoulder and he could see a tiny sprinkling of freckles on her small shoulder.\n\nHer tongue darted out, long and pointed, she ran it along the length of his penis one hand reaching out to cup his balls.\n\nHe could feel her breasts touching his leg and he was desperately afraid he would come before they even got started.\n\n'Not yet,' she looked up and smiled seductively. 'First we have to get that vest off.' She gripped it by the bottom and quickly pulled it over his head.\n\n'Oh my God!' she gasped, moving back from him. 'What ever's happened to you?'\n\nHer remark was like a cold shower. His penis shrank back like a tortoise into its shell.\n\nBrian had forgotten the scar. In the past months it had become just another part of him, but seeing it through her eyes he saw how fearsome it looked.\n\nThe original gash was only an inch and a half. But during surgery they had opened it wider. It was diagonal across the fat part of his belly and as it had healed it had puckered so it looked like a pair of pursed lips.\n\n'It's nothing,' he said too quickly. 'I fell on a knife.' He cursed himself for not remembering the old war wound story. Women had enough imagination to understand the thrust of a bayonet. She would have shuddered delicately and changed the subject.\n\n'When?' her face was pale with fright now, the seductive look gone, replaced by morbid curiosity. 'Does it hurt?'\n\nAs if it wasn't bad enough her even remarking about it, she now reached out gingerly to touch it.\n\n'Don't,' he slapped her hand away.\n\n'Why not,' her eyes opened wide. 'Scars are interesting.'\n\nBrian closed his eyes for a second.\n\nIt was Georgia again. Somehow she'd even managed to spoil this night for him.\n\n'Don't be like that,' Paula wriggled up to lie beside him and leaned over his face to kiss him.\n\nBrian grabbed her fiercely, thrusting his tongue into her mouth.\n\nBut he felt nothing. No reaction. She smelled too sweet, it made him feel nauseous and underneath that perfume he could smell sweat.\n\n'Let me lick your prick again,' she said. 'You liked that.'\n\nShe moved back down the bed and once again Brian watched, holding his breath as her tongue slid out, red and pointy.\n\nBut all he could see now was the wound. Even from the angle he lay at it looked evil, like the mouth of an old crone.\n\nWhen she'd done this before it was sweet and exciting, but now he felt a sense of duty in her manner.\n\nShe took his penis in her mouth, sucking at it vigorously, but still it refused to grow. Her long red nails dug into his inner thighs and then she yawned.\n\n'Don't bother,' he said, pushing her away. 'You ruined everything anyway.'\n\nShe moved back from him, her eyes startled.\n\n'I'm sorry,' she said perching on the bed beside him. 'I didn't mean to hurt your feelings.'\n\n'Yes you did,' he said, getting up and reaching for his clothes. 'You women are all the same. Always got to spoil things.'\n\n'Just a minute!' she leapt off the bed and pulled her negligee tightly around her. She stood in front of him as he pulled on his shirt. 'Who the fuck do you think you're talking to? I spent all evening with you because I liked you. I brought you back here for the same reason. I may be a tart but it doesn't stop me having feelings.'\n\n'I paid you for a night out and sex,' he spat at her. 'I didn't expect you to pry into my private life.'\n\n'You call asking about a scar prying?' she sneered at him. 'If you were like that to your daughter it's no wonder she ran off.'\n\nRage welled up inside him. He saw only the thin pale face and the expression of aversion in those cold green eyes. One moment his hands were buttoning his shirt, the next his clenched fist shot out and punched straight into her face.\n\n'Filthy whore,' he shouted.\n\nWhen he saw her backing away on to the bed, blood gushing out of her nose, he was sorry. The anger wasn't directed at her, just at Georgia. He pulled on his pants and trousers, searching for the right words to make her forget.\n\nHe moved towards her, hands outstretched. She cowered back amongst the pillows, white-faced and frightened.\n\n'Don't you dare touch me!' The force with which she spat out the words surprised him, her eyes blazed and she scrabbled amongst the pillows behind her. 'I can defend myself you bastard!'\n\nA glint of silver under the red light. A long curved blade, her red nails curled round an ivory handle.\n\n'I didn't mean to hit you,' his words spilt out. 'It was just \u2013'\n\nThe knife drove all explanations out of his head, his legs turned to jelly.\n\n'I knew there was something weird about you,' she interrupted, getting up on to her knees, slashing out at the air between them. Her black negligee fell back, revealing her underwear and white skin. 'This could cut off your prick like a ripe banana. I'd finish what some other woman started.'\n\n'You don't understand,' Brian shoved his feet into his shoes. He was frightened now. She looked fiendish, white-faced, bloodied nose, red hair hanging over eyes that burned almost black with rage.\n\n'Oh, I do,' she snapped back. 'I've met dozens of perverts like you. Do you think I'm stupid just because I'm a prostitute? I know a woman made that scar and I can guess why.'\n\nBrian backed away towards the door as she jumped down off the bed moving steadily towards him, the knife held in front of her.\n\n'Get out you bastard,' she said through clenched teeth. 'And if I ever see you up this way again I'll swing for you.'\n\nThe bottle was the only way of blanking out that night. Alone in his new flat Paula and Georgia's faces haunted him. He had to go out, down to the crowded pub until he was drunk enough to blot them out.\n\nSome days he made an effort to forget. He washed and dressed smartly and presented himself at the labour exchange, but even there it seemed as if something was working against him. Manual work, that's all they offered. They ignored his education and qualifications, almost as if someone had been there first, whispering about him.\n\nHe wanted to make his flat a home. But daily he saw things sliding. Clothes dropped on the floor stayed there. Plates filled the sink and empty beer bottles multiplied overnight. His shirts looked grey, underwear and socks disintegrated and he never replaced them.\n\nBongo drums from a house behind his kept him awake. The landlord pushed notes under his door complaining of noise and smells coming from his flat. Was it before, or after he noticed how low his money was getting when he got arrested for being drunk?\n\nThere was another woman, he couldn't remember now who she was, or even where he met her, but for a time he got back on his feet. Did she help him get the night security job at Jarson's in Catford?\n\nA period of peace. Not exactly happy, but reconciled. That hot evening in August he walked to work thinking about moving to somewhere with a garden. He even went over to the town hall to look and see what concerts were coming up. He wasn't drinking then.\n\nThere were bands he'd never heard of. Silly names that didn't give a clue to what sort of music they played.\n\nFunny that he remembered so little about a period of over a year, yet he could see Catford Town Hall as clearly now as if a picture was in front of him.\n\nA rounded front, with two sets of doors going into the theatre and between them a sandwich board advertising the events. There were two teenage boys standing beside him.\n\n'See, I told you they are coming here,' one of them pointed to the programme. 'It's next Monday.'\n\nBrian looked to where the boy pointed.\n\n'Who are Samson?' he asked. 'Is it jazz or a dance band?'\n\nThey looked at him and laughed. He remembered they were both smartly dressed, Italian suits with short jackets and winklepicker shoes.\n\n'A soul band,' the smaller one replied. 'The best in England.'\n\n'That's them, there.' The other one pointed to a poster on the wall.\n\nThe picture was of a group of young men. Sitting in front of them was Georgia.\n\nHe blinked, afraid that his eyes were deceiving him.\n\nShe had that impudent grin that belonged to no one else. Head thrown back, hair longer than he remembered, tumbling over bare shoulders. A tight black dress barely covered her breasts, eyes that held his with all that old magnetism.\n\nIt was like the knife again. But this time he could feel it turning in the wound.\n\n'Who is she?' he whispered, turning to the boys, pleading silently with his eyes for them to say she was an American, Jamaican, anything but his daughter.\n\n'Georgia James!' The boy looked pityingly at him, as if unable to believe he didn't already know.\n\nThe evening sun seemed to fade instantly, a cold wind whipped around him. He felt sick, giddy and threatened.\n\nBlindly he made his way back across the road. He heard a car horn blast out at him and he stumbled on the kerb.\n\nThat poster drew him every morning as he walked home. He had to go and look at it, even though he knew her face would prevent him from sleeping when he got back to his flat. He would buy a bottle, drink it just to fall asleep, then he'd buy another on his way to work.\n\nHe risked getting the sack on Monday evening, slipping out leaving the warehouse unattended, just to see her.\n\nThe show finished at eleven, he waited in a shop doorway just across the road from the town hall and watched the hordes of young people leaving.\n\nYoung girls in pretty summer dresses, kiss curls lacquered to their cheeks, hair backcombed up to impossible heights, stiletto heels tapping out like castanets on the warm summer night. Boys in jeans, some in smart suits and winklepickers, others jumping astride their motor scooters, revving them up like some sort of odd mating dance.\n\nThey were in no hurry to go home. Some ran across the street to a coffee bar. Others bought chips and stood outside eating them from the newspaper, still more wandered past him hand in hand. He could see pleasure in their faces, a world he couldn't enter. He felt old, tired and bitter.\n\nMost of the crowd had gone now. About thirty or forty teenagers left standing outside the stage door, away from the main entrances now shut up.\n\nA cheer alerted him. First he saw a tall, dark man come out. The waiting girls flocked round him, pressing in on all sides.\n\nBehind them he saw Georgia. She was standing on the steps of the stage entrance wearing a white summer dress, her hair caught up with a ribbon, a few stray curls on her forehead. With the light behind her she was silhouetted in the doorway, slim and graceful.\n\nHe had hoped it wouldn't be her. A mistaken identity, just another dark girl with the same name. But as soon as her voice floated across the street he knew it was her.\n\n'Did you enjoy the show?' she asked the waiting kids. 'Thank you for coming.' Her voice sounded as if she were whispering in his ear. He could remember a time when she sat on his lap while Celia played the piano. He could feel her soft arms round his neck, breath sweet on his cheeks.\n\nHe moved closer, crossing the road, standing beside a parked van to conceal himself.\n\nAnother young man joined them. This one blond and frail looking. The two men stood either side of Georgia as if protecting her.\n\nBrian waited until the last piece of equipment was brought out, moving back over the road so he wouldn't be spotted. He heard their laughter, saw the familiar way they treated Georgia and as he watched so the pain in his heart seemed to get stronger.\n\nThe next day he read a review in the local paper.\n\n'Samson's strength is Georgia,' he read, with eyes welling up with tears of impotence. 'Catford Town Hall rang to her beautiful voice capturing the enthusiastic audience with her beauty and her power. Watch this little girl, she's going all the way.'\n\nThat was the start of the collection. One tiny review cut out and pinned to the wall. But it was soon to be added to.\n\nHe began to drink heavily, his lady friend disappeared. The flat grew dirty again. His shirts needed washing. The West Indians in the houses at the back of him seemed to play their drums even louder.\n\nWhen he read about the fire and the two boys who died he was glad. The band's name stopped appearing in music papers and he lost interest in buying them. The need for drink seemed to lessen and as his savings had almost gone he seriously considered moving somewhere smaller, nearer his job.\n\nHe got into a new routine at work. First the paper work, then a quick patrol round the warehouse checking doors, then back into the office for a cup of coffee to listen to Book at Bedtime on the radio.\n\nIt was cold and raining that night after the story, and he was loathe to leave the warm office for another check. He remembered twiddling the dial and finding music, settling down with his paper to do the crossword.\n\nViolins filled the office with a melancholy sound that fitted the rain and his mood perfectly. He turned up the radio, sat back and listened.\n\nAs guitars came in, he frowned, realizing it was a pop song after all.\n\n'There's no time, baby.'\n\nHe knew it was her the moment that voice filled the office. His hand reached out to switch off the set but somehow he couldn't do it.\n\nSlumped over the old desk, banging his forehead with rage, hating her voice, yet loving it too. She was taunting him with failure. Sneering at him over the radio. He would never be free of her.\n\nHe could see her before him as she had been that night of her birthday. The face upturned to receive Peter's kiss, pressing herself against him. She'd shut her father out then, she hadn't wanted him to join the party and later she'd called him pathetic.\n\nNightmare flashes. Prickling net in his hands, strangely mixed with satiny skin. Celia showing him a small back covered with weals from a cane. Georgia standing over him with that knife and blood spurting out. More blood, this time on Celia's face and all the time Georgia was telling the world that it was too late for her father.\n\nHe didn't remember the police picking him up by Lewisham Hospital where he was lying in a gutter. Neither did he remember not locking up the warehouse. All he could remember was that song and the melody that pounded into his head long after he lay vomiting in a police cell.\n\nAfter that everything became hazy. The police kept coming, questions and more questions. His landlord shouting abuse at him, some trouble with a woman downstairs. They said he'd conspired with the gang who broke in and stole thousands of pounds worth of goods. A man like him kept in Brixton prison with common criminals!\n\nIt made no difference that he was released after a few days and the case against him was quashed, the damage was done. Turned out of his flat, his mother's desk and Persian carpet taken for back rent.\n\nA hostel for the homeless, sleeping in a cubicle alongside filthy vagrants, a spell in hospital with pneumonia and finally someone pushed him into this room in Ladbroke Grove.\n\nNational Assistance kept him now, while the girl who was responsible for his sickness made millions.\n\nHe had just cheap sherry to keep him warm while she swanned about in limousines wrapped in furs.\n\nThere was no getting away from her success. She flew in and out of England like a film star. Every word she uttered, every place she visited was recorded. Pictures of her in every shop, newspaper and magazine. Game shows on television, interviews on the radio. He knew her escorts, her clothes, beauty hints and every appearance she made. He logged it down in a little book, and when she attended a film premi\u00e8re in the West End he waited in the shadows to see her.\n\nShe brushed past so close to him he smelt her perfume and almost touched her hair. It was in that crowd that his glasses got broken, crushed underfoot, just the way she had crushed him.\n\nHow clever she was at skirting round the truth about her earlier life. Never at any time did she speak about her childhood. Wasn't that proof enough for anyone that she had done something shameful?\n\nDid she know or care that her father watched her on television through the window of an electrical shop? Shivering and hungry, unable to hear her voice, only watch her dance and her lips move?\n\nBut of all the articles he read about her there was one that played on his mind above all the others.\n\nShe was posing on a white settee, bare arms wrapped round her knees, a short red dress revealing her brown thighs, hair tumbling down over her back, so shiny it looked like wet tar.\n\n'I love simple things,' she told her interviewer. 'Bright primary colours and lots of white paint. Huge vases of fresh flowers and the sun streaming in through the windows.'\n\nBrian thought about his old home. Walking in after a day at work to find the French windows open, the perfume of roses filling the room. Georgia on her swing, wrapped in a private world. Tea laid in the kitchen, flowers in the hall. Celia's voice calling out.\n\n'Come in now darling, Daddy's home.'\n\nThe sun never came in his windows. The paint in his room was brown and cracked and it had never seen a vase of flowers.\n\nHe'd found her flat in Chelsea. It took him all day to walk there. A three-sided block set around a central garden. The sort of plush place aristocrats kept for the Season. He looked at the polished doors, the gleaming brass and the uniformed porter, and knew he would never get inside. He was of less importance than the youngsters who gathered there, looking up at the gleaming windows, trying to guess which one of the flats was hers.\n\nHe had a pain in his stomach which wouldn't go away and sometimes when he vomited he brought up blood. Without his glasses he couldn't see clearly. His legs ached just on the walk to the post office. But if John Adams sold that story, all his troubles would be over.\n\nGeorgia would be finished.\n\n## Chapter 21\n\n'Have you heard this man play, Max?' Georgia stood in the office, a musical paper in her hands.\n\n'Who?' Max barely looked up. 'Do you think I've got time to listen to every musician in England?'\n\n'Don't be grumpy with me,' she grinned, perching on the edge of his desk and waving the paper under his nose. 'Sam Cameron, the saxophone player from the States. Ronnie Scott has extended his contract, he's played to packed houses nightly. Since when didn't you take an interest in something like that?'\n\n'Since you got back from the States and had stupid ideas about making a middle of the road album,' he snapped. 'Sometimes I don't think you've got a brain. Who in their right mind wants to buy a record full of old songs?'\n\n'Millions of people,' she retorted. 'A far greater number than the ones who want pop.'\n\nGeorgia was tired. The long tours, the one night stands, the travelling had become impossible. Her world was up there on the stage or in a recording studio. No time for friendships or even love affairs. She had been to so many countries, yet not one had she seen in any depth. She had so much money she could buy anything, yet the simple pleasure of a day's shopping, lunch in an ordinary pub or even a night in watching the television was denied her.\n\nAt twenty-one she'd seen everything, done everything. Yet nothing. Was she going to spend all her youth pursuing nothing more than money? When did she last meet a real human being to laugh and chat with?\n\nBodyguards to escort her everywhere, hairdressers fussing around her, fittings for fabulous dresses she wore once then put aside. Journalists hanging on her every word. People behaved as they thought she wanted them to. They fawned on her, smothered her. Every unguarded word was recorded. How much longer could she stand it? Wasn't that why so many famous people ended up with drug and drink problems?\n\nHer affair with Rod had changed things in so many ways. For a time it seemed impossible to stay in the same room as him. She knew he wanted her, she ached for him. But he'd been right, there was no future in it. Rod loved the high life, as soon as a gig was over he was out looking for more excitement. Her idea of a good night was a quiet dinner with people she could talk to. Compromise would have done no good, both of them would be unhappy half of the time.\n\nBut that closeness in Spain had left her hungry. How could she find that again when she was always on the move? Who could she trust enough, when half the men she met were only interested in her fortune, name and body?\n\nShe had a beautiful flat she rarely saw, a red Mercedes she hardly ever drove. Was she going to spend her life hoping for love, but never finding the time for that either?\n\nThere was a way out. To make beautiful albums for a different market. Her income would be assured, but by dropping out of the mainstream of pop she could gain time for herself. But of course Max would have none of that.\n\nRod and the rest of the band were restless. They wanted more now than being her backing group. She knew they were privately working on new material, an image for a band entirely different. Something that was theirs and theirs alone.\n\nThe Beatles and the Rolling Stones had paved the way. Samson wanted to do something equally innovative. She knew each one of them had experimented with drugs and it had altered their conception of sounds. They had moved in a different direction to her and they had a right to their freedom now.\n\nThe last thing Georgia wanted was to allow Max to push forward a new backing band, or even worse start booking her into cabaret work. She wanted to hold the reins herself, pick the musicians to go forward with. People she liked and trusted.\n\nListening to jazz in the States had started something. She had heard old classic songs revitalized and now she was burning to sing things she loved.\n\n'Come with me tonight to Ronnie Scott's?' She bent over Max and tickled his neck playfully. 'Don't be a grouch. Aren't I still your golden goose?'\n\nMax leaned back in his chair and smiled despite himself.\n\nHe'd met his match with this girl. However he tried he couldn't outmanoeuvre her. She took risks, she gambled on her fans' loyalty, she managed to get what she wanted every time.\n\nMax didn't need a crystal ball to see what she was up to. She was dredging up talent to join her on this harebrained scheme. She would do what she always did. Get something together and astound the men at Decca. But if she got her way in this, where would he stand?\n\nIt wasn't just the money now. He had enough. The one thing he couldn't face was Georgia going out of his life for good. She thought he didn't understand her, but he did. She wanted a quieter life. She needed a man to share it with. Before long someone would emerge from the woodwork and carry her off. That man might relegate him to the role of an old uncle. And that he couldn't bear.\n\nJust the way she sat on the desk gave him goosebumps of pleasure. The tiny mini skirt, the tight white boots and the skinny sweater might have been designed by Mary Quant but it would be Georgia who millions of young girls would copy slavishly. He had taken this girl, polished her up and promoted her. Now she was the hub of the wheel, music, fashion, all evolved round her. With her beside him Max was at the centre of the world and that's where he wanted to stay.\n\n'Okay,' he said wearily. 'I'll go with you. But because it's the only way I can have you to myself for a night.'\n\nIt was a wicked thing to think, but sometimes he almost wished something would bring her crashing down. He would trade his fortune, his huge house and his fleet of cars just to have her dependent on him again. Sometimes he had fantasies of being her only protector. Perhaps then she'd realize how much he loved her.\n\nMiriam and he were washed up now. The once unthinkable divorce had gone through. She'd found new happiness with a man she met in Athens. It didn't matter that there were countless young, pretty girls who adored him. He still wanted Georgia.\n\n'Don't block me about this album?' Georgia wheedled. 'I want your support. I can't go on with this frantic pace and you know it.'\n\n'Let's go and hear the man and then we'll see,' Max grinned. 'I suppose I should be grateful to think you care enough to want me with you.'\n\n'There'll always be a place in my life for you,' she said softly. 'I hate you sometimes, maybe even love you a bit. But we've been together too long to part now.'\n\nMax was important to Georgia. She took his blustering ways, his arrogance and even his bullying in her stride. He had been with her in the bad patches, and at the heights. Even that night in Kensington had its purpose, though she hadn't realized it until later. She had learned to stand up for herself, taken a little of his indestructible pride and cunning. If he'd been softer she wouldn't have all she had now. Learning to outwit him was the greatest lesson he'd given her. She knew too that it wasn't pure greed that motivated him any longer. Maybe both of them were unsure of what they were to one another, but it was something special.\n\nRonnie Scott's was packed, but still Max got them a table right down by the stage. Georgia wore just a plain black cr\u00eape trouser suit, hoping no one would recognize her.\n\n'I used to come here all the time,' Max said as he ordered them a drink. 'I don't know why I stopped coming, I've had more good times in here than I can count.'\n\nHe too was hoping Georgia could remain incognito. Jazz fans were in a world of their own and so far no one had even looked their way. Ronnie Scott maintained his distance from popular music and even though this place saw more stars in a month than anywhere else, he rarely publicised it. He hoped they would dance later, share supper or a drink. But he could never be sure of anything with this girl.\n\nGeorgia looked older tonight, her hair slicked back into a bun like a ballerina. She had lines under her eyes he hadn't noticed before and she was pale. She did need a holiday, that much was obvious, maybe if he was gentle with her, she could be persuaded to go somewhere warm with him.\n\nHow was it that not a breath of scandal had come out about her? What sort of iron will did she have to avoid dangerous relationships? The men who escorted her to parties, shows and theatre rarely got a second chance. She was never present when the lads got out of hand. Drink, drugs and sex didn't seem to figure in her life. Or was she just careful about it like him?\n\nThere had been something between her and Rod once in Spain, but that was over before Max heard about it. He'd seen a new maturity in Rod, a more caring attitude to women, yet a touch of pain in those slanty eyes. Thank God it had fizzled out, those two together would be a recipe for disaster.\n\nWhy did he always have this feeling there was some deep well in her he hadn't, managed to reach? Maybe that was the only thing needed to bring her to him?\n\n'They're coming on!' Georgia tapped his hand. 'I can't see the saxophone player though.'\n\nFive men in evening suits came on to the stage. Each one of them was over fifty. The man with the clarinet looked nearer seventy, he walked stiffly as if his leg hurt.\n\nThe drummer alone was black, he flashed a wide grin and played a roll on his drums, leading the quintet into a spirited version of a Glenn Miller number.\n\nThe trombone was good, the old clarinetist brilliant. The grey-haired man on the double bass was bent over his instrument as if unaware he was playing in public and the pianist one of the best she'd heard. Yet there was no real sparkle, or did she know too little of jazz to understand it?\n\nEveryone in the audience seemed delighted. Feet were tapping, fingers rapping on tables.\n\nAs the first number ended, Georgia sensed a charge of electricity. The pianist began an introduction to a slower number, melodic and almost haunting.\n\nFrom somewhere behind the stage Georgia heard the first saxophone notes, and a shudder of delight went down her spine. Rich, fruity tenor sounds, like nothing she'd heard before. She sat up, peering at the dimly lit stage. It was getting louder and she held her breath while first the saxophone appeared behind a curtain, a spotlight focusing on it.\n\nIt was a surprise to see the man playing wasn't a big man. Tall yes, but slender. His lips, hands and his entire body seemed to be playing the instrument. Never before had she seen anyone so at one with a saxophone.\n\nShe could feel herself melting inside, almost like an orgasm. His notes were so pure and delicious she barely heard or saw anyone else on the stage. Something primeval was swelling in her, her eyes filled with tears. She wanted to catch every last note and engrave it on her heart forever.\n\nMax felt her excitement. He too was enthralled as was everyone in the audience. But Georgia looked as if she had gone off to another planet.\n\nHer eyes that only minutes earlier had looked tired, now sparkled furiously. Her lips were parted, a glimpse of white teeth and pink tongue peeping out. She was flushed, tears rolling unnoticed down her cheeks.\n\nMax looked back at the man. He was golden brown, hair cropped closely to his head, eyes tightly shut, dark lashes curling on his cheeks. Expanded by air his chest seemed huge, yet his hips were slim and his hands long and fine like a surgeon's. His face was too contorted by playing for him to be handsome, yet Max knew he would be.\n\nWas her reaction purely the music, or was this something physical?\n\nThroughout the entire set, Max tried to sit back and watch objectively. This man was undeniably the greatest saxophone player he'd ever heard. His solo sent tremors down his spine, notes that almost shimmered under the spotlights, drifting off with the cigarette smoke, filling a hunger in the belly.\n\nIt was impossible to look away. Even when he rested while others played their solos, his face drew the eye.\n\nHigh cheek-bones, the straight proud nose and those full yet delicate lips. Yet there was humour in that handsome face, the way he listened, his head on one side, picking up each note and smiling when it pleased him.\n\nGeorgia's face fell as the set ended. Sam Cameron merely nodded at the audience and hurried off with the other men without even a backward glance.\n\nThe audience was going wild. Clapping, banging glasses and shouting. Middle-class people behaving like a crowd of teenagers at a pop concert.\n\n'I've got to make a recording with him,' was all she said, eyes as big as saucers. 'Can you arrange for me to speak to him?'\n\nMax ordered another drink to cover his confusion. On the one hand this man and her together could be dynamite. On the other he might just lose her. If he refused to help she would do it anyway. If he was enthusiastic he would be party to whatever came of it.\n\nOne thing was clear by her expression, she liked everything about this man. They even looked like a couple, something Max had never thought about anyone before.\n\n'I'll ring here tomorrow,' Max hedged his bets. 'From what I understand he's going home soon. So don't bank on anything.'\n\nMax left her for a moment to talk to someone he'd spotted across the club. Georgia took a gulp of her drink and looked at the curtain behind the stage. She had seen Max's shifty look and she had so much work piled up she had no idea when she'd find time to come here again. She had to act now.\n\nShe glanced round quickly. Everyone was engrossed in talking and drinking. She walked across the front of the stage, jumped up quickly in the corner and found her way through the curtain.\n\nStifling a giggle she found three steps down the back of the stage. She felt like a groupie. She had no idea of the layout in this club, but she'd find him.\n\n'You aren't allowed back here.' A little man in overalls came out of a door and blocked her way.\n\n'I am,' she smiled sweetly. 'I'm Georgia James and I've come to see Sam Cameron. Could you point out the dressing room?'\n\nHe faltered for a moment, but turned to one side, pointing further down the corridor. It was painted that green gloss paint they had backstage everywhere, chipped and stained, bare boards underfoot.\n\n'In there,' he said. 'I didn't see you if anyone asks.'\n\nShe could hear a low rumble of male voices. The sound of beer pouring into a glass. She tapped on the door and waited.\n\nThe elderly clarinetist opened it. He had a pint in one hand and he peered at her short sightedly.\n\n'Could I speak to Sam, please?' she said, feeling foolish now. Behind him she could see only legs stretched out, all the same in dark trousers and black shoes.\n\n'It's someone for you Sam.' He turned his head back to the room and she saw the double bass player's grey head come into view. His eyes widened. He ducked back and she heard a whisper. All at once one of the pairs of legs moved.\n\nHe was taller than he looked on stage. Well over six foot, his shoulders broader without his jacket. Muscles strained his badly-pressed shirt, a button was missing and his bow tie was slightly crooked.\n\n'I'm sorry to barge in like this,' she said nervously as she stood outside the door. 'But I had to speak to you.'\n\nHe was looking at her intently. Studying her as closely as she'd studied him earlier.\n\n'I'm Georgia,' she said, dropping her eyes from his dark brown ones.\n\n'I know,' he said. 'What brings you here?'\n\nHe was smiling, almost as if she was an old friend he expected. Yet she sensed shock too.\n\n'Did you know I was out there?' She was stumped for how to approach the subject, she felt odd. Like a girl on her first date.\n\n'No,' he said. 'But I'm glad you were.'\n\n'Why's that?'\n\n'Because I played good tonight. I'd have hated you to hear a bad set.'\n\n'You were brilliant,' the words came out even before she could think what she was going to say. 'I want you to do a recording with me. I was afraid if I didn't barge in you'd leave and I wouldn't get to speak to you.' She stopped short, aware how silly she must sound to a seasoned professional like him. She could feel sweat on her forehead, she was blushing. 'I mean, that is if you'd like to.'\n\nHe didn't reply for a moment. He leaned against the door post looking down at her.\n\n'Ma'am, I can't think of anything better,' he said. 'Just say the word and I'll be there.'\n\n'Are you laughing at me?' She could see his mouth twitching and from the silence behind the door she knew the other men were listening. Maybe her goosebumps were caused only by that delicious Southern accent, or was it those brown velvet eyes?\n\n'Not laughing,' he said, his mouth breaking into a wide grin. 'Just thinking maybe there is a God up there somewhere.'\n\n## Chapter 22\n\nSam stood in the doorway with Georgia's address and phone number in his hand. He wanted to laugh and cry all at once.\n\n'Well, you've got it made,' Dave the bass player came up behind him, playfully thumping him on the back. 'A year from now and you could be as big a star as her.'\n\nSam couldn't reply. What could any man say when he saw a dream about to come true?\n\nEverything had been topsy-turvy since his first day in England. First grief to find Katy was dead. Guilt that a child was out there somewhere, who could be theirs. Then the unexpected spotlight turning on him, critics raving about him, real success only inches away from his grasp.\n\nIn those first few days he had imagined it would be easy to find one war orphan, but that conviction was soon dashed.\n\nThe police offered no leads. No birth was recorded at Somerset House. Bureaucracy, despair and blind alleys. Social workers who shrugged their shoulders, the young priest in Whitechapel who suggested it would be better to put it behind him. The public library had revealed more news and photographs of the disaster, but still no report of a child.\n\nTorn between the acclaim he was getting nightly and days spent in searching. Afraid to tell anyone but Clive what was on his mind.\n\nHe tried the local council, who referred him to the children's department and at that point he discovered all war orphans were taken to a home in Billericay in Essex.\n\nNo one had bothered to tell him the home had been pulled down years earlier, or that all the old records were destroyed in a fire. Just another pointless journey, looking for someone no one seemed interested in.\n\nThe days were ticking by. He had to slot in his search between rehearsals, interviews and keeping himself prominent so he wouldn't be forgotten. His children's future depended on him becoming a lasting success. He couldn't risk failure by turning into a recluse.\n\nAlmost at the point of giving up, he went back to the library in Stepney. They had a local history department and one of the librarians, Miss Brice, was actually enthusiastic. 'Let's study the newspapers again,' she suggested. 'We might find something interesting, a name, an event that leads us on to something else.'\n\nMiss Brice reminded Sam of the women who helped out voluntarily during the war, manning tea stalls and organising dances for the troops. Silver grey hair, gold-rimmed spectacles and rosy, clear skin. He liked the way she used the words 'we' and 'us', it gave him the feeling she cared as much as he did.\n\nHe got really hung up on those old papers, making his way to the library almost every day, collecting scraps of information that were useless to him, but riveting all the same. He knew what was on at the movies. Men that got sent to prison, weddings, births and deaths, but nothing relating to an orphan. Time was slipping away. It was February already and he was due to leave on March 1st.\n\n##### *\n\n'Anything?' Miss Brice noticed immediately when something caught his eye.\n\n'Just reading this about a woman who was an Army nurse taking up a position in Stepney,' he said. 'Her life reads like a novel. She had travelled in China, Africa and India, nursing, then in field hospitals during the war.'\n\n'That'ud be Miss Hammick,' Miss Brice smiled. 'She was a regular Tartar. The kids used to shake in their shoes when she came along. She wouldn't stand for any nonsense. She ran the department like a battle campaign.'\n\n'What department was she in then?' Sam looked up. Just the mention of children made him take notice.\n\n'I can't remember what they called it then. She was like the forerunners of today's social workers.' Miss Brice came over to him at the table looking over his shoulder. 'She handled all sorts of things. Truants, child neglect. Unmarried mothers, family disputes. She wasn't noted for her diplomacy, but she got a lot of problems sorted while she was around here.'\n\n'She's not here any longer then?' Sam's spark of hope died as quickly as it was fired.\n\n'No, she retired a few years back. She must be at least seventy. But I think we may find out something more about her because they had a retirement \"do\" for her.'\n\n'I've got to go now,' Sam said reluctantly. 'I've got someone to see before going on to the club. But I'll be back tomorrow.'\n\n'I'll dig around Sam,' she assured him, making a note of it on a pad. 'This might be a real lead for us.'\n\nWhen Sam met Clive later he filled him in with this news.\n\n'Don't go building up your hopes Sam,' Clive said over a pint. 'Even if Miss Hammick knows something, this girl's grown up now. She may be married. She might not even be in England. Suppose after all that you find you aren't her dad?'\n\n'I'm sure I am,' Sam growled. He couldn't explain why exactly, but the more he dug into the events of the bombing, the more convinced he became.\n\n'Even if you are, she may have been brought up by white people. The shock of a black six-foot Yank may be too much.'\n\n'No daughter of mine would have those hang-ups,' Sam laughed. 'Her mother had too much guts to create a little dim-wit.'\n\nWhatever he said to Clive, he did have the same worry. How would Jasmine react to finding her mother years from now? And they were the same colour. The person who brought the child up was the one that counted surely? Could any girl find room for a father who left his pregnant girlfriend and never came back to look for her?\n\nHe knew Miss Brice had found something just as soon as he got in the library.\n\n'I've got it,' she said, almost jumping with excitement. Her hazel eyes glistened behind her glasses. She twitched at her strand of beads round her neck. 'I was so excited I telephoned her last night.'\n\n'Well ma'am, you are a surprise,' Sam chuckled. 'And they told me you Brits were cold-blooded.'\n\nShe was bursting with it, her lined face flushed salmon pink, contrasting vividly with her saxe green sweater.\n\n'She said to send you over there. She did remember a child of the right age. Last night she needed time to think it out.'\n\n'Where is she?' Sam said, ready to run out the door.\n\n'Buckhurst Hill,' she said, picking up the address and telephone number and pushing it into his hands. 'Please phone me and let me know.'\n\n'I'll do better than that,' he leaned forward and kissed her soft cheek. 'If I find her I'll bring her to see you.'\n\nSam straightened his jacket and rubbed his shoes on his trouser legs before pushing open the gate. It had seemed an interminable journey on the tube and he wished he had smarter clothes to see this Tartar.\n\nIt was a small bungalow, painted white with green shutters, set in a lawned garden. Everything was bare now, but it was the sort of garden he knew would be beautiful in summer. The door opened before he even reached it.\n\n'Mr Cameron I presume?' she said.\n\nSam wanted to laugh. She was the type of lady he had seen in British films. Snooty, tall, grey hair cut very short and a masculine set to her features. Her body was encased in men's cord trousers, with a thick navy sweater, through the thick material he knew it was large and muscular rather than fat. Even at seventy she looked formidable.\n\n'Pleased to meet you, ma'am,' Sam held out his hand. 'Thank you for seeing me.'\n\nHe couldn't make out what she was thinking. A woman of her age and background probably loathed black men, especially ones who impregnated young girls and left them alone to get killed.\n\n'Come in,' she said crisply. 'Wipe your feet.'\n\nSam followed her down the passage. She walked straight-backed, head held high. She turned into a room and he followed.\n\nIt was a beautiful room. Big French windows looked on to the garden. A green thick carpet which seemed to make it harder to see where the garden began or ended. A stone fireplace with a roaring log fire and fat comfortable-looking chairs. He could see no television or even radio. Just hundreds of books on shelves and an artist's easel standing by the window.\n\n'Do sit down,' she said, making a gesture to a chair. 'Last night when Miss Brice telephoned me I couldn't remember much. But I've thought it over and a little more has come back to me.'\n\n'Where is she?' Sam leaned forward in his chair.\n\n'I couldn't say now,' she said haughtily. 'I suggest you just listen to me and I'll tell you all I know.'\n\nThe way she barked out her orders reminded Sam of a woman he once worked for in New Orleans. She was German with an English husband, but she never let him get a word in edgewise either.\n\n'I did take a child away from foster parents. It was in 1946 and the child was around twenty months. She had been in Billericay war orphans home, and she was coloured.'\n\n'What was her name?'\n\n'I can't recall her Christian name, though I do remember it was the only thing which seemed to really belong to her. She took the surname Barlow from the people who fostered her. Whether she was abandoned or the same child as was found in Hughes Mansions I can't say for certain. I wasn't working in England during the war.'\n\nSam frowned. Miss Hammick read his mind.\n\n'It's no good you looking like that,' she said tersely. 'England and particularly the East End took a frightful hammering during the war. I know you Americans think you did it all, but I know better. People were buried hurriedly, records weren't kept that well. We had to conceal disasters to keep up morale.'\n\nSam nodded. 'I was here ma'am, I do understand, it's just painful to think a baby gets stuck in a home without anyone knowing how or why.'\n\n'If wouldn't have happened if I'd been there then,' she said with more than a hint of pride.\n\n'You say you took her from foster parents? To where and why?' Was she too old to remember clearly? Was this another wild goose chase?\n\n'She was too much of a handful for them,' Miss Hammick sniffed disdainfully. 'I can vouch for that in the one day I had her in my car. She never stopped moving.'\n\n'What did she look like?'\n\nAgain that strange haughty look.\n\n'Brown of course. With black curly hair. Half-caste I'd say,' she withered him with one glance. 'Anyway, I had an awful job placing her. No one knew anything about the child. Everywhere was full. I ended up at St Joseph's in Grove Park.'\n\n'Where's that?'\n\n'South London,' Miss Hammick sniffed again. 'Unfortunately that home has closed since. Not before time too as I believe, most of the nuns were totally unsuitable for child care.'\n\nSam blanched. If a woman like her thought someone was unsuitable they must have been fiends. This woman showed no emotion at all. Not even real curiosity.\n\n'How?' he had to ask.\n\n'Children were beaten. I dare say some of them merited it. Appalling diet, little medical attention. Had I known that then, of course I wouldn't have taken the child there. You have to understand there weren't the same standards in child care in those days. I made it my business to root out all those types of homes later on.'\n\n'Did you see her again after that day?'\n\n'No, I never did,' Miss Hammick spoke thoughtfully. 'When it was closed I believe most of the girls left were sent to Dr Barnardo's. But of course this child would have been thirteen or fourteen then. She might have been fostered out.'\n\n'Is there any way I could find out?'\n\n'Well,' she paused, as if she knew something but wasn't sure if she should reveal it. 'I rang Downham's children's department this morning. They told me all the names of girls taken over by Barnardo's, but they had no record of a girl called Barlow.'\n\n'Oh,' Sam's face fell. He wondered how a society could lose a child so easily.\n\n'But I did discover the whereabouts of one of the younger nuns from St Joseph's. In fact she was there the night I handed over the baby. She is with a convent in Hampstead.'\n\nAll these names of places were confusing Sam. Was Hampstead in London?\n\nHe looked blankly at Miss Hammick.\n\nNuns were something he feared, he wasn't sure why. Perhaps it had something to do with one who'd beaten him as a boy.\n\n'It's not a closed order or anything like that,' she said briskly. 'An unmarried mothers' home. From what I understand about Sister Mary you'll find her helpful and kind-hearted. It was she alone who kept any kind of standard in St Joseph's. She's still young enough to remember the details I may have forgotten.'\n\n'Can I go there now?' he said.\n\n'No, that wouldn't be prudent,' she said, pursing her lips. 'Write to Sister Mary giving her all the information I have given you. She'll arrange to meet you somewhere away from there.'\n\nShe paused again. 'Of course, it's very likely this child isn't yours. There is an even greater possibility that Sister Mary knows nothing of the girl's whereabouts. There were a great many war orphans. I don't know the percentage of coloured ones. But she wasn't the only one. Before you go claiming her, remember this. I'd hate to think I started something that ultimately brought disappointment.'\n\n'I'm very grateful to you ma'am,' Sam said. He knew the interview was terminated. He was even amused that she thought it unseemly for him to go to a home for unmarried mothers. Was she protecting him, or the girls?\n\n'We only call the Queen \"Ma'am\",' she said, rising to her feet. 'Miss Hammick is sufficient.'\n\nShe picked up a piece of paper from her writing desk.\n\n'The address in Hampstead,' she said. 'I'd be pleased to hear the outcome of this quest. For both your sakes I hope it will have a happy ending.'\n\nIt was torture waiting for Sister Mary to reply. Should he have suggested a meeting place, told her more about his background? Would he find his child was one who'd been ill-treated?\n\nOn Friday morning at nine, he stumbled down the stairs hopefully, as he had each morning for four days as soon as he heard the click of the letterbox.\n\nEndless bills for other tenants, an air letter for the woman below him. But amongst them was a blue one addressed to him. Thin, spidery writing that could only be Sister Mary, he tore it open and pulled out the single sheet.\n\n'Dear Mr Cameron,\n\nThank you for your letter. I do remember the child you spoke of and I would be happy to meet you to discuss this further.\n\nI usually go to Hampstead village on Saturday afternoons for some shopping. We could meet in the Half Moon tea shop up near the Heath. Shall we say at three thirty? I look forward to meeting you.\n\nYours sincerely,\n\nSister Mary\n\nIt was a temptation to go out and get roaring drunk, but reason got the better of him. Better to phone Miss Brice and Clive to share his news, than to risk a hangover when he met the nun.\n\nShe was already in the tea shop when he got there. A slight, dark little figure sitting at a table by the window, her eyes downcast in front of her.\n\n'Sister Mary?' he said, feeling too large and clumsy for such a small, quaint place.\n\nDelicate pink and white walls, dainty lace curtains on a brass rail. Snowy white cloths and a glass cabinet at the back of the shop piled high with home-made cakes.\n\n'Yes, Mr Cameron,' she looked up at him and took his outstretched hand. Hers was tiny, her eyes a bright blue set in a pink and white face which matched the decor.\n\n'I imagined you old,' he said awkwardly.\n\n'I am,' she laughed, like a trickle of water over pebbles. 'The Lord saw fit to give me a youthful face. But do sit down, I took the liberty of ordering tea.'\n\nHe could see at closer inspection she was well over fifty. Tiny lines round her eyes and mouth and her hands were veined and reddened from rough work. Her starched wimple gave her an ethereal look, enhanced by the lovely eyes.\n\n'I don't know where to begin,' he said. 'Tell me everything you know, quickly.'\n\nHer soft, small mouth curved into a smile. She said nothing, just looked at his face.\n\n'Well?' Sam felt a blush creeping up his neck, but still she studied him.\n\n'Just the way you are in such a hurry makes me sure we have the right child,' she said. 'But describe her mother please.'\n\nSam hadn't expected this. Once he'd had a photograph of her, but Ellie had destroyed it.\n\n'Small, slender,' he said. 'Dark shiny hair and eyes. Her face was kinda heart-shaped. You know, with one of those little pointy chins. She had long legs and a tiny waist. And a dimple here,' he pointed to his right cheek.\n\n'The chin and the dimple are enough,' she said. 'The rest I can see in your own face.'\n\nA sharp pain stabbed at Sam's heart. He hadn't felt anything like that since losing Katy.\n\n'You mean you believe she is my child?'\n\n'I do indeed, Mr Cameron,' she smiled gravely. 'I was reminded the moment you sprang in the door. What you have told me about Katy fills in the missing part.'\n\n'What was she called?'\n\n'I can't tell you that for a moment,' she said. 'First you must tell me exactly what happened between you, and your circumstances now.'\n\nIt was irritating to have to explain when and how they met. Even more distressing to explain their parting and his subsequent reasons for thinking she had changed her mind. He spoke of his marriage, his other two children and all the time Sister Mary listened carefully.\n\nWhen he'd finished, she poured the tea and passed a plate of hot buttered crumpets.\n\n'Do you know where she is now?'\n\nSam had this terrible feeling the woman was going to give him a name but nothing more. He hadn't much time left now. How many years did it take to find a missing person?\n\n'I know who she is,' Sister Mary said dropping her eyes from his. 'And it's because of this I feel I have to tread with caution.'\n\nA dozen different things ran through his mind. Was she in trouble? Had she been taken by someone who'd brought her up as their own?\n\n'So bad, huh?' he said, sipping his tea.\n\n'Oh no,' she smiled and shook her head. 'Your daughter is everything you could want. Beautiful, talented. But let me explain first.'\n\nSam listened to the story about how this woman called Celia Anderson took her away.\n\n'I have to admit I loved that child more than any other, even if I should feel ashamed for admitting favouritism.' She smiled as if the memory was very dear to her. 'I missed her so much. She was on my mind constantly. But I was happy because she was. Sometime after her fifteenth birthday I went to Blackheath on an errand, and taking a welcome chance to see her again I stopped off at her house.'\n\n'Did you see her?'\n\n'No, but what I did see worried me greatly. I'd never met her foster father until that day. He came to the door wrapped in a blanket. He looked ill, and he had been drinking. I asked for Mrs Anderson and he snapped at me. He said she had left him. I asked about the girl and he flew into a rage. He pulled up his shirt and showed me a fearful scar. He claimed she had stabbed him, then run away.'\n\nSam just stared. Nothing had prepared him for this.\n\n'I met Mrs Anderson on several occasions,' Sister Mary said gravely. 'She was a fine, honourable woman and I knew if she'd left that house, it was in disgust at something he had done to the girl. I believed at that time they were together somewhere. I tried to find Celia myself later on when I had given the matter more thought. Only then did I discover she'd left her job to search for the girl.'\n\n'Why do you keep calling her the girl?' Sam said gently.\n\n'Because her name is a household word now, and I have to be sure you can handle a reunion properly.'\n\n'I don't know what you mean.'\n\n'Your daughter changed her surname. She has never given anyone details of her background. Her foster father had a knife wound in here,' she touched her stomach. 'I'm not a worldly woman Mr Cameron. Yet I managed to reach an understanding of what happened in that house.'\n\nSam's eyes shot open wide.\n\n'You mean,' he covered his eyes with his hand.\n\n'Yes,' she said, softly lowering hers. 'I found out from the police that an incident had taken place.' She blushed furiously, her hand reaching for her rosary. 'No charges were ever made because she refused to speak about it. Mr Anderson claimed it was someone else and that she attacked him out of spite when he chastised her. Days later she ran away and was never found.'\n\n'But you have found her?'\n\n'I know who she is now, and follow her life with love, admiration and a sense of guilt that I was party to a child being placed with such a man. I believe she kept quiet in a misplaced sense of honour. Not for him so much, but her mother, and the boyfriend she had at the time.'\n\n'The b \u2013' Sam stopped short, his early upbringing reminding him he couldn't say words like that in front of a nun. 'I'll swing for him.'\n\n'You'll do no such thing,' she said firmly. 'I want you to be rational about this. Your daughter has kept that secret for six years. All her life she has thought she was an abandoned child. She doesn't even know which of her parents was black. I believe the shock of hearing you are her father could unbalance her. Fathers to her may still mean pain.'\n\n'What would you have me do?' He felt humbled by this little woman's understanding and strength of character.\n\n'You are well placed to get close to her,' she said. 'Try to get closer still and win her confidence. Be there for her, because she is surrounded by people who may not have her best interests at heart. God will guide you then.'\n\nShe picked up her rosary and held it between her worn red hands as if gaining strength from it.\n\n'Your daughter is Georgia James.'\n\nFor a moment the room spun round. The girl he had seen at the airport. That beautiful mulatto with the voice of an angel.\n\n'Are you absolutely sure of this?' he whispered. Tears were welling up in his eyes, he brushed them away almost angrily.\n\n'Look,' she said gently, pulling out of her habit a worn old photograph of a child with short curly hair.\n\n'This was my Georgia. I loved her as if I was her own mother. Can you tell me I'm mistaken now? She kept her real Christian name too. She dropped the Anderson because of its connections, but she couldn't change the name her mother gave her. She sang to me so often as a little girl. I recognised her voice on the radio, even without a picture of this new star. I knew her from the voice Sam, but her face confirms it.'\n\nSam took the picture in his hands. She was so thin, yet he could see Katy, and even Jasmine in the face before him.\n\n'Celia Anderson sent this one to me with a Christmas card.' Another picture appeared in her hands. 'She was almost fifteen then.'\n\nSam gasped. The face before him now was a dark-skinned version of Katy's. Her hair was past her shoulders, the dimple in her cheek, the heart-shaped face, all served to confirm her parentage. But her eyes were his, and the chiselled cheek-bones, like looking in a mirror and seeing his own reflection.\n\nSo many times he'd stopped to look at this same face in the record shop windows, idly wondering if she would get back to sit in at Ronnie Scott's before he left to go home. He'd listened to her records on the radio, even written to his kids and suggested they buy her latest album. Now this sweet little nun was telling him it was his daughter!\n\n'She's in the States now,' he whispered. 'I may have to go back. I've only got a contract for six weeks.'\n\n'I checked on you, too,' she smiled. 'You've been getting some startling reviews yourself. Surely you can engineer something to keep you here till she gets back?'\n\n'But how do I get to see her?' he whispered. 'No one gets near her from what I've read.'\n\n'I believe in good coming out of evil,' she said simply. 'Something made you come to England, then you went to check in the East End. Did you plan to do that before you came?'\n\n'No,' he said. 'But \u2013'\n\nShe stopped him with a touch on the hand. 'The hand of God,' she said. 'That same hand will bring her to you. Pray for his guidance when it happens.'\n\nSam had Georgia's address in his hands now. His daughter had come to him, just like Sister Mary had said. If he was a man who truly believed in the power of prayer he would get down on his knees and thank Him. But right now he was going to go back on the stage, get her to come up and do a number or two with the band.\n\n'Georgia,' he hummed the tune as he turned to go back into the dressing room. Sam remembered now, that was the number he'd been playing when he got his first glimpse of Katy back at Lakenheath.\n\n## Chapter 23\n\n'Fever, fever when you kiss me, fever when you hold me tight.' Georgia stood under the shower, singing at the top of her lungs, wet corkscrew curls like seaweed over her slender brown back.\n\nSix weeks ago, making the album of her dreams looked impossible, but at last all the problems had been overcome and today they were starting recording.\n\nMarch's weather had mirrored what was going on around her. Meeting Sam was like an early spring day. So much promise of good things to come, an unfolding of new leaves and flowers, unexpected warmth and sunshine. Max roared in like the March wind, laying waste all her plans. The press was Jack Frost, nipping at tender shoots, threatening to kill everything.\n\nRows, bad feeling, criticism. Roots put down years earlier, torn up. So much opposition to something she knew was right.\n\nSpeedy and Les were heavily into drugs and behaving like a pair of deprived, vacant louts. Norman sniping at his lost opportunities. Max turning into a demented, jealous old woman. Good pianists seemed extinct, even the press turned against her. There were times when she almost backed down.\n\n'If it hadn't been for Sam,' she said to herself as she stepped out of the shower, wrapping herself in a towel. 'You'd have cracked up.'\n\n##### *\n\nThe night in Ronnie Scott's was the beginning. Up until then the album had been a hazy dream. When Sam asked her up to sing with the band in the second half she felt a little presumptuous singing the old Billie Holliday number, 'That ole Devil called Love'. Yet she found her voice had the maturity and Sam's horn inspired her. Even though Max sat glowering at her from the audience, she didn't care.\n\nShe expected Sam to play hard to get when he came round to see her the next day. With the rave reviews he was getting, he could afford to take his time and be choosy before committing himself to any band or project. But instead she found him enthusiastic, open and straightforward.\n\n'I'm yours if you want me,' his soft dark eyes glimmered with an excitement she hadn't expected. 'My contract runs out at Scott's next week. As long as you can get my visa fixed up and pay me enough to send home for my kids, then I can stay for as long as it takes.'\n\nMax's attitude was quite the opposite when she called at his office later the same day and outlined her plans.\n\n'How dare you go behind my back and make arrangements? I haven't even agreed to this album,' he snapped. 'You know nothing about that guy and I suppose you rushed in there offering him the moon.'\n\n'Not the moon,' she said simply. 'I just told him I wanted to do a recording with him. The only credentials I care about is how well he plays his horn.'\n\n'Decca won't want to waste their time and money on an album like this,' he roared at her, purple in the face with anger. 'You're digging your own grave Georgia, it's vanity, nothing more. Stick to what you do best.'\n\n'There's nothing more boring than an entertainer who never moves on,' she shouted back at him. 'Making this album doesn't mean I won't make any more soul or rock records. It's just stretching myself, showing a new dimension. I could reach millions of new fans.'\n\n'The press will link your name with his,' Max snarled at her across his desk. 'Do you really think the public will be happy to see their golden girl with a big Yank nigger?'\n\n'You evil bastard,' she hissed back at him. 'Trust you to bring everything down to gutter level. Call anyone a nigger again, and this uppity one will walk out on you.'\n\nOf course he gave her all the rubbish about caring for her, trying to protect her. But she had hardly left his office before he was on the phone to Jack Levy, doing his best to block her.\n\nThen the press got a whiff of what was going on, and before she could talk to the band and outline her plans they had her stitched up.\n\n'Georgia goes it alone,' was the headline. 'No time for Samson now.'\n\n'Georgia is to split with Samson after six years'. 'We've grown apart,' she was quoted as saying. 'I'm in a position now when I don't need or want the responsibility of a full-time band. I want to experiment with other musicians and expand my career.'\n\n'I didn't ever say that,' she raged to Sam. 'They're making me out to be some sort of prima donna throwing off my old friends because I've outgrown them. Where did they get hold of such an idea?'\n\n'Max?' Sam raised one eyebrow. 'He's scared, honey. He wants his little girl right under his wing. But don't take too much notice of the press. The time to worry is when they don't bother to write about you, good or bad.'\n\nIn five years there'd been many squabbles, but this time it was serious. The boys closed ranks, refusing to speak to her on the telephone, ignoring even a letter she sent them explaining her plans.\n\nRod and John came round after Deirdre from the office intervened and admitted she'd overheard Max talking to someone from the press. But Les, Speedy and Norman chose to use the opportunity to make a final break from her.\n\nThere were moments she doubted her own judgement. Was it just inflated ego that made her think she could compete with singers like Aretha Franklin and Ella Fitzgerald? What if Jack Levy, Max and all the other men who had been in the business for years, were right? Suppose it was a flop, what would she do then?\n\nBut the doubts were gone now. She had swept away all the opposition to her plans. Fly or fall she was getting her chance, and she had no intention of falling.\n\nSam finally found a pianist in a pub in Barnes. He was a retired music teacher who played just twice a week in a jazz quartet. Harold Sweeting looked like everyone's favourite uncle. White-haired, rosy-cheeked, a jolly, roly-poly character with all the enthusiasm for music so many of the professional pianists they auditioned, lacked. He had wanted to be a concert pianist in his youth, but his wife and children had come before his own hopes and dreams. Now at sixty-five he had a lifetime of experience to fall back on, yet with a youthful exuberance that gave his playing a touch of magic.\n\nRod and John were joining the other session musicians too. Rod simply because he was the best drummer, and John begged to come in because he admired Sam's playing.\n\nPerhaps it was fortunate that Speedy, Les and Norman had refused to join her. It left her free to employ strings and a classical guitarist, without feeling guilty.\n\nAll they needed now was luck!\n\nGeorgia smiled ruefully as she pulled on her jeans and dragged a red sweater over her head.\n\nJack Levy was cunning. He had covered himself every which way. If she didn't finish recording within a week she would be in breach of contract and he could sue her. Like Max he was running scared, knowing her agreement with Decca ran out in a few months' time. It was thinly disguised blackmail, to make sure she wasn't tempted to sign up with another company offering her a better deal. If the recording was ready in time and then went on to be a smash hit, Jack would merely laugh all the way to the bank. If it failed however, he would blame her for going against his wishes. Before long he would having her back, recording another purely commercial record.\n\nLoyalty in this business was bought. No one really cared about talent. Half the singers who got into the top twenty were virtually manufactured, money changed hands to get them air time. Glossy promoters used hype to get their puppets noticed, and later when these one hit wonders no longer made them money, they were forgotten.\n\nThe music world was a giant ants' nest, everyone relying on the Queen to keep it fuelled. Just one slip from favour and she would be devoured by the drones and replaced.\n\nGeorgia sat down at her dressing table to dry her hair, pausing to look at a photograph of her and Samson.\n\nIt was her favourite one, taken just a few days before Ian and Alan died in the fire. The photographer James Ogilvy had been an unknown then, a pimply-faced weed who followed stars around looking for the picture that would make his fortune. He'd been after Adam Faith that day, not the support group, but he'd taken this one while he hung around waiting.\n\nThey were in a park close to the theatre, fooling around on a climbing frame. Rod sat right at the top, the other boys made a pyramid shape and she was in the middle hanging upside down over a rail, her hair hanging down to the floor. The boys looked funny now with their short hair cuts and wide shouldered jackets, and she looked positively ridiculous in that shapeless shift dress with a long pointed collar. It had taken so long to arrange herself so the dress stayed up over her knees.\n\n'What would you think of the boys now?' she said to Ian. He was laughing, his eyes crinkled up. Rod had just farted very noisily from his perch on the top and John was complaining it scorched his head. All eight of them had been so na\u00efve then, trusting children who would put up with anything for a few words of praise. That day they had no idea Ian and Alan's time with them was nearly at an end, or that fame would follow so soon after.\n\n'Would you stand by and watch Speedy and Les destroy themselves with drugs?' she asked.\n\nShe sighed and switched on the dryer. All of them, including herself, had experimented. It was as much part of the scene as groupies and drink. Purple hearts now and then to liven up the trip home or go on to a party. Smoking cannabis in the coach to relieve the boredom. But Speedy and Les had taken it a stage further since that holiday in Spain. Amphetamines to get them going, endless joints to calm them down, then out of their heads on cocaine half the night.\n\nIt was almost predictable that Les should be attracted to drugs, he was dim and he didn't have a great deal of personality. But why Speedy? He was the one with a real mind. A brilliant guitarist, handsome, charismatic and caring. What had made him prefer spending days spaced out, screwing every girl who passed his way, and every night in a West End club?\n\n'We've all changed,' she muttered. 'Perhaps the press are right. I am getting ruthless.'\n\nAll that fighting to keep them together and now fame and money were changing each one of them. Rod keeping up appearances as a rock star, strutting around town with hair down to his shoulders, in tight red trousers and embroidered jackets, spending more money in a day than he'd once earned in two years. John had lost his warm humour. Now he was full of astrology, meditation and every other half-chewed-over theory he happened to overhear. Norman had new friends now, society types who invited him for weekends in the country. Away from his old friends he could forget his East End origins, describe himself as a composer. He'd even been taking elocution lessons.\n\nEven Max was unbalanced. The man she had fought with, been in awe of, and perhaps even loved had been tough and unyielding. But he'd been consistent. Now he was riddled with jealousy about Sam, terrified she would dump him. One day depressed, another fanatical. Spiteful then solicitous. He took pills for an ulcer, handfuls of vitamins to allay his advancing years and surrounded himself with dolly birds who were only interested in his money.\n\nSam alone remained constant. A cool breeze on a hot day. A log fire when it was cold. He could talk about anything and everything. Laugh, make fun of her, but listen when she wanted to talk.\n\nHe'd filled her life all right. But not in the grubby way Max thought.\n\nThere had been moments that night in Ronnie Scott's that it seemed like the start of a love affair. She found herself gawping at him, and found him staring right back at her.\n\nShe loved the way he looked. From the close cropped hair, the golden brown skin and doleful eyes, to his broad shoulders and narrow hips. He was a dream of a man, but not in that way.\n\nAs the days ticked past, mutual admiration turned to close friendship. He was unmaterialistic, laughed at show business hype, demanded nothing of her. One morning he could turn up at her flat with a pile of secondhand jazz records for her to listen to. The next he was out in her kitchen cooking them a meal and insisting they went out later to explore some tourist place he hadn't seen. Unpredictable, serious, funny, affectionate and cool in turn. He told her about women he fancied, his ex-wife and his children. His past gradually unfurled in a series of hilarious stories that left her hungry for more.\n\nFrom G.I. to barman, truck driver to rat-catcher, he painted pictures so vivid she could see them.\n\n'You didn't kill rats? You're making it up,' she laughed as yet another talent came to light.\n\n'I did,' he insisted. 'Used to go round in a little van putting down poison, then round the next day to heave out the carcasses. Sometimes I even did gigs with a few bodies in the back. None of my buddies would get in it with me.'\n\nHe made light of everything. He presented his childhood as if it had all been running barefoot through meadows, fishing and climbing trees. But as she got closer to him, she guessed it had been tough.\n\nHe spoke of the racism in the States almost as if it was a joke. No trace of self-pity, or even bitterness, only sympathy for those who were trapped by it.\n\n'We're the lucky ones, honey,' he said. 'Up there on the stage people don't think about our colour, they only hear the music. Maybe by the time our kids are grown every black person will be valued for themselves.'\n\n'But how can you go back to it?' she asked. 'How can you bear Jasmine and Junior to grow up under that shadow?'\n\n'I hope I don't have to,' he said simply. 'I'd like to bring them here. Send them to good schools. England's a cool country.'\n\nShe wanted to give him the money to send for them right now. The thought of two children without either parent saddened her. She could see herself back in St Joseph's waiting while people came and looked her over, bypassing her, looking for the small, sweet blonde. It wasn't right for two children to have a father like Sam and not be with him.\n\nBut Sam was a proud man. He wanted to bring those children to a real home. But for him there would be no short cuts.\n\nSurrounded as she was by fawning sycophants his earthy opinions counted.\n\n'You don't have to worry about other people,' he said, when she told him her fears about the boys. 'They're grown men now. Be there for them, but don't try to hold them. You do what you know is right, and if for a while they fall off the path, then let them find their way back on to it.'\n\nTwo days of recording and everything was coming together. Perhaps the opposition to the album had made everyone stretch themselves just a little more. Sam had written all the brass arrangements and he and Steven the producer were at one in their ideas. Four tracks were already finished, another five well under way.\n\nSession men and the technicians had frightened Georgia once, but now she understood how it all worked there was no need for fear. Each one had their role and Steven put it all together.\n\nHarold was perfect. Every note he played sounded like a love affair. He could improvise like a jazz player, yet his classical background and knowledge of music was unsurpassed. His patience and humour made him a joy to work with.\n\n'Come and sing with me here,' he said, drawing up another stool for Georgia by the piano. 'Just relax and feel the music.'\n\nIt was like being ten again, joining Celia at her piano with the sun streaming in through the French windows. His slim long fingers danced over the keys, his white head nodding with the beat, the warmth of his rotund body, his encouraging smiles, dispelled any nervousness. She forgot it was a glassed-in studio way below the street, the pressure of getting it all tied up in a week, or the session men who just wanted to play their bits and go home. Harold with his hand-knitted yellow waistcoat, with red and white cravat and his huge stomach bulging over his thighs was an inspiration.\n\nOn the morning of the third day they began at six. The offices upstairs silent, typewriters covered, chairs tucked under desks. The night porter unlocked the doors for them, rubbing his eyes and yawning.\n\n'What a time to start,' he grumbled. 'I don't know how we'll get the studio cleaned. I suppose you'll still be here when I come back on tonight?'\n\n'Sure thing,' Georgia tickled him under the chin. 'Be a darling and put on the coffee?'\n\nBoth John and Rod were better for being away from the rest of the band. Rod had dropped his cocky stance, knowing the session men, Sam and Harold had not only years on him, but a far greater knowledge of music. John hadn't mentioned meditation once so far, he was engrossed in the sound, playing far better than she'd ever heard him before. Neither of them had complained about anything, not the early starts, or Steven's continual re-takes.\n\nShe had come to trust Stephen Albright implicitly. Ever since that first recording he had produced all her records. Like her he moved with the times, never falling into the trap of making each record sound the same. He was plumper now, so his height seemed less remarkable. A half-chewed pencil, eyes tightly closed behind his thick glasses were still his trademark. But his public school speech was peppered with cockney slang, scruffy clothes replaced by designer chic, he drove a Ferrari and lived in a penthouse in Mayfair, but he was still as uncompromising about music.\n\nGeorgia was halfway through 'Summer Time' when she saw Max's face pressed against the porthole in the studio door.\n\nIt was just after nine, and Max never normally surfaced before noon. Just one look at his bloated, angry face and the way he pummelled the glass with his fists, was enough to know something serious had happened.\n\n'Take five, Georgia,' Stephen's voice came through her headphones from the control room. 'Max is in a paddy about something.'\n\nGeorgia sighed, taking off her earphones. As she opened the studio door Max lunged forward.\n\n'Max wait. You can't go in there,' Stephen shouted behind him, clutching at Max's arm. He was too slight to create a real barrier between the bull-like man and Georgia, but he did his best.\n\n'What is it?' she asked, her face furrowed with irritation. 'Can't we even get on with this without interruptions?'\n\n'Interruption?' he roared. 'You're finished my girl, never mind interrupted.'\n\nGeorgia just stared. She had seen Max fighting mad many a time, but never quite like this. Black stubble on his chin, the shirt under his sweater looked suspiciously like pyjamas and his trousers could have been slept in. But it was his face that really unnerved her.\n\nIt was purple. Veins stood out on his forehead like ropes and he had dried spittle round his lips. Eyes blazing like a man about to kill someone.\n\n'Calm down,' she gingerly touched his arm. 'What's the matter?'\n\nShe was aware all the technicians were at the door of the control room, and behind her she could feel Rod, John and Sam. The silence from the session musicians proved they were all listening, still in their seats, their music open in front of them on stands.\n\nMax flicked her hand from his arm and pulled a newspaper from his back pocket.\n\n'This,' he almost slapped her with it. 'Why didn't you tell me?'\n\n'Calm down,' she snapped back at him. 'Why didn't I tell you what?'\n\n'That you were wanted for attempted murder!'\n\nEver since her first publicity she had half expected someone to confront her with her past. So many times she had intended to take Max aside to prepare him. But even in her worst nightmares she hadn't anticipated this.\n\nThe paper felt almost hot in her hands. The face of the man she had learned to forget, staring up at her.\n\nThe studio lights seemed to burn her, the walls buckled and moved.\n\n'Tell me it isn't true?' Max's plea seemed to come from a long way off. 'It's some sort of sick joke? It's made up?'\n\nThere was a roaring sound in her ears. She could feel the handle of the knife in her hand, see blood dripping from the blade and he was lying at her feet, fingers clutching at the wound in his white belly.\n\nSam instinctively knew what was in the paper, even before he got a glimpse of the headline.\n\nElbowing his way through the crowd in the doorway, he saw the colour drain from her face. She swayed, then crumpled to the floor.\n\nThe air was charged with emotion. Max's anger. Rod and John's shock. Stephen's eyes behind his thick glasses blinking with astonishment. The curiosity of the session men and technicians.\n\n'Out the way,' Sam reached Georgia in two strides. He knelt down beside her, stroking back her hair from her face. 'Get some water, damn it,' he yelled at Max.\n\nIt was Rod who ran for the water. Stephen found some smelling salts and rushed over with them. The rest of the men stood in a semi-circle around them, too shocked to speak.\n\n'All right honey,' Sam crooned softly, as he saw her eyes flicker open. 'I'm with you, baby.' He cradled her head in his arm, holding the glass to her lips.\n\n'I knew there was something about you,' Max's voice penetrated the hushed room. 'Why the fuck didn't you tell me?'\n\n'If you don't shut your mouth I'll shut it permanently,' Sam glowered up at Max. 'Are you so God damned dense you can't see the girl's in shock? Stop thinking about yourself and think of her.'\n\nHe rose, lifting Georgia in his arms as if she weighed nothing more than a few pounds.\n\n'Take me home Sam,' Georgia said weakly. 'I'll tell you everything then.'\n\n'It's me you should be telling,' Max barked at her. 'I've looked after you all these years, then you shut me out in favour of him.'\n\n'You bastard!' Sam's lips curled back showing his teeth. 'Call yourself a human being? I've known roaches with more sensitivity than you.'\n\nIt was then Sam knew Max was in love with Georgia. It wafted out of him, mixed with jealousy, suspicion and fear.\n\n'You can come with us,' Sam shot a warning glance at Max, holding Georgia tightly to his chest. 'But any more outbursts and I'll wring your neck.'\n\nIt was raining hard. Still holding Georgia in his arms, Sam made a dash for Max's white Rolls Royce parked outside. He lay her on the back seat, tucking a travel rug round her. A crowd of people making their way to work paused to watch under umbrellas, mouths gaping with surprise.\n\n'Get going,' Sam leapt into the front seat beside Max.\n\nThe traffic was jammed solid on Oxford Street. Max's face was grim, he held the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles shone white.\n\nFor ten minutes no one spoke.\n\nGeorgia broke the silence first.\n\n'Can I read what they've said about me?' Her hand came snaking between the front seats to reach for the paper.\n\nSam turned in his seat slightly to watch her. She knelt on the car floor, the paper spread out on the seat in front of her. She looked no older than sixteen in her tight little black mini-dress and long boots, hair falling over her face.\n\nThe headline read, 'Georgia wanted for attempted murder.'\n\nSam watched as she read the front page, shaking her head as though in disbelief, then turned the page, shuddering as she saw more pictures.\n\n'Bad, huh?' Sam said as she sat back on the seat and silently handed him the paper. Tears were welling in her eyes, threatening to spill over and trickle down those pale, drawn cheeks.\n\n'The worst,' she whispered, her full lips quivering. 'He's been watching me all this time.'\n\nSam didn't trust himself to speak. He had to read it. Pretend he knew less than Max. But inside he wanted to hold her, tell her this man was never her father. That he was the man who counted and he would take care of all this.\n\n'Mr Brian Anderson, a sick old man living in slum-like conditions reveals that the famous singer Georgia James is none other than the foster child who tried to stab him to death several years ago.\n\n'Yesterday in the offices of the _Mirror_ , Anderson related a story that makes a lie of everything the public believes of Georgia.\n\n'Brian Anderson and his wife Celia took Georgia from an orphanage when she was nine, to live in their beautiful home in Blackheath. They showered her with love, gave her singing and dancing lessons, bought her all the toys and clothes she'd never had.\n\n'The Andersons were liberal people. On her fifteenth birthday they allowed her to have a teenage party up in her old playroom and it was only when it got out of hand that Mr Anderson went upstairs to intervene.\n\n'He found his daughter in the throes of making love and indications that the party was nothing more than an excuse for wild, promiscuous behaviour. In his anger Mr Anderson, like any irate father, ordered her friends out the house.\n\n'Another girl would have felt shame. But not Georgia, instead she screamed abuse, told him she could do what she liked and then picked up a bread knife left on the party table and stabbed him in the stomach.\n\n'As he lay close to death in hospital and the police were waiting for him to recover consciousness, Georgia ran away rather than face prosecution. She left no apology for the couple who had given her everything, instead she took all the money left in the house, and disappeared without trace. Every effort of the police to find her was unsuccessful. The Andersons spent all their savings trying to trace her which culminated in Celia having a breakdown, and Brian losing his job as a bank manager.\n\n'While her fans have been listening to her songs of love and crediting her with sweetness, purity and sincerity, her father's life is in ruins. While she amasses great fortunes, he lives in squalor in Ladbroke Grove. Celia's heart was broken, her career and home lost and finally the long, happy marriage was over too.'\n\n'\"I still love her, even after everything she put us through,\" Brian Anderson wept as he told his story. \"I've collected every press clipping of her, every photograph. I always believed one day she would come back to me and say she was sorry.\"\n\n'Anderson's plight is a sad one. He is trapped in a vicious circle of sickness, poverty and appalling housing. He carries a childhood picture of her in his pocket. He watches her television appearances through a shop window as he cannot afford a tv of his own.'\n\nThere were four photographs. Georgia sitting between her foster parents at a Christmas dinner. One of her in a swimsuit taken on holiday. The house in Blackheath, and finally one of the man as he was now, old, broken and sick, standing in front of a dilapidated house.\n\nSam felt sick as he read it. It had a ring of truth about it. If he hadn't heard Sister Mary's story and got so close to Georgia in the past weeks, he might even have believed it himself. But he wasn't concerned now with what the public thought, only what it would do to Georgia. A snakepit she would have to go back into, just to clear herself.\n\nThe car stopped at traffic lights. Across the road Sam saw a newspaper stand.\n\n'Queen of Pop, wanted for attempted murder,' he read, and once again felt faint.\n\n'My God,' Max exploded once again as he too saw it. His thick, bull neck flushed purple with rage. He turned his head to Georgia, eyes blazing with renewed anger. 'I take you on, I feed you, train you and you think so little of me you don't let on about this.'\n\n'And you think so little of Georgia you prefer to believe this trash?' Sam snapped at Max with barely disguised disgust. 'I haven't known her as long as you have, but I recognize this for what it is.'\n\n'I don't want to believe it,' Max wiped his hand across his eyes. 'But when that plopped down on my mat this morning, I thought the world had ended.'\n\nThe Thames was black. Even the Albert Bridge looked forlorn. Across the river Battersea power station's four chimneys pumped out sulphurous fumes.\n\n'Oh shit,' Max exploded again as he drew close to Georgia's apartment block. 'Look at that lot!'\n\nThe pavements and the courtyard were blocked with an army of people. Reporters and photographers swarmed in groups despite the rain. Men in raincoats, women in high-heels and smart suits huddled under umbrellas. A television van was parked by the entrance, the doors open and men jumping out with film equipment. Older people paused to watch from the river side of the street. Youngsters took up vantage points on walls and railings.\n\n'We can't go in,' Max said. 'Let's go to a hotel?'\n\n'No,' Sam put a restraining hand on the steering wheel. 'We can't run from this. Besides, Georgia needs to be in her own home. We'll just barge on through them.'\n\nAs Max stopped in the middle of the road to make a right turn, so the crowd surged forward.\n\n'Keep down,' Sam urged Georgia. 'Put the rug over you.'\n\nBut the white Rolls was too obvious. People were running towards them, regardless of traffic.\n\n'Barge your way in,' Sam snapped. 'Go on!'\n\nSlowly the car inched forward, faces lunged at the windows, hands trying the doors. Max's breath was rasping as if he was having a seizure, but still he drove on, forcing the people to step aside.\n\nSam leapt out like a panther. He flung open the back door and reached for Georgia.\n\nA roar went up the moment they saw her. They ran across the gardens, leaping over fences. Like hounds after the fox.\n\nSam held his ground, tucked his arm firmly around Georgia, brushing away reporters as if they were flies. Striding across the courtyard his face set like a bronze sculpture, almost carrying her. Max came rushing after them, his wheezy breath audible even over the shouting.\n\n'Would you like to comment on the story about you in today's _Mirror_?' A young man with dark hair and an earnest face bounded up, running alongside them, quickly joined by the rest of the pack.\n\n'It's a fairy story told by a very bitter man,' Georgia tried to smile, but her mouth refused to co-operate.\n\n'Is that a denial?' another reporter shouted as cameras flashed all around her.\n\n'Miss James will tell her side of the story when she's ready,' Sam snarled. 'You jackals! Clear off and hassle the sick man who sold you all that shit!'\n\nThey had reached the doors of the foyer. The porter moved forward to unlock the door. One reporter tried to get himself in.\n\n'Out!' Sam put one hand on the man's collar and lifted him bodily out of the door.\n\nInside the block with the door locked behind them it was suddenly quiet. The wide staircase curving up round the old wrought-iron liftshaft, dark green carpet and polished mahogany doors were serenely comforting.\n\n'They'll be climbing the drain pipes by tonight,' Max said as they waited for the lift to come. His eyes darted about as if expecting someone to crawl out of the woodwork. 'They'll dig and dig till you can't fart without them reporting it.'\n\n'I won't let them inside.' Johnson the porter smiled at Georgia reassuringly, blocking her view of the doors so she couldn't see the crowds beyond.\n\nHe had read the story around the time the reporters began to arrive and he didn't believe a word of it. Hadn't she always had time for him and his missus? Only last Christmas she'd given him a hamper with fifty pounds tucked in a card. Some of the tenants in this place thought a porter was less than a speck of dirt. He might be close to sixty-five, with little education but he knew a good person when he met one. 'I told them it was all rubbish. I said you was a real kind girl. That man in the picture has been here before. I saw him two or three times outside. He's a loony.'\n\n'Thank you Johnson.' Georgia touched his arm.\n\nEven though Sam could see she was startled by the porter's revelation she was sensitive enough to understand he was offering his support. 'I'il tell you the whole story soon. But until then don't go talking to anyone will you?'\n\n'You can rely on me miss,' he said, patting his green serge uniform as proudly as if he was one of the Horse Guards. 'No one will get beyond that door while I'm here.'\n\nThe three of them sat in a semi-circle. The phone lying off the hook. Three empty brandy glasses and a large pottery ashtray full of Sam and Max's cigarette butts lay on the glass coffee-table between them. Georgia, putty-faced with traces of mascara staining her cheeks, her fingers picking at an imaginary thread on her dress.\n\nSam had to close his eyes as she haltingly whispered the true story. He could feel the agony suppressed for so many years, see the scene played out before him as if he'd been hidden in the playroom.\n\nThe rain outside cast an eerie, dirty light on the vivid yellow walls, the white carpet turned grey. Daffodils in tubs on the balcony bowed their heads just as Georgia was doing. An ugliness had crept uninvited into a room once full of bright, clear colour.\n\nSam's fingers clenched into fists, hatred burning in his gut. She knew all the words now, understood desire and passion and what they could do to men. But what did she know at fifteen?\n\nHe wanted to move closer. To take her in his arms and comfort her as she described her first night in Soho and later her abortion. How could any girl survive that without permanent scars?\n\nMax sat on the edge of an armchair, still red-faced, tense and angry. He reminded Sam of his sister's pressure cooker. Shaking, hissing, any moment now he would erupt unless someone could find the right words to cool him off.\n\n'You should have told me before,' he said. 'I could have done something.'\n\n'How could she?' Sam spoke out. 'How do you tell anyone something like that? \"Say Max! I was raped when I was fifteen. I stabbed him and ran away. Make it all right for me?'\" He half smiled at Max's discomfort. 'Of course you're mad, hurtin' because she didn't confide in you. But I bet there are plenty of secrets in your life you wouldn't tell?'\n\n'If you're so fucking clever tell me what to do now then?' Max's voice was rasping and wheezy, he looked older now, tired and frightened and Sam's slow Southern drawl was making him madder.\n\n'My gut feeling is to go out and find that creep. Beat the shit out of him until he tells the truth,' Sam said.\n\n'We daren't touch him,' Max raised his head in alarm. 'We need legal advice.'\n\n'A man who could rape a child in his care wants lynching,' Sam said quietly. 'You go and get legal advice Max. But if that don't work, don't bank on me sitting quietly.'\n\nSam wanted to be alone with Georgia. She was holding back the tears. Struggling to keep a grip on herself. He ached to tell her the truth about himself, to take over this situation as a father. But how could he blurt it out now? Another shock might just unhinge her. She was tough, but not indestructible.\n\nMax could hardly bear to look at Sam. Nothing had been the same since he turned up. He had wormed his way closer in six weeks than he had managed in so many years. He still didn't know if they were lovers for sure, but if not what was it between them? If it wasn't for that arrogant shit, Georgia might be clinging to him now.\n\nHe was scared too. A dark terror that this was the end of the road. He knew now why she had frozen on him that night and he also knew she really cared for that boy Peter. How long would it be before he turned up? He wasn't the type to worry about rejection, not when the girl he loved's future was at stake! Georgia might forgive a few shady deals, but she wouldn't overlook tampering with her personal life. A girl who could stick a knife in a rapist could do anything. The best thing he could do was get out of the way, lie low and just hope it would all wash over.\n\n'Even if Georgia tells the press the true story there's gonna be lots of people who'll believe him,' Max wanted Georgia to snap at him, start a row so he could be justified in running out on her. 'People love stories like these. Maybe it would be best to just shrug it off. Just say it's rubbish and refuse to comment further?'\n\n'Go on back to your office,' Sam snarled at him. 'You ain't doin' no good here. She needs time to think it out herself.'\n\nMax stood up. His ulcer was playing him up, his head hurt and he resented Sam's attitude.\n\n'I don't want you two running off half cocked and making things worse!' he said.\n\n'How much worse can it get?' Sam's lip curled back as he looked up at Max. 'Even now they're saying she's just another no-good nigger.'\n\n'Don't Sam,' Georgia put her hand on his arm. 'Max is only being realistic.'\n\n'There's only one way out of this,' Sam said quietly, a touch of venom in his tone. 'To tell the whole truth. There's people out there ready to help if asked.' He was thinking of Sister Mary, but he couldn't say her name now.\n\n'I'm going,' Max moved towards the door. 'I don't know how you expect me to sort this one!'\n\n'You mean you can't see how you can promote rape into a money spinner,' Sam stood up, shoulders back, eyes flashing dangerously. 'Piss off Max. Don't say anything to anyone until Georgia's decided how she's going to handle it.'\n\nSam expected Max to retaliate, but instead he could smell fear. He noticed the man had turned pale, he seemed to shrink as he buttoned up his overcoat and kept his eyes to the floor.\n\n'Keep the phone off the hook,' he said weakly. 'Put it back on at nine tonight. I'll phone you then.'\n\n'Breakfast,' Sam said once he heard the lift creaking back downstairs with Max in it. 'My mother always said the brain works best on a full stomach.' He patted Georgia's shoulder. 'Eggs and ham?'\n\nBy four in the afternoon Sam was getting worried. Georgia was too silent. She had picked at food, drank every cup of coffee he put in front of her. But still she wasn't talking.\n\nShe answered his questions. She went and made a bed up for him in one of her spare bedrooms. She took a shower and washed her hair, even filed her nails. But there was no real communication.\n\nHe knew she wasn't thinking or planning. She was locked in herself. Buried in the kind of black hole he'd been in himself when he lost Katy. But telling her now that he was her father wouldn't solve anything. She had to open up that black pit where she'd buried Anderson. She had to look at it for what it was and deal with it. Telling her something good would be like putting a lid on a pan of burning fat, it might halt a fire for a while, but soon it would blow up, blasting the lid away. However much he wanted to tell her, now wasn't the time.\n\n'Talk to me?' Sam knelt on the floor in front of her. She sat with her legs curled up under her, her head on a cushion, hair still damp in tight little ringlets. 'You look like Jasmine does when she's hurtin'. 'It's breaking me up.'\n\n'I'm finished now,' she said softly. 'Overnight I'm a bad smell. Decca won't want to be involved with a scandal. My fans will hate me.'\n\n'No honey,' Sam stroked back her hair. 'For one thing people love drama. Once the dust has settled and they know the truth, they'll admire you. You didn't allow yourself to wallow in self-pity. You didn't even allow the bastard to get away with it. You marked him for life. That's rough justice, but at the end of the day that's what everyone wants.'\n\n'But I made everything far worse,' she said in a small voice. 'I should have told the police and Celia what, really happened. Don't you think I was maybe responsible for it all?'\n\nShe had dark circles around her eyes as if she hadn't slept for days and her mouth was slack and lifeless.\n\nHe could smell guilt. She'd carried it on her shoulders the way she carried everyone's burdens. It was time she put down that burden.\n\n'No honey. You were never responsible. A little girl learns about men through her father. She climbs on his lap naked. She might get in the tub with him. She flirts and fights with him, but no normal man feels that way about his child, however desirable she may become as she grows up. You can feel pity for him because he's a sad little pervert. Anger because he took your youth and innocence. But never guilt. All that is his.'\n\nShe cried then. Huge sobs that racked her slim body, soaking the cushion under her head and distorting her face. Sam just sat there on the floor beside her, stroking her hair, waiting for the poison to drain out.\n\nSlowly the sobs subsided to mere hiccups. He passed her a box of tissues and waited again.\n\n'I feel so bad, Sam,' she sat up slightly and he moved next to her, sliding his arm round her. 'I've got everything haven't I? Money, this flat, I can go anywhere, do anything. But why do I feel so empty? What have I really achieved?'\n\nYou've given people yourself. Maybe that's why you feel so drained now. Maybe it's time you said, \"Hey, this is me, not a machine. I want to have fun. Be myself.\"' Sam lifted her face up to his, kissing her swollen eyes. 'You've worried about others too long baby.'\n\n'But everyone close to me gets hurt,' she whispered. 'Celia, Peter, Helen, Ian, Rod, even Max and Brian too. Now there's you. I thought I could help you and your family. Now you are right in the middle of a scandal. We'll never get that recording released, even if they let us finish it. Although my voice is a gift, it can be a curse too. If it wasn't for that I could just be an ordinary girl.'\n\n'We all feel we've hurt people,' Sam felt a lump growing in his throat. 'Being a musician has its own kind of guilt. We follow it because we love it and sometimes it feels downright selfish.\n\n'If I'd trained as a carpenter for as long as I have at playing my horn, I'd have a masterpiece to show the world. We put our heart and soul into each performance. Sometimes we even move people to tears, but it floats up in the sky along with the cigarette smoke and It's gone.\n\n'An artist has the finished canvas, the writer a manuscript, a carpenter the thing he has built. But your voice and my horn, they warm people for a moment and then It's gone.'\n\n'You mean It's worthless?' she turned a shocked face up to Sam.\n\n'Oh, no honey, not worthless. The musicians, the artists, the dancers, we're the ones that give food for the soul. Without us the world would be a dreary, dark place with no dreams or hope. We were given that talent for the same reason a rose was given its perfume, or a bird its song. Don't ever think it's worthless.'\n\nShe was silent for a time, sitting there with her head pressed into his chest and he knew the tide was turning.\n\n'You and I are so alike,' she whispered eventually. 'Do you think this was why we were brought together?'\n\nHe nearly told her then. He could see little Katy's face in Georgia's, just the way she'd looked that last leave when he said the troops were being mobilized. She was frightened he'd be killed or wounded, yet she had smiled to reassure him.\n\n'Don't be a hero.' She had held his face in her two hands and kissed his nose. 'I love you too much to lose you.'\n\nIt was raining hard, beating at the window. A grey miserable day that would turn into an even colder, darker night. He could remember nights like this as they went through France, fear making his skin prickle, wondering if each night might be his last. But he'd come through that unscathed. He'd even found his child after twenty years, surely he could wait another few weeks and make certain she was ready for it?\n\n'I'm sure the Almighty has a hand in it somewhere,' he smiled. 'Now what we have to do is put our heads together and come up with a plan.'\n\n## Chapter 24\n\n'What are we going to do?' Georgia asked sheepishly.\n\nTwo days had passed. Below in the courtyard reporters still hung around hoping for a glimpse of her, trampling on the flowers, throwing sandwich papers around, making the other tenants' lives a misery.\n\nIt was like being in a prison. Johnson the jailer, bringing up milk, bread and newspapers, passing on any information he'd heard.\n\nGeorgia spent much of the time sleeping, while Sam read, listened to music and cooked for them.\n\n'What do you want to do?' Sam asked. It had been torture for him to just sit and wait. Every bone in his body urged him to go out amongst those hyenas in the courtyard and tell the true story. Each time he looked in on Georgia and saw her curled up asleep, avoiding any confrontation, he felt more murderous towards the man who'd done this to her.\n\nBut even in his anger he knew he must bide his time. The slander would trickle to a halt eventually, and that was the time to reap revenge on all those who had a part in it.\n\nGeorgia looked better today. She was pale still but the circles had gone from under her eyes. She wore a long pink fluffy dressing-gown, her hair tied back, yet until he saw her actually get dressed he wouldn't be convinced she was fit to tackle anyone.\n\n'I should speak to Jack Levy,' she frowned. 'Someone's got to pay off the session men or at least give them some idea where we stand.'\n\n'Max should have done that.' Sam felt hate rising like bile from his stomach. 'My God, Georgia he's a rat, and we can't put him down with mere poison.'\n\nMax hadn't telephoned that first night. Instead he sent a note round the next day saying the studio was besieged with reporters and the board were having a meeting about what action they would take.\n\nThere had been no words of sympathy, not even a suggestion of concern. No telephone number for them to reach him, no promise to call round. He might just have easily said he didn't care about the outcome.\n\nHe was waiting for Georgia to find an answer. Distancing himself so if any blame came it wouldn't fall on his expensively-clothed shoulders.\n\n'I can see to paying the men,' Sam said. Once again she was worried about others. She knew none of them could afford to wait indefinitely and she couldn't bear to think she'd let them down. 'Jack Levy should come here and see you. You can't go there cap in hand.'\n\n'But I have to sort something out,' she sighed. 'What do you think is best?'\n\n'Seems to me,' Sam slid an arm round her small shoulders. 'You should write the whole story as it was. Then we get it to the papers. Maybe we can even ask their help to find Celia to back you up.' Sam had lain awake at night thinking up ways of getting help. He'd even slipped out to use Johnson's phone to ring Sister Mary for her advice.\n\nSister Mary was anxious to go and tell the press what she knew, but like Sam she knew Georgia had to tell the story herself. Bringing Celia into it had been an idea they'd cooked up between them, hoping that the excitement of attempting to find her might break Georgia out of her apathy.\n\n'Would they Sam?' her dark eyes gleamed with new hope.\n\n'Of course they will!' Sam grinned. 'Do you think any newspaper wouldn't jump at that kinda scoop? But first I reckon we sit tight. Let's watch and see which rats crawl out the holes first. Find out who's on your side out there!'\n\n'Okay,' she shrugged her shoulders, a faint smile playing on her lips. 'But first let me send a cheque to each of the men.'\n\nIt was painful to wake up each morning to find yet another slanderous story about her in the papers.\n\nIt seemed that anyone who had some minor grievance about her was prepared to slander her for financial gain.\n\nA landlady up in Scarborough spoke of a drunken orgy in her guest house. A barman in Lancashire claimed Georgia had pushed a broken glass in another girl's face. Stories about sex in changing rooms. Drugs taken openly. Shoplifting in Scotland. Young girls procured for the band, hotel rooms vandalized.\n\n'None of it's true!' she looked at Sam in horror. 'Why do they say these things?'\n\nThey had been drunk up in Scarborough. A girl had been slashed by a glass, but not by her. The boys were more than capable of procuring their own girls, without Georgia's help. Some of these stories had a grain of truth, distorted and embroidered, but most were pure fiction.\n\n'Laugh at it,' Sam suggested. 'These are people who would jump on any bandwagon that came along. If the newspapers said you had a religious experience in one of those places, they'd be nominating you for sainthood.'\n\nAt first it made her cry and go back to bed. But after a day or two she became so used to it she found herself laughing at the absurdity of it all, watching for the people who cared enough about her to contradict the accusations.\n\nRod was the first to go to the press. He spoke passionately in Georgia's defence, explaining her loyalty to the band, her loving nature and the lengths she'd gone to for their protection.\n\n'Me and the lads were a bit wild sometimes,' he said. 'But stick someone in front of me who says Georgia was involved, and I'll tear them to shreds.' When asked what he knew about her life before joining the band Rod got even more heated.\n\n'Hasn't it occurred to you there's another side to this? She'll tell you when she's good and ready, as she did me. All I can say to you is use your brains, work out what would make a fifteen-year-old stab a man, then run. Ask yourself what ordeal he put her through?'\n\nSpeedy was next, interviewed late at night on television. He blamed the press for causing a rift between them, laughed at the scandal-mongering and talked affectionately about her early days with the band.\n\n'He's straight,' Georgia said in surprise, leaning forward to the television set and peering at Speedy. His eyes were clear and unwavering, long hair trimmed, his face clean-shaven. 'Well, that's one good thing to come out of this.'\n\nThere were other people whose voices were heard. Bert and Babs from the caf\u00e9 spoke of the way she came into their lives, the comfort and love she showed Helen, her dignity and pride.\n\n'I don't care what rubbish people are saying,' Babs was quoted as saying. 'All of us in the market know the real Georgia. That girl's got more compassion in her than any of you will ever feel. You should be ashamed of yourselves!'\n\nBut even as that hit the papers so there was more slander from men who claimed to have slept with her in the days when the band was on the road.\n\n'I've never even seen any of these men, let alone slept with them,' Georgia gasped as she read about three-in-a-bed scenes from Edinburgh to Penzance. 'How could they say such a thing?'\n\n'Fantasy, honey,' Sam grinned. 'They've spent so long wishing they could do it, that now they think it's real. But just look at them. No one in their right mind would believe them.'\n\nIan's mother made claims that if Georgia hadn't treated her son so badly he wouldn't have got drunk and burned to death in that house. Rod's mother and stepfather backed up Mrs McShane by saying Georgia had turned their son against his family.\n\n'I don't believe anyone could make such things up,' Georgia gasped. 'Why doesn't Max stand up for me?'\n\nBut Max was caught by a photographer at London airport, leaving for America with a blonde dolly bird simpering on his arm.\n\n'The first I knew of this was when Anderson came forward.' Max looked furtive, embarrassed at being caught slipping away. 'I feel bitter she didn't take me into her confidence earlier, and although I know the whole story now, I'm not at liberty to say anything. I'm a business man with other clients to look out for. Georgia will handle it all in her own way.'\n\n'What can I say?' Sam spread his hands in a gesture of 'just as I thought'. 'The man's sitting on the fence. He hasn't got the guts to stay firmly on your side. Even now he's probably planning to sell his memoirs to the highest bidder.'\n\nIf it hadn't been for the scores of letters from the most unexpected people, she might have thought everyone was as uncaring as Max and Jack Levy. Harold and his wife wrote to invite her over to dinner. Norman sent a bouquet of flowers with a note offering his apologies for ever doubting her. Other musicians, girls and technicians from Decca, and even Deirdre, Max's receptionist sent letters of support and sympathy. Flowers arrived from Andreous, Steven her producer, from an American promoter, Ronnie Scott's and from Pop and the girls in Berwick Street.\n\n'Remember, I know the truth,' Janet wrote on a piece of bright blue paper, her spelling so bad Georgia could barely read it, her handwriting like a child's. 'If I'd had my way I would have gone to Fleet Street and told them exactly what that creep done to you. Pop says you've got your reasons for keeping quiet and if I go shooting my mouth off it might make things worse. But I want you to know we are all here for you when you want us. Who is this Sam? I hope he's good to you, if not he'll have me to reckon with.\n\nSal and all the others send their love, so do our kids. We play your records all the time.\n\nLove Janet.'\n\n'Real friends,' Georgia gulped back tears as she handed it to Sam. 'You find out the real ones when the going gets tough!'\n\nBut just when she thought they had run out of steam, Sam's face began to appear in the press. They sent someone to New Orleans to check out his home there and soon he was getting the treatment too.\n\n'Sam Cameron has two children, left with his sister while he holes up with Georgia,' they said. They found news of a bar-room brawl he'd been in. His ex-wife was interviewed and claimed Sam not only beat her, but kept her as little more than a slave. There was a picture of his two children, both in ragged clothes and bare feet, the house behind them looked like a shack.\n\n'I took that one myself,' Sam said, his dark eyes growing black with fury. 'They'd been out playing in some mud. I thought it was funny that they looked like a pair of waifs. Everyone has a snap of their children like that.'\n\nIt was cruel the picture they had painted of him. A heartless vagabond who cared nothing for his family. Somehow by hurting Sam they had succeeded in hurting Georgia still further.\n\n'How dare they?' she gasped. 'Oh Sam, what have I dragged you into?'\n\n'Don't worry about me,' Sam shrugged his shoulders. 'They're scraping the barrel now.'\n\nBut the next day there were more stories. One about Georgia spending four hundred pounds on shoes in one day and another claiming she didn't wash her clothes, but threw them away.\n\n'There can't be much else going on in England,' Georgia forced herself to laugh, even though she felt desperate. 'What are they going to dredge up next?'\n\n'Your headmistress,' Sam chuckled, opening another paper. 'Georgia was a real leader. A strong character we all remember well. She did leave school suddenly and although I heard rumours about her father, I remained convinced she wouldn't hurt anyone unless severely provoked. I hadn't actually realized the Georgia Anderson I knew and liked so much was in fact the famous singer. Had I known I would have written and expressed my pride in her. I wish her well and I urge her to tell the true story about these events in her past.'\n\nBut the few people who stood up for her were outweighed by the hate mail that arrived daily. After seeing a sample Georgia refused to even look further, and it was Sam who sorted through it, chuckling to himself.\n\n'You've gotta laugh,' he said in his defence. 'Just look at all this stuff. There's a woman who reckons you killed her dog, another who believes you had an affair with her husband. Even one who thinks you are the anti-Christ. The rest of them are from Rednecks who blame your colour for everything.' He shook his head in bewilderment. 'You sure stirred up a hornet's nest, honey!'\n\nWithout Sam she might have lost her mind. He somehow put it all into perspective and gave her the courage to write down the full story.\n\nIt was ten days after the news first broke that she saw a particularly cruel cartoon in one of the newspapers. A caricature of herself holding a knife over an old man, and the words 'There's no time Baby' coming in a balloon from her mouth.\n\nShe couldn't laugh now. Rage welled up in her, a desire to speak out and be heard.\n\n'It's time Sam,' she said, wiping away tears of frustration. 'I can't stay in here another day. I'm going to the press.'\n\nThe story was ready. A sharp, impassioned account, without exaggeration or embroidery. She spoke of her happiness with the Andersons until the rape. Her feelings for both her foster parents, then the shock and torment Brian put her through. Recalling the rape and stabbing was so painful it was tempting to gloss over it. She had to dig down deep within her, make herself remember each detail. The way he had laid sprawled on the landing, the knife in her hand as she came up the stairs, the blood as it spurted out of his belly. Once she'd faced that again it was easier to put down her explanation for running away. Her first few days in Soho, the abortion later, were softened by the people who helped her.\n\n'Want me to come too?' Sam said. He was making coffee in the kitchen, wearing just a pair of jeans, his feet and chest bare.\n\n'No,' she said shaking her head. 'I've got to do this on my own haven't I?'\n\n'I guess so,' he moved across the kitchen to her, putting his hands on her shoulders. 'They'll think more of you. Besides I couldn't trust myself to keep my trap shut.'\n\nShe took care over her appearance. For ten days she'd worn nothing but jeans and a sweatshirt. But now she had to look like a star.\n\nA white leather suit fitted the bill perfectly. The skirt was short and tight, the tiny jacket trimmed with silver stars went over the briefest skimpy silver top. She washed her hair and let it dry naturally in ringlets, adding star-shaped earrings studded with diamonds and a pair of long silver boots with cuban heels.\n\n'You look sensational,' Sam grinned up at her as she came back into the kitchen.\n\nShe faltered in the doorway for a moment.\n\n'Stage fright?' He poured her another cup of coffee and slid it across the table.\n\nSitting on the edge of a chair she lifted the coffee to her lips.\n\n'What if they still don't believe me?'\n\nSam's eyes crinkled up with laughter, he reached across the table and took her hand.\n\n'Everyone who really counts already believes you, honey.'\n\n'Do you think they will find Celia for me?' she whispered, her eyes wide with fear.\n\n'You make them find her,' Sam said fiercely. 'Don't forget for one moment, they owe you. Now off you go. Keep your head up, take deep breaths if you're nervous. I'll be here if you need me.'\n\nShe walked round the table and leaned over on to his shoulder, pressing her lips against his neck.\n\n'What would I have done without you, Sam?' she said softly. 'You've been mother, father and friend all in one. I can't tell you how important you are to me.'\n\nHis hand came up to caress her face and she saw his eyes were glistening with tears.\n\n'Off with you,' he said gruffly. 'Before I say something I might regret.'\n\nThrough the glass panel on the doors she could see a handful of reporters still patiently waiting, puffing on cigarettes, chatting in small groups.\n\nIt had been cold and wet most of the time she had been incarcerated in her flat, but now the sun was shining. Daffodils almost finished, tulips about to surpass them, and the almond tree was covered in delicate pinky-white blossom. Spring was finally here to stay.\n\nTaking a deep breath she opened the door and stepped out.\n\nShe wanted to laugh at the way they all jumped. Cigarettes stubbed underfoot, sandwiches shoved into pockets, fingers fumbling for pens, cameras lifted, every face wiped clean with surprise.\n\n'Good morning.' She waved the brown envelope containing her story, holding her car keys in readiness. 'Glad to see you haven't lost interest!'\n\nA small man darted forward. She had seen this one before on many occasions. He reminded her of a ferret, with his thin head, sharp nose and tiny eyes.\n\n'Have you any news for us?' he said, as the others quickly clustered round him.\n\n'I'm off to the _Mirror_ ,' she smiled more confidently than she felt and patted the envelope in her hand. 'The truth's in here. As they started the whole slanderous business, I expect them to lay it to rest too.'\n\n'Why have you taken so long to retaliate?' A woman's voice came through the crowd, Georgia could only see a pair of brown eyes and a mop of untidy red hair.\n\n'Timing,' Georgia grinned round at them. 'Giving you enough rope to hang yourselves. The story will be out tomorrow.' She paused to pose for the cameras. 'Go home now. There's nothing for you here.'\n\nThe sun was glinting on her red Mercedes. She opened the door and slipped in, winding down her window and turning her radio up loudly.\n\nAs she drove quickly out of the courtyard, she saw for once they were speechless, mouths open with shock.\n\nIt was sometime since she'd been to Holborn and she hadn't thought to check out where the building was. As she stopped at the lights, just past Gray's Inn Road, she noticed the huge modern building on her right.\n\nWithout even considering the heavy traffic going through to the West End she did a 'U' turn in the road, ignoring the other motorists who honked furiously at her and pulled up with one wheel on the kerb.\n\n'You can't stop here.' A young policeman came forward, a frown of irritation vanishing into a smile of delight as he recognized her.\n\n'You park it for me then,' she said dropping the keys into his hand. 'I've got important things to do.'\n\nThere were double ordinary doors up two steps or a revolving one to the side. She went through this so fast the door swung on round several times more behind her.\n\nShe got a last glimpse of the policeman staring after her, a bemused expression on his face, her keys still in his hand.\n\nThe foyer was all brown, highly-polished tiles and huge green plants in tubs. The corpulent uniformed porter looked up from his desk as she marched up to him. He knew her face was familiar, but he couldn't quite place it.\n\n'The Editor!' she snapped. 'Where is he?'\n\n'I'll just telephone his secretary,' he picked up the phone.\n\nGeorgia put out her hand and prevented him.\n\nShe could hear the lift coming down behind the porter, she wasn't anxious for anyone to recognize her just yet.\n\n'Just tell me which floor,' she barked. 'Now!'\n\n'Third, no fourth,' he stammered. 'But \u2013'\n\n'I'm going up there,' she said coolly. 'What's his name?'\n\n'Phillips,' he said weakly, his hand straying to the phone again, afraid he would lose his job.\n\n'You can warn him I'm on my way up,' she called back as she made for the stairs. 'Don't worry, I'll tell him it was all my doing!'\n\nShe was out of breath by the time she reached the fourth floor. Her face was flushed and her heart hammering nearly as loudly as her heels on the tiled corridor. She marched quickly down the corridor giving only a cursory glance into open doors where typewriters and teleprinters clattered, the girls who worked them looking up in astonishment as she passed.\n\nHis name was on the door. 'John Phillips, Editor.'\n\nShe didn't even knock, but opened the door wide and swept in.\n\nShe had expected a big man. Someone like Max in silk shirts and a fat cigar, full of bluster, a mouth like the Blackwall Tunnel. But the man behind the desk was short, thin, almost weedy, a boyish, open face. He wore corduroy trousers and a knitted tie, perhaps fifty, but he looked younger. His brown eyes blinked furiously, a small, gentle mouth opening in surprise.\n\n'Miss James,' he jumped up, holding out his hand.\n\n'I'm surprised you recognize me,' she snapped. 'After all the fiction you've been writing about me lately, I thought you had me mixed up with someone else.' She ignored the hand and plonked herself down in a chair, staring coolly at him.\n\nHe was disconcerted. One finger ran round the collar of his shirt, his face turning pink.\n\n'What can I do for you?' he said weakly. 'Would you like some coffee?'\n\n'You can print the truth,' she said, fixing her dark eyes on his pale brown ones. She noticed he had a small mole on his cheek, one of his front teeth was slightly broken off and he'd cut himself shaving. He didn't look as if he had a woman to look after him.\n\n'As far as we are concerned everything Mr Anderson said is the truth,' his eyes dropped from hers, tiny lines showing round his mouth.\n\n'How much did you pay him for that garbage?'\n\n'I, I \u2013,' he stammered.\n\nShe thought of how much she'd feared these people, thinking they were like gods who couldn't be beaten. Yet here was a little man in charge who couldn't even shave himself without making a hash of it.\n\n'All right, so you don't want to tell me that,' she was calm now. She might even enjoy tearing him and his paper to shreds. 'But I have the truth here,' she put the envelope on his desk. 'All you have heard is the outpouring of a bitter man who has misled you.'\n\nShe could smell Phillips' fear. His Adam's apple was leaping up and down, one eye was beginning to twitch. As his hand reached out for the envelope she remembered Celia.\n\n'Everything in there can be verified. I want you to find Mrs Anderson in return for that truth.'\n\nHe pulled out the six sheets of paper, flicked through them and put them down again.\n\n'You'll read it now,' she commanded. 'Not tomorrow, next week or when it suits you. Now, while I'm here.'\n\n'Of course,' he picked them up again, that Adam's apple threatening to get caught on his collar.\n\nOutside the window she could see only office windows and blue sky. A pair of pigeons were canoodling on a window-sill, the male spreading his tail and fluffing out his chest. The noise of traffic just a hum, subdued by the thick glass. It was strange to just sit silently while a total stranger read a story she had hardly been able to think about, much less tell.\n\nIt was a comfortable office, with a big grey desk and plants in tubs. His desk was covered in papers, two of the other chairs were piled high with cuttings and folded newspapers. There were large glossy photographs lying around, one of her, on a pile of papers, taken as she came back from America.\n\nShe could see Phillips was moved by the story. He bent closer to it, reading it slowly and carefully. His lips quivered, his fingers fiddled with his tie nervously, occasionally he glanced up at her, as if trying to fit the star in front of him into the story in his hands.\n\nShe heard a faint sigh as he finished it. An expression of profound sadness on his youthful face.\n\n'You write very well,' Phillips looked up at her, but he couldn't hold her steady gaze. 'Why did you wait so long to contact me?'\n\nShame poured out of him. He was even honest enough not to try and wriggle out of it by counter-attacking.\n\n'I watched and waited,' she said, but to her distress she could feel tears pricking her eyelids. 'I wanted to watch every last louse crawl out of the woodwork. Have you got any idea how painful it was for me to relive that night? Do you know what you've done to me?'\n\n'I do now,' Phillips' eyes caught hers. Sympathy and understanding, mixed with a stronger desire to set things straight. 'An apology seems futile.'\n\n'You will apologize, by printing the truth,' she wasn't going to let him off the hook just yet. 'I expect you to use all your connections to find my foster mother too.'\n\nHe cleared his throat. Fear of a law suit flickered across his watery eyes.\n\n'Do you understand our position? It's our obligation as a newspaper to print news as we are given it.' His voice was firm, yet there was an undeniable tone of shame in it. 'Mr Anderson's story was printed in good faith, he had photographs and evidence to support it.'\n\n'I'm sure he did,' she said. 'He may be many things but he was always plausible. I believed in him myself until he raped me. But didn't you even think of contacting me first?'\n\nPhillips shrugged his shoulders and waved his hands.\n\n'That's what a scoop is all about,' he said. 'We get a story, it sells our paper.'\n\n'Aren't you wondering why I've brought this to you?' she asked. 'I could have gone to one of your rivals, dug up dirt about how you got Anderson to sell his soul.'\n\n'Why didn't you?' he croaked. She knew he was expecting news of lawyers. His earlier pink flush was turning a little green. She wanted to play with him, make him suffer as she had.\n\n'Because I want your whole-hearted commitment.' She rapped one long nail on her story in front of him. 'If you succeed in clearing my name, bring that bastard to justice and find my mother, then maybe I'll just settle for a hefty donation.'\n\n'How much?' he looked up quickly.\n\nThe sharp expression in his eyes made her think of Max. Funny how money changed people!\n\n'You misunderstand,' she smirked. 'I have all the money I need, the donation can go to charity, one that deals with runaway kids.'\n\nRelief poured out of him. 'That's the least I can do.'\n\n'And you'll find my mother?'\n\n'Any idea where she might be?' There was a glow in his eyes, as if he relished the challenge.\n\n'No. I think she must have gone back to nursing. It must be somewhere remote or she would have read all this. I went back to Blackheath when I was sixteen, I tried to find her and Peter, but Peter's mother sent me away with a flea in my ear and Mum had left.'\n\nHe put the end of a pen in his mouth, sucking at it thoughtfully.\n\nThere was something troubling him, something in her story which had tripped a wire. She could almost hear and see his brain mulling it over. Had Brian said something more which hadn't been printed?\n\n'What is it?' she asked. 'I can see something's troubling you.'\n\nHe frowned. 'I don't know if it's important,' he looked down at her story again, then glanced back at her. 'We had a telephone call just after the story broke. A young man, he wanted your address.'\n\n'Not another of those fictitious lovers?' she laughed lightly. 'What did he have to offer?'\n\n'To be honest, we thought he was one of those,' Phillips looked uncomfortable. 'But the boyfriend, Peter, you mentioned \u2013'\n\n'It was Peter?'\n\nPhillips heard the catch in her voice, saw her eyes widen and sensed the emotion the name evoked.\n\n'What's his surname?'\n\n'Radcliffe.'\n\nPhillips' eyes closed for a moment. 'That's him. We had dozens of crank calls, so many we hardly listened to the filth they were saying, but \u2013'\n\n'What did he say?' Georgia was trembling now, every nerve-ending twitching. 'Tell me.'\n\nPhillips ran a finger round his collar, beads of perspiration were glistening on his upper lip.\n\n'Just that he was an old friend. He wanted your address or phone number.'\n\n'Why didn't you give it to him then?'\n\n'We never part with that kind of information.' Phillips looked shocked at the mere suggestion. 'The only reason I even remember his name was because he made no startling revelations. The girl who took the call said he was a teacher.'\n\n'Did you take down his number or address?'\n\n'Of course,' Phillips picked up a pen and fiddled with the point. 'We always log it down. We even tried to ring him back, but there was no reply. I think the girl suggested he could write to you care of this office.'\n\n'And has he?' Georgia's eyes were like glowing coals.\n\n'I don't think so, not yet.'\n\nGeorgia could feel her heart pounding, her palms sticky. The Peter she remembered wouldn't sit and read lies without doing something.\n\n'He's still special to you?' Phillips' voice softened.\n\n'Yes,' she dropped her eyes and blushed furiously. 'I never seem to be able to forget him. He might be married now, he certainly can't feel the same about me still. But even so.'\n\n'You'd still like to see him again?' Phillips raised one eyebrow.\n\n'Oh yes,' she sighed.\n\nPhillips could hardly believe what he was seeing and hearing. All through his interview with Anderson he had sensed something wasn't quite right, he'd had to force himself to forget he was a fan of Georgia's, give the public the story, putting aside his own qualms.\n\nHe knew he had the truth now, even without checking it out. But one thing was plain, he had to make amends for his paper's part in it, and he hadn't got to the position of Editor without knowing the value of emotional reunions.\n\n'Suppose I got him down to London?' Phillips smiled. 'Asked for his help. It would be easy for me to discover his circumstances without obligating him in anyway.'\n\n'Could you do that?' As much as she wanted to rush down into the office further down the corridor, force them to give her Peter's address and rush there immediately, she knew that wasn't practical. The memory of his mother's chilly face was still in her mind. 'Peter when I knew him was the sort that hated injustice. That's probably the only reason he rang here.'\n\n'I wouldn't say that,' Phillips laughed.\n\n'You don't know him,' she said quietly. 'Look, he's known who I was all along. If he'd still held a torch for me he would have got in touch. That means he has someone else doesn't it?'\n\n'I can hardly believe what I'm hearing,' Phillips sat back in his chair his lips twitching with amusement. 'You've been portrayed as a cross between Lizzie Borden and Lucrezia Borgia, yet you are apprehensive about causing a few ripples in an old love's life.'\n\n'I'll never forgive you if you turn it into a circus,' she threatened.\n\n'I promise you no one will know about this until you say the word,' he smiled. 'And that's one helluva promise for a newspaper man!'\n\nGeorgia stood up and held out her hand. 'Ring me at nine tonight. I'll put the phone back on specially.'\n\nHe took her hand and shook it.\n\n'Thank you for coming,' he said warmly. 'I'll get this story ready for tomorrow's paper and start the hunt for your mother. By the way,' he blushed bright pink. 'In all this I forgot to ask you. What are you going to do about Mr Anderson?'\n\n'I'd like to kill him,' she smiled sweetly. 'But please don't quote me on that!'\n\n## Chapter 25\n\nGeorgia walked up the steps of the President Hotel, through the double glass doors and paused in the foyer.\n\nShe had butterflies in her stomach, her pulse was racing and she was no longer certain she was doing the right thing.\n\n'He's at the President, in Bloomsbury,' Phillips said on the phone at nine. 'He wasn't keen to stay overnight. I had to twist his arm by pretending I needed more information tomorrow.'\n\nWhy hadn't she asked questions? Why hadn't she stopped to think? If Sam hadn't already left for a gig in the West End, he would have stopped her. The President wasn't even a cosy little boarding house as she'd imagined, but instead a huge, red brick Gothic hotel, the sort she hated.\n\nShe had grown accustomed to the grandeur of places like the Savoy and Claridges. The staff so well trained that they treated everyone with the same courtesy whether they were rich and famous or just stepping in to make an enquiry. But this was one that catered for international business men. The heavy red velvet drapes with ornate gold tassles, the rich red and gold carpet, the dark flocked wallpaper and the padded leather reception desk gave an impression of illicit encounters, deals and intrigue. The sort of place where the staff wouldn't balk at calling up a few journalists just to get their name in the paper.\n\n'I should have phoned and arranged to meet him somewhere,' she thought as she approached the reception desk.\n\nIt was almost ten at night. She was attracting speculative glances from a group of middle-aged Americans in the lounge to her right, and a swarthy porter lounging by the lift. Down some stairs to her right came the sound of male laughter and clink of glasses.\n\nWhy hadn't she asked Phillips how Peter reacted to his call? An hour ago it had been enough to know he'd got the first plane out of Manchester. But lack of hesitation on his part might only mean he had a day free.\n\n'I'd like to see Mr Radcliffe, please.'\n\nThe two women manning the reception desk were formidable fashion plates, in dark suits and candy-striped shirts. One peered at her suspiciously, glancing over the leather and wood counter at Georgia's jeans and white sweater and sniffed in disapproval.\n\nThe younger of the two opened the register, and slid one red talon down the page. Her hair was cut in geometric Mary Quant style, it swung forward over one eye, sleek and dark.\n\n'He's in 309,' she said in a bored voice. 'Would you like me to try his room?'\n\n'Yes please,' Georgia could see the second woman studying her closely. It was that same expression people often had when confronted with her. Her face looked familiar, but they couldn't quite place it.\n\n'No reply,' the dark haired woman put the phone down and flicked back her hair. 'Would you like to leave a message?'\n\nOn the fast drive across town Georgia hadn't considered for one moment Peter might go out. She had merely visualized knocking on a door and Peter opening it. Now what should she do?\n\n'Is his key there?' she asked. She could feel herself blushing and she knew the porter was now giving her bottom his undivided attention. Worse still, a man in a flashy checked suit had paused to consult a display of tourist information just to her left, and she sensed he was listening, about to offer her the kind of attention she didn't want.\n\nThe woman turned to examine the board behind the desk.\n\n'No,' she said curtly over her shoulder. 'But that doesn't mean anything, they always forget to hand them in.'\n\nGeorgia turned away in disappointment.\n\n'Excuse me!'\n\nGeorgia looked round. The second receptionist who had been studying her was leaning on the counter.\n\n'Is Mr Radcliffe young, tall, with blond hair?'\n\n'Yes,' Georgia's heart leapt, bringing a wide smile to her lips. In one bound she was back to reception, leaning on the desk. 'Do you know where he went?'\n\n'In the bar,' the woman smiled now, revealing a warmth that hadn't been there moments before. 'I'd forgotten until you looked so disappointed. He asked me earlier if he could borrow a street map, he took it in there with him to look at it. I could page him for you?'\n\n'I'll just go in there,' Georgia beamed at her. 'Thank you.'\n\nAs she made her way down the thickly-carpeted stairs to the bar, men's voices grew louder. A smell of cigar smoke wafted up to her and her knees were turning to jelly.\n\nThe stairs turned. In front of her she could see her reflection in yet another mirror framed by two tall imitation palms. Taller, more rounded than the night she ran with Peter across the heath, but her eyes were gleaming with excitement just as they had that night.\n\nTo her left, down just five more steps lay the bar. A rich, dark red carpet, a leather front to the bar, brass feet-rails and two business men deep in conversation, was all she could see. But judging by the noise it was crowded further in.\n\nShe stopped again in the doorway. The bar stretched along the wall in front of her, three deep with men. To her right was an archway leading to a smaller room with leather Chesterfields and low tables. To her right a larger area with small polished tables and straight-backed chairs.\n\nFew of the tables were occupied. Everyone was standing at the bar. In the main, business men in sober suits, faces flushed with drink, or was it merely the soft pinkish lighting?\n\nHeads turned in curiosity, smirks on their lips, eyes glinting as they sensed her embarrassment at breaking into a masculine world.\n\nGeorgia gulped. She could see ginger hair, blonds, bald heads and slickly-Brylcreemed heads. But not Peter.\n\nAs she walked down the bar conversations were halted. Whispered remarks, nudges, the kind of smiles that were an overture to conversation. She didn't dare let her eyes meet anyone's.\n\nThen she saw him.\n\nHe was leaning on the far end of the bar, deep in thought. One foot on the rail, his hand nursing a pint of beer. Golden hair caught under a light, wearing a denim jacket and a white open-necked shirt.\n\nShe had so many pictures of him trapped in her mind.\n\nAs a choir boy, in a white surplice with a ruffle round his neck, angelic and pure. The gawky schoolboy in scuffed shoes, grey slacks and a navy blazer, his cap pushed back on his head. In jeans and a sweater running with her, hand in hand across the frosty heath.\n\nThen there was the night of her party when he told her he loved her. Eyes as blue as a summer sky, golden skin and soft lips, his hair like ripe corn.\n\nThe boy who walked her home from choir had become a man. Wide muscular shoulders strained his jacket. His square jaw, tougher with a hint of stubble. Hair longer, badly cut, streaked from palest cream to deep gold. Yet his profile hadn't changed. Straight, proud nose, curving full lips, thick eyelashes fanning those peachy cheeks.\n\nShe forgot she was standing in a room full of curious strangers. A delicious flush of excitement crept over her.\n\nHe lifted his head as if aware he was being watched. His eyes flickered across to her, then shot open in shocked surprise.\n\n'Georgia!'\n\nFear of rejection forgotten, she found herself running towards him, hands outstretched, seeing only the blue eyes and a smile as wide as the Thames.\n\n'Peter!'\n\nFor a moment it was impossible to speak. His hands were holding hers. Blue and brown eyes searching one another. Two pairs of lips smiling, unable to find the right words.\n\n'What would you like to drink?' Peter's voice was gruff with emotion. 'Everyone's watching us,' he added in a whisper.\n\n'Just orange juice,' she smiled. 'And I don't give a toss about them.'\n\nHe ordered her a drink, keeping a tight hold on her hand, his thumb running across her fingers as if he was checking it was real.\n\n'Let's go over there,' he said softly, nodding to a table over in the corner. 'You might be used to audiences but it's new to me.'\n\nShe reached the table first, sitting down quickly so she could look again at him. He was much taller, perhaps six foot two. His face had filled out. He looked fit and athletic, skin with an unmistakable glow of the outdoors. Slim-hipped in his faded jeans, but his chest and thighs powerful.\n\n'It's all too much,' he said as he sat down. 'This morning I was having a lie-in, contemplating the marking, then the phone rang and before I knew it, I was on my way to London.'\n\n'Marking?' Georgia frowned.\n\n'I'm a teacher now,' he smiled, as if remembering how much time had passed. 'It was lucky it was school holidays or Phillips wouldn't have found me in.'\n\nA stab of guilt shot through her. Phillips had said he was a teacher, yet she hadn't considered what that meant. She was like a child herself, expecting people to come running when she needed them.\n\n'I wasn't sure you'd come,' she hung her head. 'I certainly didn't expect you here so quickly.'\n\n'You knew he was going to ask me then?' Peter gave her an odd look, disbelief mingled with pleasure.\n\nShe had to explain how Phillips had connected the boy in her story with an earlier caller.\n\n'You can't imagine how thrilled I was,' she said. 'I mean I thought I'd never see you again.'\n\n'Who dictated that, \"Push off, I'm not interested\" letter then?'\n\nGeorgia closed her eyes. There was no point in asking what he meant, or when it was. Whatever had happened Max had to be at the bottom of it.\n\n'I didn't know you'd written.' She reached out and touched Peter's hand, looking right into his blue eyes. 'Don't you know I would have been on the first train to see you if I had?'\n\n'How could I know that after what happened?' his eyes were guarded. 'I just assumed you'd written me out of your life.'\n\nIt was like a fencing match. Peter thrust accusations at her, she parried with explanations.\n\nHe told her about himself and Celia waiting for a phone call or letter up to the weekend after her sixteenth birthday.\n\n'But I went to your house, I tried to get Celia at her office. Your mother took my address and said she would give it to you. She said you weren't interested in me any longer.'\n\nHis eyes went dark with anger, his wide mouth trembled.\n\n'I had such misgivings about going out that morning,' he said softly. 'But you just don't credit a mother with being that cruel or underhand. She seemed kind of smug when I got home. Too nice, if you know what I mean.'\n\nHe told her how close Celia had come to breaking down. Brian's drinking, the violence and fights.\n\n'She had no choice but to leave her home,' he said, his lips trembling as he remembered. 'But we were so sure you'd write to me.'\n\nA terrible guilt crept over Georgia. For years she'd assumed all the pain was on her side, imagining Celia and Peter had carried on with their lives almost as if nothing had happened. Now she found her sudden departure had been like a hurricane, leaving untold devastation in its wake.\n\n'Didn't you realize what it would do to your mother?' Peter's blue eyes burned with anger. 'I saw her almost broken with grief. Not because she lost her home, or even her job, but because she couldn't bear to live without you.'\n\n'I thought she'd understand,' Georgia's eyes filled with tears. 'I went thinking it would be best for everyone.'\n\n'She even understood that,' Peter's voice softened, as if Celia's memory was still very dear to him. 'I was too young then to really comprehend how shattering rape is to women. I was so screwed up with bitterness, I guess I blamed you for not writing or phoning. But Celia just went on searching and loving you.'\n\n'Where is she now?'\n\n'I don't know,' he shook his head. 'She went to Africa to nurse when we couldn't find you. I persuaded her to, assuming you'd get in touch with me. We wrote for over a year, but then she stopped it.'\n\n'But why?'\n\nPeter sighed, as if he barely understood her reasons.\n\n'I think she was afraid for me. I was still looking for you in the holidays. My letters to her were always full of you. Several times she wrote telling me to forget you. To get on with my life, have fun and take out other girls. Not because she stopped loving you Georgia, but because she felt responsible for me too.'\n\n'She thought you were being obsessive?' She could imagine Celia in her mind's eye, putting on her glasses, tutting to herself as she read Peter's letters, weighing up the situation and deciding to be ruthless.\n\n'\"Enough's enough,\" was how she put it. \"Don't ever think I'm turning my back on you Peter. I just know it's unhealthy for a boy of your age to live in the past. Put Georgia and myself behind you. Look to the future.\"'\n\nThe quote from her mother brought her right into the crowded bar. Georgia smiled despite her sadness.\n\n'How did you feel?'\n\n'Relieved in one way,' he blushed, a tiny smile puckering the corners of his mouth. 'I mean it's hard to keep a broken heart when you're eighteen and surrounded by ravers.'\n\nShe could sense that he hadn't lived like a monk. A mischievous look in his eyes, the sensual lips, an assurance which showed in his straight back and wide shoulders. But rather than hurting her, it felt almost soothing.\n\n'So when was it you wrote? After I made the first record?'\n\n'No, before that, when I read about the fire. Some of my mates had seen your band in Hartlepool, so they were engrossed in the story. One of them described a girl singer who sounded like you. I did some checking and wrote to Celia first. When I got no reply, I wrote to you.'\n\n'I'm so sorry Peter. I can imagine how you felt.' She dropped her eyes from his. 'But I wonder why she didn't reply?'\n\n'I guess she'd moved on, I mean Africa isn't like Lewisham is it? Maybe my letters just lay in the post office. Phillips is checking out the organization she worked for. If anyone can find her, it's him.'\n\n'But she must have heard me sing?' Georgia whispered. 'My records have been played everywhere.'\n\n'Out in the bush?' Peter raised one blond eyebrow. 'The last place she was in was over a hundred miles from even a telephone. Syringes and medicine are more important there than music.'\n\n'I guess so,' Georgia smiled weakly.\n\n'We'll find her,' his voice had a confident ring. 'After all, I've actually got to speak to you at last. The way Max Menzies described you, it sounded as if you had a heart of stone.'\n\nGeorgia looked at him questioningly.\n\n'Max?'\n\nPeter shook his head in disbelief.\n\n'You didn't know that either? I went to his office two years ago.'\n\nGeorgia sat in stunned silence as Peter explained everything that had been said between them. Hatred for Max crept through her veins like a shot of whiskey on an empty stomach.\n\n'But why did you come after one rejection?' she said weakly.\n\n'Well, it's not everyone who can claim England's top star as their first love,' he laughed. 'I used to play your records, listen to the words and I got this feeling some of them were for me,' he blushed furiously. 'Daft isn't it? I expect every man who's met you thinks the same.'\n\n'They were for you,' she said softly. Her heart leapt crazily. He did still care. Even under the bravado, the anger and bitterness, a tiny flame was still flickering. '\"Crying\", especially.'\n\nSilence fell between them, so many questions as yet unasked, both waiting for the other to start again.\n\n'Are you going to marry Sam Cameron?'\n\nThis was the last thing she expected. It jolted her into realizing just how much ground they had to cover.\n\n'No. Of course not. He's just a friend.'\n\n'That's a relief,' he said, his mouth twisting slightly as if this of all questions was the most important. 'I mean, he sounds heavy duty.'\n\n'They've told almost as many lies about him as me,' she retorted quickly. 'Don't tell me you've become prejudiced too?'\n\n'I'm like everyone else in the world Georgia,' he said quietly. 'I believe what I'm told.'\n\n'Does that mean everything you read about me?'\n\nHe sighed. 'Some of it, I guess. I didn't want to. I kept telling myself it was all rumour and speculation, but I couldn't help thinking you must have changed.'\n\n'Yet you rang the _Mirror_ to offer help?'\n\n'I knew the truth about Anderson, remember. I never could stand liars. But when they blanked me out, wouldn't give me your address, I was as bad as everyone else. I didn't do anything.'\n\nThe bar showed no sign of closing, even though it was well after twelve. Some of the men at the bar were very drunk, their raucous laughter unnerving.\n\n'Would you like to come up to my room?' He blurted it out, his eyes firmly on the table. 'I don't mean. Well you know? I just want to get to the bottom of everything.'\n\n'So do I,' she whispered touching his hand tentatively. 'But here wouldn't be right. Come home with me?'\n\nHe didn't reply immediately, just closed his other hand over hers and squeezed it.\n\n'Just my luck,' he smiled ruefully. 'I get a free room in a posh hotel, then I get dragged out of it by the most dangerous woman in the world.'\n\n'You can lock up the knives if you like,' she joked. His hand over hers was making her melt inside and she wanted to kiss him so badly it hurt. 'I seem to remember my old Peter wishing he could be alone somewhere with me.'\n\n'Don't tease me Georgia,' his voice was suddenly gruff. 'Just seeing you again has brought back so many memories. But we were only kids then. We've both moved on.'\n\n'I don't feel as if I have.' He was overwhelmed by who she was, her money and fame. She had to convince him none of that mattered and she was still the same girl he knew. 'You've always been special to me. Come home and let's really talk.'\n\n'But is it safe?' he said, glancing round the bar. 'Won't there be reporters about?'\n\n'Not tonight,' she smiled. 'But they'll be round here in their droves tomorrow morning.' She stood up and held out her hand. 'Please, Peter?'\n\nPeter looked into those dark, magnetic eyes and felt as if he were drowning. When Phillips offered him an all-expenses trip to London he almost laughed at the man. He would have walked all the way, hitchhiked, even swum if there was a chance of seeing Georgia. Yet even in his wildest dreams he hadn't expected her to come here and take him off to her flat.\n\nShe was far more shapely, her little pointed chin more defiant, hair longer, and far more lustrous than he remembered. Away from him she'd grown into a woman, so desirable he could feel himself responding.\n\nThere had been many women in his life, some he'd even thought he loved for brief moments. Yet the moment Georgia stood in front of him, he understood why he had never been able to commit himself to anyone for more than a few weeks.\n\nBut he was scared now. What if her interest was only friendship? They were just kids six years ago. Was it possible to rekindle a small spark after all this time?\n\n'I don't know how I'm going to control my kids when I get back.' He had to make jokes, anything to avoid inadvertently saying what was in his mind. They were walking up the stairs now towards the foyer. Could he take her hand again, or would she see that as a pass?\n\n'Kids?' she stopped in her tracks. 'You got married then?'\n\nWas he imagining it, or was that panic in her voice?\n\n'The kids at school, silly. Do you think I would have shot down here so quickly if I had a wife and children?'\n\nShe giggled, that girlish sound he remembered so well.\n\n'I suppose not.'\n\n'Maybe they'll have new respect for boring old Radcliffe,' he said as he held the door open for her. 'But the Head won't be that thrilled to find his English teacher is a man with a past!'\n\nRussell Square was deserted now. Street lights cast yellow light over the railings, highlighting daffodils planted in the grass.\n\n'Did you ever tell anyone about me?' Georgia asked. Not once had Peter said anything that related to their relationship. How could she come out and ask if there was another girl?\n\n'No. I wanted to, especially when you made your first record. I guess I thought no one would believe me.'\n\nPeter stopped by her car, running his hand appreciatively over the sleek red bonnet.\n\n'That's some car,' he grinned round at her.\n\n'Would you like to drive it?' She took her keys out of her bag and waved them at him.\n\n'You mean it's yours?' His eyes grew huge with surprise, his lips trembling with schoolboyish wonder.\n\n'Well, I wouldn't suggest you drove someone else's car,' she laughed. 'You have got a licence?'\n\n'Yes. Celia taught me. Can I really?'\n\nAs he bent to unlock the door, Georgia had to touch him. She slid her hand under the short denim jacket and ran her fingers down his spine.\n\nHe straightened up and turned to her, so close she could feel his breath on her face.\n\nSlowly his hand came up, cupping her face, his eyes looking right into hers.\n\n'Oh Georgia,' he groaned.\n\nHis lips moved slowly towards hers, just like the dreams she had tormented herself with so often in the early days in Berwick Street. Her heart quickened, hands reaching out to hold him, body aching to touch his.\n\nSuch a slow, deep kiss, as if the years since her birthday were just a few hours. Every nerve tingled, yet at the same time the kiss held all the practised skill of a lifetime spent with each other.\n\n'People will think we're barmy,' he said at length, still holding her tightly, but covering her face with little kisses. He wanted to go on kissing her, tell her what was in his heart, but he was still wary of her. 'We walk out of a perfectly good hotel and stand kissing in the road.'\n\n'Let them watch,' she said, lifting her lips to his. 'I hope they're green with envy.'\n\n'I don't know which is best, kissing you or the thought of driving that car,' he whispered, holding her so close she could feel every line of his body. 'But I know we can't do both at once.'\n\n'And to think I was frightened of a rival in Manchester,' she playfully tapped his face. 'Come on then, drive!'\n\n'I haven't told you where I live,' she said as he took a road down towards Blackfriars.\n\n'I found that out today,' he turned to her and half smiled. 'I was torn between going straight home tomorrow or bearding you in your den.'\n\n'Which had you decided on then?'\n\n'I hadn't,' he grinned sheepishly. 'My friends back in Manchester would never let me forget it if I didn't see you. But then I reckoned it would be worse for my ego if you said \"thank you and goodnight.\"'\n\n'You didn't used to care what people thought,' she said. 'And I don't remember you having much ego either.'\n\n'I'm not the pure, idealistic boy you remember,' he said, glancing round at her. 'I've done things you wouldn't like, used people for my own ends. Maybe that's why I don't feel so angry with Max Menzies. I can identify a little with him.'\n\n'That's daft,' Georgia said briskly. 'You're nothing like him.'\n\n'Think about it,' he said quietly. 'We both wanted to escape our backgrounds. I used books, Max used his looks and wits.'\n\n'You'd never be as corrupt as him!' she said in horror. 'Besides how do you know so much about him?'\n\n'I made it my business to find out,' he smiled. 'He fascinated me. He was obviously in love with you. He's a millionaire, manipulative, handsome. A legend in his own time. I discovered that one of the reasons he is such a success, is because he does his homework. He checks people out, puts them under a microscope. I can appreciate that, I do it too.'\n\nGeorgia just sat there, watching the road ahead. Was Peter trying to tell her something? This wasn't what she had expected.\n\n'Don't look like that,' he reached across the seats and took her hand. 'I had to work like a dog to stay at university, building sites in the holidays, behind a bar at night. I've seen people who are a darn sight brighter than me end up in some boring job, and people with nothing but sharp wits get out there and make something of themselves. Making a pile of money isn't my goal. But doing something worthwhile, becoming a big person is. Do you understand?'\n\n'I think so,' she smiled weakly. 'But you teach. How does that fit in?'\n\n'Maybe it was Celia who put the germ of the idea in my head,' he said. 'Africa, India. All those people crying out for education. Right now it's Branscombe Road Secondary Modern, but the world doesn't end there.'\n\nPeter's face was a picture as they entered her flat. It was just the way it had been the first time she took him home to tea at Blackheath. Back then, he had stood wiping his feet on the doormat, staring around the hall with its thick carpets, the grandfather clock, the pictures on the wall, sniffing the smell of fresh-baked scones as if he'd entered a new world. Almost like a stray dog being taken into a real home.\n\n'This is the business!' His voice was husky with reverence. He looked up at the Italian lights, the vast expanse of apple-green carpet leading down the long hall. 'Can I be nosy?'\n\nShe took his hand in hers and led him first into the lounge, giggling as she put on all the lights.\n\nHe was so much bigger than he'd been that day over six years earlier in her parents' home. The child-like wonder was still there, but mixed now with maturity. He stood silently, feet apart, his eyes sweeping over the white settees, the stereo equipment, the antique writing desk and her collection of mementoes from every country she'd sung in.\n\n'It's best by day,' she said, clutching at his arm and taking him over to the window. She pulled on a cord and the long curtains drew back to reveal the small balcony and view over the Thames. To their left was Albert Bridge lit up like a glittering spider's web, to the right Chelsea, the river joining them like a slick of black tar, reflecting back silver lights on the far bank. 'The sun comes in here all day. At night in the summer I sit out there and watch boats going past.'\n\n'How long did it take to put me aside?' he said softly, switching the lights off and joining her at the window.\n\n'I didn't,' she said turning to him, putting one hand on his cheek and stroking it. 'Maybe the pain stopped after joining the band. But you were always there. I used to scan audiences when we did university gigs, hoping against hope you'd be amongst the crowd. Each record I made, I imagined you listening.'\n\n'It was the same for me,' he said softly, running one hand down her back. 'Every time I spotted a dark slender girl in a bar or club I'd rush over to check her out. But then when \"No time\" reached the charts your face was everywhere. I read everything, kept a box full of reviews, interviews and press pictures. Yet the more famous you became, somehow the more distant you seemed.'\n\n'And now?' she whispered.\n\n'I feel just like I did that night on the heath,' he said, running one finger down her cheek-bone. 'Wanting you so much, but afraid.'\n\nNothing compared with that moment. Not singing, applause or driving her Mercedes for the first time. His hands held her face, his lips came down on hers and it was as if Battersea fun fair with all its lights and music were turned on in her head.\n\nAll the pent up emotion of the day, all the years of missing one another vanished at his touch. They were back on that landing outside her playroom, the sounds of the Everly Brothers wafting out to them, two bodies and minds as one.\n\nBut this time there was no hesitation, no question of holding back. Peter's fingers were already under her sweater, reaching greedily for her small breasts.\n\nClothes torn off and tossed heedlessly away. Each touch electric. No time for careful foreplay. Just two bodies devouring each other, out of control, possession more important than subtlety.\n\nNot the settee or even the bedroom. Peter lowered her to the floor right there under the window, covering her naked body with his. Georgia wound her legs around him, clawing at his back, demanding his lips. It was animalistic, brutal, yet perfect. She arched her back to draw him into her, tears streaming down her face.\n\n'Georgia,' she heard him shout as he came, and although it had been over too soon, it was enough for the moment.\n\nAbove her head Georgia could see the moon shining in on them. Peter's body on hers was hot and sticky with sweat, his face buried in her shoulder and she knew he was crying too.\n\n'I love you Peter,' she said drawing his lips back to hers. 'Nothing's changed has it?'\n\n'I didn't dare even dream this,' his cheek against hers was damp. 'Just to see you was enough. Don't ever go out of my life again.'\n\nThey had a bath together later. Lying each end of the big tub. The room was once a bedroom, and the interior designer had pulled out all the stops to make it memorable. A mural of a jungle went right round the walls, and over a shower cubicle. Exotic birds, flowers, even a monkey grinned down at them. Real potted palms and a dark green carpet added to the illusion.\n\n'This is wonderful,' Peter rubbed soap over her breasts. 'The bath where I live you wouldn't take your dog, let alone your girl.'\n\n'I had a dose of places like that,' she said softly and bit by bit the past came out.\n\nHelen. The abortion. Her hopes with the band, the disappointments, Ian, Rod and Max, the men she'd dated, the places she'd seen.\n\nPeter told her about girls. Working on a building site, a summer on a Kibbutz in Israel, hitchhiking over Europe. Brief, vividly-painted sketches of six years packed with experiences so different to hers, yet enabling them to come together now as equals.\n\nThe water was getting cold. They climbed out and wrapped themselves in warm towels, moving on to the bedroom.\n\n'No one's ever been here,' she said as she sank down on to the big bed, covered in the Nottingham lace bedspread Max had bought her. 'This is all ours.'\n\nIt was a beautiful room, decorated in a very soft pink with cream. Totally feminine, from the soft pink lamps to the ruffled lace at the windows.\n\nPeter stood just looking at her. Dressed only in the white towel round his middle he looked like a Christian slave. His peachy skin, his legs and arms covered with fine blond hair, yet his broad chest as smooth and silky as a child's.\n\n'I think you are the most beautiful man I ever saw,' she said softly, getting up to move towards him. Her heart was racing again. She had that churning in her stomach the way she did when she first met him.\n\nHe came towards her slowly, reaching out and taking the band from her hair, then teasing it with his fingers till it fell over her naked shoulders.\n\n'You aren't just beautiful,' he murmured. 'You're exquisite. Can you possibly imagine how much I love you? For six years I've studied your pictures, listened to other men's fantasies about you and all the time I remembered the touch of your lips, the curve of your breasts and kept it to myself. I've told other women I loved them, but until now I didn't know what it meant.'\n\n'Oh Peter,' she stroked his chest lightly. 'I feel so happy.'\n\n'I used to try and imagine your breasts, when we were in the choir,' he said huskily, his fingers tugging at the towel covering them. 'I wondered what colour your nipples were, and whether I'd ever get to touch them.' The towel fell away, and he put one hand on each small pointed breast, running his fingers over her erect nipples. 'So they were dark, like chocolate buttons.' He knelt down on the floor in front of her, burying his head in them.\n\nGeorgia couldn't speak. She felt as if she could burst with tenderness and longing. The warmth of his body, gentle sensuous fingers, lips and tongue were driving her wild with desire.\n\n'Let me look at you,' she whispered, unwrapping his towel from round his waist. 'I want to watch it grow big.'\n\n'Men are so ugly next to women,' he said with a hint of embarrassment, but he stood up and let her take his towel away.\n\n'Not you,' she said softly, her hand going down to his penis. 'I used to wonder about this too in choir, it's a wonder we ever sang a note.'\n\nThere was no headlong rush now. His tongue and lips crept down her body, teasing and probing. He knelt in front of her just looking at her, touching, stroking and exploring. Time and time again she pulled him back to her, reaching for his lips, winding her legs around him. But still he made no attempt to enter her. He turned her on to her stomach licking her spine and massaging her back, then more kisses and stroking till she felt she would burst with longing.\n\nHe was heavier and stronger than Rod and Ian had been. He had Ian's sensitivity, Rod's passion and understanding of women, yet just enough of the brute in him to eclipse everything that had gone before. One moment so gentle she felt herself slipping away into a dream world. The next he crushed her into his arms as if he wanted to devour her.\n\nNever before had she taken the initiative in love-making, hers had always been the passive role. But now she wanted to please him and she moved down the bed to take him in her mouth.\n\nShe watched him as her tongue slid over his penis, his hands just touching her head, his mouth open, breathing heavily, a look of exquisite bliss in his eyes.\n\n'No more,' he groaned, 'It's too much.'\n\nGeorgia moved to climb on to him, but he grabbed her, rolling her onto her back and kneeling between her legs, pushing himself into her and enfolding her in his arms.\n\nA roller-coaster of pleasure, a feeling that any moment she would explode like a volcano. Moments of tenderness, more of savagery. Rolling together as if they were one person.\n\nShe remembered seeing his face at the moment her orgasm came, his eyes searching hers, a look of adoration more beautiful than anything she'd ever seen before, and his lips found hers at the moment her body erupted like a firework.\n\nHot and damp they lay entwined, Peter's head on her breasts. Tears welled up in her eyes and trickled down her cheeks.\n\n'Why the tears?' he whispered, wiping them away with one finger. 'Is it the pain of too much tenderness?'\n\n'That's a lovely way to put it,' she smiled up at him, tracing round his wide mouth with one finger.\n\n'It's not original,' he smiled sheepishly. 'I got it out of a book.'\n\n'Tell me about it?'\n\n'It's quite long and I don't know it all.' He rolled over and pulled her into his arms, nestling her head on his shoulder.\n\n'Go on,' she said softly. 'I want to hear it.'\n\nHis voice so deep and warm sent shivers down her spine.\n\n'\"Love has no other desire but to fulfil itself.\n\nBut if you love and must need have desires, let these be your desires.\n\nTo melt and be like a running brook that sings its melody to the night.\n\nTo know the pain of too much tenderness\".' He looked down at her, wiping away the last of her tears.\n\n'\"To be wounded by your own understanding of love, and to bleed willingly and joyfully.\n\nTo wake at dawn with a winged heart and give thanks for another day of loving.\n\nTo rest at the noon hour and meditate love's ecstasy.\n\nTo return home at eventide with gratitude.\n\nAnd then to sleep with a prayer for the beloved in your heart and a song of praise upon your lips.\"'\n\n'That's beautiful,' she sighed.\n\n'The whole chapter is even better,' he said softly. 'I used to read it and think of us. No one could ever touch that special place I kept for you.'\n\n'But Peter,' she whispered. 'You do know there are people out there who will try to come between us? My life isn't entirely my own any longer.'\n\n'Is anyone's?' He lifted one perfect eyebrow, turning over on his stomach to look down at her. 'I can't promise to be entirely yours either. I didn't spend all those years studying just to throw it away to be your consort.'\n\n'But will we be strong enough to stand it when people whisper things about our past? Old friends can be tactless.'\n\n'It's good to hear those incidents,' he said running his hand over her shoulders. 'Every person you meet and feel something for, leaves their mark. It's that which makes a well-rounded human being. So we couldn't share the last six years, but other people can put a new perspective to it.'\n\n'You are very wise,' she smiled. 'Is that what studying philosophy does for you?'\n\n'That was never more than a hobby and a second string,' he grinned. 'English is my main subject.'\n\n'There's so much about you I have to catch up on,' she said wistfully.\n\n'We've got the rest of our lives for that.'\n\n'Can we be that sure?'\n\n'Are you sure now?'\n\n'Yes,' she whispered. 'Absolutely!'\n\n'Well, that's all there is to it. Just take it one day at a time. Maybe in six weeks we'll find it was just a mirage. But for now it's real and beautiful. We don't need chains Georgia. The last few years have taught us that if nothing else.'\n\n'I love you,' she said, another tear dripping down her cheek. 'Nothing in my life has ever felt so right.'\n\nAll through the night they had to keep touching, as if to check that it was real. If they slept at all it was brief moments, only to wake to kiss again.\n\nAs the first rays of sunshine crept through the curtains, Georgia looked down at Peter. Her heart felt as if it could burst.\n\nShe was looking for a flaw, but she could see none. From his long knobbly toes, up the golden legs to his tight bottom, slim hips and smooth chest. Even the way he slept was perfection, legs splayed out, one curled up against her, one arm behind him, the other curled around his head. Golden lashes like brushes against peachy cheeks, even the stubble on his chin was blond. His lips were squashed against his arm, childlike and soft.\n\nShe knew then just how much power he had over her. If he asked her to give up singing, to live in a terraced house in Manchester as a teacher's wife, to give up her money, her car and never once again step out onto a stage, she would, willingly.\n\nAs if sensing her eyes on him, he woke, rubbed his eyes and smiled.\n\n'I love you,' he said, one sleepy hand coming up slowly to reach for her face.\n\n'You're so beautiful,' she said. 'I could watch you for ever.'\n\n'Just think what handsome devils our children will be,' he said pulling her back down to him.\n\n'Let's get up and run away?' she whispered. 'Even now those newspapers are plonking down on doormats everywhere. The phone will start ringing soon. It will be a circus and I've had enough of that.'\n\n'Where could we go?' His eyes lit up.\n\n'Somewhere warm,' she held him tightly against her.\n\n'But my passport's back in Manchester.'\n\n'So much the better,' she sighed. 'London airport is always swarming with press. We'll drive to Manchester now and catch the first flight.'\n\n'I haven't much money,' he retorted.\n\n'I've got lots,' she said. 'Now don't argue, just get in that shower. I'll ring Sam and tell him to keep the dogs off our scent.'\n\n'My, but you're bossy,' he grinned. 'What if I couldn't stomach being a rich woman's plaything?'\n\n'You aren't a plaything,' she said quickly, blushing as she realized she had been a little tactless.\n\n'So what am I?'\n\n'My love,' she answered with a toss of her head. 'So get going or I won't play with you anymore either.'\n\n## Chapter 26\n\nSam whistled cheerfully as he made his way up Berwick Street to Bert's caf\u00e9.\n\nSpring sunshine had finally found its way into the narrow streets of Soho. Shopkeepers were out sweeping their pavements. Stallholders were polishing apples, putting sale prices on winter woollies. The handbag stall was bright with pastel and white bags, flower stalls vivid with tulips. Even the pigeons had paused in their constant search for food to preen and coo in the sun.\n\n'She's my girl all right,' he thought to himself. 'Impulsive, hot-headed, but I wouldn't change her one bit.'\n\nLast night he had reluctantly left her to play at Ronnie Scott's. She insisted she didn't mind being alone; now she'd told her story she felt relaxed and secure. But he hadn't been sure. She looked tense and anxious to him, despite her delight that the editor had agreed to find Celia.\n\n'I can't keep you here wet-nursing me,' she laughed at his concern. 'Besides, it will be nice to be alone for a change.'\n\nWhen she rang him at his flat at seven in the morning, for a moment he thought some new disaster had erupted.\n\n'What is it? Has something happened?'\n\n'Oh yes,' she sort of sighed and he could hear happiness buzzing down the wire. 'I've found Peter, everything's wonderful.'\n\nHe didn't want to admit even to himself that he felt a pang of jealousy. But that was it, whether he liked it or not. His little girl had a man in her life now and maybe she'd never have room for him again.\n\n'That's wonderful, honey,' was all he could think of saying, as she rattled on about the pair of them running off to somewhere warm, Max's conspiracy to keep them apart and her conviction Peter was the love of her life.\n\n'Of course I'll sort things out here. Have a good time. You need time alone together.'\n\nHe couldn't go back to sleep again. Every time he shut his eyes, mean thoughts came to him. Suppose he was just another fortune hunter? What if she promised to marry him then regretted it later?\n\nHis other children plagued him too. He should get back to them. He had enough money now to bring them back to England and if he put himself about he could get enough work to keep them far more comfortably than they'd ever known. But somehow staying in England rested on admitting the truth to Georgia about himself.\n\nBy eight he was too wound up to stay in. He could see the newspaper man across the street waving papers and the caption on his box looked ominous.\n\n'RAPE! Georgia tells all.' It took him just a few minutes to jump into jeans and sneakers, then off across the road to pick up a paper.\n\nHe paused only briefly to check they had written her story correctly, then turning to the inside pages a picture of Peter Radcliffe leapt up at him.\n\nIt was a face of a real man, not a boy as he'd expected. Square jaw, bright eyes. An honest, open face.\n\n'I should have stayed with her that night,' Sam read. 'Anderson was drunk and in an odd mood, but you don't expect something like that to happen. Next morning when the police took me in for questioning was the worst day in my life. I may have only been seventeen, but I loved her. How could any man do something as animal as that to a child he'd brought up as his own?'\n\nHe spoke of the evening he discovered she'd run away.\n\n'Who could blame her? Her world was shattered, she knew the children's department would take her anyway. In her mind it was the only option. She believed that by removing herself from the picture, she could protect us all.'\n\nHe spoke of Celia, the beating she took from her husband when he returned home. The humiliation and the anguish of not knowing where her child was. The searching in clubs, bars and hostels.\n\nBut it was his final words that cut through all the doubts.\n\n'I never stopped caring. Maybe our worlds are too far apart for there to be anything but friendship between us. But I won't let that sick, tortured man hurt her further.'\n\nCharing Cross Road was heaving with people rushing to work. Traffic honked and snarled, exhaust fumes thick and choking. Yet for a moment Sam could have been standing in a garden.\n\nThis wasn't a boy wearing his heart on his sleeve, or some snivelling student with an eye to the main chance. It was a man who had held on to his love at all costs, who had searched for his girl. Someone who didn't give up, crumple under opposition as Sam had done himself. How could he have thought badly of the guy?\n\nHe took the paper into Leicester Square, sat on a bench and read and re-read the whole story.\n\nThere were a great deal of omissions, some facts bent. But it was written so well Sam could pass over that. It lingered over the horror, created an impression Max Menzies had been her Svengali, but in the main it was accurate.\n\nAs he sat there in spring sunshine he saw office workers flicking through the paper as they walked to work. By lunchtime the whole world would know the truth and with luck Georgia would be far enough away to escape further questions.\n\nSam knew where he wanted to be now. Up in the market where Georgia's real friends still lived. She had introduced him to so many of them while they were making the recording and he just knew the street would be buzzing with the news. It would be their opinion Georgia would want to know about when she telephoned again. So he'd just get himself up to the caf\u00e9 and join in the celebration.\n\nBabs was red-faced and flustered as she poured tea, fried eggs and brushed back her straggly hair all at once. Most of the tables were taken, filled with men in donkey-jackets and flat caps, huge greasy breakfasts in front of them and mugs of steaming tea. Her yellow apron was stained and greasy, a lank lacy collar, half in, half out of a matted blue sweater, yet there was new bounce to her normal shuffling gait.\n\nAs she saw Sam her round homely face burst into a wide grin.\n\n'Have you seen the news?' Her voice was squeaky with excitement. Heads turned to him, smiles of recognition on weatherbeaten faces. A sense of anticipation and a desire to know more.\n\n'Just read it,' Sam smiled, waved his paper at her and nodded to the men. 'I knew I could rely on you to be as happy as I am.'\n\n'I don't know why I feel so 'appy,' she wiped a tear away from her eye with the corner of her grubby apron. 'I started crying when I read what that man done to 'er. 'Er mate Janet always claimed that was what made 'er run away. I don't know why I didn't 'suss it out for meself. But it's that old boyfriend that's really got me going. Just look at him!'\n\nBabs held out the paper to Sam, pointing a wet finger at the picture.\n\n'A real movie star,' Sam grinned. 'Mind you, I've heard Georgia tell me how handsome he is for so long it's no surprise.'\n\nBabs gave him one of those long stares, like she was thinking something but didn't quite dare voice it.\n\n'Go on then, ask away!' Sam laughed cheerfully. 'Am I scared I'll lose her?'\n\nBabs blushed. 'Georgia said yous was just mates. Is that all?'\n\nBehind him he knew the men were waiting for his answer. His secret was bubbling inside him, like a child longing to tell a stranger it was his birthday. It would be so easy to tell Babs, she would burst into tears and give him one of those hugs she always gave Georgia. But he couldn't. It wouldn't be right.\n\n'Have you ever known her lie to you?'\n\n'No,' she giggled and blushed again, rushing over to rescue burning toast. 'She leaves things out, but doesn't lie,' she tossed over her shoulder.\n\n'Well she didn't leave anything out this time,' Sam retorted. 'It's true we are just mates. After all I'm \u2013' he stopped. He'd almost said it, old enough to be her father. 'An old man,' he added quickly.\n\n'I wouldn't say that,' she grinned wickedly, showing her broken front tooth. 'There's plenty round 'ere who wouldn't mind going a few rounds with you.'\n\n'I'm all tied up,' he joked. 'You've had my heart since I met you Babs.'\n\nShe giggled, showing more than a hint of the girl hidden beneath the slatternly apron.\n\n'Go on!' she reproved him. 'Me a married woman an' all. So do you think anything will come of it?' She leaned across the counter, her tired grey face alight with romance. 'I mean, he's clever, he's got letters after 'is name.'\n\n'Shall I tell you a secret?' Sam got up and leaned across the counter till his lips were right by her ear. She smelled of bacon and fried fat, a smell that took him right back to his own mother.\n\n'Go on,' she nodded, her eyes twinkling.\n\n'Something has come of it. She met him last night and they've run off together.'\n\nHer face mirrored his own pleasure. She slapped her hands over her mouth, tears sprang to her eyes.\n\n'Oh Sam,' she whispered. 'Really?'\n\nMaybe he should have been more discreet, yet in his heart he knew Georgia would have shouted it from the roof tops.\n\n'She rang me this morning,' Sam felt like a kid himself passing on an overheard secret. 'But don't you go saying anything to anyone, or I shan't tell you anything else.'\n\nHe had to go all over it again when Bert came in. What would happen at the studio? Would Anderson be charged with rape? Were Georgia and Peter getting married?\n\n'She ain't ever 'ad anyone to look after her.' Bert's customary gloomy face broke into a wide smile revealing blackened teeth. 'They've all made money out of her, worn her out, then wanted to kick her on the slag heap just because some old weirdo made up a load of lies. He deserves horse whipping.'\n\nGeorgia had told him so much about this pair. The frugal way they lived, the endless hours of work. A life that could be made easy by selling up and buying themselves a nice house. Yet he understood now why they stayed, they were the cornerstone of the community. They needed other people, the hustle and bustle. It wasn't money which kept them here, but long roots.\n\nThe caf\u00e9 had all the cosiness of his mother's kitchen when he was a boy. Gossip and speculation hanging in the air like damp washing. Each and every market trader was urged to look at the paper if they hadn't already seen it and as Sam sat eating eggs and bacon they plonked themselves down to question him.\n\n'What'll happen now? Will she be on the box tonight? When will we get to see her?'\n\n'No wonder Georgia loves it round here,' Sam said as he wiped up his egg with a slice of bread and butter. 'I never saw so many caring people in one place.'\n\n'Well she's our dream come true ain't she.' Babs shuffled round the counter to clear the tables. 'Not many people make it out of 'ere, not unless they're crooks. She's our pride ain't she?'\n\nIt was pride Sam's heart filled with too. That same feeling he felt back home in New Orleans when kids pointed to him in the street.\n\n'That's Sam Cameron, he plays a real mean horn.' These people might all be white but it was the same emotion that moved them as moved his folks. Screw the celebrities, the rich, and the tourists, making it was when your own people had that look on their face.\n\n'I bet the girls and Pop aren't doing a stroke of work this morning,' Bert said gleefully. 'They'll be all in 'ere soon, talkin' the hind legs off a donkey.'\n\n'Speaking of work,' Sam got up and felt in his pocket for some money. 'I guess I'd better go up to the studio and see how the land lies there. They say there is no such thing as bad publicity. I'll bet they'll be itching to get this new album out now, and they ain't gonna like it when they find their bird has flown.'\n\n'Stick that back in yer pocket,' Bert said shoving the money back across the counter. 'That's on me today, and if you've got time around six tonight come in and we'll have a few beers. Today we got some'at to celebrate!'\n\nSam was right. Everyone was in a turmoil at the studio. Phones were ringing, voices raised, teleprinters clattering. Max was in a meeting already with the chiefs and every desk had a copy of the paper spread out on it.\n\n'Do you know where Georgia is?' Ruth one of the secretaries rushed up to him. She had smears of mascara on her cheeks, eyes pink from recent tears, and this was a girl who was normally the blonde ice queen, efficient and unemotional. 'They are all going mad because they can't contact her.'\n\n'Sure,' he grinned. 'She rang me this morning. Shall I go in and put them out of their misery?'\n\n'Give her all our love,' she whispered, laying one cool hand on his arm. 'She deserves happiness after what that swine put her through.'\n\nOnce inside the boardroom Sam's elation vanished. His old jeans, grubby sweatshirt and sneakers, stubble on his chin, looked incongruous with their smart business suits. Apart from Jack Levy and Max he knew none of the other five men. All dark and Jewish, navy suits, white shirts and club ties. They cast suspicious glances at him over horn-rimmed glasses. Tight, humourless lips, faces that could have been born middle-aged. Plump, white hands rested on the polished table, water, fountain pens in readiness before them.\n\nDown in the market there had been joy of a wrong righted. Here there was nothing but the smell of money.\n\nHe remembered Georgia telling him about the day she signed her contract with them. No wonder she had found it so terrifying.\n\n'Good to see you Sam,' Max frowned as if it wasn't good at all. 'Where's Georgia?'\n\n'She's gone away,' Sam replied, pulling up a chair unasked.\n\n'What on earth does she think she's playing at?' Max exploded. 'She should be down here.'\n\nSeven indignant faces turning to him. Eyes narrowing at plans thwarted.\n\n'Now just one moment,' Sam felt a bubble of anger in his gut. 'Am I hearing right? You guys abandoned her, right at the time when she needed support.'\n\n'We did nothing of the sort.' Jack Levy drew himself up behind the table, dark eyes blinking furiously behind his glasses. 'We had no alternative but to suspend recording.'\n\n'Not one of you called on her, wrote her, sent her flowers,' Sam's eyes flashed from face to face. 'Did anyone of you go to the press and tell them what a nice girl she is? Did you hell!\n\n'You sat on your fat arses, panicking that the golden goose was finally about to be killed off. And probably had a meeting just like this one to decide who would get the carcass.'\n\n'That's not fair Sam,' Max flushed with anger. 'We had to act impartial.' He drew a cigar out of his breast pocket and sniffed it reflectively.\n\n'You acted like cowards,' Sam hissed at them. 'Even if she had done everything that creep said, after all she's given you, you should have stood up for her. I've only known her a few short weeks but it seems I was the only person who truly believed in her.'\n\n'Well, where is she now?' one of the directors said. His face showed no emotion, just irritation that she wasn't here, cap in hand.\n\n'She's doing what she should have done some time ago. Putting her own affairs in order,' Sam said, glaring round at each one of them in turn.\n\n'But the album,' Max said.\n\n'Screw the album,' Sam's voice was rising. 'I'd like just one of you to express concern for her. To show some emotion. She might find her mother. How ashamed you are that you doubted her? Or even ask about the boyfriend?'\n\n'So that's it,' Max said, a sly look in his eyes, taking out a gold cigar cutter. 'I suppose she's off screwing him.'\n\nSam leapt out of his chair and caught Max by the collar of his suit jacket, lifting him clean off the floor, scattering cigar and cutter to the floor.\n\n'You motherfucker,' he hissed. 'You stopped that boy from seeing her. You lied to them both. Why Max? Why?'\n\n'How was I to know?' Max's voice whined. 'Countless blokes claim to know her. I was protecting her.'\n\nSam let go of him, but his fists were clenched. He looked round at all the other men, searching their eyes to see if they had guessed the reason. There was interest, surprise, but no real understanding.\n\n'You wanted her yourself,' Sam snarled. 'I can understand that, but why then if you wanted her so badly didn't you stick up for her? You left the country with some blonde on your arm. What sort of a man are you?'\n\n'You've got it all wrong.' Max pulled at the revers of his jacket, his eyes flashed round the room trying to convey to the other men that Sam was mad. 'Georgia was like my own daughter.'\n\n'Then you,' Sam poked a finger at Max's belly, 'are just like Anderson. Because I've sure as hell heard you describe her as a cockraiser. Did you get to rape her too?'\n\nMax cowered back. Jack Levy leapt to his feet and moved swiftly over to Sam, putting a restraining hand on his arm.\n\n'That's enough, Sam,' he yelled. 'Enough!'\n\n'Enough?' Sam glowered round at the men. 'I ain't even started yet. Georgia is making what promises to be the finest album ever made,' he hissed. 'She's put her heart and soul into it, singing songs of love so beautiful they even move me to tears.' He pushed away Jack's hand, his mouth trembling with anger. 'But all you lot see is money,' he went on glaring at each of the men in turn. 'You don't see a little girl abused by a man she trusted. A girl with guts and fire that made things happen for herself without selling her soul in the process. Don't you know what you've got?'\n\nThe atmosphere was charged with electricity. Max shrank back against the wall, even Jack stopped short.\n\n'I'll tell you arseholes what you've got,' Sam yelled, waving his clenched fists at Jack. 'You've got a girl with more heart and guts than all us lot put together. Get off your chairs, get down in the studio and listen to those tapes. Forget how much money they'll make and listen to the message in her voice. When you've done that and found out what Georgia is all about, then maybe I'll tell you where she is!'\n\nHe paused. He saw the gaping mouths, sensed that his words had sunk in. Sam turned sharply, pulled open the door, and left, slamming it behind him.\n\nMax turned scarlet. 'I'm sorry about that.' His voice shook nearly as badly as his legs. He couldn't meet their eyes. For once he couldn't think of anything sharp to say. 'He's an artist, he can't help but be emotional.'\n\nJack Levy took off his glasses and polished them vigorously. He felt something he hadn't felt for years and he knew it was shame.\n\n'We'd better do what the man says.' He replaced his glasses on his nose. 'We'll talk again afterwards.'\n\nSam paused only long enough in the street to take a few deep breaths. He wasn't going to agonize over whether he'd gone too far, or whether he'd blocked all chances of his own career taking off. Right now he was going to ring that editor Phillips and make sure everyone was pulling out all the stops.\n\n'It's Sam Cameron,' he said, when they finally put him through. 'Georgia asked me to phone and find out the state of play.'\n\n'Where is she?'\n\nSam wanted to laugh, it was that same frantic question he'd heard in the boardroom, another would-be puppet master.\n\n'Why?'\n\n'I just found Peter had gone,' Phillips said. 'I just hoped they were together. As I see it that pair were made for each other.'\n\nSam felt all the anger inside him melt. At last someone had the right idea.\n\n'Between you and me, off to sunny places with Peter. The recording company is freaking out. They don't know where she is, so I'd be grateful if you didn't print that.'\n\nPhillips chuckled. 'Wonderful. That news makes it all worthwhile. Peter Radcliffe is a real human being. I'm keeping everything crossed for them.'\n\n'Yup, looks like you might get your big love story soon. But don't rush it, give them time. Now, about Mrs Anderson?'\n\n'We've managed to contact the health organization she is working for. The office is in Nairobi. Apparently she's way out in the bush running a small clinic and hospital.'\n\n'You don't say!' Sam's face broke into a broad smile.\n\n'We've got things in hand.' Phillips' voice had a ring of pure glee. 'It won't be instantaneous. Messages have to be sent by wire, the last lap will be by jeep over rough terrain. It could be a couple of weeks before they can get a replacement out for her.'\n\n'Did you tell them what it was about?'\n\n'Just the bare bones,' Phillips hesitated. 'I was apprehensive about the story being misinterpreted, so I promised to send full details by telex. I've just finished that.'\n\n'Georgia is going to flip,' Sam's voice was breaking with emotion. 'This is all too much. How soon before we know anything positive? I don't want to wind her up and then leave her dangling.'\n\n'I suggest you say nothing, yet,' Phillips' voice was more cautious. 'We don't want her rushing off to Nairobi and then missing her mother. As soon as we know she's on a flight home, that's the time to tell her. The poor kid's had enough grief to last most of us a lifetime.'\n\n'Sounds sensible,' Sam said. 'At least she's got Peter to take her mind off things. I'm very grateful to you.'\n\n'Has she said what action she's going to take about Anderson?' Once again he was just a reporter, wanting to be first with the news.\n\n'I couldn't say,' Sam said. 'If it were up to me I'd go round there and kick seven kinds of shit out of him. But Georgia isn't one for revenge. We'll just have to wait for that.'\n\n'Keep in touch,' Phillips' voice held warmth and sincerity. 'Let me know when your next gig is. I'd like to meet the man Georgia raved about.'\n\n'She spoke of me?'\n\n'Oh yes,' Phillips chuckled. 'You rate in importance along with Celia and Peter, but surely you knew that?'\n\nDown in the recording studio Jack Levy and his team were listening closely to the tapes Georgia had been working on. Heads bent forward, hands on knees, cigars, coffee and even note-making forgotten.\n\n'Sam was right.' Jack twisted his large gold ring around his finger during a pause, looking round at the other men with stunned eyes. 'This is some of the best stuff I've ever heard.'\n\nGeorgia's lush, rich voice filled the studio. The complex machinery, the plastic chairs, the glass partitions, the bright lights all softened in the music. With eyes closed, each one of them was transported to a place of beauty, memories and emotions long forgotten were stirred with her special magic.\n\nEvery note and instrument on the finished songs was impeccable. Sam's tenor sax sent shivers of delight down their spines, the strings, drums and piano all played their part in creating a masterpiece.\n\n'Sam's one hell of a player too,' one of the men said. 'We ought to get him under contract too, before he floats off back home.'\n\nAs the last note died away, Max got up. He felt drained, suddenly old and tired. He'd give anything to have Miriam back home to run to.\n\nWhy had he cheated Georgia, lied to her and held her back? Why couldn't he have been like Sam, listened, protected and encouraged? What made a man who had a bright and beautiful butterfly in his hand, crush it and still expect it to fly?\n\nGeorgia would merely laugh at the underhand things he'd done in the past. She accepted them all the way a zoo keeper expects the tiger to snarl at him. But by preventing that lad from seeing her, by turning his back on her when she was in trouble, that was when he dug his own grave.\n\n'What's up, Max?' Jack Levy squinted up at him through his glasses. 'Can't stand the heat any longer? She'll re-sign with us. They always do. We'll just have to offer her a better deal.'\n\n'I think I'm through with deals,' Max said. 'Sometimes they leave a nasty taste in your mouth.'\n\n## Chapter 27\n\nThe newspaper lay crumpled amongst empty sherry bottles, chip papers, cold cups of tea, and congealed greasy plates, hardly an inch of floor exposed from bed to window.\n\nThe stained china sink smelled like the lavatory he'd used it as, draining-board groaning with burned saucepans and jagged-edged empty cans.\n\nThe frayed brown curtains were no longer opened. The small table in front of the window strewn with pointers to a period of wealth. An empty whiskey bottle, a cigar box, the remains of an Indian takeaway meal thick with mould and a dead potted plant.\n\nDust, paper and food scraps were everywhere. Vomit lay on the floor just feet from where he lay huddled on his bed. The stench of himself, the vomit and rotting food combined to make the air unbreathable.\n\nOnly the wall covered in Georgia's pictures had any semblance of order and light.\n\nHe was sweating, so hot he felt he was on fire. But he knew soon the shivering would come back and nothing would warm him.\n\nDrink couldn't help now. Nothing could blot out the misery. No heat, money, drink or food. Trapped, sick and helpless.\n\nWhy was it that his mind had cleared now? Ever since that day when he was knocked down and robbed, the grey mist which stopped him hurting and thinking had vanished.\n\nHow long ago was it when those newspaper men came here? A week, two, maybe a month. He remembered putting a fiver in Mrs Dooley's hand and persuading her to clean up for him though.\n\n'Fancy her being your daughter,' she kept saying as she swept the floor and changed his bed. 'She should pay to put you in a home, you aren't capable of looking after yourself.'\n\nMrs Dooley wasn't the only one who treated him like a celebrity then. Someone left a bag of clothes on his doorstep, another neighbour brought him over a pot of stew. Every day the mail brought letters of sympathy, some with money inside them. Mrs Dooley was glad to clean for him. It gave her an opportunity to ask questions, she even referred to him as her 'poor old gentleman friend.'\n\nSo many visitors knocked on his door, offering invitations to their houses, sympathy, help and understanding.\n\nDown at the pub they all wanted to drink with him, they didn't refuse to serve him in the caf\u00e9, everyone said how badly Georgia had treated him.\n\nA taste of what it must be like to be her. A person people wanted to meet. He felt like shaving again, taking baths, eating proper meals, for a while drink hadn't been so necessary.\n\nChurch wardens came round and talked of re-housing him in a nice little flat. A lady down the road knitted him a blue pullover. Even the kids along the road began to smile at him.\n\nA hundred pounds seemed fair enough at first. He didn't know he'd been cheated until Adams made off with thousands. In that first week it had been enough to be important and know at last the public had turned against her.\n\nThe sickness had started the night he read just a few lines in the _Evening News_. A picture of the bitch standing by a flashy car, wearing a white mini skirt.\n\n'You can read the true story tomorrow,' she said.\n\nThat night even whiskey didn't help. A small voice kept whispering in his head, telling him things he didn't like. Later it turned to a gnawing pain in his stomach, just where she stabbed him. The nightmares came back too. Visions of him grabbing her, smooth skin under his hands, a rounded arse in front of him surrounded by harsh net petticoats. An act which until then he'd blotted from his mind.\n\nIt was Mrs Dooley that brought in the paper the next morning. The fat slut stood in his doorway, hands on hips, her hair in curlers, mouth like an angry red gash.\n\n'You bastard!' she screamed at him, flinging the paper in disgust. 'You filthy bastard! You'll rot in hell for what you did to her, and I'd gladly get you there a little quicker!'\n\nFunny that Georgia's retaliation didn't make him mad. He just lay there crying, remembering.\n\nWas it that mention of St Joseph's convent that made him think of her tiny, bony back, lacerated and weeping? What prompted the memory of guiding her down the pavement on her first bicycle, holding the saddle and urging her to steer and keep pedalling? Holding her on his shoulders to see penguins at the zoo. One hand under a smooth, soft tummy as he taught her to swim.\n\nPeter too. Sharp, clear pictures of him eating Christmas lunch with them. A red paper hat resting on his blond hair, talking about cricket, laughing at Brian's stories about people in the office. The good feeling at having male company.\n\nOther things wafted back. Georgia coming into the bedroom in her nightdress, with a tray of tea for him and Celia, her stocking under her arm.\n\n'I waited as long as I could.' She had that expression on her face that always made them smile. Wide-eyed, mouth trembling, a please-don't-be-cross face that worked everytime. 'Seven o'clock isn't that early?'\n\nOnce they'd put sugar mice in her stocking, tiny dolls, pens and pencils. That last year it had been makeup and stockings and a silly false nose and glasses she wore most of the morning.\n\nWhy was it now when he needed the grey mist, it didn't return? Sharp memories like Georgia sitting by his knee. The Christmas tree filling the room with the scent of pine, the fire banked up. Celia in a blue costume. Georgia in a tartan dress with a lace collar. He could see that book on photography she gave him. A shiny red and black jacket, the spine two inches thick, one he'd intended to buy for so long.\n\n'Mum didn't give me the money.' He could hear her soft voice shaking with excitement, feel her lips on his cheek, her arms round his neck. 'I saved it up myself.'\n\nHe knew when the reporters came back he would get no sympathy. He cowered in his bed listening to them scrabbling round the house, terrified they would burst in. He heard neighbours shout things outside the window.\n\n'Come on out you pervert! We'll show you how we deal with rapists round here.'\n\nJust enough strength to push a chair under the door, then stumble back to bed, hoping they wouldn't hurtle a brick or a fire bomb through his window. His chest, legs and stomach ached, but the worst hurt was inside his head.\n\nHow many times was it that he read that newspaper? Twenty, thirty? He lost count.\n\n'I don't know why he changed that night,' he read. 'One moment he was my dad, the sweetest, kindest man alive, the next like an evil stranger. Everything I knew about men came from him. I loved being in the car with him, holding his hand when we went for walks. The way he hugged me when he came home from work. He knew everything. He helped me with my homework, he taught me to swim. He clapped when I danced and sang. My mum and dad were the best parents anyone could have. I had nothing to rebel against. I felt loved. I didn't even mind when he got drunk and came up to the party. Everyone thought it was funny. I told him to go to bed after Peter had gone. But that's when he changed.'\n\nIt wasn't a nightmare after all. He really had done those things which haunted him. Soon the police would come for him. They'd lock him up, maybe even beat him. If only he had enough money to put in that meter, to turn the gas on and wait for oblivion.\n\nSomeone was insistently ringing the door bell. He heard Mrs Dooley shout to one of her children to answer it. Deep, male voices, too low to hear what they were saying.\n\n'He's in that room,' Mrs Dooley's Irish voice boomed out. 'He hasn't shown his face for nearly two weeks. But he's in there all right, more's the pity. Filthy bastard, you can smell him from the hall.'\n\n'Has anyone got a key?' The male voice was crisp and tough, the sort of voice belonging to someone with authority.\n\n'Don't think so.' Her voice was coming closer as if she was walking down the stairs. 'The landlord was supposed to be coming over to heave him out in a day or two. He hasn't even been out to use the toilet. God knows what you'll find in there.'\n\nHe buried his face when the rapping on the door started again. Was it night, or merely the dim light?\n\n'Mr Anderson!' That strong voice again. 'Mr Anderson, open the door or we'll have to break it down!'\n\nHe was sure it was the police. Reporters didn't threaten violence. He screwed up his eyes, huddled further under the blanket and waited, too sick and weak to make any protest.\n\nA thump and a splintering noise and they were in.\n\n'Bloody hell.' P.C. Blake clamped one hand over his nose and waved to his partner to open the window as he moved over to the bed. Cautiously he pulled back the thin blanket to find Anderson staring up at him blankly.\n\n'Are you all right mate?' he asked, his stomach churning.\n\nThere was no reply. Just those pale frightened eyes looking at him, a haggard, almost shrunken face glistening with sweat, flecks of white foam on his blue lips.\n\n'Get an ambulance,' Blake turned to the younger man standing gasping by the window. 'Warn them about the conditions. Book a fumigator afterwards.'\n\nAs the constable rushed back gagging to the door, Blake's professionalism got the better of revulsion. He lifted one scrawny wrist from the sopping bed and felt for a pulse. 'You've got yerself in a right state,' he said. 'It's hospital for you.'\n\n'I'm sorry for what I did,' Brian whimpered. He tried to sit up, but he was too weak. 'Will I go to prison?'\n\n'Don't look that way,' Blake moved away from the man's fetid breath. He glanced up at a picture cut from a glossy magazine. Georgia was sitting astride a cane chair, one arm leaning on the back, drinking a glass of milk wearing shorts and a T-shirt. 'It was her that asked us to check you out. Not a moment too soon I'd say.'\n\n'Georgia asked you?' Brian tried to focus his eyes. All he could see was silver buttons against blue serge as once again his bladder overflowed.\n\n'Welcome home,' Sam threw open the door as he heard the lift.\n\n'Sam!' Georgia launched herself towards him, arms wide to hug him. Peter was left in the lift with a suitcase.\n\n'I came over to make a meal for you,' Sam said. A lump came up in his throat, making it hard to speak. Her warm body pressed against him, the perfume of her hair, her lips against his neck. 'I felt I had to talk to you before everyone else grabbed you.'\n\nShe held him still, looking up at him, nose twitching, like a stray dog hoping for a meal, big eyes dancing.\n\n'It smells wonderful,' she said. 'But I'm being rude. This is Peter, I keep forgetting you haven't met before.'\n\nPeter in the flesh was far more striking than press photographs. Blue eyes alight with laughter, a rugged quality to his features. He seemed to fill the small hall; muscles straining under his thin jacket, blond hair streaked almost white by the sun, the golden tan, all gave the impression it had been achieved by a lifetime in rough country.\n\n'It's great to meet you at last,' Sam put out his hand and Peter gripped it firmly. 'Sorry I had to drag you away from the sun, but the people at Decca were getting frantic.'\n\n'We understood,' Peter grinned. 'I should be back at school anyway.'\n\nThey had been in the Canary Islands for nearly two weeks. Georgia looked black now, the whites of her eyes and her teeth flashing against her skin. She wore a red flouncy dress that made him think of gypsy dancers, bare feet in gold sandals.\n\nRest and love had done wonders for her. Skin glowing, eyes gleaming, she'd even put on a little weight. There was a calmer, softer look in her eyes.\n\n'I still don't understand what the panic is,' Georgia said as she bounced inside, gazing around her in delight. 'But whatever it is, it's nice to be home.'\n\nThe lounge was filled with late afternoon sunshine, lighting up the vivid primary colours of her Spanish rug and turning the white settees to pale gold.\n\nShe walked round the room, just reaching out and touching things as if telling them all she was back in charge.\n\nSam could see her eyes flitting out to the window-boxes on the balcony, her eyes lighting up at the clusters of giant pansies, blue and purple heads nodding at her as if in welcome.\n\n'I kept them watered,' Sam smiled. She was just like Katy, at heart a homemaker. Soon she would be running her fingers over ledges, making mental notes of jobs to be done. 'Now sit down and I'll make us a drink.'\n\nHe had to tell her tonight. Everything was moving so fast. He'd removed every possible obstacle to give him a clear field. He just had to hope no one came unexpectedly.\n\nPeter took the glass of beer and sank into a chair, but Georgia flitted in and out of the room looking at things as Peter described their hotel and the beach.\n\n'This is all a bit posh,' Georgia called out from the dining room across the hall. 'Come and see Peter, Sam's laid it all with flowers, and napkins. I didn't know you were so domesticated, Sam!'\n\n'There's lots you don't know about me yet Miss Smartypants,' Sam grinned, as he looked into see her straightening a knife here, a plate there. He too had been surprised to find a sideboard full of white bone china, polished silver cutlery in felt lined boxes and a wealth of starched tablecloths and napkins. Clearly Georgia hadn't rejected Celia Anderson's middle-class values. He wasn't going to admit that he had learned his skills while working as a waiter.\n\n'Now, I don't want you two to think I'm intruding on your last night together. I'll be off later.'\n\n'You don't have to go,' Peter touched Sam's elbow, his face full of concern that he might feel pushed out. 'We're both pleased to see you.'\n\nSam heard that deep voice, full of sincerity and knew this was a man he could respect. He wished he had time to get to know him the way he had Georgia, but there wasn't time for that now.\n\n'Thanks,' Sam grinned. 'We'll have lots of opportunities later to dig into each other. But first a drink and I'll dish up. I hope you like spicy food as it's about all I know how to cook.'\n\n'He's got something on his mind,' Peter said as Sam disappeared into the kitchen. He sat down on the settee while Georgia began sifting through records in the corner. 'Do you think he knows something about Celia?'\n\n'No, he would have told us immediately if he did,' she looked reflective. 'I hope there isn't something wrong with his kids. I couldn't bear him to leave England.'\n\nPeter shrugged.\n\n'He'll have to go sometime.'\n\n'Oh Peter,' she jumped up, dropping the record and bounded across the room to him. 'You aren't jealous are you?' She perched next to him, running one hand through his hair.\n\n'I guess so,' he grinned sheepishly. 'No, I'm not jealous of Sam exactly. Just a bit overwhelmed by your life. That welcoming reception at the airport, all those press hanging on to your every word. It makes me wonder about my role in your life.'\n\nHe'd read so often about Georgia being mobbed by fans, yet until he was in the thick of it himself it never seemed real. People grabbing his arm, microphones stuck right under his nose, the shouted questions, the flash of cameras, a feeling of terror that they could actually be crushed to death by this crowd.\n\n'You don't have a role in my life,' she smiled. 'You are my life.'\n\nThey had spent so much of their time away sounding out each other's ambitions. Georgia's went no further than finishing her album and finding a home out of London, but Peter's ideas were more altruistic. His dreams were filled with education for everyone, decent homes and proper health care and it was apparent to Georgia that the idealistic boy with missionary zeal had grown into a humanitarian.\n\n'Well, sweetness,' Peter put his hands on her neck, lifted her hair, then bent to kiss her ears. 'One thing's certain. Branscombe Road Secondary Modern isn't going to be thrilled at such an infamous teacher in their midst.'\n\n'If they're that small-minded it's the perfect excuse to walk out,' she grinned.\n\n'I don't walk out of anything until I'm ready,' Peter replied sternly. 'And I certainly won't leave them in the lurch just to be one of your acolytes!'\n\n'Well, what do you think of Creole cooking?' Sam said as finally their empty plates were pushed away.\n\n'Superb.' Georgia sat back in her chair, holding her stomach, grinning like a greedy child. Lazily she leaned forward, filling up the wine glasses again. 'If the music world lets you down you can always become my cook\/housekeeper.'\n\nSam had entertained them during the meal with gossip. The press's speculation about their future together. People from Berwick Street and the club scene too. He said how United Artists had offered the boys a contract, and Norman had written some brilliant music. Rod was taking singing lessons and claimed he was in love with a model called Patti. Speedy was straight still and the others were trying to influence Les to join him.\n\nSally and Janet had finally been offered new houses in Harlow, and Pop, faced with losing his two most reliable workers, was looking for small factory premises there too. Even Babs and Bert were seriously contemplating retiring.\n\n'You'd better let me meet them all soon,' Peter said. 'Otherwise they'll all be gone.'\n\n'We could throw a party,' Georgia's eyes lit up. 'How about Whitsun when you're on holiday, Peter?'\n\n'We'll talk about that some other time,' Peter groaned. 'I think Sam's got something on his mind.'\n\nIt had grown dark outside while they talked and Georgia stood up to draw the red curtains and turn on a small lamp on the sideboard. She'd lived in this flat for nearly two years, but this room was hardly ever used. It gave her a glow of pleasure to see how warm and inviting it could be.\n\n'Is it your kids?' Georgia touched Sam lightly on the shoulder before she sat down. 'Or has someone offered you a contract?'\n\nSam looked down at his empty plate. Chopin was playing softly from the lounge across the passage, the traffic down below had slowed to a mere purr. He couldn't stay here all night. He had to tell her now.\n\n'Neither of those,' he said. 'It's about you, honey. Hell, I don't exactly know how to put this,' he paused, biting his lip. 'I want you to think about your real background. I mean your natural mother and father.'\n\nGeorgia made a face, putting a finger in some sauce and licking it.\n\n'Is this a \"let's face the black side of yourself\" routine?' she said. 'A warning that mixed-race relationships are doomed from the start?'\n\nSam chuckled. 'No. There's sure as hell plenty of others will say that for me. I meant don't you ever wonder how you came to be abandoned, orphaned or whatever it was?'\n\n'Of course I do,' she smiled. 'But Celia tried to dig around, didn't she Peter? She didn't find much.'\n\n'All the records were destroyed,' Peter said. 'She was pretty certain Georgia was in the Billericay war orphans home, but there's not even any real evidence of that. What's made you bring this up?'\n\nHe could sense an undercurrent, something Sam had been brooding about for some time.\n\nSam cleared his throat nervously.\n\n'Before I met you Georgia, when I first arrived in England, I did some digging myself.' He paused looking at Georgia through thick curly lashes. His Southern drawl suddenly seemed more pronounced, or was it he was choosing every word carefully? 'I told you I was here during the war, and somehow it seemed important to just go down to my old haunts and look around.'\n\n'An old flame?' Peter smirked.\n\n'Yeah,' Sam was smiling, yet his eyes were sad. 'She just stopped writing, you see. It happened all the time. One day the girl's crazy about you, the next she's got cold feet.'\n\nPeter reached out and picked up the wine bottle, dividing up the remains between the three of them. He was sure this was leading to a serious warning about mixed marriages whatever Sam had said previously. Perhaps a pep talk to Georgia about accepting that Peter had a career too. He had noticed Sam studying him closely. Was he doubtful they could make it as a couple?\n\n'She was white?' Peter said, raising one eyebrow. 'Come on then, give us the whole story.'\n\nSam took a deep breath and began. His meeting with Katy at the base, falling in love and her parents' disgust that their only daughter should choose a black G.I. How Katy moved out and found a flat in the East End so they could be together and then on to his departure to France.\n\n'Everything was kinda frantic,' he said, his big lips trembling a little. 'We didn't know where we was goin', if or when we'd be back. I never told Katy just how hard it would be for her if she married me. We just kinda lived for the moment. All we had was letters and trust.'\n\n'Did she write?' Georgia asked.\n\nSam nodded. 'Every day. Sometimes I didn't get any for weeks, then I got a big bundle. She used to number them. A funny little figure on the back of an envelope with our names written round it. But then they stopped.'\n\nFor a moment Georgia thought he was going to cry. No tears, just a twitching in his cheeks as if he were fighting it.\n\n'It nearly broke me. I couldn't eat or sleep. I grew bitter. It kind of sapped all my energy.'\n\nPeter nodded. He knew exactly what Sam had gone through.\n\n'But why didn't you come back?'\n\n'I wanted to,' Sam bit his lip again. 'But everything was crazy in Germany. Then I got wounded, nothing real serious, just a bit of shrapnel in my arm. Just enough for the M.O. to decide I was to go back Stateside instead of staying like the others to clear up the mess.'\n\n'Did you write again?' Georgia asked. 'Did you tell her what was happening?'\n\n'I wrote over and over,' Sam shrugged his shoulders. 'What was I to think? Black guys had enough trouble getting willing girls over. What chance did I have with one who didn't even reply?'\n\n'So that's what you went to dig up?' Peter said.\n\nSam nodded. 'It had all changed. I found Hughes Mansions where she lived, all right. But something was different. Some people I met there told me about a V.2 dropping on it,' he said, watching Georgia's face. 'Katy was amongst the hundred or so killed.'\n\n'Oh Sam, you never knew?' Georgia's face fell. 'You thought she didn't love you, but all the time she was dead. I don't know which is worse.'\n\n'There is something worse,' Sam took Georgia's hand. 'To find the girl I loved didn't tell me she had my child.'\n\nGeorgia's hands flew up to her mouth, eyes filling with tears.\n\n'The child died too?'\n\n'No, it was rescued,' Sam said slowly. 'I went to the East End looking to just reminisce. Instead I find I've got another child.'\n\n'Where?' Georgia leaned forward. 'Have you found him?'\n\n'Her,' Sam corrected Georgia. 'That was somethin' else. Blind alleys, disappointment, hundreds of old papers to go through without even a name to help. Finally when I thought I couldn't go no further I found an old social worker who'd taken a child from a foster home, on to a convent.'\n\nSuddenly Peter saw the truth. Not just Sam's words, but the way he was looking at Georgia. The eyes were the same, round and large, two sets of identical dark chocolate, the same delicate eyelids, even the lashes like brushes.\n\nGeorgia couldn't see it. She was too immersed in Sam's tale, grieving over a woman she didn't know and the sadness of her child being orphaned.\n\n'What's her name, Sam?' Peter said softly. Someone had to help the man, he could see Sam wanted to blurt it out but couldn't find the right words.\n\nTwo weeks ago Peter had only the image the press had painted of this man in his head. A brute who beat his wife and abandoned his children. What would a man in his forties have in common with a girl like Georgia? Wasn't it more likely he was using her to further his own career, building up her trust so one day he could get his hands on her fortune?\n\nOf all the things he feared most about Georgia's life, this man was probably the thing which worried him the most.\n\nBut on holiday Georgia told him about her Sam. The talented musician, the caring father, the good friend. A man who made no advances to her, asked for nothing. The man who had stayed by her side when everyone else turned away.\n\nBoth images had stayed with him, like two pans on a scale. The pans had teetered up and down since meeting him. One moment he was sure Georgia's opinion was right, the next he had his doubts.\n\nBut now the pan was thumping down on the table, the image the press had put in his head, flipping out of the window with the force. He could see tears gathering in the man's eyes, feel the emotion in his heart.\n\n'Was it Georgia?' Peter asked.\n\nSam's eyes closed, a tear trapped by his lashes trickled down his dark cheek.\n\n'Yes,' he whispered. 'Oh yes.'\n\nFor a moment Georgia just sat there, stunned.\n\nShe rested her elbows on the table, holding her head in her hands. Her eyes moved from Peter to Sam, back to Peter's smiling face, then back to Sam.\n\n'Me?' she questioned. She looked like a frog. Huge bulging eyes and mouth gaping open. 'I don't understand. Are you sure?'\n\nSam opened his eyes again.\n\n'The nun was Sister Mary from St Joseph's,' he said.\n\nHer chair tipped over and crashed to the floor as she leapt up. She zoomed round the table, flinging her arms round Sam, burying her head in his shoulder, unable to say anything.\n\n'You're glad, ain't you,' Sam whispered against her hair lifting her onto his lap and holding her tightly. 'If I'd knowed I had a little girl I would have come back. There ain't been a day since I knew about the bomb I didn't regret not coming looking for Katy.'\n\n'Oh Sam,' Georgia's deep sigh was buried in his neck. 'It's the most wonderful thing. I knew you were special. I just knew it.' She cried then, small shoulders heaving, wrapping her arms around him tighter.\n\n'Those had better be happy tears.' Sam disentangled himself, cupping her face in his big hands and lifting it to his.\n\n'She only cries when she's happy,' Peter stood up and moved closer to them both, putting one hand on Sam's shoulder, the other stroking Georgia's hair. 'You should know she grows silent and grim-faced when she's sad. Hell, Sam that is one hell of a story!'\n\n'Why didn't Katy tell you about me?' Georgia's face was a study of glee, curiosity and sadness all at once.\n\n'I guess she didn't know till after I'd gone to France, honey,' Sam explained. 'After Christmas she wrote and said she had a surprise for me, but she never let on what it was. Maybe she was afraid I might go AWOL. I expect I would have too. I guess she knew me only too well.'\n\nThey moved into the lounge, leaving the dishes on the table and Sam went on to explain everything.\n\n'Sister Mary!' Georgia was quivering with excitement. 'How is she? Where is she? Did she know who I was?'\n\n'She was the one who led me to you,' Sam smiled, tucking her hand in his big brown one. 'She told me I must get close to you first and win your trust, that God would guide me when the time was right. You were in America then. I got all your records. I used to wallow in them all day. Wonderin' how I could get to meet you.'\n\n'And I came banging on your door,' Georgia laughed. 'No wonder you looked so shocked!'\n\n'Sister Mary's been waitin' for me to tell you, without her to talk to I might have lost my nerve. She's dying to see you, honey.'\n\n'Why did you wait so long to tell her Sam?' Peter frowned. 'I mean there must have been so many opportunities?'\n\n'I very nearly told her the day Anderson was plastered across the paper,' Sam half smiled. 'But I was afraid it might make things worse.'\n\n'Why now then, Sam?' Georgia looked round at him, a puzzled expression in her eyes. 'You seemed kind of in a hurry earlier. Are you going back to the States?'\n\n'Not till we've finished that album,' he grinned. 'I've sent Jasmine and Junior your records and said I have a special story about you. They already think you're just about the best thing in the world.'\n\n'My brother and sister,' she said pensively. 'I can hardly believe it.'\n\n'So what is the panic?' Peter asked.\n\n'No panic,' Sam smiled. 'But I knew in the next weeks I'd hardly get a chance to talk to you privately together. You two are so in love you've forgotten what's going on out there,' he paused to look at Peter. 'You've got to get back to Manchester. Georgia's got the album to finish. Your contract with Decca is running out, and there's Max and Anderson's fate hanging in the balance.'\n\n'Why do you lump Max and Anderson together?' Georgia asked. 'What's Max been doing while I was away?'\n\n'Keepin' his head down,' Sam smirked. 'Snakes both of them, and if I had my way I'd do the skinning.'\n\n'You had a fight with Max?' Georgia giggled, her hand over her mouth.\n\n'Me, a Southern gentleman?' Sam said dryly. 'No. I just marked his card.'\n\nGeorgia looked at Peter, who nodded as if it was time she too revealed all the things they had discussed.\n\n'I'm going to manage myself in future.'\n\n'Good idea, honey,' Sam grinned showing brilliant white teeth. 'Max'll hate that.'\n\nFor a moment she hesitated, looking at Peter for support.\n\n'Not to punish him,' she said softly. 'He's a shark. He can't help taking big bites out of everything. Maybe I don't want to be in the same pool as him any longer, but I can't forget how much he's taught me.'\n\n'He'll see it as the same thing,' Sam said, shrugging his shoulders.\n\nGeorgia shook her head.\n\n'No Sam, not once I've talked to him. He'll always have a place in my life.'\n\n'What about Decca?' Sam asked. 'Don't tell me you've gone soft on them too?'\n\n'I'll screw them so hard they may have to wave me goodbye,' she laughed. 'I don't feel any loyalty to them, it's a good deal or goodbye.'\n\n'And I only thought she'd inherited my musical talent,' Sam smirked. 'She's got the brains too!'\n\n'You'd better tell him what you've done about Anderson too,' Peter smiled. 'Maybe he won't be so cocky then.'\n\n'I spoke to the police,' she said in a small voice. 'I told them I wasn't going to press charges, it's all too long ago. But I asked them to check him out, put him on to social workers if he needs help.'\n\n'Shit!' Sam's eyes flashed with anger. 'Georgia, that guy deserves hell, nothing less.'\n\n'Perhaps he's already had that.' Her big dark eyes were full of pity. 'Don't try and bully me, Sam?'\n\n'She's crazy,' Peter put one restraining hand on Sam's arm. 'But it's a good kind of crazy. Phillips did say he reckoned the man had flipped.'\n\n'I've got so much,' Georgia said softly, looking at them both. 'I couldn't bear to see him again. But by the same token I can't pretend he doesn't exist. At least by footing the bill to have him dried out or whatever, I haven't just stood by.'\n\nSam shook his head and got up.\n\n'You are so very like Katy,' he smiled down at her where she sat curled up on the settee. 'She was a great one for lame dogs, doubt if she'd have even looked at me if I'd been like Peter. She'd have been so proud of you, honey.'\n\n'Don't go Sam!' she said. 'There's so much more to talk about.'\n\n'Not tonight,' he smiled, moving across the room to her and bending to kiss her forehead. 'We've got years ahead to catch up. You and Peter have only tonight, at least that's the way I remembered separations when I was your age.'\n\nShe jumped up then, flinging her arms round him.\n\n'I love you Sam. We're a family now. You get Jasmine and Junior and bring them back. There's plenty of room for them here.'\n\n'All in good time, honey.' He nuzzled his chin against her hair as he held her. 'You're one helluva daughter.'\n\nSam turned up his jacket collar as he walked along by the Thames. If he lived another twenty years in England he doubted he could get used to the climate. English people talked about this weather as warm, well perhaps they ought to try New Orleans. The smell was kinda the same as walking by the Mississippi, tangy and dirty, darkness turning it into a thing of beauty. But the Thames wasn't his river, just as London wasn't his town.\n\nIt was tempting to let Georgia take over his life. He could imagine her finding a house big enough for all of them, playing big sister to Jasmine and Junior, pushing him into the limelight. Perhaps forgetting Peter and herself as she tried to make everyone happy.\n\nHe'd learned a great deal about kids from watching Georgia. He had to go back and put all that into practice with Jasmine and Junior, win back their trust and love before he thrust them into a cauldron of new experience.\n\nGeorgia had grown up in a white world, learned the hard way how to deal with prejudice, rising above it without losing her deep understanding of human nature. His kids had been born into discrimination and segregation. By replanting them hastily, surrounded by people anxious to make them happy, they might grow up rootless, without that need to achieve anything for themselves.\n\nHe stopped for a moment by Albert Bridge. Each strut covered in lights, like a bridge to fairyland.\n\n'Sure is pretty,' he said aloud, looking out over the dark river. At home in New Orleans the place would be jumping now with music and people. Here it was silent and empty, just the odd man, out with his dog, and a pair of lovers further on the bridge, arms around each other. It was a good place to come to terms with his thoughts.\n\n'Finish the album. Then go home. There'll be holidays, time for us all to get acquainted. You've come this far without climbing on someone's back Sam, Jasmine and Junior have to learn that too.'\n\nMaybe he should have told Georgia about Celia. He had planned to. In long telephone conversations he'd come to care deeply for this brave little woman who'd given his daughter so much. But too much emotion in one day didn't make for restful sleep and tomorrow morning would be soon enough to break the good news.\n\n'Only another hour and we'll be landing.' Tania the stewardess stopped by Miss Tutthill's seat to reassure her.\n\nAll the crew knew who this lady was and where she was going. Tania just hoped she could get off the plane herself quick enough to see the reunion.\n\n'Maybe I should have waited another day or two?' Celia Tutthill looked up at the tall, willowy redhead, elegant in her cream blouse and skirt. 'I mean suppose she hasn't got back from her holiday yet?'\n\n'But you said her friend would make sure she did?' Tania perched on an empty seat across the aisle.\n\n'I know,' Celia smiled, her greeny-grey eyes wrinkling up with pleasure. In her telephone conversations to Sam Cameron she had heard so much that pleased her. All she could do was hope he did manage to engineer getting her home, and telling Georgia the truth about himself, without giving her daughter more anxiety. 'I'm just being an old worry-guts. I'm even worried Georgia won't recognize me!'\n\nShe was two stone lighter than she'd been for much of her life, something that started with African tummy and she never put back on. Her light brown hair was longer too, waving at her neck with streaks of gold from the sun. Gone were the days when she wore tailored suits, now her wardrobe consisted only of shorts and shirts. The green floral dress she wore today was new, bought hastily in Nairobi before flying out.\n\n'Of course she'll recognize you,' Tania chuckled.\n\nNairobi had been buzzing about this woman.\n\nAccording to the gossip she had arrived in Africa with only the sketchiest idea of what was ahead of her. Everyone had expected her to last a year at most, before the heat, flies, disease and lack of equipment sent her running home. But Nurse Tutthill took one look at Africa, rolled up her sleeves and adapted.\n\nTania was surprised to find Celia so small. The image the gossips had created was one of a big fierce woman who scorned bureaucracy, fought tooth and nail for supplies of medicine and almost singlehandedly had vaccinated thousands. When that dark tan faded she would be just another apple-cheeked middle-aged lady, just like her own mother, the sort of woman equally at home in church garden f\u00eates manning the cake stall.\n\n'I've got a lot more wrinkles,' Celia's eyes twinkled as she touched her face tentatively. Out in the bush there were no luxuries like mirrors. Faced with herself in a hotel room she had been shocked to see the changes. Crows' feet round her eyes, cheek-bones where once had been pads of flesh. Even her arms and legs seemed to belong to someone else, muscular, sinewy and an indecent dark brown. Yet despite the passing years she liked herself better. Even as a girl she was never pretty, but now at least people described her as striking.\n\n'If I look like you at your age I'll be delighted,' Tania smiled, teeth like an advertisement for dentistry. 'You look ten years younger than that old picture in the paper. But don't you think you should try and sleep for a while? It's going to be a long, emotional day for you.'\n\n'I think I've forgotten how to,' Celia said thoughtfully. 'Since the day that message came I haven't had more than a couple of hours' cat naps.'\n\n'You look good on it,' Tania got up and straightened her uniform. 'Would you like a drink?'\n\n'No thank you,' Celia grinned. 'You can't meet your daughter with alcohol on your breath!'\n\nThe message had come third hand. It had been relayed first by telephone, then by radio and the final few miles by a man on a pushbike.\n\nIt was early in the morning, already very warm, the sun rising up from behind the mountains when she saw the messenger.\n\nHe was young and lanky, wearing nothing but a pair of baggy khaki shorts. His skinny brown legs stood out like paddles as he came blundering down a track to the hospital.\n\nShe watched as he put his feet down to stop himself, threw his bike down on the bare earth and disappeared from her view.\n\nIt hadn't meant anything. Every day people flocked to the hospital. When she looked out over the bush for as far as the eye could see there was nothing but waving yellow grass, a few thorn trees, no sign of human habitation, yet day after day an endless procession of the old, the sick, the lame and the blind made their way here for treatment.\n\nShe hadn't even finished dressing when she heard feet running on the veranda towards her room.\n\n'What is it?' She hastily buttoned up her shirt and opened the door to see Carmel the Irish nurse coming to a halt, panting. She was fat, her striped dress bursting across her buxom chest, her apron dangling at her waist as if interrupted in her dressing too.\n\n'A message from Nairobi,' she huffed. 'You've got to go there immediately. Something to do with Georgia.'\n\nA wild ride in a beaten-up Landrover to meet her replacement at Buna, then into a mail plane as far as Archer's Post. Two days without sleep, surviving on just adrenalin. Fear and hope mingling like a lethal cocktail.\n\nUrgent messages to her only meant one thing. Death, sickness or disaster. By the time she got to a telephone at Archer's Post every bone in her body screamed for rest, but until someone could reassure her that Georgia wasn't dead she couldn't even pause for refreshment.\n\n'She's fine,' Hilary her old friend in Nairobi said. 'She's a famous singer now and a newspaper has been searching for you. It seems you and I are the only two people in the world who hadn't heard her.'\n\n'But \u2013'\n\nHilary cut her short. 'It's a long story, love. I can't tell you it all over the phone. Rest up tonight and get someone to drive you here tomorrow. She's safe and healthy. Don't worry anymore. I'll tell you everything soon.'\n\nAnother two days before she flopped into a chair in the Nairobi office. Dusty hair, red-rimmed eyes full of grit, bruised from the long hours in a truck, sweat stains covering her old shirt. Yet exhaustion faded as Hilary put a large gin in one hand and the telex in the other.\n\nThere, in the same steamy office where she'd started out in Africa, life turned a full circle.\n\nNow she hardly noticed the flies, the cane chairs which stuck in her legs, the bandages and syringes waiting for distribution, or the maddeningly slow fan that only served to churn up papers rather than air.\n\nIt was the first time she had cried since leaving England. All those years of uncertainty, all that grief held back came flooding out.\n\n'If you had told anyone but me about her,' Hilary said as she comforted her. 'They might have made the connection. But I'm as bad as you Celia, I don't read the papers or listen to music. Just fancy, your gel a star!'\n\nTears turned to laughter as Celia saw the absurdity of the situation. Two old nurses, who both fled from England to forget, suddenly aware how out of touch they were.\n\nHilary with her white cropped hair could have been a man wearing women's clothes. A print dress left over from the mid-forties, its demure lace trim revealing a scraggy, lined neck, and arms like a stevedore. While Celia in her khaki shorts and man's shirt looked more feminine than she ever had at home. No wonder the young girls in the office stared at them as if they were mad, drinking gin in the afternoon, crying and laughing alternately.\n\nYet those same girls were the ones who found old magazines, copies of Georgia's records and filled her in with everything that had happened in the last few years.\n\n'Why did you stop writing to Peter?' Hilary asked as once again Celia read the telex. 'I keep asking myself why I didn't open them instead of dumping them as you told me to do.'\n\nEven now she couldn't explain that fully, but at the time she got the letter from Mrs Radcliffe it seemed the honourable thing to do. She was just another mother worrying about her son.\n\nWhat was it she said? 'I am begging you as another mother to let my son forget. He isn't working as he should, each letter from you unsettles him. He has another girl now and they could be happy without reminders of the past. Please let him go, and I promise you if I ever hear of Georgia I will write immediately.'\n\nHow could she know then Mrs Radcliffe had no intention of helping? How foolish Celia was to think Peter's integrity had come from her!\n\n'Oh Hilary,' Celia sighed. 'If only you had! But then this whole business is built on \"if onlys\".'\n\nCelia leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes. She wasn't finished with Africa yet. A long overdue holiday. Time to hear Georgia sing and share in her life. A chance to recharge her batteries and she'd be back. Even Georgia re-entering her life couldn't make her stay in England.\n\nThe woman who'd left England five years ago had changed. Drought, famine, malnutrition and disease made the problems she'd encountered in London's East End seem trivial. How could any woman who'd seen people dying for want of clean water, possibly go back to treating verrucae, weighing healthy babies and filling in forms?\n\n'Still can't nod off?' Tania was back, offering her yet another drink.\n\n'Silly, isn't it?' Celia laughed. 'The most comfortable seat I've sat in for five years, all my old worries gone, and yet I'm still wide awake.'\n\n'Do you think she'll marry Peter?'\n\nCelia smiled. It was a bitter irony that people were now so fascinated by Georgia. Six years ago she hadn't even managed to convince the police this same girl was at risk. Was that what fame meant? In Africa people were dying of starvation, yet the rest of the world hung on news of a singer's wedding.\n\n'I hope so,' she said. 'If I could choose any man in the world for her, I'd still pick him.' She could see him so clearly. Those wide, honest blue eyes, his sensitive mouth, floppy blond hair and the proud conviction in his purpose.\n\nTania hovered, an unspoken question in her eyes. Celia knew she was trying to broach the subject of Brian Anderson, but diplomacy stopped her.\n\n'Speak up girl,' she said, imitating Hilary. 'You want to know about him?'\n\nTania blushed.\n\n'It's all right,' Celia said in a softer tone. 'Everyone's going to ask me that, why not you? But the answer is I don't know. I guess I'll have to see him at some stage, we are still married after all. Of course I have the advantage over everyone else. I always knew what he did.'\n\n'How do you feel about him now?' Tania said softly.\n\n'I ought to feel anger, I suppose,' Celia said slowly. 'Perhaps I've been exposed to too much horror over the years to feel that any longer. In a way I'm glad he surfaced, at least he brought Georgia back to me.'\n\n'You're a very strong lady,' Tania smiled, touching Celia's hand briefly. 'I can see now who moulded Georgia!'\n\nThe sun was warm on her shoulders as she made her way from the aircraft steps to the tarmac. Celia had been expecting, even welcomed, rain. On steamy nights out in the bush she often pictured the garden in Blackheath. Grass cool and damp under her feet, roses twining round the archway to the vegetable garden, the smell of wet soil, the dewy softness of it all. Her heartrate had been gradually quickening as the plane went over London. The vivid green grass, the silver Thames and all the majesty of Windsor Castle somehow embodied everything in England that was dear to her.\n\nThe tarmac spread on seemingly forever, surrounded by dark green grass. The air had freshness never felt in Africa. Luggage piled on trucks, men in blue uniforms standing in groups, an orderliness she wasn't used to. The plane behind her disgorged more passengers to add to the stream already making their way to the terminal. She wanted to run now, not wait while Customs men looked in her one small bag.\n\nLooking up at the glass and concrete building ahead of her she saw a figure behind glass. Masses of dark hair, a red dress, brown long legs, jumping up and down, waving with both hands.\n\nA lump came to her throat, tears blinded her. She raised her hand to her lips and blew a kiss.\n\nQuickening her pace, she dodged round an elderly couple and ran the rest of the way.\n\nDark-suited Customs men waved her through. She felt the smiles though she couldn't see them. All she saw was that finely polished corridor and a glimpse of people waiting beyond.\n\nHundreds of people pushing and shoving. Cameras flashing, voices shouting out greetings. But all she was aware of was one small voice.\n\n'Mum! Mum!'\n\nA mop of wild black hair, two dancing wet eyes, arms outstretched running towards her.\n\nThe longest minute, yet the quickest. She had grown from skinny-legged colt to an Arabian thoroughbred. So beautiful Celia could barely credit it was the same pitiful child she took away from St Joseph's that winter morning. A heart-shaped caramel face. Black curls tossed back, dazzling white teeth and a wide smiling mouth. Her red dress so short and tight it could have been sprayed on, matching tight boots that evoked an image of principal boys in pantomime.\n\nShe threw herself at Celia like a puppy, lifting Celia off her feet, crushing her into her arms.\n\n'Mummy,' was all she heard and all the missing years slipped away.\n\nCameras flashed like lightning. A barrage of shouted questions, an army of people advancing on them. Yet all they felt was two hearts pounding together. Two pairs of streaming eyes, two cheeks pressed against one another's.\n\nCelia felt Georgia take her waist, pushing her back to look at her.\n\n'You've shrunk, Mum! Or is it I've grown?' Georgia looked down at Celia, dark chocolate eyes melting with tears, then pulled her fiercely back to her shoulder, enveloping her in the kind of rocking hug she had once given Georgia.\n\n'My baby,' Celia whispered. 'I thought I'd lost you forever.'\n\n'I was never lost to you,' Georgia whispered back. 'I carried you inside me wherever I went, but let's get home now, away from all this.'\n\nWith her arm firmly around Celia's shoulder, Georgia turned to the fans and press.\n\n'I want you all to meet my mother,' she grinned. 'This is the happiest day of my life.'\n\nA mural of grinning faces. Another firing squad of photographs, Celia blinked, her lips trembling.\n\nGeorgia held up one hand, the crowd fell silent.\n\n'I know you all want to ask questions,' she said, glancing sideways at Celia. 'But my mother isn't used to this kind of publicity and just now we both want to go home and talk and rediscover one another.'\n\nAnother blast of flashing lights. Murmurs of disappointment, a predatory closing in.\n\n'I have just one announcement,' Georgia smiled round, head held high. 'Today you've seen the reunion with my mother, but last night I also learned who my real father is.'\n\nSilence fell. Two or three hundred people leaning forward to hear.\n\nGeorgia grinned, tossing back her hair, using all the timing she'd learned on stage.\n\n'It's a sad, wonderful story,' she said. 'One I'll tell you all in a day or two, but for now you'll all have to be content with just a name. That name is Sam Cameron.'\n\nShe didn't appear to hear the tumult that broke around her, or show any concern that she'd merely whetted their appetite for information. Georgia picked up Celia's bag and holding her mother closer to her, walked steadily ahead as if they were alone.\n\n'Well, Mum,' Georgia said as they swept out on to the forecourt where a liveried chauffeur held open the doors of a sleek black limousine. 'How does it feel to be home?'\n\nCelia didn't answer for a moment. She climbed into the back seat and sighed as she sank into the soft leather, waiting for Georgia to sit beside her.\n\n'Do you remember how you felt that first day when I opened the door at Blackheath and led you in?' she asked.\n\nGeorgia took her hand and lifted it to her cheek.\n\n'Like I was entering heaven,' she whispered.\n\n'Well, darling, that's just how I feel right now.' She reached out for Georgia and this time it was she who cradled her child against her breast. 'Then it was me taking you to my world, now it's you leading me to yours.'\n","meta":{"redpajama_set_name":"RedPajamaBook"}} +{"text":" \n# Table of Contents\n\nMastering OpenCV with Practical Computer Vision Projects\n\nCredits\n\nAbout the Authors\n\nAbout the Reviewers\n\nwww.PacktPub.com\n\nSupport files, eBooks, discount offers and more\n\nWhy Subscribe?\n\nFree Access for Packt account holders\n\nPreface\n\nWhat this book covers\n\nWhat you need for this book\n\nWho this book is for\n\nConventions\n\nReader feedback\n\nCustomer support\n\nDownloading the example code\n\nErrata\n\nPiracy\n\nQuestions\n\n1. Cartoonifier and Skin Changer for Android\n\nAccessing the webcam\n\nMain camera processing loop for a desktop app\n\nGenerating a black-and-white sketch\n\nGenerating a color painting and a cartoon\n\nGenerating an \"evil\" mode using edge filters\n\nGenerating an \"alien\" mode using skin detection\n\nSkin-detection algorithm\n\nShowing the user where to put their face\n\nImplementation of the skin-color changer\n\nPorting from desktop to Android\n\nSetting up an Android project that uses OpenCV\n\nColor formats used for image processing on Android\n\nInput color format from the camera\n\nOutput color format for display\n\nAdding the cartoonifier code to the Android NDK app\n\nReviewing the Android app\n\nCartoonifying the image when the user taps the screen\n\nSaving the image to a file and to the Android picture gallery\n\nShowing an Android notification message about a saved image\n\nChanging cartoon modes through the Android menu bar\n\nReducing the random pepper noise from the sketch image\n\nShowing the FPS of the app\n\nUsing a different camera resolution\n\nCustomizing the app\n\nSummary\n\n2. Marker-based Augmented Reality on iPhone or iPad\n\nCreating an iOS project that uses OpenCV\n\nAdding OpenCV framework\n\nIncluding OpenCV headers\n\nApplication architecture\n\nAccessing the camera\n\nMarker detection\n\nMarker identification\n\nGrayscale conversion\n\nImage binarization\n\nContours detection\n\nCandidates search\n\nMarker code recognition\n\nReading marker code\n\nMarker location refinement\n\nPlacing a marker in 3D\n\nCamera calibration\n\nMarker pose estimation\n\nRendering the 3D virtual object\n\nCreating the OpenGL rendering layer\n\nRendering an AR scene\n\nSummary\n\nReferences\n\n3. Marker-less Augmented Reality\n\nMarker-based versus marker-less AR\n\nUsing feature descriptors to find an arbitrary image on video\n\nFeature extraction\n\nDefinition of a pattern object\n\nMatching of feature points\n\nPatternDetector.cpp\n\nOutlier removal\n\nCross-match filter\n\nRatio test\n\nPatternDetector.cpp\n\nHomography estimation\n\nPatternDetector.cpp\n\nHomography refinement\n\nPatternDetector.cpp\n\nPutting it all together\n\nPattern pose estimation\n\nPatternDetector.cpp\n\nObtaining the camera-intrinsic matrix\n\nPattern.cpp\n\nApplication infrastructure\n\nARPipeline.hpp\n\nARPipeline.cpp\n\nEnabling support for 3D visualization in OpenCV\n\nCreating OpenGL windows using OpenCV\n\nVideo capture using OpenCV\n\nRendering augmented reality\n\nARDrawingContext.hpp\n\nARDrawingContext.cpp\n\nDemonstration\n\nmain.cpp\n\nSummary\n\nReferences\n\n4. Exploring Structure from Motion Using OpenCV\n\nStructure from Motion concepts\n\nEstimating the camera motion from a pair of images\n\nPoint matching using rich feature descriptors\n\nPoint matching using optical flow\n\nFinding camera matrices\n\nReconstructing the scene\n\nReconstruction from many views\n\nRefinement of the reconstruction\n\nVisualizing 3D point clouds with PCL\n\nUsing the example code\n\nSummary\n\nReferences\n\n5. Number Plate Recognition Using SVM and Neural Networks\n\nIntroduction to ANPR\n\nANPR algorithm\n\nPlate detection\n\nSegmentation\n\nClassification\n\nPlate recognition\n\nOCR segmentation\n\nFeature extraction\n\nOCR classification\n\nEvaluation\n\nSummary\n\n6. Non-rigid Face Tracking\n\nOverview\n\nUtilities\n\nObject-oriented design\n\nData collection: Image and video annotation\n\nTraining data types\n\nAnnotation tool\n\nPre-annotated data (The MUCT dataset)\n\nGeometrical constraints\n\nProcrustes analysis\n\nLinear shape models\n\nA combined local-global representation\n\nTraining and visualization\n\nFacial feature detectors\n\nCorrelation-based patch models\n\nLearning discriminative patch models\n\nGenerative versus discriminative patch models\n\nAccounting for global geometric transformations\n\nTraining and visualization\n\nFace detection and initialization\n\nFace tracking\n\nFace tracker implementation\n\nTraining and visualization\n\nGeneric versus person-specific models\n\nSummary\n\nReferences\n\n7. 3D Head Pose Estimation Using AAM and POSIT\n\nActive Appearance Models overview\n\nActive Shape Models\n\nGetting the feel of PCA\n\nTriangulation\n\nTriangle texture warping\n\nModel Instantiation \u2013 playing with the Active Appearance Model\n\nAAM search and fitting\n\nPOSIT\n\nDiving into POSIT\n\nPOSIT and head model\n\nTracking from webcam or video file\n\nSummary\n\nReferences\n\n8. Face Recognition using Eigenfaces or Fisherfaces\n\nIntroduction to face recognition and face detection\n\nStep 1: Face detection\n\nImplementing face detection using OpenCV\n\nLoading a Haar or LBP detector for object or face detection\n\nAccessing the webcam\n\nDetecting an object using the Haar or LBP Classifier\n\nGrayscale color conversion\n\nShrinking the camera image\n\nHistogram equalization\n\nDetecting the face\n\nStep 2: Face preprocessing\n\nEye detection\n\nEye search regions\n\nGeometrical transformation\n\nSeparate histogram equalization for left and right sides\n\nSmoothing\n\nElliptical mask\n\nStep 3: Collecting faces and learning from them\n\nCollecting preprocessed faces for training\n\nTraining the face recognition system from collected faces\n\nViewing the learned knowledge\n\nAverage face\n\nEigenvalues, Eigenfaces, and Fisherfaces\n\nStep 4: Face recognition\n\nFace identification: Recognizing people from their face\n\nFace verification: Validating that it is the claimed person\n\nFinishing touches: Saving and loading files\n\nFinishing touches: Making a nice and interactive GUI\n\nDrawing the GUI elements\n\nStartup mode\n\nDetection mode\n\nCollection mode\n\nTraining mode\n\nRecognition mode\n\nChecking and handling mouse clicks\n\nSummary\n\nReferences\n\nIndex\n\n# **Mastering OpenCV with Practical Computer Vision Projects**\n\n* * *\n\n# Mastering OpenCV with Practical Computer Vision Projects\n\nCopyright (C) 2012 Packt Publishing\n\nAll rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embedded in critical articles or reviews.\n\nEvery effort has been made in the preparation of this book to ensure the accuracy of the information presented. However, the information contained in this book is sold without warranty, either express or implied. Neither the authors, nor Packt Publishing, and its dealers and distributors will be held liable for any damages caused or alleged to be caused directly or indirectly by this book.\n\nPackt Publishing has endeavored to provide trademark information about all of the companies and products mentioned in this book by the appropriate use of capitals. However, Packt Publishing cannot guarantee the accuracy of this information.\n\nFirst published: November 2012\n\nProduction Reference: 1161112\n\nPublished by Packt Publishing Ltd.\n\nLivery Place\n\n35 Livery Street\n\nBirmingham B3 2PB, UK.\n\nISBN 978-1-84951-782-9\n\nwww.packtpub.com\n\nCover Image by Neha Rajappan (``)\n\n# Credits\n\n**Authors**\n\nDaniel Lelis Baggio\n\nShervin Emami\n\nDavid Millan Escriva\n\nKhvedchenia Ievgen\n\nNaureen Mahmood\n\nJason Saragih\n\nRoy Shilkrot\n\n**Reviewers**\n\nKirill Kornyakov\n\nLuis Diaz Mas\n\nSebastian Montabone\n\n**Acquisition Editor**\n\nUsha Iyer\n\n**Lead Technical Editor**\n\nAnkita Shashi\n\n**Technical Editors**\n\nSharvari Baet\n\nPrashant Salvi\n\n**Copy Editors**\n\nBrandt D'Mello\n\nAditya Nair\n\nAlfida Paiva\n\n**Project Coordinator**\n\nPriya Sharma\n\n**Proofreaders**\n\nChris Brown\n\nMartin Diver\n\n**Indexer**\n\nHemangini Bari\n\nTejal Soni\n\nRekha Nair\n\n**Graphics**\n\nValentina D'silva\n\nAditi Gajjar\n\n**Production Coordinator**\n\nArvindkumar Gupta\n\n**Cover Work**\n\nArvindkumar Gupta\n\n# About the Authors\n\n**Daniel L elis Baggio** started his work in computer vision through medical image processing at InCor (Instituto do Cora\u00e7ao - Heart Institute) in Sao Paulo, where he worked with intra-vascular ultrasound image segmentation. Since then, he has focused on GPGPU and ported the segmentation algorithm to work with NVIDIA's CUDA. He has also dived into six degrees of freedom head tracking with a natural user interface group through a project called ehci (). He now works for the Brazilian Air Force.\n\n ****\n\nI'd like to thank God for the opportunity of working with computer vision. I try to understand the wonderful algorithms He has created for us to see. I also thank my family, and especially my wife, for all their support throughout the development of the book. I'd like to dedicate this book to my son Stefano.\n\n**Shervin Emami** (born in Iran) taught himself electronics and hobby robotics during his early teens in Australia. While building his first robot at the age of 15, he learned how RAM and CPUs work. He was so amazed by the concept that he soon designed and built a whole Z80 motherboard to control his robot, and wrote all the software purely in binary machine code using two push buttons for 0s and 1s. After learning that computers can be programmed in much easier ways such as assembly language and even high-level compilers, Shervin became hooked to computer programming and has been programming desktops, robots, and smartphones nearly every day since then. During his late teens he created Draw3D (), a 3D modeler with 30,000 lines of optimized C and assembly code that rendered 3D graphics faster than all the commercial alternatives of the time; but he lost interest in graphics programming when 3D hardware acceleration became available.\n\nIn University, Shervin took a subject on computer vision and became highly interested in it; so for his first thesis in 2003 he created a real-time face detection program based on Eigenfaces, using OpenCV (beta 3) for camera input. For his master's thesis in 2005 he created a visual navigation system for several mobile robots using OpenCV (v0.96). From 2008, he worked as a freelance Computer Vision Developer in Abu Dhabi and Philippines, using OpenCV for a large number of short-term commercial projects that included:\n\n * Detecting faces using Haar or Eigenfaces\n * Recognizing faces using Neural Networks, EHMM, or Eigenfaces\n * Detecting the 3D position and orientation of a face from a single photo using AAM and POSIT\n * Rotating a face in 3D using only a single photo\n * Face preprocessing and artificial lighting using any 3D direction from a single photo\n * Gender recognition\n * Facial expression recognition\n * Skin detection\n * Iris detection\n * Pupil detection\n * Eye-gaze tracking\n * Visual-saliency tracking\n * Histogram matching\n * Body-size detection\n * Shirt and bikini detection\n * Money recognition\n * Video stabilization\n * Face recognition on iPhone\n * Food recognition on iPhone\n * Marker-based augmented reality on iPhone (the second-fastest iPhone augmented reality app at the time).\n\nOpenCV was putting food on the table for Shervin's family, so he began giving back to OpenCV through regular advice on the forums and by posting free OpenCV tutorials on his website (). In 2011, he contacted the owners of other free OpenCV websites to write this book. He also began working on computer vision optimization for mobile devices at NVIDIA, working closely with the official OpenCV developers to produce an optimized version of OpenCV for Android. In 2012, he also joined the Khronos OpenVL committee for standardizing the hardware acceleration of computer vision for mobile devices, on which OpenCV will be based in the future.\n\n ****\n\nI thank my wife Gay and my baby Luna for enduring the stress while I juggled my time between this book, working fulltime, and raising a family. I also thank the developers of OpenCV, who worked hard for many years to provide a high-quality product for free.\n\n**David Mill an Escriva** was eight years old when he wrote his first program on an 8086 PC with Basic language, which enabled the 2D plotting of basic equations. In 2005, he finished his studies in IT through the Universitat Politecnica de Valencia with honors in human-computer interaction supported by computer vision with OpenCV (v0.96). He had a final project based on this subject and published it on HCI Spanish congress. He participated in Blender, an open source, 3D-software project, and worked in his first commercial movie _Plumiferos - Aventuras voladoras_ as a Computer Graphics Software Developer.\n\nDavid now has more than 10 years of experience in IT, with experience in computer vision, computer graphics, and pattern recognition, working on different projects and startups, applying his knowledge of computer vision, optical character recognition, and augmented reality. He is the author of the \"DamilesBlog\" (), where he publishes research articles and tutorials about OpenCV, computer vision in general, and Optical Character Recognition algorithms.\n\nDavid has reviewed the book _gnuPlot Cookbook_ by _Lee Phillips_ and published by _Packt Publishing_.\n\n ****\n\nThanks Izaskun and my daughter Eider for their patience and support. Os quiero peque\u00f1as.\n\nI also thank Shervin for giving me this opportunity, the OpenCV team for their work, the support of Artres, and the useful help provided by Augmate.\n\n**Khvedchenia Ievgen** is a computer vision expert from Ukraine. He started his career with research and development of a camera-based driver assistance system for Harman International. He then began working as a Computer Vision Consultant for ESG. Nowadays, he is a self-employed developer focusing on the development of augmented reality applications. Ievgen is the author of the _Computer Vision Talks_ blog ( ), where he publishes research articles and tutorials pertaining to computer vision and augmented reality.\n\n ****\n\nI would like to say thanks to my father who inspired me to learn programming when I was 14. His help can't be overstated. And thanks to my mom, who always supported me in all my undertakings. You always gave me a freedom to choose my own way in this life. Thanks, parents!\n\nThanks to Kate, a woman who totally changed my life and made it extremely full. I'm happy we're together. Love you.\n\n**Naureen Mahmood** is a recent graduate from the Visualization department at Texas A&M University. She has experience working in various programming environments, animation software, and microcontroller electronics. Her work involves creating interactive applications using sensor-based electronics and software engineering. She has also worked on creating physics-based simulations and their use in special effects for animation.\n\n ****\n\nI wanted to especially mention the efforts of another student from Texas A &M, whose name you will undoubtedly come across in the code included for this book. Fluid Wall was developed as part of a student project by Austin Hines and myself. Major credit for the project goes to Austin, as he was the creative mind behind it. He was also responsible for the arduous job of implementing the fluid simulation code into our application. However, he wasn't able to participate in writing this book due to a number of work- and study-related preoccupations.\n\n**Jason Saragih** received his B.Eng degree in mechatronics (with honors) and Ph.D. in computer science from the Australian National University, Canberra, Australia, in 2004 and 2008, respectively. From 2008 to 2010 he was a Postdoctoral fellow at the Robotics Institute of Carnegie Mellon University, Pittsburgh, PA. From 2010 to 2012 he worked at the Commonwealth Scientific and Industrial Research Organization (CSIRO) as a Research Scientist. He is currently a Senior Research Scientist at Visual Features, an Australian tech startup company.\n\nDr. Saragih has made a number of contributions to the field of computer vision, specifically on the topic of deformable model registration and modeling. He is the author of two non-profit open source libraries that are widely used in the scientific community; DeMoLib and FaceTracker, both of which make use of generic computer vision libraries including OpenCV.\n\n**Roy Shilkrot** is a researcher and professional in the area of computer vision and computer graphics. He obtained a B.Sc. in Computer Science from Tel-Aviv-Yaffo Academic College, and an M.Sc. from Tel-Aviv University. He is currently a PhD candidate in Media Laboratory of the Massachusetts Institute of Technology (MIT) in Cambridge.\n\nRoy has over seven years of experience as a Software Engineer in start-up companies and enterprises. Before joining the MIT Media Lab as a Research Assistant he worked as a Technology Strategist in the Innovation Laboratory of Comverse, a telecom solutions provider. He also dabbled in consultancy, and worked as an intern for Microsoft research at Redmond.\n\n ****\n\nThanks go to my wife for her limitless support and patience, my past and present advisors in both academia and industry for their wisdom, and my friends and colleagues for their challenging thoughts.\n\n# About the Reviewers\n\n**Kirill Kornyakov** is a Project Manager at Itseez, where he leads the development of OpenCV library for Android mobile devices. He manages activities for the mobile operating system's support and computer vision applications development, including performance optimization for NVIDIA's Tegra platform. Earlier he worked at Itseez on real-time computer vision systems for open source and commercial products, chief among them being stereo vision on GPU and face detection in complex environments. Kirill has a B.Sc. and an M.Sc. from Nizhniy Novgorod State University, Russia.\n\n ****\n\nI would like to thank my family for their support, my colleagues from Itseez, and Nizhniy Novgorod State University for productive discussions.\n\n**Luis D iaz Mas** considers himself a computer vision researcher and is passionate about open source and open-hardware communities. He has been working with image processing and computer vision algorithms since 2008 and is currently finishing his PhD on 3D reconstructions and action recognition. Currently he is working in CATEC (), a research center for advanced aerospace technologies, where he mainly deals with the sensorial systems of UAVs. He has participated in several national and international projects where he has proven his skills in C\/C++ programming, application development for embedded systems with Qt libraries, and his experience with GNU\/Linux distribution configuration for embedded systems. Lately he is focusing his interest in ARM and CUDA development.\n\n**Sebastian Montabone** is a Computer Engineer with a Master of Science degree in computer vision. He is the author of scientific articles pertaining to image processing and has also authored a book, _Beginning Digital Image Processing: Using Free Tools for Photographers_.\n\nEmbedded systems have also been of interest to him, especially mobile phones. He created and taught a course about the development of applications for mobile phones, and has been recognized as a Nokia developer champion.\n\nCurrently he is a Software Consultant and Entrepreneur. You can visit his blog at www.samontab.com, where he shares his current projects with the world.\n\n# www.PacktPub.com\n\n# Support files, eBooks, discount offers and more\n\nYou might want to visit www.PacktPub.com for support files and downloads related to your book.\n\nDid you know that Packt offers eBook versions of every book published, with PDF and ePub files available? You can upgrade to the eBook version at www.PacktPub.com and as a print book customer, you are entitled to a discount on the eBook copy. 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Simply use your login credentials for immediate access.\n\n# Preface\n\n_Mastering OpenCV with Practical Computer Vision Projects_ contains nine chapters, where each chapter is a tutorial for an entire project from start to finish, based on OpenCV's C++ interface including full source code. The author of each chapter was chosen for their well-regarded online contributions to the OpenCV community on that topic, and the book was reviewed by one of the main OpenCV developers. Rather than explaining the basics of OpenCV functions, this is the first book that shows how to apply OpenCV to solve whole problems, including several 3D camera projects (augmented reality, 3D Structure from Motion, Kinect interaction) and several facial analysis projects (such as, skin detection, simple face and eye detection, complex facial feature tracking, 3D head orientation estimation, and face recognition), therefore it makes a great companion to existing OpenCV books.\n\n# What this book covers\n\nChapter 1, _Cartoonifier and Skin Changer for Android_ , contains a complete tutorial and source code for both a desktop application and an Android app that automatically generates a cartoon or painting from a real camera image, with several possible types of cartoons including a skin color changer.\n\nChapter 2, _Marker-based Augmented Reality on iPhone or iPad_ , contains a complete tutorial on how to build a marker-based augmented reality (AR) application for iPad and iPhone devices with an explanation of each step and source code.\n\nChapter 3, _Marker-less Augmented Reality_ , contains a complete tutorial on how to develop a marker-less augmented reality desktop application with an explanation of what marker-less AR is and source code.\n\nChapter 4, _Exploring Structure from Motion Using OpenCV_ , contains an introduction to Structure from Motion (SfM) via an implementation of SfM concepts in OpenCV. The reader will learn how to reconstruct 3D geometry from multiple 2D images and estimate camera positions.\n\nChapter 5, _Number Plate Recognition Using SVM and Neural Networks_ , contains a complete tutorial and source code to build an automatic number plate recognition application using pattern recognition algorithms using a support vector machine and Artificial Neural Networks. The reader will learn how to train and predict pattern-recognition algorithms to decide if an image is a number plate or not. It will also help classify a set of features into a character.\n\nChapter 6, _Non-rigid Face Tracking_ , contains a complete tutorial and source code to build a dynamic face tracking system that can model and track the many complex parts of a person's face.\n\nChapter 7, _3D Head Pose Estimation Using AAM and POSIT_ , contains all the background required to understand what **Active Appearance Models** ( **AAMs** ) are and how to create them with OpenCV using a set of face frames with different facial expressions. Besides, this chapter explains how to match a given frame through fitting capabilities offered by AAMs. Then, by applying the POSIT algorithm, one can find the 3D head pose.\n\nChapter 8, _Face Recognition using Eigenfaces or Fisherfaces_ , contains a complete tutorial and source code for a real-time face-recognition application that includes basic face and eye detection to handle the rotation of faces and varying lighting conditions in the images.\n\n_Chapter 9, Developing Fluid Wall Using the Microsoft Kinect_ , covers the complete development of an interactive fluid simulation called the Fluid Wall, which uses the Kinect sensor. The chapter will explain how to use Kinect data with OpenCV's optical flow methods and integrating it into a fluid solver.\n\nYou can download this chapter from: .\n\n# What you need for this book\n\nYou don't need to have special knowledge in computer vision to read this book, but you should have good C\/C++ programming skills and basic experience with OpenCV before reading this book. Readers without experience in OpenCV may wish to read the book _Learning OpenCV_ for an introduction to the OpenCV features, or read _OpenCV 2 Cookbook_ for examples on how to use OpenCV with recommended C\/C++ patterns, because _Mastering OpenCV with Practical Computer Vision Projects_ will show you how to solve real problems, assuming you are already familiar with the basics of OpenCV and C\/C++ development.\n\nIn addition to C\/C++ and OpenCV experience, you will also need a computer, and IDE of your choice (such as Visual Studio, XCode, Eclipse, or QtCreator, running on Windows, Mac or Linux). Some chapters have further requirements, in particular:\n\n * To develop the Android app, you will need an Android device, Android development tools, and basic Android development experience.\n * To develop the iOS app, you will need an iPhone, iPad, or iPod Touch device, iOS development tools (including an Apple computer, XCode IDE, and an Apple Developer Certificate), and basic iOS and Objective-C development experience.\n * Several desktop projects require a webcam connected to your computer. Any common USB webcam should suffice, but a webcam of at least 1 megapixel may be desirable.\n * CMake is used in some projects, including OpenCV itself, to build across operating systems and compilers. A basic understanding of build systems is required, and knowledge of cross-platform building is recommended.\n * An understanding of linear algebra is expected, such as basic vector and matrix operations and eigen decomposition.\n\n# Who this book is for\n\n_Mastering OpenCV with Practical Computer Vision Projects_ is the perfect book for developers with basic OpenCV knowledge to create practical computer vision projects, as well as for seasoned OpenCV experts who want to add more computer vision topics to their skill set. It is aimed at senior computer science university students, graduates, researchers, and computer vision experts who wish to solve real problems using the OpenCV C++ interface, through practical step-by-step tutorials.\n\n# Conventions\n\nIn this book, you will find a number of styles of text that distinguish between different kinds of information. Here are some examples of these styles, and an explanation of their meaning.\n\nCode words in text are shown as follows: \"You should put most of the code of this chapter into the `cartoonifyImage()` function.\"\n\nA block of code is set as follows:\n\n int cameraNumber = 0;\n if (argc > 1)\n cameraNumber = atoi(argv[1]);\n \/\/ Get access to the camera.\n cv::VideoCapture capture;\n\nWhen we wish to draw your attention to a particular part of a code block, the relevant lines or items are set in bold:\n\n \/\/ Get access to the camera.\n cv::VideoCapture capture;\n **camera.open(cameraNumber);**\n if (!camera.isOpened()) {\n std::cerr << \"ERROR: Could not access the camera or video!\" <<\n\n**New terms** and **important words** are shown in bold. Words that you see on the screen, in menus or dialog boxes for example, appear in the text like this: \"clicking the **Next** button moves you to the next screen\".\n\n### Note\n\nWarnings or important notes appear in a box like this.\n\n### Tip\n\nTips and tricks appear like this.\n\n# Reader feedback\n\nFeedback from our readers is always welcome. Let us know what you think about this book--what you liked or may have disliked. Reader feedback is important for us to develop titles that you really get the most out of.\n\nTo send us general feedback, simply send an e-mail to ``, and mention the book title via the subject of your message.\n\nIf there is a topic that you have expertise in and you are interested in either writing or contributing to a book, see our author guide on www.packtpub.com\/authors.\n\n# Customer support\n\nNow that you are the proud owner of a Packt book, we have a number of things to help you to get the most from your purchase.\n\n## Downloading the example code\n\nYou can download the example code files for all Packt books you have purchased from your account at . If you purchased this book elsewhere, you can visit and register to have the files e-mailed directly to you.\n\n## Errata\n\nAlthough we have taken every care to ensure the accuracy of our content, mistakes do happen. If you find a mistake in one of our books--maybe a mistake in the text or the code--we would be grateful if you would report this to us. By doing so, you can save other readers from frustration and help us improve subsequent versions of this book. If you find any errata, please report them by visiting , selecting your book, clicking on the **errata** **submission** **form** link, and entering the details of your errata. Once your errata are verified, your submission will be accepted and the errata will be uploaded on our website, or added to any list of existing errata, under the Errata section of that title. Any existing errata can be viewed by selecting your title from .\n\n## Piracy\n\nPiracy of copyright material on the Internet is an ongoing problem across all media. At Packt, we take the protection of our copyright and licenses very seriously. If you come across any illegal copies of our works, in any form, on the Internet, please provide us with the location address or website name immediately so that we can pursue a remedy.\n\nPlease contact us at `` with a link to the suspected pirated material.\n\nWe appreciate your help in protecting our authors, and our ability to bring you valuable content.\n\n## Questions\n\nYou can contact us at `` if you are having a problem with any aspect of the book, and we will do our best to address it.\n\n# Chapter 1. Cartoonifier and Skin Changer for Android\n\nThis chapter will show you how to write some image-processing filters for Android smartphones and tablets, written first for desktop (in C\/C++) and then ported to Android (with the same C\/C++ code but with a Java GUI), since this is the recommended scenario when developing for mobile devices. This chapter will cover:\n\n * How to convert a real-life image to a sketch drawing\n * How to convert to a painting and overlay the sketch to produce a cartoon\n * A scary \"evil\" mode to create bad characters instead of good characters\n * A basic skin detector and skin color changer, to give someone green \"alien\" skin\n * How to convert the project from a desktop app to a mobile app\n\nThe following screenshot shows the final Cartoonifier app running on an Android tablet:\n\nWe want to make the real-world camera frames look like they are genuinely from a cartoon. The basic idea is to fill the flat parts with some color and then draw thick lines on the strong edges. In other words, the flat areas should become much more flat and the edges should become much more distinct. We will detect edges and smooth the flat areas, then draw enhanced edges back on top to produce a cartoon or comic book effect.\n\nWhen developing mobile computer vision apps, it is a good idea to build a fully working desktop version first before porting it to mobile, since it is much easier to develop and debug a desktop program than a mobile app! This chapter will therefore begin with a complete Cartoonifier desktop program that you can create using your favorite IDE (for example, Visual Studio, XCode, Eclipse, QtCreator, and so on). After it is working properly on the desktop, the last section shows how to port it to Android (or potentially iOS) with Eclipse. Since we will create two different projects that mostly share the same source code with different graphical user interfaces, you could create a library that is linked by both projects, but for simplicity we will put the desktop and Android projects next to each other, and set up the Android project to access some files (`cartoon.cpp` and `cartoon.h` , containing all the image processing code) from the `Desktop` folder. For example:\n\n * `C:\\Cartoonifier_Desktop\\cartoon.cpp`\n * `C:\\Cartoonifier_Desktop\\cartoon.h`\n * `C:\\Cartoonifier_Desktop\\main_desktop.cpp`\n * `C:\\Cartoonifier_Android\\...`\n\nThe desktop app uses an OpenCV GUI window, initializes the camera, and with each camera frame calls the `cartoonifyImage()` function containing most of the code in this chapter. It then displays the processed image on the GUI window. Similarly, the Android app uses an Android GUI window, initializes the camera using Java, and with each camera frame calls the exact same C++ `cartoonifyImage()` function as previously mentioned, but with Android menus and finger-touch input. This chapter will explain how to create the desktop app from scratch, and the Android app from one of the OpenCV Android sample projects. So first you should create a desktop program in your favorite IDE, with a `main_desktop.cpp` file to hold the GUI code given in the following sections, such as the main loop, webcam functionality, and keyboard input, and you should create a `cartoon.cpp` file that will be shared between projects. You should put most of the code of this chapter into `cartoon.cpp` as a function called `cartoonifyImage()`.\n\n# Accessing the webcam\n\nTo access a computer's webcam or camera device, you can simply call `open()` on a `cv::VideoCapture` object (OpenCV's method of accessing your camera device), and pass `0` as the default camera ID number. Some computers have multiple cameras attached or they do not work as default camera `0`; so it is common practice to allow the user to pass the desired camera number as a command-line argument, in case they want to try camera 1, 2, or -1, for example. We will also try to set the camera resolution to 640 x 480 using `cv::VideoCapture::set()` , in order to run faster on high-resolution cameras.\n\n### Note\n\nDepending on your camera model, driver, or system, OpenCV might not change the properties of your camera. It is not important for this project, so don't worry if it does not work with your camera.\n\nYou can put this code in the `main()` function of your `main_desktop.cpp`:\n\n int cameraNumber = 0;\n if (argc > 1)\n cameraNumber = atoi(argv[1]);\n\n \/\/ Get access to the camera.\n cv::VideoCapture camera;\n **camera.open(cameraNumber);**\n if (!camera.isOpened()) {\n std::cerr << \"ERROR: Could not access the camera or video!\" <<\n std::endl;\n exit(1);\n }\n\n \/\/ Try to set the camera resolution.\n camera.set(cv::CV_CAP_PROP_FRAME_WIDTH, 640);\n camera.set(cv::CV_CAP_PROP_FRAME_HEIGHT, 480);\n\nAfter the webcam has been initialized, you can grab the current camera image as a `cv::Mat` object (OpenCV's image container). You can grab each camera frame by using the C++ streaming operator from your `cv::VideoCapture` object into a `cv::Mat` object, just like if you were getting input from a console.\n\n### Note\n\nOpenCV makes it very easy to load a video file (such as an AVI or MPG file) and use it instead of a webcam. The only difference to your code would be that you should create the `cv::VideoCapture` object with the video filename, such as `camera.open(\"my_video.avi\")`, rather than the camera number, such as `camera.open(0)`. Both methods create a `cv::VideoCapture` object that can be used in the same way.\n\n# Main camera processing loop for a desktop app\n\nIf you want to display a GUI window on the screen using OpenCV, you call `cv::imshow()` for each image, but you must also call `cv::waitKey()` once per frame, otherwise your windows will not update at all! Calling `cv::waitKey(0)` waits indefinitely until the user hits a key in the window, but a positive number such as `waitKey(20)` or higher will wait for at least that many milliseconds.\n\nPut this main loop in `main_desktop.cpp`, as the basis for your real-time camera app:\n\n while (true) {\n \/\/ Grab the next camera frame.\n cv::Mat cameraFrame;\n **camera >> cameraFrame;**\n if (cameraFrame.empty()) {\n std::cerr << \"ERROR: Couldn't grab a camera frame.\" <<\n std::endl;\n exit(1);\n }\n \/\/ Create a blank output image, that we will draw onto.\n cv::Mat displayedFrame(cameraFrame.size(), cv::CV_8UC3);\n\n \/\/ Run the cartoonifier filter on the camera frame.\n **cartoonifyImage(cameraFrame, displayedFrame);**\n\n \/\/ Display the processed image onto the screen.\n imshow(\"Cartoonifier\", displayedFrame);\n\n \/\/ IMPORTANT: Wait for at least 20 milliseconds,\n \/\/ so that the image can be displayed on the screen!\n \/\/ Also checks if a key was pressed in the GUI window.\n \/\/ Note that it should be a \"char\" to support Linux.\n **char keypress = cv::waitKey(20); \/\/ Need this to see anything!**\n if (keypress == 27) { \/\/ Escape Key\n \/\/ Quit the program!\n break;\n }\n }\/\/end while\n\n# Generating a black-and-white sketch\n\nTo obtain a sketch (black-and-white drawing) of the camera frame, we will use an edge-detection filter; whereas to obtain a color painting, we will use an edge-preserving filter (bilateral filter) to further smooth the flat regions while keeping the edges intact. By overlaying the sketch drawing on top of the color painting, we obtain a cartoon effect as shown earlier in the screenshot of the final app.\n\nThere are many different edge detection filters, such as Sobel, Scharr, Laplacian filters, or Canny-edge detector. We will use a Laplacian edge filter since it produces edges that look most similar to hand sketches compared to Sobel or Scharr, and that are quite consistent compared to a Canny-edge detector, which produces very clean line drawings but is affected more by random noise in the camera frames and the line drawings therefore often change drastically between frames.\n\nNevertheless, we still need to reduce the noise in the image before we use a Laplacian edge filter. We will use a Median filter because it is good at removing noise while keeping edges sharp; also, it is not as slow as a bilateral filter. Since Laplacian filters use grayscale images, we must convert from OpenCV's default BGR format to Grayscale. In your empty file `cartoon.cpp`, put this code at the top so you can access OpenCV and Standard C++ templates without typing `cv::` and `std::` everywhere:\n\n \/\/ Include OpenCV's C++ Interface\n #include \"opencv2\/opencv.hpp\"\n\n using namespace cv;\n using namespace std;\n\nPut this and all the remaining code in a `cartoonifyImage()` function in the `cartoon.cpp` file:\n\n Mat gray;\n cvtColor(srcColor, gray, CV_BGR2GRAY);\n const int MEDIAN_BLUR_FILTER_SIZE = 7;\n **medianBlur(gray, gray, MEDIAN_BLUR_FILTER_SIZE);**\n Mat edges;\n const int LAPLACIAN_FILTER_SIZE = 5;\n **Laplacian(gray, edges, CV_8U, LAPLACIAN_FILTER_SIZE);**\n\nThe Laplacian filter produces edges with varying brightness, so to make the edges look more like a sketch we apply a binary threshold to make the edges either white or black:\n\n Mat mask;\n const int EDGES_THRESHOLD = 80;\n **threshold(edges, mask, EDGES_THRESHOLD, 255, THRESH_BINARY_INV);**\n\nIn the following figure, you can see the original image (left side) and the generated edge mask (right side) that looks similar to a sketch drawing. After we generate a color painting (explained later), we can put this edge mask on top for black line drawings:\n\n# Generating a color painting and a cartoon\n\nA strong bilateral filter smoothes flat regions while keeping edges sharp, and is therefore great as an automatic cartoonifier or painting filter, except that it is extremely slow (that is, measured in seconds or even minutes rather than milliseconds!). We will therefore use some tricks to obtain a nice cartoonifier that still runs at an acceptable speed. The most important trick we can use is to perform bilateral filtering at a lower resolution. It will have a similar effect as at full resolution, but will run much faster. Let's reduce the total number of pixels by a factor of four (for example, half width and half height):\n\n Size size = srcColor.size();\n Size smallSize;\n smallSize.width = size.width\/2;\n smallSize.height = size.height\/2;\n Mat smallImg = Mat(smallSize, CV_8UC3);\n **resize(srcColor, smallImg, smallSize, 0,0, INTER_LINEAR);**\n\nRather than applying a large bilateral filter, we will apply many small bilateral filters to produce a strong cartoon effect in less time. We will truncate the filter (see the following figure) so that instead of performing a whole filter (for example, a filter size of 21 x 21 when the bell curve is 21 pixels wide), it just uses the minimum filter size needed for a convincing result (for example, with a filter size of just 9 x 9 even if the bell curve is 21 pixels wide). This truncated filter will apply the major part of the filter (the gray area) without wasting time on the minor part of the filter (the white area under the curve), so it will run several times faster:\n\nWe have four parameters that control the bilateral filter: color strength, positional strength, size, and repetition count. We need a temp Mat since `bilateralFilter()` can't overwrite its input (referred to as \"in-place processing\"), but we can apply one filter storing a temp Mat and another filter storing back to the input:\n\n Mat tmp = Mat(smallSize, CV_8UC3);\n int repetitions = 7; \/\/ Repetitions for strong cartoon effect.\n for (int i=0; i, to run the same code on the desktop that we run on Android).\n\n### Note\n\nThis Android project uses a camera for live input, so it won't work on the Android Emulator. It needs a real Android 2.2 (Froyo) or later device with a camera.\n\nThe user interface of an Android app should be written using Java, but for the image processing we will use the same `cartoon.cpp` C++ file that we used for the desktop. To use C\/C++ code in an Android app, we must use the **NDK** ( **Native Development Kit** ) that is based on **JNI** ( **Java Native Interface** ). We will create a JNI wrapper for our `cartoonifyImage()` function so it can be used from Android with Java.\n\n## Setting up an Android project that uses OpenCV\n\nThe Android port of OpenCV changes significantly each year, as does Android's method for camera access, so a book is not the best place to describe how it should be set up. Therefore the reader can follow the latest instructions at to set up and build a native (NDK) Android app with OpenCV. OpenCV comes with an Android sample project called Sample3Native that accesses the camera using OpenCV and displays the modified image on the screen. This sample project is useful as a base for the Android app developed in this chapter, so readers should familiarize themselves with this sample app (currently available at ). We will then modify an Android OpenCV base project so that it can cartoonify the camera's video frames and display the resulting frames on the screen.\n\nIf you are stuck with OpenCV development for Android, for example if you are receiving a compile error or the camera always gives blank frames, try searching these websites for solutions:\n\n 1. The Android Binary Package NDK tutorial for OpenCV, mentioned previously.\n 2. The official Android-OpenCV Google group ().\n 3. OpenCV's Q & A site ().\n 4. StackOverflow Q & A site ().\n 5. The Web (for example ).\n 6. If you still can't fix your problem after trying all of these, you should post a question on the Android-OpenCV Google group with details of the error message, and so on.\n\n### Color formats used for image processing on Android\n\nWhen developing for the desktop, we only have to deal with BGR pixel format because the input (from camera, image, or video file) is in BGR format and so is the output (HighGUI window, image, or video file). But when developing for mobiles, you typically have to convert native color formats yourself.\n\n### Input color format from the camera\n\nLooking at the sample code in `jni\\jni_part.cpp`, the `myuv` variable is the color image in Android's default camera format: `\"NV21\" YUV420sp`. The first part of the array is the grayscale pixel array, followed by a half-sized pixel array that alternates between the U and V color channels. So if we just want to access a grayscale image, we can get it directly from the first part of a `YUV420sp` semi-planar image without any conversions. But if we want a color image (for example, BGR or BGRA color format), we must convert the color format using `cvtColor()`.\n\n### Output color format for display\n\nLooking at the Sample3Native code from OpenCV, the `mbgra` variable is the color image to be displayed on the Android device, in BGRA format. OpenCV's default format is BGR (the opposite byte order of RGB), and BGRA just adds an unused byte on the end of each pixel, so that each pixel is stored as Blue-Green-Red-Unused. You can either do all your processing in OpenCV's default BGR format and then convert your final output from BGR to BGRA before display on the screen, or you can ensure your image processing code can handle the BGRA format instead of or in addition to BGR format. This can often be simple to allow in OpenCV because many OpenCV functions accept the BGRA, but you must ensure that you create images with the same number of channels as the input, by seeing if the `Mat::channels()` value in your images are 3 or 4. Also, if you directly access pixels in your code, you would need separate code to handle 3-channel BGR and 4-channel BGRA images.\n\n### Note\n\nSome CV operations run faster with BGRA pixels (since it is aligned to 32-bit) while some run faster with BGR (since it requires less memory to read and write), so for maximum efficiency you should support both BGR and BGRA and then find which color format runs fastest overall in your app.\n\nLet's begin with something simple: getting access to the camera frame in OpenCV but not processing it, and instead just displaying it on the screen. This can be done easily with Java code, but it is important to know how to do it using OpenCV too. As mentioned previously, the camera image arrives at our C++ code in `YUV420sp` format and should leave in BGRA format. So if we prepare our `cv::Mat` for input and output, we just need to convert from `YUV420sp` to BGRA using `cvtColor`. To write C\/C++ code for an Android Java app, we need to use special JNI function names that match the Java class and package name that will use that JNI function, in the format:\n\n JNIEXPORT JNICALL Java___(JNIEnv* env, jobject, )\n\nSo let's create a `ShowPreview()` C\/C++ function that is used from a `CartoonifierView` Java class in a `Cartoonifier` Java package. Add this `ShowPreview()` C\/C++ function to `jni\\jni_part.cpp`:\n\n \/\/ Just show the plain camera image without modifying it.\n JNIEXPORT void JNICALL Java_com_Cartoonifier_CartoonifierView_ShowPreview(\n JNIEnv* env, jobject,\n jint width, jint height, jbyteArray yuv, jintArray bgra)\n {\n jbyte* _yuv = env->GetByteArrayElements(yuv, 0);\n jint* _bgra = env->GetIntArrayElements(bgra, 0);\n\n Mat myuv = Mat(height + height\/2, width, CV_8UC1, (uchar *)_yuv);\n Mat mbgra = Mat(height, width, CV_8UC4, (uchar *)_bgra);\n\n \/\/ Convert the color format from the camera's\n \/\/ NV21 \"YUV420sp\" format to an Android BGRA color image.\n **cvtColor(myuv, mbgra, CV_YUV420sp2BGRA);**\n\n \/\/ OpenCV can now access\/modify the BGRA image \"mbgra\" ...\n\n env->ReleaseIntArrayElements(bgra, _bgra, 0);\n env->ReleaseByteArrayElements(yuv, _yuv, 0);\n }\n\nWhile this code looks complex at first, the first two lines of the function just give us native access to the given Java arrays, the next two lines construct `cv::Mat` objects around the given pixel buffers (that is, they don't allocate new images, they make `myuv` access the pixels in the `_yuv` array, and so on), and the last two lines of the function release the native lock we placed on the Java arrays. The only real work we did in the function is to convert from YUV to BGRA format, so this function is the base that we can use for new functions. Now let's extend this to analyze and modify the BGRA `cv::Mat` before display.\n\n### Note\n\nThe `jni\\jni_part.cpp` sample code in OpenCV v2.4.2 uses this code:\n\n cvtColor(myuv, mbgra, CV_YUV420sp2BGR, 4);\n\nThis looks like it converts to 3-channel BGR format (OpenCV's default format), but due to the \"`4\"` parameter it actually converts to 4-channel BGRA (Android's default output format) instead! So it's identical to this code, which is less confusing:\n\n cvtColor(myuv, mbgra, CV_YUV420sp2BGRA);\n\nSince we now have a BGRA image as input and output instead of OpenCV's default BGR, it leaves us with two options for how to process it:\n\n * Convert from BGRA to BGR before we perform our image processing, do our processing in BGR, and then convert the output to BGRA so it can be displayed by Android\n * Modify all our code to handle BGRA format in addition to (or instead of) BGR format, so we don't need to perform slow conversions between BGRA and BGR\n\nFor simplicity, we will just apply the color conversions from BGRA to BGR and back, rather than supporting both BGR and BGRA formats. If you are writing a real-time app, you should consider adding 4-channel BGRA support in your code to potentially improve performance. We will do one simple change to make things slightly faster: we are converting the input from `YUV420sp` to BGRA and then from BGRA to BGR, so we might as well just convert straight from `YUV420sp` to BGR!\n\nIt is a good idea to build and run with the `ShowPreview()` function (shown previously) on your device so you have something to go back to if you have problems with your C\/C++ code later. To call it from Java, we add the Java declaration just next to the Java declaration of `CartoonifyImage()` near the bottom of `CartoonifyView.java`:\n\n public native void ShowPreview(int width, int height,\n byte[] yuv, int[] rgba);\n\nWe can then call it just like the OpenCV sample code called `FindFeatures()`. Put this in the middle of the `processFrame()` function of `CartoonifierView.java`:\n\n ShowPreview(getFrameWidth(), getFrameHeight(), data, rgba);\n\nYou should build and run it now on your device, just to see the real-time camera preview.\n\n## Adding the cartoonifier code to the Android NDK app\n\nWe want to add the `cartoon.cpp` file that we used for the desktop app. The file `jni\\Android.mk` sets the C\/C++\/Assembly source files, header search paths, native libraries, and GCC compiler settings for your project:\n\n 1. Add `cartoon.cpp` (and `ImageUtils_0.7.cpp` if you want easier debugging) to `LOCAL_SRC_FILES`, but remember that they are in the desktop folder instead of the default `jni` folder. So add this after: `LOCAL_SRC_FILES := jni_part.cpp`:\n\n LOCAL_SRC_FILES += ..\/..\/Cartoonifier_Desktop\/cartoon.cpp\n LOCAL_SRC_FILES += ..\/..\/Cartoonifier_Desktop\/ImageUtils_0.7.cpp\n\n 2. Add the header file search path so it can find `cartoon.h` in the common parent folder:\n\n LOCAL_C_INCLUDES += $(LOCAL_PATH)\/..\/..\/Cartoonifier_Desktop\n\n 3. In the file `jni\\jni_part.cpp`, insert this near the top instead of `#include `:\n\n #include \"cartoon.h\" \/\/ Cartoonifier.\n #include \"ImageUtils.h\" \/\/ (Optional) OpenCV debugging \/\/ functions.\n\n 4. Add a JNI function `CartoonifyImage()` to this file; this will cartoonify the image. We can start by duplicating the function `ShowPreview()` we created previously, which just shows the camera preview without modifying it. Notice that we convert directly from `YUV420sp` to BGR since we don't want to process BGRA images:\n\n \/\/ Modify the camera image using the Cartoonifier filter.\n JNIEXPORT void JNICALL Java_com_Cartoonifier_CartoonifierView_CartoonifyImage(\n JNIEnv* env, jobject,\n jint width, jint height, jbyteArray yuv, jintArray bgra)\n {\n \/\/ Get native access to the given Java arrays.\n jbyte* _yuv = env->GetByteArrayElements(yuv, 0);\n jint* _bgra = env->GetIntArrayElements(bgra, 0);\n\n \/\/ Create OpenCV wrappers around the input & output data.\n Mat myuv(height + height\/2, width, CV_8UC1, (uchar *)_yuv);\n Mat mbgra(height, width, CV_8UC4, (uchar *)_bgra);\n\n \/\/ Convert the color format from the camera's YUV420sp \/\/ semi-planar\n \/\/ format to OpenCV's default BGR color image.\n **Mat mbgr(height, width, CV_8UC3); \/\/ Allocate a new image buffer.**\n **cvtColor(myuv, mbgr, CV_YUV420sp2BGR);**\n\n \/\/ OpenCV can now access\/modify the BGR image \"mbgr\", and should\n \/\/ store the output as the BGR image \"displayedFrame\".\n Mat displayedFrame(mbgr.size(), CV_8UC3);\n\n \/\/ TEMPORARY: Just show the camera image without modifying it.\n displayedFrame = mbgr;\n\n \/\/ Convert the output from OpenCV's BGR to Android's BGRA \/\/format.\n **cvtColor(displayedFrame, mbgra, CV_BGR2BGRA);**\n\n **** \/\/ Release the native lock we placed on the Java arrays.\n **** env->ReleaseIntArrayElements(bgra, _bgra, 0);\n **** env->ReleaseByteArrayElements(yuv, _yuv, 0);\n }\n\n 5. The previous code does not modify the image, but we want to process the image using the cartoonifier we developed earlier in this chapter. So now let's insert a call to our existing `cartoonifyImage()` function that we created in `cartoon.cpp` for the desktop app. Replace the temporary line of code `displayedFrame = mbgr` with this:\n\n **cartoonifyImage(mbgr, displayedFrame);**\n\n 6. That's it! Build the code (Eclipse should compile the C\/C++ code for you using `ndk-build`) and run it on your device. You should have a working Cartoonifier Android app (right at the beginning of this chapter there is a sample screenshot showing what you should expect)! If it does not build or run, go back over the steps and fix the problems (look at the code provided with this book if you wish). Continue with the next steps once it is working.\n\n### Reviewing the Android app\n\nYou will quickly notice four issues with the app that is now running on your device:\n\n * It is extremely slow; many seconds per frame! So we should just display the camera preview and only cartoonify a camera frame when the user has touched the screen to say it is a good photo.\n * It needs to handle user input, such as to change modes between sketch, paint, evil, or alien modes. We will add these to the Android menu bar.\n * It would be great if we could save the cartoonified result to image files, to share with others. Whenever the user touches the screen for a cartoonified image, we will save the result as an image file on the user's SD card and display it in the Android Gallery.\n * There is a lot of random noise in the sketch edge detector. We will create a special \"pepper\" noise reduction filter to deal with this later.\n\n### Cartoonifying the image when the user taps the screen\n\nTo show the camera preview (until the user wants to cartoonify the selected camera frame), we can just call the `ShowPreview()` JNI function we wrote earlier. We will also wait for touch events from the user before cartoonifying the camera image. We only want to cartoonify one image when the user touches the screen; therefore we set a flag to say the next camera frame should be cartoonified and then that flag is reset, so it continues with the camera preview again. But this would mean the cartoonified image is only displayed for a fraction of a second and then the next camera preview will be displayed again. So we will use a second flag to say that the current image should be frozen on the screen for a few seconds before the camera frames overwrite it, to give the user some time to see it:\n\n 1. Add the following header imports near the top of the `CartoonifierApp.java` file in the `src\\com\\Cartoonifier` folder:\n\n import android.view.View;\n import android.view.View.OnTouchListener;\n import android.view.MotionEvent;\n\n 2. Modify the class definition near the top of `CartoonifierApp.java`:\n\n public class CartoonifierApp\n extends Activity implements OnTouchListener {\n\n 3. Insert this code on the bottom of the `onCreate()` function:\n\n \/\/ Call our \"onTouch()\" callback function whenever the user \/\/ touches the screen.\n mView.setOnTouchListener(this);\n\n 4. Add the function `onTouch()` to process the touch event:\n\n public boolean onTouch(View v, MotionEvent m) {\n \/\/ Ignore finger movement event, we just care about when the \n \/\/ finger first touches the screen.\n if (m.getAction() != MotionEvent.ACTION_DOWN) {\n return false; \/\/ We didn't use this touch movement event.\n }\n Log.i(TAG, \"onTouch down event\");\n \/\/ Signal that we should cartoonify the next camera frame and save \n \/\/ it, instead of just showing the preview.\n mView.nextFrameShouldBeSaved(getBaseContext());\n return true;\n }\n\n 5. Now we need to add the `nextFrameShouldBeSaved()`function to `CartoonifierView.java`:\n\n \/\/ Cartoonify the next camera frame & save it instead of preview.\n protected void nextFrameShouldBeSaved(Context context) {\n bSaveThisFrame = true;\n }\n\n 6. Add these variables near the top of the `CartoonifierView` class:\n\n private boolean bSaveThisFrame = false;\n private boolean bFreezeOutput = false;\n private static final int FREEZE_OUTPUT_MSECS = 3000;\n\n 7. The `processFrame()` function of `CartoonifierView` can now switch between cartoon and preview, but should also make sure to only display something if it is not trying to show a frozen cartoon image for a few seconds. So replace `processFrame()` with this:\n\n @Override\n protected Bitmap processFrame(byte[] data) {\n \/\/ Store the output image to the RGBA member variable.\n int[] rgba = mRGBA;\n \/\/ Only process the camera or update the screen if we aren't \n \/\/ supposed to just show the cartoon image.\n if (bFreezeOutputbFreezeOutput) {\n \/\/ Only needs to be triggered here once.\n bFreezeOutput = false;\n \/\/ Wait for several seconds, doing nothing!\n try {\n wait(FREEZE_OUTPUT_MSECS);\n } catch (InterruptedException e) {\n e.printStackTrace();\n }\n return null;\n }\n if (!bSaveThisFrame) {\n ShowPreview(getFrameWidth(), getFrameHeight(), data, rgba);\n }\n else {\n \/\/ Just do it once, then go back to preview mode.\n bSaveThisFrame = false;\n \/\/ Don't update the screen for a while, so the user can \/\/ see the cartoonifier output.\n bFreezeOutput = true;\n\n CartoonifyImage(getFrameWidth(), getFrameHeight(), data,\n rgba, m_sketchMode, m_alienMode, m_evilMode,\n m_debugMode);\n }\n\n \/\/ Put the processed image into the Bitmap object that will be \/\/ returned for display on the screen.\n Bitmap bmp = mBitmap;\n bmp.setPixels(rgba, 0, getFrameWidth(), 0, 0, getFrameWidth(),\n getFrameHeight());\n\n return bmp;\n }\n\n 8. You should be able to build and run it to verify that the app works nicely now.\n\n### Saving the image to a file and to the Android picture gallery\n\nWe will save the output both as a PNG file and display in the Android picture gallery. The Android Gallery is designed for JPEG files, but JPEG is bad for cartoon images with solid colors and edges, so we'll use a tedious method to add PNG images to the gallery. We will create a Java function `savePNGImageToGallery()` to perform this for us. At the bottom of the `processFrame()` function just seen previously, we see that an Android `Bitmap` object is created with the output data; so we need a way to save the `Bitmap` object to a PNG file. OpenCV's `imwrite()` Java function can be used to save to a PNG file, but this would require linking to both OpenCV's Java API and OpenCV's C\/C++ API (just like the OpenCV4Android sample project \"tutorial-4-mixed\" does). Since we don't need the OpenCV Java API for anything else, the following code will just show how to save PNG files using the Android API instead of the OpenCV Java API:\n\n 1. Android's `Bitmap` class can save files to PNG format, so let's use it. Also, we need to choose a filename for the image. Let's use the current date and time, to allow saving many files and making it possible for the user to remember when it was taken. Insert this just before the `return bmp` statement of `processFrame()`:\n\n if (bFreezeOutput) {\n \/\/ Get the current date & time\n SimpleDateFormat s = new SimpleDateFormat(\"yyyy-MM-dd,HH-mm-ss\");\n String timestamp = s.format(new Date());\n String baseFilename = \"Cartoon\" + timestamp + \".png\";\n\n \/\/ Save the processed image as a PNG file on the SD card and show \/\/ it in the Android Gallery.\n savePNGImageToGallery(bmp, mContext, baseFilename);\n }\n\n 2. Add this to the top section of `CartoonifierView.java`:\n\n \/\/ For saving Bitmaps to file and the Android picture gallery.\n import android.graphics.Bitmap.CompressFormat;\n import android.net.Uri;\n import android.os.Environment;\n import android.provider.MediaStore;\n import android.provider.MediaStore.Images;\n import android.text.format.DateFormat;\n import android.util.Log;\n import java.io.BufferedOutputStream;\n import java.io.File;\n import java.io.FileOutputStream;\n import java.io.IOException;\n import java.io.OutputStream;\n import java.text.SimpleDateFormat;\n import java.util.Date;\n\n 3. Insert this inside the `CartoonifierView` class, on the top:\n\n private static final String TAG = \"CartoonifierView\";\n private Context mContext; \/\/ So we can access the Android \/\/ Gallery.\n\n 4. Add this to your `nextFrameShouldBeSaved()` function in `CartoonifierView`:\n\n mContext = context; \/\/ Save the Android context, for GUI \/\/ access.\n\n 5. Add the `savePNGImageToGallery()` function to `CartoonifierView`:\n\n \/\/ Save the processed image as a PNG file on the SD card\n \/\/ and shown in the Android Gallery. \n protected void savePNGImageToGallery(Bitmap bmp, Context context,\n String baseFilename)\n {\n try {\n \/\/ Get the file path to the SD card.\n String baseFolder = \\\n Environment.getExternalStoragePublicDirectory( \\\n Environment.DIRECTORY_PICTURES).getAbsolutePath() \\\n + \"\/\";\n File file = new File(baseFolder + baseFilename);\n Log.i(TAG, \"Saving the processed image to file [\" + \\\n file.getAbsolutePath() + \"]\");\n\n \/\/ Open the file.\n OutputStream out = new BufferedOutputStream(\n new FileOutputStream(file));\n \/\/ Save the image file as PNG.\n **bmp.compress(CompressFormat.PNG, 100, out);**\n \/\/ Make sure it is saved to file soon, because we are about\n \/\/ to add it to the Gallery.\n out.flush();\n out.close();\n\n \/\/ Add the PNG file to the Android Gallery.\n ContentValues image = new ContentValues();\n image.put(Images.Media.TITLE, baseFilename);\n image.put(Images.Media.DISPLAY_NAME, baseFilename);\n image.put(Images.Media.DESCRIPTION,\n \"Processed by the Cartoonifier App\");\n image.put(Images.Media.DATE_TAKEN,\n System.currentTimeMillis()); \/\/ msecs since 1970 UTC.\n image.put(Images.Media.MIME_TYPE, \"image\/png\");\n image.put(Images.Media.ORIENTATION, 0);\n image.put(Images.Media.DATA, file.getAbsolutePath());\n **Uri result = context.getContentResolver().insert(**\n **MediaStore.Images.Media.EXTERNAL_CONTENT_URI,image);**\n }\n catch (Exception e) {\n e.printStackTrace();\n }\n }\n\n 6. Android apps need permission from the user during installation if they need to store files on the device. So insert this line in `AndroidManifest.xml` just next to the similar line requesting permission for camera access:\n\n \n\n 7. Build and run the app! When you touch the screen to save a photo, you should eventually see the cartoonified image shown on the screen (perhaps after 5 or 10 seconds of processing). Once it is shown on the screen, it means it should be saved to your SD card and to your photo gallery. Exit the Cartoonifier app, open the Android Gallery app, and view the Pictures album. You should see the cartoon image as a PNG image in your screen's full resolution.\n\n## Showing an Android notification message about a saved image\n\nIf you want to show a notification message whenever a new image is saved to the SD card and Android Gallery, follow these steps; otherwise feel free to skip this section:\n\n 1. Add the following to the top section of `CartoonifierView.java`:\n\n \/\/ For showing a Notification message when saving a file.\n import android.app.Notification;\n import android.app.NotificationManager;\n import android.app.PendingIntent;\n import android.content.ContentValues;\n import android.content.Intent;\n\n 2. Add this near the top section of `CartoonifierView`:\n\n private int mNotificationID = 0;\n \/\/ To show just 1 notification.\n\n 3. Insert this inside the `if` statement below the call to `savePNGImageToGallery()` in `processFrame()`:\n\n showNotificationMessage(mContext, baseFilename);\n\n 4. Add the `showNotificationMessage()` function to `CartoonifierView`:\n\n \/\/ Show a notification message, saying we've saved another image.\n protected void showNotificationMessage(Context context,\n String filename)\n {\n \/\/ Popup a notification message in the Android status \n \/\/ bar. To make sure a notification is shown for each \n \/\/ image but only 1 is kept in the status bar at a time, \/\/ use a different ID each time\n \/\/ but delete previous messages before creating it.\n final NotificationManager mgr = (NotificationManager) \\\n context.getSystemService(Context.NOTIFICATION_SERVICE);\n\n \/\/ Close the previous popup message, so we only have 1 \/\/at a time, but it still shows a popup message for each \/\/one.\n if (mNotificationID > 0)\n mgr.cancel(mNotificationID);\n mNotificationID++;\n\n Notification notification = new Notification(R.drawable.icon,\n \"Saving to gallery (image \" + mNotificationID + \") ...\",\n System.currentTimeMillis());\n Intent intent = new Intent(context, CartoonifierView.class);\n \/\/ Close it if the user clicks on it.\n notification.flags |= Notification.FLAG_AUTO_CANCEL;\n PendingIntent pendingIntent = PendingIntent.getActivity(context,\n 0, intent, 0);\n notification.setLatestEventInfo(context, \"Cartoonifier saved \" +\n mNotificationID + \" images to Gallery\", \"Saved as '\" +\n filename + \"'\", pendingIntent);\n **mgr.notify(mNotificationID, notification);**\n }\n\n 5. Once again, build and run the app! You should see a notification message pop up whenever you touch the screen for another saved image. If you want the notification message to pop up before the long delay of image processing rather than after, move the call to `showNotificationMessage()` before the call to `cartoonifyImage()`, and move the code for generating the date and time string so that the same string is given to the notification message and the actual file is saved.\n\n### Changing cartoon modes through the Android menu bar\n\nLet's allow the user to change modes through the menu:\n\n 1. Add the following headers near the top of the file `src\\com\\Cartoonifier\\CartoonifierApp.java`:\n\n import android.view.Menu;\n import android.view.MenuItem;\n\n 2. Insert the following member variables inside the `CartoonifierApp` class:\n\n \/\/ Items for the Android menu bar.\n private MenuItem mMenuAlien;\n private MenuItem mMenuEvil;\n private MenuItem mMenuSketch;\n private MenuItem mMenuDebug;\n\n 3. Add the following functions to `CartoonifierApp`:\n\n \/** Called when the menu bar is being created by Android. *\/\n public boolean onCreateOptionsMenu(Menu menu) {\n Log.i(TAG, \"onCreateOptionsMenu\");\n mMenuSketch = menu.add(\"Sketch or Painting\");\n mMenuAlien = menu.add(\"Alien or Human\");\n mMenuEvil = menu.add(\"Evil or Good\");\n mMenuDebug = menu.add(\"[Debug mode]\");\n return true;\n }\n\n \/** Called whenever the user pressed a menu item in the menu bar. *\/\n public boolean onOptionsItemSelected(MenuItem item) {\n Log.i(TAG, \"Menu Item selected: \" + item);\n if (item == mMenuSketch)\n mView.toggleSketchMode();\n else if (item == mMenuAlien)\n mView.toggleAlienMode();\n else if (item == mMenuEvil)\n mView.toggleEvilMode();\n else if (item == mMenuDebug)\n mView.toggleDebugMode();\n return true;\n }\n\n 4. Insert the following member variables inside the `CartoonifierView` class:\n\n private boolean m_sketchMode = false;\n private boolean m_alienMode = false;\n private boolean m_evilMode = false;\n private boolean m_debugMode = false;\n\n 5. Add the following functions to `CartoonifierView`:\n\n protected void toggleSketchMode() {\n m_sketchMode = !m_sketchMode;\n }\n protected void toggleAlienMode() {\n m_alienMode = !m_alienMode;\n }\n protected void toggleEvilMode() {\n m_evilMode = !m_evilMode;\n }\n protected void toggleDebugMode() {\n m_debugMode = !m_debugMode;\n }\n\n 6. We need to pass the mode values to the `cartoonifyImage()` JNI code, so let's send them as arguments. Modify the Java declaration of `CartoonifyImage()` in `CartoonifierView`:\n\n public native void CartoonifyImage(int width, int height,byte[] yuv,\n int[] rgba, boolean sketchMode, boolean alienMode,\n boolean evilMode, boolean debugMode);\n\n 7. Now modify the Java code so we pass the current mode values in `processFrame()`:\n\n CartoonifyImage(getFrameWidth(), getFrameHeight(), data,rgba,\n m_sketchMode, m_alienMode, m_evilMode, m_debugMode);\n\n 8. The JNI declaration of `CartoonifyImage()` in `jni\\jni_part.cpp` should now be:\n\n JNIEXPORT void JNICALL Java_com_Cartoonifier_CartoonifierView_CartoonifyImage(\n JNIEnv* env, jobject, jint width, jint height,\n jbyteArray yuv, jintArray bgra, jboolean sketchMode,\n jboolean alienMode, jboolean evilMode, jboolean debugMode)\n\n 9. We then need to pass the modes to the C\/C++ code in `cartoon.cpp` from the JNI function in `jni\\jni_part.cpp`. When developing for Android we can only show one GUI window at a time, but on a desktop it is handy to show extra windows while debugging. So instead of taking a Boolean flag for `debugMode`, let's pass a number that would be `0` for non-debug, 1 for debug on mobile (where creating a GUI window in OpenCV would cause a crash!), and 2 for debug on desktop (where we can create as many extra windows as we want):\n\n int debugType = 0;\n if (debugMode)\n debugType = 1;\n\n cartoonifyImage(mbgr, displayedFrame, sketchMode, alienMode, evilMode, debugType);\n\n 10. Update the actual C\/C++ implementation in `cartoon.cpp`:\n\n void cartoonifyImage(Mat srcColor, Mat dst, bool sketchMode,\n bool alienMode, bool evilMode, int debugType)\n {\n\n 11. And update the C\/C++ declaration in `cartoon.h`:\n\n void cartoonifyImage(Mat srcColor, Mat dst, bool sketchMode,\n bool alienMode, bool evilMode, int debugType);\n\n 12. Build and run it; then try pressing the small options-menu button on the bottom of the window. You should find that the sketch mode is real-time, whereas the paint mode has a large delay due to the bilateral filter.\n\n## Reducing the random pepper noise from the sketch image\n\nMost of the cameras in current smartphones and tablets have significant image noise. This is normally acceptable, but it has a large effect on our 5 x 5 Laplacian-edge filter. The edge mask (shown as the sketch mode) will often have thousands of small blobs of black pixels called \"pepper\" noise, made of several black pixels next to each other in a white background. We are already using a Median filter, which is usually strong enough to remove pepper noise, but in our case it may not be strong enough. Our edge mask is mostly a pure white background (value of 255) with some black edges (value of 0) and the dots of noise (also values of 0). We could use a standard closing morphological operator, but it will remove a lot of edges. So, instead, we will apply a custom filter that removes small black regions that are surrounded completely by white pixels. This will remove a lot of noise while having little effect on actual edges.\n\nWe will scan the image for black pixels, and at each black pixel we'll check the border of the 5 x 5 square around it to see if all the 5 x 5 border pixels are white. If they are all white we know we have a small island of black noise, so we fill the whole block with white pixels to remove the black island. For simplicity in our 5 x 5 filter, we will ignore the two border pixels around the image and leave them as they are.\n\nThe following figure shows the original image from an Android tablet on the left side, with a sketch mode in the center (showing small black dots of pepper noise), and the result of our pepper-noise removal shown on the right side, where the skin looks cleaner:\n\nThe following code can be named as the function `removePepperNoise()`. This function will edit the image in place for simplicity:\n\n void removePepperNoise(Mat &mask)\n {\n for (int y=2; y) or by adding face detection (see the _Face Detection_ section of Chapter 8, _Face Recognition using Eigenfaces_ ) to the skin detector, so that it detects where the user's face is rather than asking the user to put their face in the center of the screen. Beware that face detection may take many seconds on some devices or high-resolution cameras, so this approach may be limited by the comparatively slow processing speed, but smartphones and tablets are getting significantly faster every year, so this will become less of a problem.\n\nThe most significant way to speed up mobile computer vision apps is to reduce the camera resolution as much as possible (for example, 0.5 megapixel instead of 5 megapixel), allocate and free up images as rarely as possible, and do image conversions as rarely as possible (for instance, by supporting BGRA images throughout your code). You can also look for optimized image processing or math libraries from the CPU vendor of your device (for example, NVIDIA Tegra, Texas Instruments OMAP, Samsung Exynos, Apple A _x_ , or QualComm Snapdragon) or for your CPU family (for example, the ARM Cortex-A9). Remember, there may be an optimized version of OpenCV for your device.\n\nTo make customizing NDK and desktop image-processing code easier, this book comes with files `ImageUtils.cpp` and `ImageUtils.h` to help you experiment. It includes functions such as `printMatInfo()`, which prints a lot of information about a `cv::Mat` object, making debugging OpenCV much easier. There are also timing macros to easily add detailed timing statistics to your C\/C++ code. For example:\n\n DECLARE_TIMING(myFilter);\n\n void myImageFunction(Mat img) {\n printMatInfo(img, \"input\");\n\n START_TIMING(myFilter);\n bilateralFilter(img,...);\n STOP_TIMING(myFilter);\n SHOW_TIMING(myFilter, \"My Filter\");\n }\n\nYou would then see something like the following printed to your console:\n\n **input: 800w600h 3ch 8bpp, range[19,255][17,243][47,251]**\n **My Filter: time: 213ms (ave=215ms min=197ms max=312ms, across 57 runs).**\n\nThis is useful when your OpenCV code is not working as expected; particularly for mobile development where it is often quite difficult to use an IDE debugger, and `printf()` statements generally won't work in Android NDK. However, the functions in `ImageUtils` work on both Android and desktop.\n\n# Summary\n\nThis chapter has shown several different types of image-processing filters that can be used to generate various cartoon effects: a plain sketch mode that looks like a pencil drawing, a paint mode that looks like a color painting, and a cartoon mode that overlays the sketch mode on top of the paint mode to make the image appear like a cartoon. It also shows that other fun effects can be obtained, such as the evil mode that greatly enhances noisy edges, and the alien mode that changes the skin of the face to appear bright green.\n\nThere are many commercial smartphone apps that perform similar fun effects on the user's face, such as cartoon filters and skin-color changers. There are also professional tools using similar concepts, such as skin-smoothing video post-processing tools that attempt to beautify women's faces by smoothing their skin while keeping the edges and non-skin regions sharp, in order to make their faces appear younger.\n\nThis chapter shows how to port the app from a desktop application to an Android mobile app, by following the recommended guidelines of developing a working desktop version first, porting it to a mobile app, and creating a user interface that is suitable for the mobile app. The image-processing code is shared between the two projects so that the reader can modify the cartoon filters for the desktop application, and by rebuilding the Android app it should automatically show their modifications in the Android app as well.\n\nThe steps required to use OpenCV4Android change regularly, and Android development itself is not static; so this chapter shows how to build the Android app by adding functionality to one of the OpenCV sample projects. It is expected that the reader can add the same functionality to an equivalent project in future versions of OpenCV4Android.\n\nThis book includes source code for both the desktop project and the Android project.\n\n# Chapter 2. Marker-based Augmented Reality on iPhone or iPad\n\n**Augmented reality** ( **AR** ) is a live view of a real-world environment whose elements are augmented by computer-generated graphics. As a result, the technology functions by enhancing one's current perception of reality. Augmentation is conventionally in real-time and in semantic context with environmental elements. With the help of advanced AR technology (for example, adding computer vision and object recognition) the information about the surrounding real world of the user becomes interactive and can be digitally manipulated. Artificial information about the environment and its objects can be overlaid on the real world.\n\nIn this chapter we will create an AR application for iPhone\/iPad devices. Starting from scratch, we will create an application that uses markers to draw some artificial objects on the images acquired from the camera. You will learn how to set up a project in XCode IDE and configure it to use OpenCV within your application. Also, aspects such as capturing a video from a built-in camera, 3D scene rendering using OpenGL ES, and building of a common AR application architecture are going to be explained.\n\nBefore we start, let me give you a brief list of knowledge and software you will need:\n\n * You will need an Apple computer with XCode IDE installed. Development of applications for iPhone\/iPad is possible only with Apple's XCode IDE. This is the only way to build apps for this platform.\n * You will need a model of iPhone, iPad, or iPod Touch devices. To run your applications on the device, you will have to purchase the Apple Developer Certificate for USD 99 per year. It's impossible to run developed applications on the device without this certificate.\n * You will also need basic knowledge of XCode IDE. We will assume readers have some experience using this IDE.\n * Basic knowledge of Objective-C and C++ programming languages is also necessary. However, all complex parts of application source code will be explained in detail.\n\nFrom this chapter you'll learn more about markers. The full detection routine is explained. After reading this chapter you will be able to write your own marker detection algorithm, estimate the marker pose in 3D world with regards to camera pose, and use this transformation between them to visualize arbitrary 3D objects.\n\nYou'll find the example project in this book's media for this chapter. It's a good starting point to create your first mobile Augmented Reality application.\n\nIn this chapter, we will cover the following topics:\n\n * Creating an iOS project that uses OpenCV\n * Application architecture\n * Marker detection\n * Marker identification\n * Marker code recognition\n * Placing a marker in 3D\n * Rendering the 3D virtual object\n\n# Creating an iOS project that uses OpenCV\n\nIn this section we will create a demo application for iPhone\/iPad devices that will use the **OpenCV** ( **Open Source Computer Vision** ) library to detect markers in the camera frame and render 3D objects on it. This example will show you how to get access to the raw video data stream from the device camera, perform image processing using the OpenCV library, find a marker in an image, and render an AR overlay.\n\nWe will start by first creating a new XCode project by choosing the iOS **Single View Application** template, as shown in the following screenshot:\n\nNow we have to add OpenCV to our project. This step is necessary because in this application we will use a lot of functions from this library to detect markers and estimate position position.\n\nOpenCV is a library of programming functions for real-time computer vision. It was originally developed by Intel and is now supported by Willow Garage and Itseez. This library is written in C and C++ languages. It also has an official Python binding and unofficial bindings to Java and .NET languages.\n\n## Adding OpenCV framework\n\nFortunately the library is cross-platform, so it can be used on iOS devices. Starting from version 2.4.2, OpenCV library is officially supported on the iOS platform and you can download the distribution package from the library website at . The **OpenCV for iOS** link points to the compressed OpenCV framework. Don't worry if you are new to iOS development; a framework is like a bundle of files. Usually each framework package contains a list of header files and list of statically linked libraries. Application frameworks provide an easy way to distribute precompiled libraries to developers.\n\nOf course, you can build your own libraries from scratch. OpenCV documentation explains this process in detail. For simplicity, we follow the recommended way and use the framework for this chapter.\n\nAfter downloading the file we extract its content to the project folder, as shown in the following screenshot:\n\nTo inform the XCode IDE to use any framework during the build stage, click on **Project options** and locate the **Build phases** tab. From there we can add or remove the list of frameworks involved in the build process. Click on the plus sign to add a new framework, as shown in the following screenshot:\n\nFrom here we can choose from a list of standard frameworks. But to add a custom framework we should click on the **Add other** button. The open file dialog box will appear. Point it to **opencv2.framework** in the project folder as shown in the following screenshot:\n\n## Including OpenCV headers\n\nNow that we have added the OpenCV framework to the project, everything is almost done. One last thing--let's add OpenCV headers to the project's precompiled headers. The precompiled headers are a great feature to speed up compilation time. By adding OpenCV headers to them, all your sources automatically include OpenCV headers as well. Find a `.pch` file in the project source tree and modify it in the following way.\n\nThe following code shows how to modify the `.pch` file in the project source tree:\n\n \/\/\n \/\/ Prefix header for all source files of the 'Example_MarkerBasedAR'\n \/\/\n\n #import \n\n #ifndef __IPHONE_5_0\n #warning \"This project uses features only available in iOS SDK 5.0 and later.\"\n #endif\n\n #ifdef __cplusplus\n #include \n #endif\n\n #ifdef __OBJC__\n #import \n #import \n #endif\n\nNow you can call any OpenCV function from any place in your project.\n\nThat's all. Our project template is configured and we are ready to move further. Free advice: make a copy of this project; this will save you time when you are creating your next one!\n\n# Application architecture\n\nEach iOS application contains at least one instance of the `UIViewController` interface that handles all view events and manages the application's business logic. This class provides the fundamental view-management model for all iOS apps. A view controller manages a set of views that make up a portion of your app's user interface. As part of the controller layer of your app, a view controller coordinates its efforts with model objects and other controller objects--including other view controllers--so your app presents a single coherent user interface.\n\nThe application that we are going to write will have only one view; that's why we choose a **Single-View Application** template to create one. This view will be used to present the rendered picture. Our `ViewController` class will contain three major components that each AR application should have (see the next diagram):\n\n * Video source\n * Processing pipeline\n * Visualization engine\n\nThe video source is responsible for providing new frames taken from the built-in camera to the user code. This means that the video source should be capable of choosing a camera device (front- or back-facing camera), adjusting its parameters (such as resolution of the captured video, white balance, and shutter speed), and grabbing frames without freezing the main UI.\n\nThe image processing routine will be encapsulated in the `MarkerDetector` class. This class provides a very thin interface to user code. Usually it's a set of functions like `processFrame` and `getResult`. Actually that's all that `ViewController` should know about. We must not expose low-level data structures and algorithms to the view layer without strong necessity. `VisualizationController` contains all logic concerned with visualization of the Augmented Reality on our view. `VisualizationController` is also a facade that hides a particular implementation of the rendering engine. Low code coherence gives us freedom to change these components without the need to rewrite the rest of your code.\n\nSuch an approach gives you the freedom to use independent modules on other platforms and compilers as well. For example, you can use the `MarkerDetector` class easily to develop desktop applications on Mac, Windows, and Linux systems without any changes to the code. Likewise, you can decide to port `VisualizationController` on the Windows platform and use Direct3D for rendering. In this case you should write only new `VisualizationController` implementation; other code parts will remain the same.\n\nThe main processing routine starts from receiving a new frame from the video source. This triggers video source to inform the user code about this event with a callback. `ViewController` handles this callback and performs the following operations:\n\n 1. Sends a new frame to the visualization controller.\n 2. Performs processing of the new frame using our pipeline.\n 3. Sends the detected markers to the visualization stage.\n 4. Renders a scene.\n\nLet's examine this routine in detail. The rendering of an AR scene includes the drawing of a background image that has a content of the last received frame; artificial 3D objects are drawn later on. When we send a new frame for visualization, we are copying image data to internal buffers of the rendering engine. This is not actual rendering yet; we are just updating the text with a new bitmap.\n\nThe second step is the processing of new frame and marker detection. We pass our image as input and as a result receive a list of the markers detected. on it. These markers are passed to the visualization controller, which knows how to deal with them. Let's take a look at the following sequence diagram where this routine is shown:\n\nWe start development by writing a video capture component. This class will be responsible for all frame grabbing and for sending notifications of captured frames via user callback. Later on we will write a marker detection algorithm. This detection routine is the core of your application. In this part of our program we will use a lot of OpenCV functions to process images, detect contours on them, find marker rectangles, and estimate their position. After that we will concentrate on visualization of our results using Augmented Reality. After bringing all these things together we will complete our first AR application. So let's move on!\n\n## Accessing the camera\n\nThe Augmented Reality application is impossible to create without two major things: video capturing and AR visualization. The video capture stage consists of receiving frames from the device camera, performing necessary color conversion, and sending it to the processing pipeline. As the single frame processing time is so critical to AR applications, the capture process should be as efficient as possible. The best way to achieve maximum performance is to have direct access to the frames received from the camera. This became possible starting from iOS Version 4. Existing APIs from the AVFoundation framework provide the necessary functionality to read directly from image buffers in memory.\n\nYou can find a lot of examples that use the `AVCaptureVideoPreviewLayer` class and the `UIGetScreenImage` function to capture videos from the camera. This technique was used for iOS Version 3 and earlier. It has now become outdated and has two major disadvantages:\n\n * Lack of direct access to frame data. To get a bitmap, you have to create an intermediate instance of `UIImage`, copy an image to it, and get it back. For AR applications this price is too high, because each millisecond matters. Losing a few frames per second (FPS) significantly decreases overall user experience.\n * To draw an AR, you have to add a transparent overlay view that will present the AR. Referring to Apple guidelines, you should avoid non-opaque layers because their blending is hard for mobile processors.\n\nClasses `AVCaptureDevice` and `AVCaptureVideoDataOutput` allow you to configure, capture, and specify unprocessed video frames in 32 bpp BGRA format. Also you can set up the desired resolution of output frames. However, it does affect overall performance since the larger the frame the more processing time and memory is required.\n\nThere is a good alternative for high-performance video capture. The AVFoundation API offers a much faster and more elegant way to grab frames directly from the camera. But first, let's take a look at the following figure where the capturing process for iOS is shown:\n\n`AVCaptureSession` is a root capture object that we should create. Capture session requires two components--an input and an output. The input device can either be a physical device (camera) or a video file (not shown in diagram). In our case it's a built-in camera (front or back). The output device can be presented by one of the following interfaces:\n\n * `AVCaptureMovieFileOutput`\n * `AVCaptureStillImageOutput`\n * `AVCaptureVideoPreviewLayer`\n * `AVCaptureVideoDataOutput`\n\nThe `AVCaptureMovieFileOutput` interface is used to record video to the file, the `AVCaptureStillImageOutput` interface is used to to make still images, and the `AVCaptureVideoPreviewLayer` interface is used to play a video preview on the screen. We are interested in the `AVCaptureVideoDataOutput` interface because it gives you direct access to video data.\n\n### Note\n\nThe iOS platform is built on top of the Objective-C programming language. So to work with AVFoundation framework, our class also has to be written in Objective-C. In this section all code listings are in the Objective-C++ language.\n\nTo encapsulate the video capturing process, we create the `VideoSource` interface as shown by the following code:\n\n @protocol VideoSourceDelegate\n\n -(void)frameReady:(BGRAVideoFrame) frame;\n\n @end\n\n @interface VideoSource : NSObject\n {\n\n }\n\n @property (nonatomic, retain) AVCaptureSession *captureSession;\n @property (nonatomic, retain) AVCaptureDeviceInput *deviceInput;\n @property (nonatomic, retain) id delegate;\n\n - (bool) startWithDevicePosition:(AVCaptureDevicePosition)devicePosition;\n - (CameraCalibration) getCalibration;\n - (CGSize) getFrameSize;\n\n @end\n\nIn this callback we lock the image buffer to prevent modifications by any new frames, obtain a pointer to the image data and frame dimensions. Then we construct temporary BGRAVideoFrame object that is passed to outside via special delegate. This delegate has following prototype:\n\n @protocol VideoSourceDelegate\n -(void)frameReady:(BGRAVideoFrame) frame;\n\n @end\n\nWithin `VideoSourceDelegate`, the `VideoSource` interface informs the user code that a new frame is available.\n\nThe step-by-step guide for the initialization of video capture is listed as follows:\n\n 1. Create an instance of `AVCaptureSession` and set the capture session quality preset.\n 2. Choose and create `AVCaptureDevice`. You can choose the front- or back-facing camera or use the default one.\n 3. Initialize `AVCaptureDeviceInput` using the created capture device and add it to the capture session.\n 4. Create an instance of `AVCaptureVideoDataOutput` and initialize it with format of video frame, callback delegate, and dispatch the queue.\n 5. Add the capture output to the capture session object.\n 6. Start the capture session.\n\nLet's explain some of these steps in more detail. After creating the capture session, we can specify the desired quality preset to ensure that we will obtain optimal performance. We don't need to process HD-quality video, so 640 x 480 or an even lesser frame resolution is a good choice:\n\n - (id)init\n {\n if ((self = [super init]))\n {\n AVCaptureSession * capSession = [[AVCaptureSession alloc] init];\n\n if ([capSession canSetSessionPreset:AVCaptureSessionPreset640x480])\n {\n [capSession setSessionPreset:AVCaptureSessionPreset640x480];\n NSLog(@\"Set capture session preset AVCaptureSessionPreset640x480\");\n }\n else if ([capSession canSetSessionPreset:AVCaptureSessionPresetLow])\n {\n [capSession setSessionPreset:AVCaptureSessionPresetLow];\n NSLog(@\"Set capture session preset AVCaptureSessionPresetLow\");\n }\n\n self.captureSession = capSession;\n }\n return self;\n }\n\n### Note\n\nAlways check hardware capabilities using the appropriate API; there is no guarantee that every camera will be capable of setting a particular session preset.\n\nAfter creating the capture session, we should add the capture input--the instance of `AVCaptureDeviceInput` will represent a physical camera device. The `cameraWithPosition` function is a helper function that returns the camera device for the requested position (front, back, or default):\n\n - (bool) startWithDevicePosition:(AVCaptureDevicePosition)devicePosition\n {\n AVCaptureDevice *videoDevice = [self cameraWithPosition:devicePosition];\n\n if (!videoDevice)\n return FALSE;\n\n {\n NSError *error;\n\n AVCaptureDeviceInput *videoIn = [AVCaptureDeviceInput \n deviceInputWithDevice:videoDevice error:&error];\n self.deviceInput = videoIn;\n\n if (!error)\n {\n if ([[self captureSession] canAddInput:videoIn])\n {\n [[self captureSession] addInput:videoIn];\n }\n else\n {\n NSLog(@\"Couldn't add video input\");\n return FALSE;\n }\n }\n else\n {\n NSLog(@\"Couldn't create video input\");\n return FALSE;\n }\n }\n\n [self addRawViewOutput];\n [captureSession startRunning];\n return TRUE;\n }\n\nPlease notice the error handling code. Take care of return values for such an important thing as working with hardware setup is a good practice. Without this, your code can crash in unexpected cases without informing the user what has happened.\n\nWe created a capture session and added a source of the video frames. Now it's time to add a receiver--an object that will receive actual frame data. The `AVCaptureVideoDataOutput` class is used to process uncompressed frames from the video stream. The camera can provide frames in BGRA, CMYK, or simple grayscale color models. For our purposes the BGRA color model fits best of all, as we will use this frame for visualization and image processing. The following code shows the `addRawViewOutput` function:\n\n - (void) addRawViewOutput\n {\n \/*We setupt the output*\/\n AVCaptureVideoDataOutput *captureOutput = [[AVCaptureVideoDataOutput alloc] init];\n\n \/*While a frame is processes in -captureOutput:didOutputSampleBuffer:fromConnection: delegate methods no other frames are added in the queue.\n If you don't want this behaviour set the property to NO *\/\n captureOutput.alwaysDiscardsLateVideoFrames = YES;\n\n \/*We create a serial queue to handle the processing of our frames*\/\n dispatch_queue_t queue;\n queue = dispatch_queue_create(\"com.Example_MarkerBasedAR.cameraQueue\", \n NULL);\n [captureOutput setSampleBufferDelegate:self queue:queue];\n dispatch_release(queue);\n\n \/\/ Set the video output to store frame in BGRA (It is supposed to be faster)\n NSString* key = (NSString*)kCVPixelBufferPixelFormatTypeKey;\n NSNumber* value = [NSNumber \n numberWithUnsignedInt:kCVPixelFormatType_32BGRA];\n\n NSDictionary* videoSettings = [NSDictionary dictionaryWithObject:value \n forKey:key];\n [captureOutput setVideoSettings:videoSettings];\n\n \/\/ Register an output\n [self.captureSession addOutput:captureOutput];\n }\n\nNow the capture session is finally configured. When started, it will capture frames from the camera and send it to user code. When the new frame is available, an `AVCaptureSession` object performs a` captureOutput: didOutputSampleBuffer:fromConnection` callback. In this function, we will perform a minor data conversion operation to get the image data in a more usable format and pass it to user code:\n\n - (void)captureOutput:(AVCaptureOutput *)captureOutput \n didOutputSampleBuffer:(CMSampleBufferRef)sampleBuffer \n fromConnection:(AVCaptureConnection *)connection \n { \n \/\/ Get a image buffer holding video frame\n CVImageBufferRef imageBuffer = CMSampleBufferGetImageBuffer(sampleBuffer);\n\n \/\/ Lock the image buffer\n CVPixelBufferLockBaseAddress(imageBuffer,0);\n\n \/\/ Get information about the image\n uint8_t *baseAddress = (uint8_t *)CVPixelBufferGetBaseAddress(imageBuffer); \n size_t width = CVPixelBufferGetWidth(imageBuffer); \n size_t height = CVPixelBufferGetHeight(imageBuffer); \n size_t stride = CVPixelBufferGetBytesPerRow(imageBuffer);\n\n BGRAVideoFrame frame = {width, height, stride, baseAddress};\n [delegate frameReady:frame];\n\n \/*We unlock the image buffer*\/\n CVPixelBufferUnlockBaseAddress(imageBuffer,0);\n }\n\nWe obtain a reference to the image buffer that stores our frame data. Then we lock it to prevent modifications by new frames. Now we have exclusive access to the frame data. With help of the CoreVideo API, we get the image dimensions, stride (number of pixels per row), and the pointer to the beginning of the image data.\n\n### Note\n\nI draw your attention to the `CVPixelBufferLockBaseAddress`\/ `CVPixelBufferUnlockBaseAddress` function call in the callback code. Until we hold a lock on the pixel buffer, it guarantees consistency and correctness of its data. Reading of pixels is available only after you have obtained a lock. When you're done, don't forget to unlock it to allow the OS to fill it with new data.\n\n# Marker detection\n\nA marker is usually designed as a rectangle image holding black and white areas inside it. Due to known limitations, the marker detection procedure is a simple one. First of all we need to find closed contours on the input image and unwarp the image inside it to a rectangle and then check this against our marker model.\n\nIn this sample the 5 x 5 marker will be used. Here is what it looks like:\n\nIn the sample project that you will find in this book, the marker detection routine is encapsulated in the `MarkerDetector` class:\n\n \/**\n * A top-level class that encapsulate marker detector algorithm\n *\/\n class MarkerDetector\n {\n public:\n\n \/**\n * Initialize a new instance of marker detector object\n * @calibration[in] - Camera calibration necessary for pose estimation.\n *\/\n MarkerDetector(CameraCalibration calibration);\n\n void processFrame(const BGRAVideoFrame& frame);\n\n const std::vector& getTransformations() const;\n\n protected:\n bool findMarkers(const BGRAVideoFrame& frame, std::vector& \n detectedMarkers);\n\n void prepareImage(const cv::Mat& bgraMat,\n cv::Mat& grayscale);\n\n void performThreshold(const cv::Mat& grayscale,\n cv::Mat& thresholdImg);\n\n void findContours(const cv::Mat& thresholdImg, \n std::vector >& contours,\n int minContourPointsAllowed);\n\n void findMarkerCandidates(const std::vector >& \n contours, std::vector& detectedMarkers);\n\n void detectMarkers(const cv::Mat& grayscale,\n std::vector& detectedMarkers);\n\n void estimatePosition(std::vector& detectedMarkers);\n\n private:\n };\n\nTo help you better understand the marker detection routine, a step-by-step processing on one frame from a video will be shown. A source image taken from an iPad camera will be used as an example:\n\n## Marker identification\n\nHere is the workflow of the marker detection routine:\n\n 1. Convert the input image to grayscale.\n 2. Perform binary threshold operation.\n 3. Detect contours.\n 4. Search for possible markers.\n 5. Detect and decode markers.\n 6. Estimate marker 3D pose.\n\n### Grayscale conversion\n\nThe conversion to grayscale is necessary because markers usually contain only black and white blocks and it's much easier to operate with them on grayscale images. Fortunately, OpenCV color conversion is simple enough.\n\nPlease take a look at the following code listing in C++:\n\n void MarkerDetector::prepareImage(const cv::Mat& bgraMat, cv::Mat& grayscale)\n {\n \/\/ Convert to grayscale\n cv::cvtColor(bgraMat, grayscale, CV_BGRA2GRAY);\n }\n\nThis function will convert the input BGRA image to grayscale (it will allocate image buffers if necessary) and place the result into the second argument. All further steps will be performed with the grayscale image.\n\n### Image binarization\n\nThe binarization operation will transform each pixel of our image to black (zero intensity) or white (full intensity). This step is required to find contours. There are several threshold methods; each has strong and weak sides. The easiest and fastest method is absolute threshold. In this method the resulting value depends on current pixel intensity and some threshold value. If pixel intensity is greater than the threshold value, the result will be white (255); otherwise it will be black (0).\n\nThis method has a huge disadvantage--it depends on lighting conditions and soft intensity changes. The more preferable method is the adaptive threshold. The major difference of this method is the use of all pixels in given radius around the examined pixel. Using average intensity gives good results and secures more robust corner detection.\n\nThe following code snippet shows the `MarkerDetector` function:\n\n void MarkerDetector::performThreshold(const cv::Mat& grayscale, cv::Mat& thresholdImg)\n {\n cv::adaptiveThreshold(grayscale, \/\/ Input image\n thresholdImg,\/\/ Result binary image\n 255, \/\/\n cv::ADAPTIVE_THRESH_GAUSSIAN_C, \/\/\n cv::THRESH_BINARY_INV, \/\/\n 7, \/\/\n 7 \/\/\n );\n }\n\nAfter applying adaptive threshold to the input image, the resulting image looks similar to the following one:\n\nEach marker usually looks like a square figure with black and white areas inside it. So the best way to locate a marker is to find closed contours and approximate them with polygons of 4 vertices.\n\n### Contours detection\n\nThe `cv::findCountours` function will detect contours on the input binary image:\n\n void MarkerDetector::findContours(const cv::Mat& thresholdImg,\n std::vector >& contours,\n int minContourPointsAllowed)\n {\n std::vector< std::vector > allContours;\n cv::findContours(thresholdImg, allContours, CV_RETR_LIST, CV_CHAIN_APPROX_NONE);\n\n contours.clear();\n for (size_t i=0; i minContourPointsAllowed)\n {\n contours.push_back(allContours[i]);\n }\n }\n }\n\nThe return value of this function is a list of polygons where each polygon represents a single contour. The function skips contours that have their perimeter in pixels value set to be less than the value of the `minContourPointsAllowed` variable. This is because we are not interested in small contours. (They will probably contain no marker, or the contour won't be able to be detected due to a small marker size.)\n\nThe following figure shows the visualization of detected contours:\n\n### Candidates search\n\nAfter finding contours, the polygon approximation stage is performed. This is done to decrease the number of points that describe the contour shape. It's a good quality check to filter out areas without markers because they can always be represented with a polygon that contains four vertices. If the approximated polygon has more than or fewer than 4 vertices, it's definitely not what we are looking for. The following code implements this idea:\n\n void MarkerDetector::findCandidates\n (\n const ContoursVector& contours,\n std::vector& detectedMarkers\n )\n {\n std::vector approxCurve;\n std::vector possibleMarkers;\n\n \/\/ For each contour, analyze if it is a parallelepiped likely to be the \n marker\n for (size_t i=0; i::max();\n\n for (int i = 0; i < 4; i++)\n {\n cv::Point side = approxCurve[i] - approxCurve[(i+1)%4];\n float squaredSideLength = side.dot(side);\n minDist = std::min(minDist, squaredSideLength);\n }\n\n \/\/ Check that distance is not very small\n if (minDist < m_minContourLengthAllowed)\n continue;\n\n \/\/ All tests are passed. Save marker candidate:\n Marker m;\n\n for (int i = 0; i<4; i++)\n m.points.push_back( cv::Point2f(approxCurve[i].x,approxCurve[i].y) );\n\n \/\/ Sort the points in anti-clockwise order\n \/\/ Trace a line between the first and second point.\n \/\/ If the third point is at the right side, then the points are anti-\n clockwise\n cv::Point v1 = m.points[1] - m.points[0];\n cv::Point v2 = m.points[2] - m.points[0];\n\n double o = (v1.x * v2.y) - (v1.y * v2.x);\n\n if (o < 0.0) \/\/if the third point is in the left side, then \n sort in anti-clockwise order\n std::swap(m.points[1], m.points[3]);\n\n possibleMarkers.push_back(m);\n }\n\n \/\/ Remove these elements which corners are too close to each other.\n \/\/ First detect candidates for removal:\n std::vector< std::pair > tooNearCandidates;\n for (size_t i=0;i(i,j));\n }\n } \n }\n\n \/\/ Mark for removal the element of the pair with smaller perimeter\n std::vector removalMask (possibleMarkers.size(), false);\n\n for (size_t i=0; i p2)\n removalIndex = tooNearCandidates[i].second;\n else\n removalIndex = tooNearCandidates[i].first;\n\n removalMask[removalIndex] = true;\n }\n\n \/\/ Return candidates\n detectedMarkers.clear();\n for (size_t i=0;i (cellSize*cellSize) \/2)\n bitMatrix.at(y,x) = 1;\n }\n }\n\nTake a look at the following figure. The same marker can have four possible representations depending on the camera's point of view:\n\nAs there are four possible orientations of the marker picture, we have to find the correct marker position. Remember, we introduced three parity bits for each two bits of information. With their help we can find the hamming distance for each possible marker orientation. The correct marker position will have zero hamming distance error, while the other rotations won't.\n\nHere is a code snippet that rotates the bit matrix four times and finds the correct marker orientation:\n\n \/\/check all possible rotations\n cv::Mat rotations[4];\n int distances[4];\n\n rotations[0] = bitMatrix; \n distances[0] = hammDistMarker(rotations[0]);\n\n std::pair minDist(distances[0],0);\n\n for (int i=1; i<4; i++)\n {\n \/\/get the hamming distance to the nearest possible word\n rotations[i] = rotate(rotations[i-1]);\n distances[i] = hammDistMarker(rotations[i]);\n\n if (distances[i] < minDist.first)\n {\n minDist.first = distances[i];\n minDist.second = i;\n }\n }\n\nThis code finds the orientation of the bit matrix in such a way that it gives minimal error for the hamming distance metric. This error should be zero for correct marker ID; if it's not, it means that we encountered a wrong marker pattern (corrupted image or false-positive marker detection).\n\n### Marker location refinement\n\nAfter finding the right marker orientation, we rotate the marker's corners respectively to conform to their order:\n\n \/\/sort the points so that they are always in the same order\n \/\/ no matter the camera orientation\n std::rotate(marker.points.begin(), marker.points.begin() + 4 - nRotations,\n marker.points.end());\n\nAfter detecting a marker and decoding its ID, we will refine its corners. This operation will help us in the next step when we will estimate the marker position in 3D. To find the corner location with subpixel accuracy, the `cv::cornerSubPix` function is used:\n\n std::vector preciseCorners(4 * goodMarkers.size());\n\n for (size_t i=0; i for additional information and source code.\n\nFor this sample we provide internal parameters for all modern iOS devices (iPad 2, iPad 3, and iPhone 4).\n\n## Marker pose estimation\n\nWith the precise location of marker corners, we can estimate a transformation between our camera and a marker in 3D space. This operation is known as pose estimation from 2D-3D correspondences. The pose estimation process finds a Euclidean transformation (that consists only of rotation and translation components) between the camera and the object.\n\nLet's take a look at the following figure:\n\nThe **C** is used to denote the camera center. The **P1-P4** points are 3D points in the world coordinate system and the **p1-p4** points are their projections on the camera's image plane. Our goal is to find relative transformation between a known marker position in the 3D world ( **p1-p4** ) and the camera **C** using an intrinsic matrix and known point projections on image plane ( **P1-P4** ). But where do we get the coordinates of marker position in 3D space? We imagine them. As our marker always has a square form and all vertices lie in one plane, we can define their corners as follows:\n\nWe put our marker in the XY plane (Z component is zero) and the marker center corresponds to the (0.0, 0.0, 0.0) point. It's a great hint, because in this case the beginning of our coordinate system will be in the center of the marker (Z axis is perpendicular to the marker plane).\n\nTo find the camera location with the known 2D-3D correspondences, the `cv::solvePnP` function can be used:\n\n void solvePnP(const Mat& objectPoints, const Mat& imagePoints, const Mat& \n cameraMatrix, const Mat& distCoeffs, Mat& rvec, Mat& tvec, bool \n useExtrinsicGuess=false);\n\nThe `objectPoints` array is an input array of object points in the object coordinate space. `std::vector` can be passed here. The OpenCV matrix 3 x _N_ or _N_ x 3, where _N_ is the number of points, can also be passed as an input argument. Here we pass the list of marker coordinates in 3D space (a vector of four points).\n\nThe `imagePoints` array is an array of corresponding image points (or projections). This argument can also be `std::vector` or `cv::Mat` of 2 x _N_ or _N_ x 2, where _N_ is the number of points. Here we pass the list of found marker corners.\n\n * `cameraMatrix`: This is the 3 x 3 camera intrinsic matrix.\n * `distCoeffs`: This is the input 4 x 1, 1 x 4, 5 x 1, or 1 x 5 vector of distortion coefficients (k1, k2, p1, p2, [k3]). If it is `NULL`, all of the distortion coefficients are set to 0.\n * `rvec`: This is the output rotation vector that (together with `tvec`) brings points from the model coordinate system to the camera coordinate system.\n * `tvec`: This is the output translation vector.\n * `useExtrinsicGuess`: If true, the function will use the provided `rvec` and `tvec` vectors as the initial approximations of the rotation and translation vectors, respectively, and will further optimize them.\n\nThe function calculates the camera transformation in such a way that it minimizes reprojection error, that is, the sum of squared distances between the observed projection's `imagePoints` and the projected `objectPoints`.\n\nThe estimated transformation is defined by rotation (`rvec`) and translation components (`tvec`). This is also known as Euclidean transformation or rigid transformation.\n\nA rigid transformation is formally defined as a transformation that, when acting on any vector _v_ , produces a transformed vector _T(v)_ of the form:\n\nT(v) = R _v_ \\+ _t_\n\nwhere RT = R-1 (that is, R is an orthogonal transformation), and _t_ is a vector giving the translation of the origin. A proper rigid transformation has, in addition,\n\ndet(R) = 1\n\nThis means that R does not produce a reflection, and hence it represents a rotation (an orientation-preserving orthogonal transformation).\n\nTo obtain a 3 x 3 rotation matrix from the rotation vector, the function `cv::Rodrigues` is used. This function converts a rotation represented by a rotation vector and returns its equivalent rotation matrix.\n\n### Note\n\nBecause `cv::solvePnP` finds the camera position with regards to marker pose in 3D space, we have to invert the found transformation. The resulting transformation will describe a marker transformation in the camera coordinate system, which is much friendlier for the rendering process.\n\nHere is a listing of the `estimatePosition` function, which finds the position of the detected markers:\n\n void MarkerDetector::estimatePosition(std::vector& detectedMarkers)\n {\n for (size_t i=0; i Tvec;\n cv::Mat raux,taux;\n cv::solvePnP(m_markerCorners3d, m.points, camMatrix, distCoeff,raux,taux);\n raux.convertTo(Rvec,CV_32F);\n taux.convertTo(Tvec ,CV_32F);\n\n cv::Mat_ rotMat(3,3); \n cv::Rodrigues(Rvec, rotMat);\n\n \/\/ Copy to transformation matrix\n m.transformation = Transformation();\n\n for (int col=0; col<3; col++)\n {\n for (int row=0; row<3; row++)\n {\n m.transformation.r().mat[row][col] = rotMat(row,col); \/\/ Copy rotation \n component\n }\n m.transformation.t().data[col] = Tvec(col); \/\/ Copy translation \n component\n }\n\n \/\/ Since solvePnP finds camera location, w.r.t to marker pose, to get \n marker pose w.r.t to the camera we invert it.\n m.transformation = m.transformation.getInverted();\n }\n\n# Rendering the 3D virtual object\n\nSo, by now you already know how to find the markers on the image to calculate their exact position in space, relative to the camera. It's time to draw something. As already mentioned, to render the scene we will use OpenGL functions. 3D visualization is a core part of Augmented Reality. OpenGL provides all the basic features for creating high-quality rendering.\n\n### Note\n\nThere are a large number of commercial and open source 3D-engines (Unity, Unreal Engine, Ogre, and so on). But all these engines use either OpenGL or DirectX to pass commands to the video card. DirectX is a proprietary API and it's supported only on the Windows platform. For this reason, OpenGL is the first and last candidate for building cross-platform rendering systems.\n\nUnderstanding the principles of the rendering system will give you the necessary experience and knowledge to use these engines in the future or to write your own.\n\n## Creating the OpenGL rendering layer\n\nIn order to use OpenGL functions in your application you should obtain an iOS graphics context surface, which will present the rendered scene to the user. This context is usually bound to **View** , which the user sees. The following screenshot shows the hierarchy of the application interface in XCode's **Interface Builder** :\n\nTo encapsulate the OpenGL context initialization logic, we introduce the `EAGLView` class:\n\n @class EAGLContext;\n\n \/\/ This class wraps the CAEAGLLayer from CoreAnimation into a convenient UIView subclass.\n \/\/ The view content is basically an EAGL surface you render your OpenGL scene into.\n \/\/ Note that setting the view non-opaque will only work if the EAGL surface has an alpha channel.\n @interface EAGLView : UIView\n {\n @private\n \/\/ The OpenGL ES names for the framebuffer and renderbuffer used to render \n to this view.\n GLuint defaultFramebuffer, colorRenderbuffer;\n }\n\n @property (nonatomic, retain) EAGLContext *context;\n \/\/ The pixel dimensions of the CAEAGLLayer.\n @property (readonly) GLint framebufferWidth;\n @property (readonly) GLint framebufferHeight;\n\n - (void)setFramebuffer;\n - (BOOL)presentFramebuffer;\n - (void)initContext;\n @end\n\nThis class is connected to our View in our interface definition file, so when the `NIB` file is loaded, the runtime will instantiate a new instance of our `EAGLView`. When created, it will receive events from iOS and initialize the OpenGL rendering context.\n\nThe following is a code listing showing the `initWithCoder` function:\n\n \/\/The EAGL view is stored in the nib file. When it's unarchived it's sent -initWithCoder:.\n - (id)initWithCoder:(NSCoder*)coder\n {\n self = [super initWithCoder:coder];\n if (self) {\n CAEAGLLayer *eaglLayer = (CAEAGLLayer *)self.layer;\n\n eaglLayer.opaque = TRUE;\n eaglLayer.drawableProperties = [NSDictionary dictionaryWithObjectsAndKeys:\n [NSNumber numberWithBool:FALSE], \n kEAGLDrawablePropertyRetainedBacking,\n kEAGLColorFormatRGBA8, \n kEAGLDrawablePropertyColorFormat,\n nil];\n\n [self initContext];\n }\n\n return self;\n }\n\n - (void)createFramebuffer\n {\n if (context && !defaultFramebuffer) {\n [EAGLContext setCurrentContext:context];\n\n \/\/ Create default framebuffer object.\n glGenFramebuffers(1, &defaultFramebuffer);\n glBindFramebuffer(GL_FRAMEBUFFER, defaultFramebuffer);\n\n \/\/ Create color render buffer and allocate backing store.\n glGenRenderbuffers(1, &colorRenderbuffer);\n glBindRenderbuffer(GL_RENDERBUFFER, colorRenderbuffer);\n [context renderbufferStorage:GL_RENDERBUFFER fromDrawable:(CAEAGLLayer *)self.layer];\n glGetRenderbufferParameteriv(GL_RENDERBUFFER, GL_RENDERBUFFER_WIDTH, &framebufferWidth);\n glGetRenderbufferParameteriv(GL_RENDERBUFFER, GL_RENDERBUFFER_HEIGHT, &framebufferHeight);\n\n glFramebufferRenderbuffer(GL_FRAMEBUFFER, GL_COLOR_ATTACHMENT0, \n GL_RENDERBUFFER, colorRenderbuffer);\n\n if (glCheckFramebufferStatus(GL_FRAMEBUFFER) != GL_FRAMEBUFFER_COMPLETE)\n NSLog(@\"Failed to make complete framebuffer object %x\", \n glCheckFramebufferStatus(GL_FRAMEBUFFER));\n\n \/\/glClearColor(0, 0, 0, 0);\n NSLog(@\"Framebuffer created\");\n }\n }\n\n## Rendering an AR scene\n\nAs you can see, the `EAGLView` class does not contain methods for the visualization of 3D objects and video. This is done on purpose. The task of `EAGLView` is to provide rendering context. The separation of responsibilities allows us to change the logic of the visualization later.\n\nFor visualization of Augmented Reality, we will create a separate class called as `VisualizationController`:\n\n @interface SimpleVisualizationController : NSObject\n {\n EAGLView * m_glview;\n GLuint m_backgroundTextureId;\n std::vector m_transformations;\n CameraCalibration m_calibration;\n CGSize m_frameSize;\n }\n\n -(id) initWithGLView:(EAGLView*)view calibration:(CameraCalibration) calibration frameSize:(CGSize) size;\n\n -(void) drawFrame;\n -(void) updateBackground:(BGRAVideoFrame) frame;\n -(void) setTransformationList:(const std::vector&) transformations;\n\nThe `drawFrame` function performs rendering of the AR onto the given `EAGLView` target view. It performs the following steps:\n\n 1. Clears the scene.\n 2. Sets up orthographic projection for drawing the background.\n 3. Draws the latest received image from the camera on a viewport.\n 4. Sets up perspective projection with regards to a camera's intrinsic parameters.\n 5. For each detected marker, it moves the coordinate system to marker position in 3D. (It puts 4 x 4-transformation matrix to the OpenGl model-view matrix.)\n 6. Renders an arbitrary 3D object.\n 7. Shows the frame buffer.\n\nThe `drawFrame` function is called when the frame is ready to be drawn. It happens when a new camera frame has been uploaded to video memory and the marker detection stage has been completed.\n\nThe following code shows the `drawFrame` function:\n\n - (void)drawFrame\n {\n \/\/ Set the active framebuffer\n [m_glview setFramebuffer];\n\n \/\/ Draw a video on the background\n [self drawBackground];\n\n \/\/ Draw 3D objects on the position of the detected markers\n [self drawAR];\n\n \/\/ Present framebuffer\n bool ok = [m_glview presentFramebuffer];\n\n int glErCode = glGetError();\n if (!ok || glErCode != GL_NO_ERROR)\n {\n std::cerr << \"GL error detected. Error code:\" << glErCode << std::endl;\n }\n }\n\nDrawing a background is easy enough; we set the orthographic projection and draw a fullscreen texture with image from the current frame. Here is a code listing that uses the GLES 1 API to do this:\n\n - (void) drawBackground\n {\n GLfloat w = m_glview.bounds.size.width;\n GLfloat h = m_glview.bounds.size.height;\n const GLfloat squareVertices[] =\n {\n 0, 0,\n w, 0,\n 0, h,\n w, h\n };\n\n static const GLfloat textureVertices[] =\n {\n 1, 0,\n 1, 1,\n 0, 0,\n 0, 1\n };\n\n static const GLfloat proj[] =\n {\n 0, -2.f\/w, 0, 0,\n -2.f\/h, 0, 0, 0,\n 0, 0, 1, 0,\n 1, 1, 0, 1\n };\n\n glMatrixMode(GL_PROJECTION);\n glLoadMatrixf(proj);\n\n glMatrixMode(GL_MODELVIEW);\n glLoadIdentity();\n\n glDisable(GL_COLOR_MATERIAL);\n\n glEnable(GL_TEXTURE_2D);\n glBindTexture(GL_TEXTURE_2D, m_backgroundTextureId);\n\n \/\/ Update attribute values.\n glVertexPointer(2, GL_FLOAT, 0, squareVertices);\n glEnableClientState(GL_VERTEX_ARRAY);\n glTexCoordPointer(2, GL_FLOAT, 0, textureVertices);\n glEnableClientState(GL_TEXTURE_COORD_ARRAY);\n\n glColor4f(1,1,1,1);\n glDrawArrays(GL_TRIANGLE_STRIP, 0, 4);\n\n glDisableClientState(GL_VERTEX_ARRAY);\n glDisableClientState(GL_TEXTURE_COORD_ARRAY);\n glDisable(GL_TEXTURE_2D);\n }\n\nRendering of artificial objects in a scene is somewhat tricky. First of all we have to adjust the OpenGL projection matrix with regards to the camera intrinsic (calibration) matrix. Without this step we will have the wrong perspective projection. Wrong perspective makes artificial objects look unnatural, as if they are \"flying in the air\" and not a part of the real world. Correct perspective is a must-have for any Augmented Reality application.\n\nHere is a code snippet that creates an OpenGL projection matrix from camera intrinsics:\n\n - (void)buildProjectionMatrix:(Matrix33)cameraMatrix: (int)screen_width: (int)screen_height: (Matrix44&) projectionMatrix\n { \n float near = 0.01; \/\/ Near clipping distance\n float far = 100; \/\/ Far clipping distance\n\n \/\/ Camera parameters\n float f_x = cameraMatrix.data[0]; \/\/ Focal length in x axis\n float f_y = cameraMatrix.data[4]; \/\/ Focal length in y axis (usually the \n same?)\n float c_x = cameraMatrix.data[2]; \/\/ Camera primary point x\n float c_y = cameraMatrix.data[5]; \/\/ Camera primary point y\n\n projectionMatrix.data[0] = - 2.0 * f_x \/ screen_width;\n projectionMatrix.data[1] = 0.0;\n projectionMatrix.data[2] = 0.0;\n projectionMatrix.data[3] = 0.0;\n\n projectionMatrix.data[4] = 0.0;\n projectionMatrix.data[5] = 2.0 * f_y \/ screen_height;\n projectionMatrix.data[6] = 0.0;\n projectionMatrix.data[7] = 0.0;\n\n projectionMatrix.data[8] = 2.0 * c_x \/ screen_width - 1.0;\n projectionMatrix.data[9] = 2.0 * c_y \/ screen_height - 1.0; \n projectionMatrix.data[10] = -( far+near ) \/ ( far - near );\n projectionMatrix.data[11] = -1.0;\n\n projectionMatrix.data[12] = 0.0;\n projectionMatrix.data[13] = 0.0;\n projectionMatrix.data[14] = -2.0 * far * near \/ ( far - near );\n projectionMatrix.data[15] = 0.0;\n }\n\nAfter we load this matrix to the OpenGL pipeline, it's time to draw some objects. Each transformation can be presented as a 4 x 4 matrix and loaded to the OpenGL model view matrix. This will move the coordinate system to the marker position in the world coordinate system.\n\nFor example, let's draw a coordinate axis on the top of each marker that will show its orientation in space, and a rectangle with gradient fill that overlays the whole marker. This visualization will give us visual feedback that our code is working as expected.\n\nThe following is a code snippet showing the `drawAR` function:\n\n - (void) drawAR\n {\n Matrix44 projectionMatrix;\n [self buildProjectionMatrix:m_calibration.getIntrinsic():m_frameSize.width\n :m_frameSize.height :projectionMatrix];\n\n glMatrixMode(GL_PROJECTION);\n glLoadMatrixf(projectionMatrix.data);\n\n glMatrixMode(GL_MODELVIEW);\n glLoadIdentity();\n\n glEnableClientState(GL_VERTEX_ARRAY);\n glEnableClientState(GL_NORMAL_ARRAY);\n\n glPushMatrix();\n glLineWidth(3.0f);\n\n float lineX[] = {0,0,0,1,0,0};\n float lineY[] = {0,0,0,0,1,0};\n float lineZ[] = {0,0,0,0,0,1};\n\n const GLfloat squareVertices[] = {\n -0.5f, -0.5f,\n 0.5f, -0.5f,\n -0.5f, 0.5f,\n 0.5f, 0.5f,\n };\n const GLubyte squareColors[] = {\n 255, 255, 0, 255,\n 0, 255, 255, 255,\n 0, 0, 0, 0,\n 255, 0, 255, 255,\n };\n\n for (size_t transformationIndex=0; \n transformationIndex(&glMatrix.data[0]));\n\n \/\/ draw data\n glVertexPointer(2, GL_FLOAT, 0, squareVertices);\n glEnableClientState(GL_VERTEX_ARRAY);\n glColorPointer(4, GL_UNSIGNED_BYTE, 0, squareColors);\n glEnableClientState(GL_COLOR_ARRAY);\n\n glDrawArrays(GL_TRIANGLE_STRIP, 0, 4);\n glDisableClientState(GL_COLOR_ARRAY);\n\n float scale = 0.5;\n glScalef(scale, scale, scale);\n\n glColor4f(1.0f, 0.0f, 0.0f, 1.0f);\n glVertexPointer(3, GL_FLOAT, 0, lineX);\n glDrawArrays(GL_LINES, 0, 2);\n\n glColor4f(0.0f, 1.0f, 0.0f, 1.0f);\n glVertexPointer(3, GL_FLOAT, 0, lineY);\n glDrawArrays(GL_LINES, 0, 2);\n\n glColor4f(0.0f, 0.0f, 1.0f, 1.0f);\n glVertexPointer(3, GL_FLOAT, 0, lineZ);\n glDrawArrays(GL_LINES, 0, 2);\n }\n glPopMatrix();\n glDisableClientState(GL_VERTEX_ARRAY);\n }\n\nIf you run the application, you will get the following figure:\n\nDespite the fact that we do not use a special 3D rendering engine for visualization of our scene, we have all the necessary data to do this by ourselves. Let's summarize the data we obtain:\n\n * A frame from the camera device in BGRA format\n * A correct projection matrix that gives us the right perspective projection for AR scene rendering\n * A list of found marker poses\n\nYou can easily put this data to any 3D engine and create your own finished marker-based AR application\n\nAs you can see, the quads with gradient fill and pivots are placed exactly on the markers. This is the key feature of Augmented Reality--seamless fusion of real pictures and artificial objects.\n\n# Summary\n\nIn this chapter we learned how to create a mobile Augmented Reality application for iPhone\/iPad devices. You gained knowledge on how to use the OpenCV library within the XCode projects to create stunning state-of-the-art applications. Usage of OpenCV enables your application to perform complex image processing computations on mobile devices with real-time performance.\n\nFrom this chapter you also learned how to perform the initial image processing (translation in shades of gray and binarization), how to find closed contours in the image and approximate them with polygons, how to find markers in the image and decode them, how to compute the marker position in space, and the visualization of 3D objects in Augmented Reality.\n\n# References\n\n * _ArUco: a minimal library_ _for Augmented Reality applications based on OpenCV_ ()\n * _OpenCV Camera Calibration and 3D Reconstruc_ _tion_ ()\n * _OpenCV: Estimating Projective Relations in Images_ ()\n * _Multiple View Geometry in Computer Vision_ ( _second edition_ ), _R.I. Hartley and A. Zisserman_ , _Cambridge University Press_ , _ISBN 0-521-54051-8_\n\n# Chapter 3. Marker-less Augmented Reality\n\nIn this chapter readers will learn how to create a standard real-time project using OpenCV (for desktop), and how to perform a new method of marker-less augmented reality, using the actual environment as the input instead of printed square markers. This chapter will cover some of the theory of marker-less AR and show how to apply it in useful projects.\n\nThe following is a list of topics that will be covered in this chapter:\n\n * Marker-based versus marker-less AR\n * Using feature descriptors to find an arbitrary image on video\n * Pattern pose estimation\n * Application infrastructure\n * Enabling support for OpenGL visualization in OpenCV\n * Rendering the augmented reality\n * Demonstration\n\nBefore we start, let me give you a brief list of the knowledge required for this chapter and the software you will need:\n\n * Basic knowledge of CMake. CMake is a cross-platform, open-source build system designed to build, test, and package software. Like the OpenCV library, the demonstration project for this chapter also uses the CMake build system. CMake can be downloaded from .\n * A basic knowledge of C++ programming language is also necessary. However, all complex parts of the application source code will be explained in detail.\n\n# Marker-based versus marker-less AR\n\nFrom the previous chapter you've learned how to use special images called markers to augment a real scene. The strong aspects of the markers are as follows:\n\n * Cheap detection algorithm\n * Robust against lighting changes\n\nMarkers also have several weaknesses. They are as follows:\n\n * Doesn't work if partially overlapped\n * Marker image has to be black and white\n * Has square form in most cases (because it's easy to detect)\n * Non-esthetic visual look of the marker\n * Has nothing in common with real-world objects\n\nSo, markers are a good point to start working with augmented reality; but if you want more, it's time to move on from marker-based to marker-less AR. Marker-less AR is a technique that is based on recognition of objects that exist in the real world. A few examples of a target for marker-less AR are: magazine covers, company logos, toys, and so on. In general, any object that has enough descriptive and discriminative information regarding the rest of the scene can be a target for marker-less AR.\n\nThe strong sides of the marker-less AR approach are:\n\n * Can be used to detect real-world objects\n * Works even if the target object is partially overlapped\n * Can have arbitrary form and texture (except solid or smooth gradient textures)\n\nMarker-less AR systems can use real images and objects to position the camera in 3D space and present eye-catching effects on top of the real picture. The heart of the marker-less AR are image recognition and object detection algorithms. Unlike markers, whose shape and internal structure is fixed and known, real objects cannot be defined in such a way. Also, objects can have a complex shape and require modified pose estimation algorithms to find their correct 3D transformations.\n\n### Note\n\nTo give you an idea of marker-less AR, we will use a planar image as a target. Objects with complex shapes will not be considered here in detail. We will discuss the use of complex shapes for AR later in this chapter.\n\nMarker-less AR performs heavy CPU calculations, so a mobile device often is not capable to secure smooth FPS. In this chapter, we will be targeting desktop platforms such as PC or Mac. For this purpose, we need a cross-platform build system. In this chapter we use the CMake build system.\n\n# Using feature descriptors to find an arbitrary image on video\n\nImage recognition is a computer vision technique that searches the input image for a particular bitmap pattern. Our image recognition algorithm should be able to detect the pattern even if it is scaled, rotated, or has different brightness than of the original image.\n\nHow do we compare the pattern image against other images? As the pattern can be affected by perspective transformation, it's obvious that we can't directly compare pixels of the pattern and test image. The feature points and feature descriptors are helpful in this case. There is no universal or exact definition of what the feature is. The exact definition often depends on the problem or the type of application. Usually a feature is defined as an \"interesting\" part of an image, and features are used as a starting point for many computer vision algorithms. In this chapter we will use a **feature point** term, which is a part of the image defined by a center point, radius, and orientation. Each feature-detection algorithm tries to detect the same feature points regardless of the perspective transformation applied.\n\n## Feature extraction\n\nFeature detection is the method of finding areas of interest from the input image. There are a lot of feature-detection algorithms, which search for edges, corners, or blobs. In our case we are interested in corner detection. The corner detection is based on an analysis of the edges in the image. A corner-based edge detection algorithm searches for rapid changes in the image gradient. Usually it's done by looking for extremums of the first derivative of the image gradients in the X and Y directions.\n\nFeature-point orientation is usually computed as a direction of dominant image gradient in a particular area. When the image is rotated or scaled, the orientation of dominant gradient is recomputed by the feature-detection algorithm. This means that regardless of image rotation, the orientation of feature points will not change. Such features are called **rotation invariant**.\n\nAlso, I have to mention a few points about the size feature point. Some of the feature-detection algorithms use fixed-size features, while others calculate the optimal size for each keypoint separately. Knowing the feature size allows us to find the same feature points on scaled images. This makes features scale invariant.\n\nOpenCV has several feature-detection algorithms. All of them are derived from the base class `cv::FeatureDetector`. Creation of the feature-detection algorithm can be done in two ways:\n\n * Via an explicit call of the concrete feature detector class constructor:\n\n cv::Ptr detector = cv::Ptr(new cv::SurfFeatureDetector());\n\n * Or by creating a feature detector by algorithm name:\n\n cv::Ptr detector = cv::FeatureDetector::create(\"SURF\");\n\nBoth methods have their advantages, so choose the one you most prefer. The explicit class creation allows you to pass additional arguments to the feature detector constructor, while the creation by algorithm name makes it easier to switch the algorithm during runtime.\n\nTo detect feature points, you should call the `detect` method:\n\n std::vector keypoints;\n detector->detect(image, keypoints);\n\nThe detected feature points are placed in the `keypoints` container. Each keypoint contains its center, radius, angle, and score, and has some correlation with the \"quality\" or \"strength\" of the feature point. Each feature-detection algorithm has its own score computation algorithm, so it's valid to compare scores of the keypoints detected by a particular detection algorithm.\n\n### Note\n\nCorner-based feature detectors use a grayscale image to find feature points. Descriptor-extraction algorithms also work with grayscale images. Of course, both of them can do color conversion implicitly. But in this case the color conversion will be done twice. We can improve performance by doing an explicit color conversion of the input image to grayscale and use that for feature detection and descriptor extraction.\n\nThe best results in pattern detection are achieved if the detector computes keypoint orientation and size. This makes keypoints invariant to rotation and scale. The most famous and robust keypoint detection algorithms are well known, they are used in SIFT and SURF feature detection\/description extraction. Unfortunately, they are patented; so they are not free for commercial use. However, their implementation is present in OpenCV, so you can evaluate them freely. But there are good and free replacements available. You can use the ORB or FREAK algorithm instead. The ORB detection is a modified FAST feature detector. The original FAST detector is amazingly fast but does not calculate the orientation or the size of the keypoint. Fortunately, the ORB algorithm does estimate keypoint orientation, but the feature size is still fixed. From the following paragraphs you will learn nice and cheap tricks of dealing with this. But first, let me explain why the feature point matters so much in image recognition.\n\nIf we deal with images, which usually have a color depth of 24 bits per pixel, for a resolution of 640 x 480, we have 912 KB of data. How do we find our pattern image in the real world? Pixel-to-pixel matching takes too long and we will have to deal with rotation and scaling too. It's definitely not an option. Using feature points can solve this problem. By detecting keypoints, we can be sure that returned features describe parts of the image that contains lot of information (that's because corner-based detectors return edges, corners, and other sharp figures). So to find correspondences between two frames, we only have to match keypoints.\n\nFrom the patch defined by the keypoint, we extract a vector called descriptor. It's a form of representation of the feature point. There are many methods of extraction of the descriptor from the feature point. All of them have their strengths and weaknesses. For example, SIFT and SURF descriptor-extraction algorithms are CPU-intensive but provide robust descriptors with good distinctiveness. In our sample project we use the ORB descriptor-extraction algorithm because we choose it as a feature detector too.\n\n### Note\n\nIt's always a good idea to use both feature detector and descriptor extractor from the same algorithm, as they will then fit each other perfectly.\n\nFeature descriptor is represented as a vector of fixed size (16 or more elements). Let's say our image has a resolution of 640 x 480 pixels and it has 1,500 feature points. Then, it will require `1500 * 16 * sizeof(float) = 96 KB` (for SURF). It's ten times smaller than the original image data. Also, it's much easier to operate with descriptors rather than with raster bitmaps. For two feature descriptors we can introduce a similarity score--a metric that defines the level of similarity between two vectors. Usually its L2 norm or hamming distance (based upon the kind of feature descriptor used).\n\nThe feature descriptor-extraction algorithms are derived from the `cv::DescriptorExtractor` base class. Likewise, as feature-detection algorithms they can be created by either specifying their name or with explicit constructor calls.\n\n## Definition of a pattern object\n\nTo describe a pattern object we introduce a class called `Pattern`, which holds a train image, list of features and extracted descriptors, and 2D and 3D correspondences for initial pattern position:\n\n \/**\n * Store the image data and computed descriptors of target pattern\n *\/\n struct Pattern\n {\n cv::Size size;\n cv::Mat data;\n std::vector keypoints;\n cv::Mat descriptors;\n\n std::vector points2d;\n std::vector points3d;\n };\n\n## Matching of feature points\n\nThe process of finding frame-to-frame correspondences can be formulated as the search of the nearest neighbor from one set of descriptors for every element of another set. It's called the \"matching\" procedure. There are two main algorithms for descriptor matching in OpenCV:\n\n * Brute-force matcher (`cv::BFMatcher`)\n * Flann-based matcher (`cv::FlannBasedMatcher`)\n\nThe brute-force matcher looks for each descriptor in the first set and the closest descriptor in the second set by trying each one (exhaustive search). `cv::FlannBasedMatcher` uses the fast approximate nearest neighbor search algorithm to find correspondences (it uses fast third-party library for approximate nearest neighbors library for this).\n\nThe result of descriptor matching is a list of correspondences between two sets of descriptors. The first set of descriptors is usually called the train set because it corresponds to our pattern image. The second set is called the query set as it belongs to the image where we will be looking for the pattern. The more correct matches found (more patterns to image correspondences exist) the more chances are that the pattern is present on the image.\n\nTo increase the matching speed, you can train a matcher before by calling the `match` function. The training stage can be used to optimize the performance of `cv::FlannBasedMatcher`. For this, the `train` class will build index trees for train descriptors. And this will increase the matching speed for large data sets (for example, if you want to find a match from hundreds of images). For `cv::BFMatcher` the `train` class does nothing as there is nothing to preprocess; it simply stores the train descriptors in the internal fields.\n\n### PatternDetector.cpp\n\nThe following code block trains the descriptor matcher using the pattern image:\n\n void PatternDetector::train(const Pattern& pattern)\n {\n \/\/ Store the pattern object\n m_pattern = pattern;\n\n \/\/ API of cv::DescriptorMatcher is somewhat tricky\n \/\/ First we clear old train data:\n m_matcher->clear();\n\n \/\/ That we add vector of descriptors \n \/\/ (each descriptors matrix describe one image). \n \/\/ This allows us to perform search across multiple images:\n std::vector descriptors(1);\n descriptors[0] = pattern.descriptors.clone(); \n m_matcher->add(descriptors);\n\n \/\/ After adding train data perform actual train:\n m_matcher->train();\n }\n\nTo match query descriptors, we can use one of the following methods of `cv::DescriptorMatcher`:\n\n * To find the simple list of best matches:\n\n void match(const Mat& queryDescriptors, vector& matches,\n const vector& masks=vector() );\n\n * To find _K_ nearest matches for each descriptor:\n\n void knnMatch(const Mat& queryDescriptors, vector >& matches, int k, const vector& masks=vector(),bool compactResult=false );\n\n * To find correspondences whose distances are not farther than the specified distance:\n\n void radiusMatch(const Mat& queryDescriptors, vector >& matches, maxDistance, const vector& masks=vector(), bool compactResult=false );\n\n## Outlier removal\n\nMismatches during the matching stage can happen. It's normal. There are two kinds of errors in matching:\n\n * **False-positive matches** : When the feature-point correspondence is wrong\n * **False-negative matches** : The absence of a match when the feature points are visible on both images\n\nFalse-negative matches are obviously bad. But we can't deal with them because the matching algorithm has rejected them. Our goal is therefore to minimize the number of false-positive matches. To reject wrong correspondences, we can use a cross-match technique. The idea is to match train descriptors with the query set and vice versa. Only common matches for these two matches are returned. Such techniques usually produce best results with minimal number of outliers when there are enough matches.\n\n### Cross-match filter\n\nCross-match is available in the `cv::BFMatcher` class. To enable a cross-check test, create `cv::BFMatcher` with the second argument set to `true`:\n\n cv::Ptr matcher(new cv::BFMatcher(cv::NORM_HAMMING, true));\n\nThe result of matching using cross-checks can be seen in the following screenshot:\n\n### Ratio test\n\nThe second well-known outlier-removal technique is the ratio test. We perform KNN-matching first with K=2. Two nearest descriptors are returned for each match. The match is returned only if the distance ratio between the first and second matches is big enough (the ratio threshold is usually near two).\n\n#### PatternDetector.cpp\n\nThe following code performs robust descriptor matching using a ratio test:\n\n void PatternDetector::getMatches(const cv::Mat& queryDescriptors, std::vector& matches)\n {\n matches.clear();\n\n if (enableRatioTest)\n {\n \/\/ To avoid NaNs when best match has \n \/\/ zero distance we will use inverse ratio. \n const float minRatio = 1.f \/ 1.5f;\n\n \/\/ KNN match will return 2 nearest \n \/\/ matches for each query descriptor\n m_matcher->knnMatch(queryDescriptors, m_knnMatches, 2);\n\n for (size_t i=0; imatch(queryDescriptors, matches);\n }\n }\n\nThe ratio test can remove almost all outliers. But in some cases, false-positive matches can pass through this test. In the next section, we will show you how to remove the rest of outliers and leave only correct matches.\n\n### Homography estimation\n\nTo improve our matching even more, we can perform outlier filtration using the random sample consensus (RANSAC) method. As we're working with an image (a planar object) and we expect it to be rigid, it's ok to find the homography transformation between feature points on the pattern image and feature points on the query image. Homography transformations will bring points from a pattern to the query image coordinate system. To find this transformation, we use the `cv::findHomography` function. It uses RANSAC to find the best homography matrix by probing subsets of input points. As a side effect, this function marks each correspondence as either inlier or outlier, depending on the reprojection error for the calculated homography matrix.\n\n#### PatternDetector.cpp\n\nThe following code uses a homography matrix estimation using a RANSAC algorithm to filter out geometrically incorrect matches:\n\n bool PatternDetector::refineMatchesWithHomography\n (\n const std::vector& queryKeypoints,\n const std::vector& trainKeypoints, \n float reprojectionThreshold,\n std::vector& matches,\n cv::Mat& homography\n )\n {\n const int minNumberMatchesAllowed = 8;\n\n if (matches.size() < minNumberMatchesAllowed)\n return false;\n\n \/\/ Prepare data for cv::findHomography\n std::vector srcPoints(matches.size());\n std::vector dstPoints(matches.size());\n\n for (size_t i = 0; i < matches.size(); i++)\n {\n srcPoints[i] = trainKeypoints[matches[i].trainIdx].pt;\n dstPoints[i] = queryKeypoints[matches[i].queryIdx].pt;\n }\n\n \/\/ Find homography matrix and get inliers mask\n std::vector inliersMask(srcPoints.size());\n homography = cv::findHomography(srcPoints, \n dstPoints, \n CV_FM_RANSAC, \n reprojectionThreshold, \n inliersMask);\n\n std::vector inliers;\n for (size_t i=0; i minNumberMatchesAllowed;\n }\n\nHere is a visualization of matches that were refined using this technique:\n\nThe homography search step is important because the obtained transformation is a key to find the pattern location in the query image.\n\n### Homography refinement\n\nWhen we look for homography transformations, we already have all the necessary data to find their locations in 3D. However, we can improve its position even more by finding more accurate pattern corners. For this we warp the input image using estimated homography to obtain a pattern that has been found. The result should be very close to the source train image. Homography refinement can help to find more accurate homography transformations.\n\nThen we obtain another homography and another set of inlier features. The resultant precise homography will be the matrix product of the first (H1) and second (H2) homography.\n\n#### PatternDetector.cpp\n\nThe following code block contains the final version of the pattern detection routine:\n\n bool PatternDetector::findPattern(const cv::Mat& image, PatternTrackingInfo& info)\n {\n \/\/ Convert input image to gray\n getGray(image, m_grayImg);\n\n \/\/ Extract feature points from input gray image\n extractFeatures(m_grayImg, m_queryKeypoints, m_queryDescriptors);\n\n \/\/ Get matches with current pattern\n getMatches(m_queryDescriptors, m_matches);\n\n \/\/ Find homography transformation and detect good matches\n bool homographyFound = refineMatchesWithHomography(\n m_queryKeypoints, \n m_pattern.keypoints, \n homographyReprojectionThreshold, \n m_matches, \n m_roughHomography);\n\n if (homographyFound)\n {\n \/\/ If homography refinement enabled \n \/\/ improve found transformation\n if (enableHomographyRefinement)\n {\n \/\/ Warp image using found homography\n cv::warpPerspective(m_grayImg, m_warpedImg, m_roughHomography, m_pattern.size, cv::WARP_INVERSE_MAP | cv::INTER_CUBIC);\n\n \/\/ Get refined matches:\n std::vector warpedKeypoints;\n std::vector refinedMatches;\n\n \/\/ Detect features on warped image\n extractFeatures(m_warpedImg, warpedKeypoints, m_queryDescriptors);\n\n \/\/ Match with pattern\n getMatches(m_queryDescriptors, refinedMatches);\n\n \/\/ Estimate new refinement homography\n homographyFound = refineMatchesWithHomography(\n warpedKeypoints, \n m_pattern.keypoints, \n homographyReprojectionThreshold, \n refinedMatches, \n m_refinedHomography);\n\n \/\/ Get a result homography as result of matrix product \n \/\/ of refined and rough homographies:\n info.homography = m_roughHomography * m_refinedHomography;\n\n \/\/ Transform contour with precise homography\n cv::perspectiveTransform(m_pattern.points2d, info.points2d, info.homography);\n }\n else\n {\n info.homography = m_roughHomography;\n\n \/\/ Transform contour with rough homography\n cv::perspectiveTransform(m_pattern.points2d, info.points2d, m_roughHomography);\n }\n }\n\n return homographyFound;\n }\n\nIf, after all the outlier removal stages, the number of matches is still reasonably large (at least 25 percent of features from the pattern image have correspondences with the input one), you can be sure the pattern image is located correctly. If so, we proceed to the next stage--estimation of the 3D position of the pattern pose with regards to the camera.\n\n## Putting it all together\n\nTo hold instances of the feature detector, descriptor extractor, and matcher algorithms, we create a class `PatternMatcher`, which will encapsulate all this data. It takes ownership on the feature detection and descriptor-extraction algorithm, feature matching logic, and settings that control the detection process.\n\nThe class provides a method to compute all the necessary data to build a pattern structure from a given image:\n\n void PatternDetector::computePatternFromImage(const cv::Mat& image, Pattern& pattern);\n\nThis method finds feature points on the input image and extracts descriptors using the specified detector and extractor algorithms, and fills the pattern structure with this data for later use.\n\nWhen `Pattern` is computed, we can train a detector with it by calling the `train` method:\n\n void PatternDetector::train(const Pattern& pattern)\n\nThis function sets the argument as the current target pattern that we are going to find. Also, it trains a descriptor matcher with a pattern's descriptor set. After calling this method we are ready to find our train image. The pattern detection is done in the last public function `findPattern`. This method encapsulates the whole routine as described previously, including feature detection, descriptors extraction, and matching with outlier filtration.\n\nLet's conclude again with a brief list of the steps we performed:\n\n 1. Converted input image to grayscale.\n 2. Detected features on the query image using our feature-detection algorithm.\n 3. Extracted descriptors from the input image for the detected feature points.\n 4. Matched descriptors against pattern descriptors.\n 5. Used cross-checks or ratio tests to remove outliers.\n 6. Found the homography transformation using inlier matches.\n 7. Refined the homography by warping the query image with homography from the previous step.\n 8. Found the precise homography as a result of the multiplication of rough and refined homography.\n 9. Transformed the pattern corners to an image coordinate system to get pattern locations on the input image.\n\n# Pattern pose estimation\n\nThe pose estimation is done in a similar manner to marker pose estimation from the previous chapter. As usual we need 2D-3D correspondences to estimate the camera-extrinsic parameters. We assign four 3D points to coordinate with the corners of the unit rectangle that lies in the XY plane (the Z axis is up), and 2D points correspond to the corners of the image bitmap.\n\n## PatternDetector.cpp\n\nThe `buildPatternFromImage` class creates a `Pattern` object from the input image as follows:\n\n void PatternDetector::buildPatternFromImage(const cv::Mat& image, Pattern& pattern) const\n {\n int numImages = 4;\n float step = sqrtf(2.0f);\n\n \/\/ Store original image in pattern structure\n pattern.size = cv::Size(image.cols, image.rows);\n pattern.frame = image.clone();\n getGray(image, pattern.grayImg);\n\n \/\/ Build 2d and 3d contours (3d contour lie in XY plane since \/\/ it's planar)\n pattern.points2d.resize(4);\n pattern.points3d.resize(4);\n\n \/\/ Image dimensions\n const float w = image.cols;\n const float h = image.rows;\n\n \/\/ Normalized dimensions:\n const float maxSize = std::max(w,h);\n const float unitW = w \/ maxSize;\n const float unitH = h \/ maxSize;\n\n pattern.points2d[0] = cv::Point2f(0,0);\n pattern.points2d[1] = cv::Point2f(w,0);\n pattern.points2d[2] = cv::Point2f(w,h);\n pattern.points2d[3] = cv::Point2f(0,h);\n\n pattern.points3d[0] = cv::Point3f(-unitW, -unitH, 0);\n pattern.points3d[1] = cv::Point3f( unitW, -unitH, 0);\n pattern.points3d[2] = cv::Point3f( unitW, unitH, 0);\n pattern.points3d[3] = cv::Point3f(-unitW, unitH, 0);\n\n extractFeatures(pattern.grayImg, pattern.keypoints, pattern.descriptors);\n }\n\nThis configuration of corners is useful as this pattern coordinate system will be placed directly in the center of the pattern location lying in the XY plane, with the Z axis looking in the direction of the camera.\n\n## Obtaining the camera-intrinsic matrix\n\nThe camera-intrinsic parameters can be calculated using a sample program from the OpenCV distribution package called `camera_cailbration.exe`. This program will find the internal lens parameters such as focal length, principal point, and distortion coefficients using a series of pattern images. Let's say we have a set of eight calibration pattern images from various points of view, as follows:\n\nThen the command-line syntax to perform calibration will be as follows:\n\n **imagelist_creator imagelist.yaml *.png**\n **calibration -w 9 -h 6 -o camera_intrinsic.yaml imagelist.yaml**\n\nThe first command will create an image list of YAML format that the calibration tool expects as input from all PNG files in the current directory. You can use the exact file names, such as `img1.png`, `img2.png`, and `img3.png`. The generated file `imagelist.yaml` is then passed to the calibration application. Also, the calibration tool can take images from a regular web camera.\n\nWe specify the dimensions of the calibration pattern and input and output files where the calibration data will be written.\n\nAfter calibration is done, you'll get the following result in a YAML file:\n\n **%YAML:1.0**\n **calibration_time: \"06\/12\/12 11:17:56\"**\n **image_width: 640**\n **image_height: 480**\n **board_width: 9**\n **board_height: 6**\n **square_size: 1.**\n **flags: 0**\n **camera_matrix: !!opencv-matrix**\n **rows: 3**\n **cols: 3**\n **dt: d**\n **data: [ 5.2658037684199849e+002, 0., 3.1841744018680112e+002, 0.,**\n **5.2465577209994706e+002, 2.0296659047014398e+002, 0., 0., 1. ]**\n **distortion_coefficients: !!opencv-matrix**\n **rows: 5**\n **cols: 1**\n **dt: d**\n **data: [ 7.3253671786835686e-002, -8.6143199924308911e-002,**\n **-2.0800255026966759e-002, -6.8004894417795971e-004,**\n **-1.7750733073535208e-001 ]**\n **avg_reprojection_error: 3.6539552933501085e-001**\n\nWe are mainly interested in `camera_matrix`, which is the 3 x 3 camera-calibration matrix. It has the following notation:\n\nWe're mainly interested in four components: fx, fy, cx, and cy. With this data we can create an instance of the camera-calibration object using the following code for calibration:\n\n CameraCalibration calibration(526.58037684199849e, 524.65577209994706e, 318.41744018680112, 202.96659047014398)\n\nWithout correct camera calibration it's impossible to create a natural-looking augmented reality. The estimated perspective transformation will differ from the transformation that the camera has. This will cause the augmented objects to look like they are too close or too far. The following is an example screenshot where the camera calibration was changed intentionally:\n\nAs you can see, the perspective look of the box differs from the overall scene.\n\nTo estimate the pattern position, we solve the PnP problem using the OpenCV function `cv::solvePnP`. You are probably familiar with this function because we used it in the marker-based AR too. We need the coordinates of the pattern corners on the current image, and its reference 3D coordinates we defined previously.\n\n### Note\n\nThe `cv::solvePnP` function can work with more than four points. Also, it's a key function if you want to create an AR with complex shape patterns. The idea remains the same--you just have to define a 3D structure of your pattern and the 2D find point correspondences. Of course, the homography estimation is not applicable here.\n\nWe take the reference 3D points from the trained pattern object and their corresponding projections in 2D from the `PatternTrackingInfo` structure; the camera calibration is stored in a `PatternDetector` private field.\n\n### Pattern.cpp\n\nThe pattern location in 3D space is estimated by the `computePose` function as follows:\n\n void PatternTrackingInfo::computePose(const Pattern& pattern, const CameraCalibration& calibration)\n {\n cv::Mat camMatrix, distCoeff;\n cv::Mat(3,3, CV_32F, const_cast(&calibration.getIntrinsic().data[0])).copyTo(camMatrix);\n cv::Mat(4,1, CV_32F, const_cast(&calibration.getDistorsion().data[0])).copyTo(distCoeff);\n\n cv::Mat Rvec;\n cv::Mat_ Tvec;\n cv::Mat raux,taux;\n cv::solvePnP(pattern.points3d, points2d, camMatrix, distCoeff,raux,taux);\n raux.convertTo(Rvec,CV_32F);\n taux.convertTo(Tvec ,CV_32F);\n\n cv::Mat_ rotMat(3,3); \n cv::Rodrigues(Rvec, rotMat);\n\n \/\/ Copy to transformation matrix\n pose3d = Transformation();\n\n for (int col=0; col<3; col++)\n {\n for (int row=0; row<3; row++)\n { \n pose3d.r().mat[row][col] = rotMat(row,col); \n \/\/ Copy rotation component\n }\n pose3d.t().data[col] = Tvec(col); \n \/\/ Copy translation component\n }\n\n \/\/ Since solvePnP finds camera location, w.r.t to marker pose, \n \/\/ to get marker pose w.r.t to the camera we invert it.\n pose3d = pose3d.getInverted();\n }\n\n# Application infrastructure\n\nSo far, we've learned how to detect a pattern and estimate its 3D position with regards to the camera. Now it's time to show how to put these algorithms into a real application. So our goal for this section is to show how to use OpenCV to capture a video from a web camera and create the visualization context for 3D rendering.\n\nAs our goal is to show how to use key features of marker-less AR, we will create a simple command-line application that will be capable of detecting arbitrary pattern images either in a video sequence or in still images.\n\nTo hold all image-processing logic and intermediate data, we introduce the `ARPipeline` class. It's a root object that holds all subcomponents necessary for augmented reality and performs all processing routines on the input frames. The following is a UML diagram of `ARPipeline` and its subcomponents:\n\nIt consists of:\n\n * The camera-calibration object\n * An Instance of the pattern-detector object\n * A trained pattern object\n * Intermediate data of pattern tracking\n\n## ARPipeline.hpp\n\nThe following code contains a declaration of the `ARPipeline` class:\n\n class ARPipeline\n {\n public:\n ARPipeline(const cv::Mat& patternImage, const CameraCalibration& calibration);\n\n bool processFrame(const cv::Mat& inputFrame);\n\n const Transformation& getPatternLocation() const;\n\n private:\n CameraCalibration m_calibration;\n Pattern m_pattern;\n PatternTrackingInfo m_patternInfo;\n PatternDetector m_patternDetector;\n };\n\nIn the `ARPipeline` constructor, a pattern object is initialized and the calibration data is saved to the `private` field. The `processFrame` function implements pattern detection and the person's pose-estimation routine. The return value indicates the success of pattern detection. You can get the calculated pattern pose by calling the `getPatternLocation` function.\n\n## ARPipeline.cpp\n\nThe following code contains the implementation of the `ARPipeline` class:\n\n ARPipeline::ARPipeline(const cv::Mat& patternImage, const CameraCalibration& calibration)\n : m_calibration(calibration)\n {\n m_patternDetector.buildPatternFromImage (patternImage, m_pattern);\n m_patternDetector.train(m_pattern);\n }\n\n bool ARPipeline::processFrame(const cv::Mat& inputFrame)\n {\n bool patternFound = m_patternDetector.findPattern(inputFrame, m_patternInfo);\n\n if (patternFound)\n {\n m_patternInfo.computePose(m_pattern, m_calibration);\n }\n\n return patternFound;\n }\n\n const Transformation& ARPipeline::getPatternLocation() const\n {\n return m_patternInfo.pose3d;\n }\n\n## Enabling support for 3D visualization in OpenCV\n\nAs in the previous chapter, we will use OpenGL to render our 3D working. But unlike the iOS environment, where we had to follow the iOS application architecture requirements, we now have much more freedom. On Windows and Mac you can choose from many 3D engines. In this chapter, we will learn how to create cross-platform 3D visualization using OpenCV. Starting from version 2.4.2, OpenCV has OpenGL's support in visualization windows. This means you can now easily render any 3D content in OpenCV.\n\nTo set up an OpenGL window in OpenCV, the first thing you need to do is to build OpenCV with OpenGL support. Otherwise, an exception will be thrown when you attempt to use the OpenGL-related functions of OpenCV. To enable OpenGL support, you should build the OpenCV library with the `ENABLE_OPENGL=YES` flag.\n\n### Note\n\nAs of the current version (OpenCV 2.4.2), OpenGL support is turned off by default. We cannot guarantee it, but OpenGL may be enabled by default in future releases. If so, there will be no need to build OpenCV manually.\n\nTo set up an OpenGL window in OpenCV, perform the following:\n\n * Clone the OpenCV repository from GitHub (). You will need either command-line git tools or the GitHub Application installed on your computer to perform this step.\n * Configure OpenCV and generate a workspace for your IDE. You will need a CMake application to complete this step. CMake can be freely downloaded from .\n\nTo configure OpenCV, you can either use the command-line CMake command as follows (run from the directory where you want the generated project to be placed):\n\n **cmake -D ENABLE_OPENGL=YES **\n\nOr, if you prefer GUI-style, use CMake-GUI for a more user-friendly project configuration:\n\nAfter the generation of the OpenCV workspace for the selected IDE, open the project and execute the install target to build the library and install it. When this process is done, you can configure the sample project using the new OpenCV library you've just built.\n\n## Creating OpenGL windows using OpenCV\n\nNow that we have OpenCV binaries with OpenGL support, it's time to create our first OpenGL window. The initialization of the OpenGL window starts with creating the named window with an OpenGL flag:\n\n cv::namedWindow(ARWindowName, cv::WINDOW_OPENGL);\n\n`ARWindowName` is a string constant for the name of our window. We will use `Markerless AR` here. This call will create a window with the specified name. The `cv::WINDOW_OPENGL` flag indicates we're going to use OpenGL in this window. Then we set the desired window size:\n\n cv::resizeWindow(ARWindowName, 640, 480);\n\nWe then set up the drawing context for this window:\n\n cv::setOpenGlContext(ARWindowName);\n\nNow our window is ready for use. To draw something on it, we should register a callback function using the following method:\n\n cv::setOpenGlDrawCallback(ARWindowName, drawAR, NULL);\n\nThis callback will be called on the repaint window. The first argument sets the window name, the second is a callback function, and the third optional argument will be passed to the callback function.\n\nThe `drawAR` function should have following signature:\n\n void drawAR(void* param)\n {\n \/\/ Draw something using OpenGL here\n }\n\nTo notify the system that you want to redraw your window, use the `cv::updateWindow` function:\n\n cv::updateWindow(ARWindowName);\n\n## Video capture using OpenCV\n\nOpenCV allows you to easily retrieve frames from almost every web camera and video file as well. To capture video from either a webcam or a video file, we can use the `cv::VideoCapture` class, as shown in the _Accessing the webcam_ section from Chapter 1, _Cartoonifier and Skin Changer for Android_.\n\n## Rendering augmented reality\n\nWe introduce the `ARDrawingContext` structure to hold all the necessary data that visualization may need:\n\n * The most recent image taken from the camera\n * The camera-calibration matrix\n * The pattern pose in 3D (if present)\n * The internal data related to OpenGL (texture ID and so on)\n\n### ARDrawingContext.hpp\n\nThe following code contains a declaration of the `ARDrawingContext` class:\n\n class ARDrawingContext\n {\n public:\n ARDrawingContext(const CameraCalibration& c);\n\n bool patternPresent;\n Transformation patternPose;\n\n \/\/! Request the redraw of the OpenGl window\n void draw();\n\n \/\/! Set the new frame for the background\n void updateBackground(const cv::Mat& frame);\n\n private:\n \/\/! Draws the background with video\n void drawCameraFrame ();\n\n \/\/! Draws the AR\n void drawAugmentedScene();\n\n \/\/! Builds the right projection matrix \n \/\/! from the camera calibration for AR\n void buildProjectionMatrix(const Matrix33& calibration, int w, int h, Matrix44& result);\n\n \/\/! Draws the coordinate axis \n void drawCoordinateAxis();\n\n \/\/! Draw the cube model\n void drawCubeModel();\n\n private:\n bool m_textureInitialized;\n unsigned int m_backgroundTextureId;\n CameraCalibration m_calibration;\n cv::Mat m_backgroundImage;\n };\n\n### ARDrawingContext.cpp\n\nInitialization of the OpenGL window is done in the constructor of the `ARDrawingContext` class as follows:\n\n ARDrawingContext::ARDrawingContext(std::string windowName, cv::Size frameSize, const CameraCalibration& c)\n : m_isTextureInitialized(false)\n , m_calibration(c)\n , m_windowName(windowName)\n {\n \/\/ Create window with OpenGL support\n cv::namedWindow(windowName, cv::WINDOW_OPENGL);\n\n \/\/ Resize it exactly to video size\n cv::resizeWindow(windowName, frameSize.width, frameSize.height);\n\n \/\/ Initialize OpenGL draw callback:\n cv::setOpenGlContext(windowName);\n cv::setOpenGlDrawCallback(windowName, ARDrawingContextDrawCallback, this);\n }\n\nAs we now have a separate class for storing the visualization state, we modify the `cv::setOpenGlDrawCallback` call and pass an instance of `ARDrawingContext` as the parameter.\n\nThe modified callback function is as follows:\n\n void ARDrawingContextDrawCallback(void* param)\n {\n ARDrawingContext * ctx = static_cast(param);\n if (ctx)\n {\n ctx->draw();\n }\n }\n\n`ARDrawingContext` takes all the responsibility of rendering the augmented reality. The frame rendering starts by drawing a background with an orthography projection. Then we render a 3D model with the correct perspective projection and model transformation. The following code contains the final version of the `draw` function:\n\n void ARDrawingContext::draw()\n {\n \/\/ Clear entire screen\n glClear(GL_DEPTH_BUFFER_BIT | GL_COLOR_BUFFER_BIT); \n \/\/ Render background\n drawCameraFrame(); \n \/\/ Draw AR\n drawAugmentedScene(); \n }\n\nAfter clearing the screen and depth buffer, we check if a texture for presenting a video is initialized. If so, we proceed to drawing a background, otherwise we create a new 2D texture by calling `glGenTextures`.\n\nTo draw a background, we set up an orthographic projection and draw a solid rectangle that covers all the screen viewports. This rectangle is bound with a texture unit. This texture is filled with the content of an `m_backgroundImage` object. Its content is uploaded to the OpenGL memory beforehand. This function is identical to the function from the previous chapter, so we will omit its code here.\n\nAfter drawing the picture from a camera, we switch to drawing an AR. It's necessary to set the correct perspective projection that matches our camera calibration.\n\nThe following code shows how to build the correct OpenGL projection matrix from the camera calibration and render the scene:\n\n void ARDrawingContext::drawAugmentedScene()\n {\n \/\/ Init augmentation projection\n Matrix44 projectionMatrix;\n int w = m_backgroundImage.cols;\n int h = m_backgroundImage.rows;\n buildProjectionMatrix(m_calibration, w, h, projectionMatrix);\n\n glMatrixMode(GL_PROJECTION);\n glLoadMatrixf(projectionMatrix.data);\n\n glMatrixMode(GL_MODELVIEW);\n glLoadIdentity();\n\n if (isPatternPresent)\n {\n \/\/ Set the pattern transformation\n Matrix44 glMatrix = patternPose.getMat44();\n glLoadMatrixf(reinterpret_cast(&glMatrix.data[0]));\n\n \/\/ Render model\n drawCoordinateAxis();\n drawCubeModel();\n }\n }\n\nThe `buildProjectionMatrix` function was taken from the previous chapter, so it's the same. After applying perspective projection, we set the `GL_MODELVIEW` matrix to pattern transformation. To prove that our pose estimation works correctly, we draw a unit coordinate system in the pattern position.\n\nAlmost all things are done. We create a pattern-detection algorithm and then we estimate the pose of the found pattern in 3D space, a visualization system to render the AR. Let's take a look at the following UML sequence diagram that demonstrates the frame-processing routine in our app:\n\n## Demonstration\n\nOur demonstration project supports the processing of still images, recorded videos, and live views from a web camera. We create two functions that help us with this.\n\n### main.cpp\n\nThe function `processVideo` handles the processing of the video and the function `processSingleImage` is used to process a single image, as follows:\n\n void processVideo(const cv::Mat& patternImage, CameraCalibration& calibration, cv::VideoCapture& capture);\n\n void processSingleImage(const cv::Mat& patternImage, CameraCalibration& calibration, const cv::Mat& image);\n\nFrom the function names it's clear that the first function processed the video source, and the second one works with a single image (this function is useful for debugging purposes). Both of them have a very common routine of image processing, pattern detection, scene rendering, and user interaction.\n\nThe `processFrame` function wraps these steps as follows:\n\n \/**\n * Performs full detection routine on camera frame \n .* and draws the scene using drawing context. \n * In addition, this function draw overlay with debug information \n .* on top of the AR window. Returns true \n .* if processing loop should be stopped; otherwise - false.\n *\/\n bool processFrame(const cv::Mat& cameraFrame, ARPipeline& pipeline, ARDrawingContext& drawingCtx)\n {\n \/\/ Clone image used for background (we will \n \/\/ draw overlay on it)\n cv::Mat img = cameraFrame.clone();\n\n \/\/ Draw information:\n if (pipeline.m_patternDetector.enableHomographyRefinement)\n cv::putText(img, \"Pose refinement: On ('h' to switch off)\", cv::Point(10,15), CV_FONT_HERSHEY_PLAIN, 1, CV_RGB(0,200,0));\n else\n cv::putText(img, \"Pose refinement: Off ('h' to switch \n on)\", cv::Point(10,15), CV_FONT_HERSHEY_PLAIN, 1, CV_RGB(0,200,0));\n\n cv::putText(img, \"RANSAC threshold: \" + ToString(pipeline.m_patternDetector.homographyReprojectionThreshold) + \"( Use'-'\/'+' to adjust)\", cv::Point(10, 30), CV_FONT_HERSHEY_PLAIN, 1, CV_RGB(0,200,0));\n \/\/ Set a new camera frame:\n drawingCtx.updateBackground(img);\n\n \/\/ Find a pattern and update its detection status:\n drawingCtx.isPatternPresent = pipeline.processFrame(cameraFrame);\n\n \/\/ Update a pattern pose:\n drawingCtx.patternPose = pipeline.getPatternLocation();\n\n \/\/ Request redraw of the window:\n drawingCtx.updateWindow();\n\n \/\/ Read the keyboard input:\n int keyCode = cv::waitKey(5);\n\n bool shouldQuit = false;\n if (keyCode == '+' || keyCode == '=')\n {\n pipeline.m_patternDetector.homographyReprojectionThreshold += 0.2f;\n pipeline.m_patternDetector.homographyReprojectionThreshold = std::min(10.0f, pipeline.m_patternDetector.homographyReprojectionThreshold);\n }\n else if (keyCode == '-')\n {\n pipeline.m_patternDetector.homographyReprojectionThreshold -= 0.2f;\n pipeline.m_patternDetector.homographyReprojectionThreshold = std::max(0.0f, pipeline.m_patternDetector.homographyReprojectionThreshold);\n }\n else if (keyCode == 'h')\n {\n pipeline.m_patternDetector.enableHomographyRefinement = !pipeline.m_patternDetector.enableHomographyRefinement;\n }\n else if (keyCode == 27 || keyCode == 'q')\n {\n shouldQuit = true;\n }\n\n return shouldQuit;\n }\n\nThe initialization of `ARPipeline` and `ARDrawingContext` is done either in the `processSingleImage` or `processVideo` function as follows:\n\n void processSingleImage(const cv::Mat& patternImage, CameraCalibration& calibration, const cv::Mat& image)\n {\n cv::Size frameSize(image.cols, image.rows);\n ARPipeline pipeline(patternImage, calibration);\n ARDrawingContext drawingCtx(\"Markerless AR\", frameSize, calibration);\n\n bool shouldQuit = false;\n do\n {\n shouldQuit = processFrame(image, pipeline, drawingCtx);\n } while (!shouldQuit);\n }\n\nWe create `ARPipeline` from the pattern image and calibration arguments. Then we initialize `ARDrawingContext` using calibration again. After these steps, the OpenGL window is created. Then we upload the query image into a drawing context and call `ARPipeline.processFrame` to find a pattern. If the pose pattern has been found, we copy its location to the drawing context for further frame rendering. If the pattern has not been detected, we render only the camera frame without any AR.\n\nYou can run the demo application in one of the following ways:\n\n * To run on a single image call:\n\n markerless_ar_demo pattern.png test_image.png\n\n * To run on a recorded video call:\n\n markerless_ar_demo pattern.png test_video.avi\n\n * To run using live feed from a web camera, call:\n\n **markerless_ar_demo pattern.png**\n\nThe result of augmenting a single image is shown in the following screenshot:\n\n# Summary\n\nIn this chapter you have learned about feature descriptors and how to use them to define a scale and a rotation invariant pattern description. This description can be used to find similar entries in other images. The strengths and weaknesses of most popular feature descriptors were also explained. In the second half of the chapter, we learned how to use OpenGL and OpenCV together for rendering augmented reality.\n\n# References\n\n * _Distinctive Image Features from Scale-Invariant Keypoints_ ()\n * _SURF: Speeded Up Robust Features_ ()\n * _Model-Based Object Pose in 25 Lines of Code_ , _Dementhon and L.S Davis_ , _International Journal of Computer Vision_ , _edition 15_ , _pp. 123-141_ , _1995_\n * _Linear N-Point Camera Pose Determination, L.Quan_ , _IEEE Trans. on Pattern Analysis and Machine Intelligence_ , _vol. 21_ , _edition. 7_ , _July 1999_\n * _Random Sample Consensus: A Paradigm for Model Fitting with Applications to Image Analysis and Automated Cartography_ , _M. Fischer and R. Bolles, Graphics and Image Processing_ , _vol. 24_ , _edition. 6_ , _pp. 381-395_ , _June 1981_\n * _Multiple View Geometry in Computer Vision_ , _R. Hartley and A.Zisserman_ , _Cambridge University Press_ ()\n * _Camera Pose Revisited - New Linear Algorithms_, _M_ _. Ameller, B.Triggs, L.Quan_ ()\n * _Closed-form solution of absolute orientation using unit quaternions_ , _Berthold K. P. Horn_ , _Journal of the Optical Society A_ , _vol._ _4_ , _629 -642_\n\n# Chapter 4. Exploring Structure from Motion Using OpenCV\n\nIn this chapter we will discuss the notion of **Structure from Motion** ( **SfM** ), or better put as extracting geometric structures from images taken through a camera's motion, using functions within OpenCV's API to help us. First, let us constrain the otherwise lengthy footpath of our approach to using a single camera, usually called a **monocular** approach, and a discrete and sparse set of frames rather than a continuous video stream. These two constrains will greatly simplify the system we will sketch in the coming pages, and help us understand the fundamentals of any SfM method. To implement our method we will follow in the footsteps of Hartley and Zisserman (hereafter referred to as H and Z), as documented in chapters 9 through 12 of their seminal book _Multiple View Geometry in Computer Vision_.\n\nIn this chapter we cover the following:\n\n * Structure from Motion concepts\n * Estimating the camera motion from a pair of images\n * Reconstructing the scene\n * Reconstruction from many views\n * Refinement of the reconstruction\n * Visualizing 3D point clouds\n\nThroughout the chapter we assume the use of a calibrated camera--one that was calibrated beforehand. **Calibration** is a ubiquitous operation in computer vision, fully supported in OpenCV using command-line tools and was discussed in previous chapters. We therefore assume the existence of the camera's intrinsic parameters embodied in the K matrix, one of the outputs from the calibration process.\n\nTo make things clear in terms of language, from this point on we will refer to a camera as a single view of the scene rather than to the optics and hardware taking the image. A camera has a position in space, and a direction of view. Between two cameras, there is a translation element (movement through space) and a rotation of the direction of view.\n\nWe will also unify the terms for the point in the scene, world, real, or 3D to be the same thing, a point that exists in our real world. The same goes for points in the image or 2D, which are points in the image coordinates, of some real 3D point that was projected on the camera sensor at that location and time.\n\nIn the chapter's code sections you will notice references to _Multiple View Geometry in Computer Vision_ , for example `\/\/ HZ 9.12`. This refers to equation number 12 of chapter 9 of the book. Also, the text will include excerpts of code only, while the complete runnable code is included in the material accompanied with the book.\n\n# Structure from Motion concepts\n\nThe first discrimination we should make is the difference between stereo (or indeed any multiview), 3D reconstruction using calibrated rigs, and SfM. While a rig of two or more cameras assume we already know what the motion between the cameras is, in SfM we don't actually know this motion and we wish to find it. Calibrated rigs, from a simplistic point of view, allow a much more accurate reconstruction of 3D geometry because there is no error in estimating the distance and rotation between the cameras--it is already known. The first step in implementing an SfM system is finding the motion between the cameras. OpenCV may help us in a number of ways to obtain this motion, specifically using the `findFundamentalMat` function.\n\nLet us think for one moment of the goal behind choosing an SfM algorithm. In most cases we wish to obtain the geometry of the scene, for example, where objects are in relation to the camera and what their form is. Assuming we already know the motion between the cameras picturing the same scene, from a reasonably similar point of view, we would now like to reconstruct the geometry. In computer vision jargon this is known as **triangulation** , and there are plenty of ways to go about it. It may be done by way of ray intersection, where we construct two rays: one from each camera's center of projection and a point on each of the image planes. The intersection of these rays in space will, ideally, intersect at one 3D point in the real world that was imaged in each camera, as shown in the following diagram:\n\nIn reality, ray intersection is highly unreliable; H and Z recommend against it. This is because the rays usually do not intersect, making us fall back to using the middle point on the shortest segment connecting the two rays. Instead, H and Z suggest a number of ways to triangulate 3D points, of which we will discuss a couple of them in the _Reconstructing the scene_ section. The current version of OpenCV does not contain a simple API for triangulation, so this part we will code on our own.\n\nAfter we have learned how to recover 3D geometry from two views, we will see how we can incorporate more views of the same scene to get an even richer reconstruction. At that point, most SfM methods try to optimize the bundle of estimated positions of our cameras and 3D points by means of Bundle Adjustment, in the _Refinement of the reconstruction_ section. OpenCV contains means for Bundle Adjustment in its new Image Stitching Toolbox. However, the beauty of working with OpenCV and C++ is the abundance of external tools that can be easily integrated into the pipeline. We will therefore see how to integrate an external bundle adjuster, the neat SSBA library.\n\nNow that we have sketched an outline of our approach to SfM using OpenCV, we will see how each element can be implemented.\n\n# Estimating the camera motion from a pair of images\n\nBefore we set out to actually find the motion between two cameras, let us examine the inputs and the tools we have at hand to perform this operation. First, we have two images of the same scene from (hopefully not extremely) different positions in space. This is a powerful asset, and we will make sure to use it. Now as far as tools go, we should take a look at mathematical objects that impose constraints over our images, cameras, and the scene.\n\nTwo very useful mathematical objects are the fundamental matrix (denoted by F) and the essential matrix (denoted by E). They are mostly similar, except that the essential matrix is assuming usage of calibrated cameras; this is the case for us, so we will choose it. OpenCV only allows us to find the fundamental matrix via the `findFundamentalMat` function; however, it is extremely simple to get the essential matrix from it using the calibration matrix `K` as follows:\n\n Mat_ E = K.t() * F * K; \/\/according to HZ (9.12)\n\nThe essential matrix, a 3 x 3 sized matrix, imposes a constraint between a point in one image and a point in the other image with x'Ex=0, where x is a point in image one and x' is the corresponding point in image two. This is extremely useful, as we are about to see. Another important fact we use is that the essential matrix is all we need in order to recover both cameras for our images, although only up to scale; but we will get to that later. So, if we obtain the essential matrix, we know where each camera is positioned in space, and where it is looking. We can easily calculate the matrix if we have enough of those constraint equations, simply because each equation can be used to solve for a small part of the matrix. In fact, OpenCV allows us to calculate it using just seven point-pairs, but hopefully we will have many more pairs and get a more robust solution.\n\n## Point matching using rich feature descriptors\n\nNow we will make use of our constraint equations to calculate the essential matrix. To get our constraints, remember that for each point in image A we must find a corresponding point in image B. How can we achieve such a matching? Simply by using OpenCV's extensive feature-matching framework, which has greatly matured in the past few years.\n\nFeature extraction and descriptor matching is an essential process in computer vision, and is used in many methods to perform all sorts of operations. For example, detecting the position and orientation of an object in the image or searching a big database of images for similar images through a given query. In essence, **extraction** means selecting points in the image that would make the features good, and computing a descriptor for them. A **descriptor** is a vector of numbers that describes the surrounding environment around a feature point in an image. Different methods have different length and data type for their descriptor vectors. **Matching** is the process of finding a corresponding feature from one set in another using its descriptor. OpenCV provides very easy and powerful methods to support feature extraction and matching. More information about feature matching may be found in Chapter 3, _Marker-less Augmented Reality_.\n\nLet us examine a very simple feature extraction and matching scheme:\n\n \/\/ detectingkeypoints\n SurfFeatureDetectordetector();\n vector keypoints1, keypoints2;\n detector.detect(img1, keypoints1);\n detector.detect(img2, keypoints2);\n\n \/\/ computing descriptors\n SurfDescriptorExtractor extractor;\n Mat descriptors1, descriptors2;\n extractor.compute(img1, keypoints1, descriptors1);\n extractor.compute(img2, keypoints2, descriptors2);\n\n \/\/ matching descriptors\n BruteForceMatcher> matcher;\n vector matches;\n matcher.match(descriptors1, descriptors2, matches);\n\nYou may have already seen similar OpenCV code, but let us review it quickly. Our goal is to obtain three elements: Feature points for two images, descriptors for them, and a matching between the two sets of features. OpenCV provides a range of feature detectors, descriptor extractors, and matchers. In this simple example we use the `SurfFeatureDetector` function to get the 2D location of the **Speeded-Up Robust Features (SURF)** features, and the `SurfDescriptorExtractor` function to get the SURF descriptors. We use a brute-force matcher to get the matching, which is the most straightforward way to match two feature sets implemented by comparing each feature in the first set to each feature in the second set (hence the phrasing brute-force) and getting the best match.\n\nIn the next image we will see a matching of feature points on two images from the Fountain-P11 sequence found at .\n\nPractically, raw matching like we just performed is good only up to a certain level, and many matches are probably erroneous. For that reason, most SfM methods perform some form of filtering on the matches to ensure correctness and reduce errors. One form of filtering, which is the built-in OpenCV's brute-force matcher, is cross-check filtering. That is, a match is considered true if a feature of the first image matched a feature of the second image, and the reverse check also matched the feature of the second image with the feature of the first image. Another common filtering mechanism, used in the provided code, is to filter based on the fact that the two images are of the same scene and have a certain stereo-view relationship between them. In practice, the filter tries to robustly calculate the fundamental matrix, of which we will learn in the _Finding camera matrices_ section, and retain those feature pairs that correspond with this calculation with small errors.\n\n## Point matching using optical flow\n\nAn alternative to using rich features, such as SURF, is using **optical flow** ( **OF** ). The following information box provides a short overview of optical flow. OpenCV recently extended its API for getting the flow field from two images and now it is faster and more powerful. We will try to use it as an alternative to matching features.\n\n### Note\n\n**Optical flow** is the process of matching selected points from one image to another, assuming both images are part of a sequence and relatively close to one another. Most optical flow methods compare a small region, known as the search window or patch, around each point from image A to the same area in image B. Following a very common rule in computer vision, called the brightness constancy constraint (and other names), the small patches of the image will not change drastically from one image to the other, and therefore the magnitude of their subtraction should be close to zero. In addition to matching patches, newer methods of optical flow use a number of additional methods to get better results. One is using image pyramids, which are smaller and smaller resized versions of the image, which allow for working \"from-coarse-to-fine\"--a very well-used trick in computer vision. Another method is to define global constraints on the flow field, assuming that the points close to each other \"move together\" in the same direction. A more in-depth review of optical flow methods in OpenCV can be found in _Chapter Developing Fluid Wall Using the Microsoft Kinect_ which is available on the Packt website..\n\nUsing optical flow in OpenCV is fairly easy by invoking the `calcOpticalFlowPyrLK` function. However, we would like to keep the result matching from OF similar to that using rich features, as in the future we would like the two approaches to be interchangeable. To that end, we must install a special matching method--one that is interchangeable with the previous feature-based method, which we are about to see in the code section that follows:\n\n Vectorleft_keypoints,right_keypoints;\n\n \/\/ Detect keypoints in the left and right images\n FastFeatureDetectorffd;\n ffd.detect(img1, left_keypoints);\n ffd.detect(img2, right_keypoints);\n\n vectorleft_points;\n KeyPointsToPoints(left_keypoints,left_points);\n\n vectorright_points(left_points.size());\n\n \/\/ making sure images are grayscale\n Mat prevgray,gray;\n if (img1.channels() == 3) {\n cvtColor(img1,prevgray,CV_RGB2GRAY);\n cvtColor(img2,gray,CV_RGB2GRAY);\n } else {\n prevgray = img1;\n gray = img2;\n }\n\n \/\/ Calculate the optical flow field:\n \/\/ how each left_point moved across the 2 images\n vectorvstatus; vectorverror;\n calcOpticalFlowPyrLK(prevgray, gray, left_points, right_points, vstatus, verror);\n\n \/\/ First, filter out the points with high error\n vectorright_points_to_find;\n vectorright_points_to_find_back_index;\n for (unsigned inti=0; iright_features; \/\/ detected features\n KeyPointsToPoints(right_keypoints,right_features);\n\n Mat right_features_flat = Mat(right_features).reshape(1,right_features.size());\n\n \/\/ Look around each OF point in the right image\n \/\/ for any features that were detected in its area\n \/\/ and make a match.\n BFMatchermatcher(CV_L2);\n vector>nearest_neighbors;\n matcher.radiusMatch(\n right_points_to_find_flat,\n right_features_flat,\n nearest_neighbors,\n 2.0f);\n\n \/\/ Check that the found neighbors are unique (throw away neighbors\n \/\/ that are too close together, as they may be confusing)\n std::setfound_in_right_points; \/\/ for duplicate prevention\n for(inti=0;i1) {\n \/\/ 2 neighbors - check how close they are\n double ratio = nearest_neighbors[i][0].distance \/ nearest_neighbors[i][1].distance;\n if(ratio < 0.7) { \/\/ not too close\n \/\/ take the closest (first) one\n _m = nearest_neighbors[i][0];\n } else { \/\/ too close - we cannot tell which is better\n continue; \/\/ did not pass ratio test - throw away\n }\n } else {\n continue; \/\/ no neighbors... :(\n }\n\n \/\/ prevent duplicates\n if (found_in_right_points.find(_m.trainIdx) == found_in_right_points.end()) { \n \/\/ The found neighbor was not yet used:\n \/\/ We should match it with the original indexing \n \/\/ ofthe left point\n _m.queryIdx = right_points_to_find_back_index[_m.queryIdx]; \n matches->push_back(_m); \/\/ add this match\n found_in_right_points.insert(_m.trainIdx);\n }\n }\n cout<<\"pruned \"<< matches->size() <<\" \/ \"<imgpts1,imgpts2;\n for( unsigned inti = 0; i E = K.t() * F * K; \/\/according to HZ (9.12)\n\nWe may later use the `status` binary vector to prune those points that align with the recovered fundamental matrix. See the following image for an illustration of point matching after pruning with the fundamental matrix. The red arrows mark feature matches that were removed in the process of finding the `F` matrix, and the green arrows are feature matches that were kept.\n\nNow we are ready to find the camera matrices. This process is described at length in chapter 9 of H and Z's book; however, we are going to use a very straightforward and simplistic implementation of it, and OpenCV makes things very easy for us. But first, we will briefly examine the structure of the camera matrix we are going to use.\n\nThis is the model for our camera, it consists of two elements, rotation (denoted as **R** ) and translation (denoted as **t** ). The interesting thing about it is that it holds a very essential equation: x=PX, where x is a 2D point on the image and X is a 3D point in space. There is more to it, but this matrix gives us a very important relationship between the image points and the scene points. So, now that we have a motivation for finding the camera matrices, we will see how it can be done. The following code section shows how to decompose the essential matrix into the rotation and translation elements:\n\n SVD svd(E);\n Matx33d W(0,-1,0,\/\/HZ 9.13\n 1,0,0,\n 0,0,1);\n Mat_ R = svd.u * Mat(W) * svd.vt; \/\/HZ 9.19\n Mat_ t = svd.u.col(2); \/\/u3\n Matx34d P1( R(0,0),R(0,1), R(0,2), t(0),\n R(1,0),R(1,1), R(1,2), t(1),\n R(2,0),R(2,1), R(2,2), t(2));\n\nVery simple. All we had to do is take the **Singular Value Decomposition** ( **SVD** ) of the essential matrix we obtained from before, and multiply it by a special matrix `W`. Without going too deeply into the mathematical interpretation of what we did, we can say the `SVD` operation decomposed our matrix E into two parts, a rotation element and a translation element. In fact, the essential matrix was originally composed by the multiplication of these two elements. Strictly for satisfying our curiosity we can look at the following equation for the essential matrix, which appears in the literature: E=[t]xR. We see it is composed of (some form of) a translation element and a rotational element R.\n\nWe notice that what we just did only gives us one camera matrix, so where is the other camera matrix? Well, we perform this operation under the assumption that one camera matrix is fixed and canonical (no rotation and no translation). The next camera matrix is also canonical:\n\nThe other camera that we recovered from the essential matrix has moved and rotated in relation to the fixed one. This also means that any of the 3D points that we recover from these two camera matrices will have the first camera at the world origin point (0, 0, 0).\n\nThis, however, is not the complete solution. H and Z show in their book how and why this decomposition has in fact four possible camera matrices, but only one of them is the true one. The correct matrix is the one that will produce reconstructed points with a positive Z value (points that are in front of the camera). But we can only understand that after learning about triangulation and 3D reconstruction, which will be discussed in the next section.\n\nOne more thing we can think of adding to our method is error checking. Many a times the calculation of the fundamental matrix from the point matching is erroneous, and this affects the camera matrices. Continuing triangulation with faulty camera matrices is pointless. We can install a check to see if the rotation element is a valid rotation matrix. Keeping in mind that rotation matrices must have a determinant of 1 (or -1), we can simply do the following:\n\n bool CheckCoherentRotation(cv::Mat_& R) {\n if(fabsf(determinant(R))-1.0 > 1e-07) {\n cerr<<\"det(R) != +-1.0, this is not a rotation matrix\"<& imgpts1,\n const vector& imgpts2,\n Matx34d& P,\n Matx34d& P1,\n vector& matches,\n vector& outCloud\n )\n {\n \/\/Find camera matrices\n\n \/\/Get Fundamental Matrix\n Mat F = GetFundamentalMat(imgpts1,imgpts2,matches);\n\n \/\/Essential matrix: compute then extract cameras [R|t]\n **Mat_ E = K.t() * F * K; \/\/according to HZ (9.12)**\n\n \/\/decompose E to P' , HZ (9.19)\n SVD svd(E,SVD::MODIFY_A);\n Mat svd_u = svd.u;\n Mat svd_vt = svd.vt;\n Mat svd_w = svd.w;\n\n Matx33d W(0,-1,0,\/\/HZ 9.13\n 1,0,0,\n 0,0,1);\n Mat_ R = svd_u * Mat(W) * svd_vt; \/\/HZ 9.19\n Mat_ t = svd_u.col(2); \/\/u3\n\n if (!CheckCoherentRotation(R)) {\n cout<<\"resulting rotation is not coherent\\n\";\n P1 = 0;\n return;\n }\n\n P1 = Matx34d(R(0,0),R(0,1),R(0,2),t(0),\n R(1,0),R(1,1),R(1,2),t(1),\n R(2,0),R(2,1),R(2,2),t(2));\n }\n\nAt this point we have the two cameras that we need in order to reconstruct the scene. The canonical first camera, in the `P` variable, and the second camera we calculated, form the fundamental matrix in the `P1` variable. The next section will reveal how we use these cameras to obtain a 3D structure of the scene.\n\n# Reconstructing the scene\n\nNext we look into the matter of recovering the 3D structure of the scene from the information we have acquired so far. As we had done before, we should look at the tools and information we have at hand to achieve this. In the preceding section we obtained two camera matrices from the essential and fundamental matrices; we already discussed how these tools will be useful for obtaining the 3D position of a point in space. Then, we can go back to our matched point pairs to fill in our equations with numerical data. The point pairs will also be useful in calculating the error we get from all our approximate calculations.\n\nThis is the time to see how we can perform triangulation using OpenCV. This time we will follow the steps Hartley and Sturm take in their article _Triangulation_ , where they implement and compare a few triangulation methods. We will implement one of their linear methods, as it is very simple to code with OpenCV.\n\nRemember we had two key equations arising from the 2D point matching and P matrices: x=PX and x'= P'X, where x and x' are matching 2D points and X is a real world 3D point imaged by the two cameras. If we rewrite the equations, we can formulate a system of linear equations that can be solved for the value of X, which is what we desire to find. Assuming X = (x, y, z, 1)t (a reasonable assumption for points that are not too close or too far from the camera center) creates an inhomogeneous linear equation system of the form AX = B. We can code and solve this equation system as follows:\n\n Mat_ LinearLSTriangulation(\n Point3d u,\/\/homogenous image point (u,v,1)\n Matx34d P,\/\/camera 1 matrix\n Point3d u1,\/\/homogenous image point in 2nd camera\n Matx34d P1\/\/camera 2 matrix\n )\n {\n \/\/build A matrix\n Matx43d A(u.x*P(2,0)-P(0,0),u.x*P(2,1)-P(0,1),u.x*P(2,2)-P(0,2),\n u.y*P(2,0)-P(1,0),u.y*P(2,1)-P(1,1),u.y*P(2,2)-P(1,2),\n u1.x*P1(2,0)-P1(0,0), u1.x*P1(2,1)-P1(0,1),u1.x*P1(2,2)-P1(0,2),\n u1.y*P1(2,0)-P1(1,0), u1.y*P1(2,1)-P1(1,1),u1.y*P1(2,2)-P1(1,2)\n );\n \/\/build B vector\n Matx41d B(-(u.x*P(2,3)-P(0,3)),\n -(u.y*P(2,3)-P(1,3)),\n -(u1.x*P1(2,3)-P1(0,3)),\n -(u1.y*P1(2,3)-P1(1,3)));\n\n \/\/solve for X\n Mat_ X;\n solve(A,B,X,DECOMP_SVD);\n\n return X;\n }\n\nThis will give us an approximation for the 3D points arising from the two 2D points. One more thing to note is that the 2D points are represented in homogenous coordinates, meaning the x and y values are appended with a 1. We should make sure these points are in normalized coordinates, meaning that they were multiplied by the calibration matrix `K` beforehand. We may notice that instead of multiplying each point by the matrix `K` we can simply make use of the KP matrix (the `K` matrix multiplied by the `P` matrix), as H and Z do throughout chapter 9. We can now write a loop over the point matches to get a complete triangulation as follows:\n\n double TriangulatePoints(\n const vector& pt_set1,\n const vector& pt_set2,\n const Mat&Kinv,\n const Matx34d& P,\n const Matx34d& P1,\n vector& pointcloud)\n {\n vector reproj_error;\n for (unsigned int i=0; i um = Kinv * Mat_(u);\n u = um.at(0);\n Point2f kp1 = pt_set2[i].pt;\n Point3d u1(kp1.x,kp1.y,1.0);\n Mat_ um1 = Kinv * Mat_(u1);\n u1 = um1.at(0);\n\n \/\/triangulate\n Mat_ X = LinearLSTriangulation(u,P,u1,P1);\n\n \/\/calculate reprojection error\n Mat_ xPt_img = K * Mat(P1) * X;\n Point2f xPt_img_(xPt_img(0)\/xPt_img(2),xPt_img(1)\/xPt_img(2));\n reproj_error.push_back(norm(xPt_img_-kp1));\n\n \/\/store 3D point\n pointcloud.push_back(Point3d(X(0),X(1),X(2)));\n }\n\n \/\/return mean reprojection error\n Scalar me = mean(reproj_error);\n return me[0];\n }\n\nIn the following image we will see a triangulation result of two images out of the Fountain P-11 sequence at . The two images at the top are the original two views of the scene, and the bottom pair is the view of the reconstructed point cloud from the two views, including the estimated cameras looking at the fountain. We can see how the right-hand side section of the red brick wall was reconstructed, and also the fountain that protrudes from the wall.\n\nHowever, as we discussed earlier, we have an issue with the reconstruction being only up-to-scale. We should take a moment to understand what up-to-scale means. The motion we obtained between our two cameras is going to have an arbitrary unit of measurement, that is, it is not in centimeters or inches but simply a given unit of scale. Our reconstructed cameras we will be one unit of scale distance apart. This has big implications should we decide to recover more cameras later, as each pair of cameras will have their own units of scale, rather than a common one.\n\nWe will now discuss how the error measure that we set up may help us in finding a more robust reconstruction. First we should note that reprojection means we simply take the triangulated 3D point and reimage it on a camera to get a reprojected 2D point, we then compare the distance between the original 2D point and the reprojected 2D point. If this distance is large this means we may have an error in triangulation, so we may not want to include this point in the final result. Our global measure is the average reprojection distance and may give us a hint to how our triangulation performed overall. High average reprojection rates may point to a problem with the `P` matrices, and therefore a possible problem with the calculation of the essential matrix or the matched feature points.\n\nWe should briefly go back to our discussion of camera matrices in the previous section. We mentioned that composing the camera matrix `P1` can be performed in four different ways, but only one composition is correct. Now that we know how to triangulate a point, we can add a check to see which one of the four camera matrices is valid. We shall skip the implementation details at this point, as they are featured in the sample code attached to the book.\n\nNext we are going to take a look at recovering more cameras looking at the same scene, and combining the 3D reconstruction results.\n\n# Reconstruction from many views\n\nNow that we know how to recover the motion and scene geometry from two cameras, it would seem trivial to get the parameters of additional cameras and more scene points simply by applying the same process. This matter is in fact not so simple as we can only get a reconstruction that is up-to-scale, and each pair of pictures gives us a different scale.\n\nThere are a number of ways to correctly reconstruct the 3D scene data from multiple views. One way is of resection or camera pose estimation, also known as **Perspective N-Point** ( **PNP** ), where we try to solve for the position of a new camera using the scene points we have already found. Another way is to triangulate more points and see how they fit into our existing scene geometry; this will tell us the position of the new camera by means of the **Iterative Closest Point** ( **ICP** ) procedure. In this chapter we will discuss using OpenCV's `solvePnP` functions to achieve the first method.\n\nThe first step we choose in this kind of reconstruction--incremental 3D reconstruction with camera resection--is to get a baseline scene structure. As we are going to look for the position of any new camera based on a known structure of the scene, we need to find an initial structure and a baseline to work with. We can use the method we previously discussed--for example, between the first and second frames--to get a baseline by finding the camera matrices (using the `FindCameraMatrices` function) and triangulate the geometry (using the `TriangulatePoints` function).\n\nHaving found an initial structure, we may continue; however, our method requires quite a bit of bookkeeping. First we should note that the `solvePnP` function needs two aligned vectors of 3D and 2D points. Aligned vectors mean that the ith position in one vector aligns with the ith position in the other. To obtain these vectors we need to find those points among the 3D points that we recovered earlier, which align with the 2D points in our new frame. A simple way to do this is to attach, for each 3D point in the cloud, a vector denoting the 2D points it came from. We can then use feature matching to get a matching pair.\n\nLet us introduce a new structure for a 3D point as follows:\n\n struct CloudPoint {\n cv::Point3d pt;\n std::vectorindex_of_2d_origin;\n };\n\nIt holds, on top of the 3D point, an index to the 2D point inside the vector of 2D points that each frame has, which had contributed to this 3D point. The information for `index_of_2d_origin` must be initialized when triangulating a new 3D point, recording which cameras were involved in the triangulation. We can then use it to trace back from our 3D point cloud to the 2D point in each frame, as follows:\n\n std::vector pcloud; \/\/our global 3D point cloud\n\n \/\/check for matches between i'th frame and 0'th frame (and thus the current cloud)\n std::vector ppcloud;\n std::vector imgPoints;\n vector pcloud_status(pcloud.size(),0);\n\n \/\/scan the views we already used (good_views)\n for (set::iterator done_view = good_views.begin(); done_view != good_views.end(); ++done_view) \n {\n int old_view = *done_view; \/\/a view we already used for reconstrcution\n \/\/check for matches_from_old_to_working between 'th frame and 'th frame (and thus the current cloud)\n std::vector matches_from_old_to_working = matches_matrix[std::make_pair(old_view,working_view)];\n \/\/scan the 2D-2D matched-points\n for (unsigned int match_from_old_view=0; match_from_old_view\n int idx_in_old_view = matches_from_old_to_working[match_from_old_view].queryIdx;\n\n \/\/scan the existing cloud to see if this point from exists for (unsigned int pcldp=0; pcldp contributed to this 3D point in the cloud\n if (idx_in_old_view == pcloud[pcldp].index_of_2d_origin[old_view] && pcloud_status[pcldp] == 0) \/\/prevent duplicates\n {\n \/\/3d point in cloud\n ppcloud.push_back(pcloud[pcldp].pt);\n \/\/2d point in image \n Point2d pt_ = imgpts[working_view][matches_from_old_to_working[match_from_old_view].trainIdx].pt;\n imgPoints.push_back(pt_);\n\n pcloud_status[pcldp] = 1;\n break;\n }\n }\n }\n }\n cout<<\"found \"< t,rvec,R;\n cv::solvePnPRansac(ppcloud, imgPoints, K, distcoeff, rvec, t, false);\n\n \/\/get rotation in 3x3 matrix form\n Rodrigues(rvec, R);\n\n P1 = cv::Matx34d(R(0,0),R(0,1),R(0,2),t(0),\n R(1,0),R(1,1),R(1,2),t(1),\n R(2,0),R(2,1),R(2,2),t(2));\n\nNote that we are using the `solvePnPRansac` function rather than the `solvePnP` function as it is more robust to outliers. Now that we have a new `P1` matrix, we can simply use the `TriangulatePoints` function we defined earlier again and populate our point cloud with more 3D points.\n\nIn the following image we see an incremental reconstruction of the Fountain-P11 scene at , starting from the 4th image. The top-left image is the reconstruction after four images were used; the participating cameras are shown as red pyramids with a white line showing the direction. The other images show how more cameras add more points to the cloud.\n\n# Refinement of the reconstruction\n\nOne of the most important parts of an SfM method is refining and optimizing the reconstructed scene, also known as the process of **Bundle Adjustment** ( **BA** ). This is an optimizing step where all the data we gathered is fitted to a monolithic model. Both the position of the 3D points and the positions of cameras are optimized, so reprojection errors are minimized (that is, approximated 3D points are projected on the image close to the position of originating 2D points). This process usually entails the solving of very big linear equations of the order of tens of thousands of parameters. The process may be slightly laborious, but the steps we took earlier will allow for an easy integration with the bundle adjuster. Some things that seemed strange earlier may become clear; for example, the reason we retain the origin 2D points for each 3D point in the cloud.\n\nOne implementation of a bundle adjustment algorithm is the **Simple Sparse Bundle Adjustment** ( **SSBA** ) library; we will choose it as our BA optimizer as it has a simple API. It requires only a few input arguments that we can create rather easily from our data structures. The key object we will use from SSBA is the `CommonInternalsMetricBundleOptimizer` function, which performs the optimization. It needs the camera parameters, the 3D point cloud, the 2D image points that corresponds to each point in the point cloud, and cameras looking at the scene. By now it should be straightforward to come up with these parameters. We should note that this method of BA assumes all images were taken by the same hardware, hence the common internals, other modes of operation may not assume this. We can perform Bundle Adjustment as follows:\n\n voidBundleAdjuster::adjustBundle(\n vector&pointcloud,\n const Mat&cam_intrinsics,\n conststd::vector>&imgpts,\n std::map&Pmats\n )\n {\n int N = Pmats.size(), M = pointcloud.size(), K = -1;\n\n cout<<\"N (cams) = \"<< N <<\" M (points) = \"<< M <<\" K (measurements) = \"<< K <(0,0);\n KMat[0][1] = cam_intrinsics.at(0,1);\n KMat[0][2] = cam_intrinsics.at(0,2);\n KMat[1][1] = cam_intrinsics.at(1,1);\n KMat[1][2] = cam_intrinsics.at(1,2);\n\n ...\n\n \/\/ 3D point cloud\n vectorXs(M);\n for (int j = 0; j < M; ++j)\n {\n Xs[j][0] = pointcloud[j].pt.x;\n Xs[j][1] = pointcloud[j].pt.y;\n Xs[j][2] = pointcloud[j].pt.z;\n }\n cout<<\"Read the 3D points.\"< cams(N);\n for (inti = 0; i< N; ++i)\n {\n intcamId = i;\n Matrix3x3d R;\n Vector3d T;\n\n Matx34d& P = Pmats[i];\n\n R[0][0] = P(0,0); R[0][1] = P(0,1); R[0][2] = P(0,2); T[0] = P(0,3);\n R[1][0] = P(1,0); R[1][1] = P(1,1); R[1][2] = P(1,2); T[1] = P(1,3);\n R[2][0] = P(2,0); R[2][1] = P(2,1); R[2][2] = P(2,2); T[2] = P(2,3);\n\n cams[i].setIntrinsic(Knorm);\n cams[i].setRotation(R);\n cams[i].setTranslation(T);\n }\n cout<<\"Read the cameras.\"< measurements;\n vector correspondingView;\n vector correspondingPoint;\n\n \/\/ 2D corresponding points\n for (unsigned int k = 0; k = 0) {\n int view = i, point = k;\n Vector3d p, np;\n\n Point cvp = imgpts[i][pointcloud[k].imgpt_for_img[i]].pt;\n p[0] = cvp.x;\n p[1] = cvp.y;\n p[2] = 1.0;\n\n \/\/ Normalize the measurements to match the unit focal length.\n scaleVectorIP(1.0\/f0, p);\n measurements.push_back(Vector2d(p[0], p[1]));\n correspondingView.push_back(view);\n correspondingPoint.push_back(point);\n }\n }\n } \/\/ end for (k)\n\n K = measurements.size();\n\n cout<<\"Read \"<< K <<\" valid 2D measurements.\"<::Ptr cloud;\n\n void PopulatePCLPointCloud(const vector& pointcloud,\n const std::vector& pointcloud_RGB\n )\n \/\/Populate point cloud\n {\n cout<<\"Creating point cloud...\";\n cloud.reset(new pcl::PointCloud);\n\n for (unsigned int i=0; i= i) {\n rgbv = pointcloud_RGB[i];\n }\n\n \/\/ check for erroneous coordinates (NaN, Inf, etc.)\n if (pointcloud[i].x != pointcloud[i].x || isnan(pointcloud[i].x) ||\n pointcloud[i].y != pointcloud[i].y || isnan(pointcloud[i].y) ||\n pointcloud[i].z != pointcloud[i].z || isnan(pointcloud[i].z) ||\n fabsf(pointcloud[i].x) > 10.0 ||\n fabsf(pointcloud[i].y) > 10.0 ||\n fabsf(pointcloud[i].z) > 10.0) {\n continue;\n }\n\n pcl::PointXYZRGB pclp;\n\n \/\/ 3D coordinates\n pclp.x = pointcloud[i].x;\n pclp.y = pointcloud[i].y;\n pclp.z = pointcloud[i].z;\n\n \/\/ RGB color, needs to be represented as an integer\n uint32_t rgb = ((uint32_t)rgbv[2] << 16 | (uint32_t)rgbv[1] << 8 | (uint32_t)rgbv[0]);\n pclp.rgb = *reinterpret_cast(&rgb);\n\n cloud->push_back(pclp);\n }\n\n cloud->width = (uint32_t) cloud->points.size(); \/\/ number of points\n cloud->height = 1; \/\/ a list of points, one row of data\n }\n\nTo have a nice effect for the purpose of visualization, we can also supply color data as RGB values taken from the images. We can also apply a filter to the raw cloud that will eliminate points that are likely to be outliers, using the **statistical outlier removal** ( **SOR** ) tool as follows:\n\n Void SORFilter() {\n\n pcl::PointCloud::Ptr cloud_filtered (new pcl::PointCloud);\n\n std::cerr<<\"Cloud before SOR filtering: \"<< cloud->width * cloud->height <<\" data points\"<sor;\n sor.setInputCloud (cloud);\n sor.setMeanK (50);\n sor.setStddevMulThresh (1.0);\n sor.filter (*cloud_filtered);\n\n std::cerr<<\"Cloud after SOR filtering: \"<width * cloud_filtered->height <<\" data points \"<& pointcloud,\n const std::vector& pointcloud_RGB) {\n PopulatePCLPointCloud(pointcloud,pointcloud_RGB);\n SORFilter();\n copyPointCloud(*cloud,*orig_cloud);\n\n pcl::visualization::CloudViewer viewer(\"Cloud Viewer\");\n\n \/\/ run the cloud viewer\n viewer.showCloud(orig_cloud,\"orig\");\n\n while (!viewer.wasStopped ())\n {\n \/\/ NOP\n }\n }\n\nThe following image shows the output after the statistical outlier removal tool has been used. The image on the left-hand side is the original resultant cloud of the SfM, with the cameras location and a zoomed-in view of a particular part of the cloud. The image on the right-hand side shows the filtered cloud after the SOR operation. We can notice some stray points were removed, leaving a cleaner point cloud:\n\n# Using the example code\n\nWe can find the example code for SfM with the supporting material of this book. We will now see how we can build, run, and make use of it. The code makes use of CMake, a cross-platform build environment similar to Maven or SCons. We should also make sure we have all the following prerequisites to build the application:\n\n * OpenCV v2.3 or higher\n * PCL v1.6 or higher\n * SSBA v3.0 or higher\n\nFirst we must set up the build environment. To that end, we may create a folder named `build` in which all build-related files will go; we will now assume all command-line operations are within the `build\/`folder, although the process is similar (up to the locations of the files) even if not using the `build` folder.\n\nWe should make sure CMake can find SSBA and PCL. If PCL was installed properly, there should not be a problem; however, we must set the correct location to find SSBA's prebuilt binaries via the **-DSSBA_LIBRARY_DIR=...** build parameter. If we are using Windows as the operating system, we can use Microsoft Visual Studio to build; therefore, we should run the following command:\n\n **cmake -G \"Visual Studio 10\" -DSSBA_LIBRARY_DIR=..\/3rdparty\/SSBA-3.0\/build\/ ..**\n\nIf we are using Linux, Mac OS, or another Unix-like operating system, we execute the following command:\n\n **cmake -G \"Unix Makefiles\" -DSSBA_LIBRARY_DIR=..\/3rdparty\/SSBA-3.0\/build\/ ..**\n\nIf we prefer to use XCode on Mac OS, execute the following command:\n\n **cmake -G Xcode -DSSBA_LIBRARY_DIR=..\/3rdparty\/SSBA-3.0\/build\/ ..**\n\nCMake also has the ability to build macros for Eclipse, Codeblocks, and more. After CMake is done creating the environment, we are ready to build. If we are using a Unix-like system we can simply execute the make utility, else we should use our development environment's building process.\n\nAfter the build has finished, we should be left with an executable named `ExploringSfMExec`, which runs the SfM process. Running it with no arguments will result in the following: **USAGE: .\/ExploringSfMExec **\n\nTo execute the process over a set of images, we should supply a location on the drive to find image files. If a valid location is supplied, the process should start and we should see the progress and debug information on the screen. The process will end with a display of the point cloud that arises from the images. Pressing the _1_ and _2_ keys will switch between the adjusted and non-adjusted point cloud.\n\n# Summary\n\nIn this chapter we have seen how OpenCV can help us approach Structure from Motion in a manner that is both simple to code and to understand. OpenCV's API contains a number of useful functions and data structures that make our lives easier and also assist in a cleaner implementation.\n\nHowever, the state-of-the-art SfM methods are far more complex. There are many issues we choose to disregard in favor of simplicity, and plenty more error examinations that are usually in place. Our chosen methods for the different elements of SfM can also be revisited. For one, H and Z propose a highly accurate triangulation method that minimizes the reprojection error in the image domain. Some methods even use the N-view triangulation once they understand the relationship between the features in multiple images.\n\nIf we would like to extend and deepen our familiarity with SfM, we will certainly benefit from looking at other open-source SfM libraries. One particularly interesting project is libMV, which implements a vast array of SfM elements that may be interchanged to get the best results. There is a great body of work from University of Washington that provides tools for many flavors of SfM (Bundler and VisualSfM). This work inspired an online product from Microsoft called PhotoSynth. There are many more implementations of SfM readily available online, and one must only search to find quite a lot of them.\n\nAnother important relationship we have not discussed in depth is that of SfM and Visual Localization and Mapping, better known in as **Simultaneous Localization and Mapping (SLAM)** methods. In this chapter we have dealt with a given dataset of images and a video sequence, and using SfM is practical in those cases; however, some applications have no prerecorded dataset and must bootstrap the reconstruction on the fly. This process is better known as **Mapping** , and it is done while we are creating a 3D map of the world, using feature matching and tracking in 2D, and after triangulation.\n\nIn the next chapter we will see how OpenCV can be used for extracting license plate numbers from images, using various techniques in machine learning.\n\n# References\n\n * _Multiple View Geometry in Computer Vision_ , _Richard Hartley and Andrew Zisserman_ , _Cambridge University Press_\n * _Triangulation_ , _Richard I. Hartley and Peter Sturm_ , _Computer vision and image understanding_ , _Vol. 68, pp_ _. 146-157_\n * \n * _On Benchmarking Camera Calibration and Multi-View Stereo for High Resolution Imagery_ , _C. Strecha_ , _W. von Hansen_ , _L._ _Van Gool_ , _P. Fua_ , _and U. Thoennes_ _sen_ , _CVPR_\n * \n * \n * \n * \n * \n * \n * \n * \n * \n\n# Chapter 5. Number Plate Recognition Using SVM and Neural Networks\n\nThis chapter introduces us to the steps needed to create an application for **Automatic Number Plate Recognition** ( **ANPR** ). There are different approaches and techniques based on different situations, for example, IR cameras, fixed car positions, light conditions, and so on. We can proceed to construct an ANPR application to detect automobile license plates in a photograph taken between 2-3 meters from a car, in ambiguous light condition, and with non-parallel ground with minor perspective distortions of the automobile's plate.\n\nThe main purpose of this chapter is to introduce us to image segmentation and feature extraction, pattern recognition basics, and two important pattern recognition algorithms **Support Vector Machines** and **Artificial Neural Networks**. In this chapter, we will cover:\n\n * ANPR\n * Plate detection\n * Plate recognition\n\n# Introduction to ANPR\n\n**Automatic Number Plate Recognition** ( **ANPR** ), also known as **Automatic License-Plate Recognition** ( **ALPR** ), **Automatic Vehicle Identification** ( **AVI** ), or **Car Plate Recognition** ( **CPR** ), is a surveillance method that uses **Optical Character Recognition** ( **OCR** ) and other methods such as segmentations and detection to read vehicle registration plates.\n\nThe best results in an ANPR system can be obtained with an **infrared (IR)** camera, because the segmentation steps for detection and OCR segmentation are easy, clean, and minimize errors. This is due to the laws of light, the basic one being that the angle of incidence equals the angle of reflection; we can see this basic reflection when we see a smooth surface such as a plane mirror. Reflection off of rough surfaces such as paper leads to a type of reflection known as diffuse or scatter reflection. The majority of number plates have a special characteristic named retro-reflection--the surface of the plate is made with a material that is covered with thousands of tiny hemispheres that cause light to be reflected back to the source as we can see in the following figure:\n\nIf we use a camera with a filter coupled with a structured infrared light projector, we can retrieve just the infrared light and then we have a very high-quality image to segment and subsequently detect, and recognize the plate number that is independent of any light environment as shown in the following figure:\n\nWe do not use IR photographs in this chapter; we use regular photographs. We do this so that we do not obtain the best results and get a higher level of detection errors and higher false recognition rate as opposed to the results we would expect if we used an IR camera; however, the steps for both are the same.\n\nEach country has different license plate sizes and specifications; it is useful to know these specifications in order to get the best results and reduce errors. The algorithms used in this chapter are intended to explain the basics of ANPR and the specifications for license plates from Spain, but we can extend them to any country or specification.\n\nIn this chapter, we will work with license plates from Spain. In Spain, there are three different sizes and shapes of license plates; we will only use the most common (large) license plate which is 520 x 110 mm. Two groups of characters are separated by a 41 mm space and then a 14 mm width separates each individual character. The first group of characters has four numeric digits, and the second group has three letters without the vowels A, E, I, O, U, nor the letters \u00d1 or Q; all characters have dimensions of 45 x 77 mm.\n\nThis data is important for character segmentation since we can check both the character and blank spaces to verify that we get a character and no other image segment. The following is a figure of one such license plate:\n\n# ANPR algorithm\n\nBefore explaining the ANPR code, we need to define the main steps and tasks in the ANPR algorithm. ANPR is divided in two main steps: plate detection and plate recognition. Plate detection has the purpose of detecting the location of the plate in the whole camera frame. When a plate is detected in an image, the plate segment is passed to the second step--plate recognition--which uses an OCR algorithm to determine the alphanumeric characters on the plate.\n\nIn the next figure we can see the two main algorithm steps, plate detection and plate recognition. After these steps the program draws over the camera frame the plate's characters that have been detected. The algorithms can return bad results or even no result:\n\nIn each step shown in the previous figure, we will define three additional steps that are commonly used in pattern recognition algorithms:\n\n 1. **Segmentation** : This step detects and removes each patch\/region of interest in the image.\n 2. **Feature extraction** : This step extracts from each patch a set of characteristics.\n 3. **Classification** : This step extracts each character from the plate recognition step or classifies each image patch into \"plate\" or \"no plate\" in the plate-detection step.\n\nThe following figure shows us the pattern recognition steps in the whole algorithm application:\n\nAside from the main application, whose purpose is to detect and recognize a car's license plate number, we will briefly explain two more tasks that are usually not explained:\n\n * How to train a pattern recognition system\n * How to evaluate such a system\n\nThese tasks, however, can be more important than the main application itself, because if we do not train the pattern recognition system correctly, our system can fail and not work correctly; different patterns need different types of training and evaluation. We need to evaluate our system in different environments, conditions, and with different features to get the best results. These two tasks are sometimes used together since different features can produce different results that we can see in the evaluation section.\n\n# Plate detection\n\nIn this step we have to detect all the plates in the current camera frame. To do this task, we divide it in two main steps: segmentation and segment classification. The feature step is not explained because we use the image patch as a vector feature.\n\nIn the first step (segmentation), we apply different filters, morphological operations, contour algorithms, and validations to retrieve those parts of the image that could have a plate.\n\nIn the second step (classification), we apply a **Support Vector Machine** ( **SVM** ) classifier to each image patch--our feature. Before creating our main application we train with two different classes--plate and non-plate. We work with parallel frontal-view color images that are 800 pixels wide and taken 2-4 meters from a car. These requirements are important to ensure correct segmentations. We can perform detection if we create a multi-scale image algorithm.\n\nIn the next image we have shown all the processes involved in plate detection:\n\n * Sobel filter\n * Threshold operation\n * Close morphologic operation\n * Mask of one filled area\n * Possible detected plates marked in red (features images)\n * Detected plates after the SVM classifier\n\n## Segmentation\n\nSegmentation is the process of dividing an image into multiple segments. This process is to simplify the image for analysis and make feature extraction easier.\n\nOne important feature of plate segmentation is the high number of vertical edges in a license plate assuming that the image was taken frontally, and the plate is not rotated and is without perspective distortion. This feature can be exploited during the first segmentation step to eliminate regions that don't have any vertical edges.\n\nBefore finding vertical edges, we need to convert the color image to a grayscale image, (because color can't help us in this task), and remove possible noise generated by the camera or other ambient noise. We will apply a Gaussian blur of 5 x 5 and remove noise. If we don't apply a noise-removal method, we can get a lot of vertical edges that produce a falied detection.\n\n \/\/convert image to gray\n Mat img_gray;\n cvtColor(input, img_gray, CV_BGR2GRAY);\n blur(img_gray, img_gray, Size(5,5));\n\nTo find the vertical edges, we will use a Sobel filter and find the first horizontal derivative. The derivative is a mathematical function that allows us to find the vertical edges on an image. The definition of a Sobel function in OpenCV is:\n\n void Sobel(InputArray src, OutputArray dst, int ddepth, int xorder, int yorder, int ksize=3, double scale=1, double delta=0, int borderType=BORDER_DEFAULT )\n\nHere, `ddepth` is the destination image depth, `xorder` is the order of the derivative by x, `yorder` is the order of derivative by y, `ksize` is the kernel size of either 1, 3, 5, or 7, `scale` is an optional factor for computed derivative values, `delta` is an optional value added to the result, and `borderType` is the pixel interpolation method.\n\nFor our case we can use a `xorder=1`, `yorder=0`, and a `ksize=3`:\n\n \/\/Find vertical lines. Car plates have high density of vertical lines\n Mat img_sobel;\n Sobel(img_gray, img_sobel, CV_8U, 1, 0, 3, 1, 0);\n\nAfter a Sobel filter, we apply a threshold filter to obtain a binary image with a threshold value obtained through Otsu's method. Otsu's algorithm needs an 8-bit input image and Otsu's method automatically determines the optimal threshold value:\n\n \/\/threshold image\n Mat img_threshold;\n threshold(img_sobel, img_threshold, 0, 255, CV_THRESH_OTSU+CV_THRESH_BINARY);\n\nTo define Otsu's method in the `threshold` function, if we combine the type parameter with the `CV_THRESH_OTSU` value, then the threshold value parameter is ignored.\n\n### Tip\n\nWhen the value of `CV_THRESH_OTSU` is defined, the threshold function returns the optimal threshold value obtained by the Otsu's algorithm.\n\nBy applying a close morphological operation, we can remove blank spaces between each vertical edge line, and connect all regions that have a high number of edges. In this step we have the possible regions that can contain plates.\n\nFirst we define our structural element to use in our morphological operation. We will use the `getStructuringElement` function to define a structural rectangular element with a 17 x 3 dimension size in our case; this may be different in other image sizes:\n\n Mat element = getStructuringElement(MORPH_RECT, Size(17, 3));\n\nAnd use this structural element in a close morphological operation using the `morphologyEx` function:\n\n morphologyEx(img_threshold, img_threshold, CV_MOP_CLOSE, element);\n\nAfter applying these functions, we have regions in the image that could contain a plate; however, most of the regions will not contain license plates. These regions can be split with a connected-component analysis or by using the `findContours` function. This last function retrieves the contours of a binary image with different methods and results. We only need to get the external contours with any hierarchical relationship and any polygonal approximation results:\n\n \/\/Find contours of possibles plates\n vector< vector< Point> > contours;\n findContours(img_threshold,\n contours, \/\/ a vector of contours\n CV_RETR_EXTERNAL, \/\/ retrieve the external contours\n CV_CHAIN_APPROX_NONE); \/\/ all pixels of each contour\n\nFor each contour detected, extract the bounding rectangle of minimal area. OpenCV brings up the `minAreaRect` function for this task. This function returns a rotated rectangle class called `RotatedRect`. Then using a vector iterator over each contour, we can get the rotated rectangle and make some preliminary validations before we classify each region:\n\n \/\/Start to iterate to each contour found\n vector >::iterator itc= contours.begin();\n vector rects;\n\n \/\/Remove patch that has no inside limits of aspect ratio and area.\t\n while (itc!=contours.end()) {\n \/\/Create bounding rect of object\n RotatedRect mr= minAreaRect(Mat(*itc));\n if( !verifySizes(mr)){\n itc= contours.erase(itc);\n }else{\n ++itc;\n rects.push_back(mr);\n }\n }\n\nWe make basic validations about the regions detected based on its area and aspect ratio. We only consider that a region can be a plate if the aspect ratio is approximately 520\/110 = 4.727272 (plate width divided by plate height) with an error margin of 40 percent and an area based on a minimum of 15 pixels and maximum of 125 pixels for the height of the plate. These values are calculated depending on the image sizes and camera position:\n\n bool DetectRegions::verifySizes(RotatedRect candidate ){\n\n float error=0.4;\n \/\/Spain car plate size: 52x11 aspect 4,7272\n const float aspect=4.7272;\n \/\/Set a min and max area. All other patches are discarded\n int min= 15*aspect*15; \/\/ minimum area\n int max= 125*aspect*125; \/\/ maximum area\n \/\/Get only patches that match to a respect ratio.\n float rmin= aspect-aspect*error;\n float rmax= aspect+aspect*error;\n\n int area= candidate.size.height * candidate.size.width;\n float r= (float)candidate.size.width \/ (float)candidate.size.height;\n if(r<1)\n r= 1\/r;\n\n if(( area < min || area > max ) || ( r < rmin || r > rmax )){\n return false;\n }else{\n return true;\n }\n }\n\nWe can make more improvements using the license plate's white background property. All plates have the same background color and we can use a flood fill algorithm to retrieve the rotated rectangle for precise cropping.\n\nThe first step to crop the license plate is to get several seeds near the last rotated rectangle center. Then get the minimum size of plate between the width and height, and use it to generate random seeds near the patch center.\n\nWe want to select the white region and we need several seeds to touch at least one white pixel. Then for each seed, we use a `floodFill` function to draw a new mask image to store the new closest cropping region:\n\n for(int i=0; i< rects.size(); i++){\n \/\/For better rect cropping for each possible box\n \/\/Make floodfill algorithm because the plate has white background\n \/\/And then we can retrieve more clearly the contour box\n circle(result, rects[i].center, 3, Scalar(0,255,0), -1);\n \/\/get the min size between width and height\n float minSize=(rects[i].size.width < rects[i].size.height)?rects[i].size.width:rects[i].size.height;\n minSize=minSize-minSize*0.5;\n \/\/initialize rand and get 5 points around center for floodfill algorithm\n srand ( time(NULL) );\n \/\/Initialize floodfill parameters and variables\n Mat mask;\n mask.create(input.rows + 2, input.cols + 2, CV_8UC1);\n mask= Scalar::all(0);\n int loDiff = 30;\n int upDiff = 30;\n int connectivity = 4;\n int newMaskVal = 255;\n int NumSeeds = 10;\n Rect ccomp;\n int flags = connectivity + (newMaskVal << 8 ) + CV_FLOODFILL_FIXED_RANGE + CV_FLOODFILL_MASK_ONLY;\n for(int j=0; j pointsInterest;\n Mat_::iterator itMask= mask.begin();\n Mat_::iterator end= mask.end();\n for( ; itMask!=end; ++itMask)\n if(*itMask==255)\n pointsInterest.push_back(itMask.pos());\n RotatedRect minRect = minAreaRect(pointsInterest);\n if(verifySizes(minRect)){\n ...\n\nNow that the segmentation process is finished and we have valid regions, we can crop each detected region, remove any possible rotation, crop the image region, resize the image, and equalize the light of cropped image regions.\n\nFirst, we need to generate the transform matrix with `getRotationMatrix2D` to remove possible rotations in the detected region. We need to pay attention to height, because the `RotatedRect` class can be returned and rotated at 90 degrees, so we have to check the rectangle aspect, and if it is less than 1 then rotate it by 90 degrees:\n\n \/\/Get rotation matrix\n float r= (float)minRect.size.width \/ (float)minRect.size.height;\n float angle=minRect.angle;\n if(r<1)\n angle=90+angle;\n Mat rotmat= getRotationMatrix2D(minRect.center, angle,1);\n\nWith the transform matrix, we can now rotate the input image by an affine transformation (an affine transformation in geometry is a transformation that takes parallel lines to parallel lines) with the `warpAffine` function where we set the input and destination images, the transform matrix, the output size (same as the input in our case), and which interpolation method to use. We can define the border method and border value if needed:\n\n \/\/Create and rotate image\n Mat img_rotated;\n warpAffine(input, img_rotated, rotmat, input.size(), CV_INTER_CUBIC);\n\nAfter we rotate the image, we crop the image with `getRectSubPix`, which crops and copies an image portion of given width and height centered in a point. If the image was rotated, we need to change the width and height sizes with the C++ `swap` function.\n\n \/\/Crop image\n Size rect_size=minRect.size;\n if(r < 1)\n swap(rect_size.width, rect_size.height);\n Mat img_crop;\n getRectSubPix(img_rotated, rect_size, minRect.center, img_crop);\n\nCropped images are not good for use in training and classification since they do not have the same size. Also, each image contains different light conditions, increasing their relative differences. To resolve this, we resize all images to the same width and height and apply light histogram equalization:\n\n Mat resultResized;\n resultResized.create(33,144, CV_8UC3);\n **resize(img_crop, resultResized, resultResized.size(), 0, 0, INTER_CUBIC);**\n \/\/Equalize cropped image\n Mat grayResult;\n cvtColor(resultResized, grayResult, CV_BGR2GRAY);\n blur(grayResult, grayResult, Size(3,3));\n **equalizeHist(grayResult, grayResult);**\n\nFor each detected region, we store the cropped image and its position in a vector:\n\n output.push_back(Plate(grayResult,minRect.boundingRect()));\n\n## Classification\n\nAfter we preprocess and segment all possible parts of an image, we now need to decide if each segment is (or is not) a license plate. To do this, we will use a **Support Vector Machine** ( **SVM** ) algorithm.\n\nA Support Vector Machine is a pattern recognition algorithm included in a family of supervised-learning algorithms originally created for binary classification. Supervised learning is machine-learning algorithm that learns through the use of labeled data. We need to train the algorithm with an amount of data that is labeled; each data set needs to have a class.\n\nThe SVM creates one or more hyperplanes that are used to discriminate each class of the data.\n\nA classic example is a 2D point set that defines two classes; the SVM searches the optimal line that differentiates each class:\n\nThe first task before any classification is to train our classifier; this job is done prior to beginning the main application and it's named offline training. This is not an easy job because it requires a sufficient amount of data to train the system, but a bigger dataset does not always imply the best results. In our case, we do not have enough data due to the fact that there are no public license-plate databases. Because of this, we need to take hundreds of car photos and then preprocess and segment all the photos.\n\nWe trained our system with 75 license-plate images and 35 images without license plates of 144 x 33 pixels. We can see a sample of this data in the following image. This is not a large dataset, but it is sufficient enough to get decent results for our requirements. In a real application, we would need to train with more data:\n\nTo easily understand how machine learning works, we proceed to use image pixel features of the classifier algorithm (keep in mind, there are better methods and features to train an SVM, such as Principal Components Analysis, Fourier transform, texture analysis, and so on).\n\nWe need to create the images to train our system using the `DetectRegions` class and set the `savingRegions` variable to true in order to save the images. We can use the `segmentAllFiles.sh` bash script to repeat the process on all image files under a folder. This can be taken from the source code of this book.\n\nTo make this easier, we store all image training data that is processed and prepared, into an XML file for use directly with the SVM function. The `trainSVM.cpp` application creates this file using the folders and number of image files.\n\n### Tip\n\nTraining data for a machine-learning OpenCV algorithm is stored in an _N_ x _M_ matrix with _N_ samples and _M_ features. Each data set is saved as a row in the training matrix.\n\nThe classes are stored in another matrix with _N_ x 1 size, where each class is identified by a float number.\n\nOpenCV has an easy way to manage a data file in XML or JSON format with the `FileStorage` class, this class lets us store and read OpenCV variables and structures or our custom variables. With this function, we can read the training-data matrix and training classes and save it in `SVM_TrainingData` and `SVM_Classes`:\n\n FileStorage fs;\n fs.open(\"SVM.xml\", FileStorage::READ);\n Mat SVM_TrainingData;\n Mat SVM_Classes;\n fs[\"TrainingData\"] >> SVM_TrainingData;\n fs[\"classes\"] >> SVM_Classes;\n\nNow we need to set the SVM parameters that define the basic parameters to use in an SVM algorithm; we will use the `CvSVMParams` structure to define it. It is a mapping done to the training data to improve its resemblance to a linearly separable set of data. This mapping consists of increasing the dimensionality of the data and is done efficiently using a kernel function. We choose here the `CvSVM::LINEAR` types which means that no mapping is done:\n\n \/\/Set SVM params\n CvSVMParams SVM_params;\n SVM_params.kernel_type = CvSVM::LINEAR;\n\nWe then create and train our classifier. OpenCV defines the `CvSVM` class for the Support Vector Machine algorithm and we initialize it with the training data, classes, and parameter data:\n\n CvSVM svmClassifier(SVM_TrainingData, SVM_Classes, Mat(), Mat(), SVM_params);\n\nOur classifier is ready to predict a possible cropped image using the `predict` function of our SVM class; this function returns the class identifier `i`. In our case, we label a plate class with `1` and no plate class with `0`. Then for each detected region that can be a plate, we use SVM to classify it as a plate or no plate, and save only the correct responses. The following code is a part of main application, that is called online processing:\n\n vector plates;\n for(int i=0; i< possible_regions.size(); i++)\n {\n Mat img=possible_regions[i].plateImg;\n Mat p= img.reshape(1, 1);\/\/convert img to 1 row m features\n p.convertTo(p, CV_32FC1);\n **int response = (int)svmClassifier.predict( p );**\n if(response==1)\n plates.push_back(possible_regions[i]);\n }\n\n# Plate recognition\n\nThe second step in license plate recognition aims to retrieve the characters of the license plate with optical character recognition. For each detected plate, we proceed to segment the plate for each character, and use an **Artificial Neural Network** ( **ANN** ) machine-learning algorithm to recognize the character. Also in this section we will learn how to evaluate a classification algorithm.\n\n## OCR segmentation\n\nFirst, we obtain a plate image patch as the input to the segmentation OCR function with an equalized histogram, we then need to apply a threshold filter and use this threshold image as the input of a **Find contours** algorithm; we can see this process in the next figure:\n\nThis segmentation process is coded as:\n\n Mat img_threshold;\n threshold(input, img_threshold, 60, 255, CV_THRESH_BINARY_INV);\n if(DEBUG)\n imshow(\"Threshold plate\", img_threshold);\n Mat img_contours;\n img_threshold.copyTo(img_contours);\n \/\/Find contours of possibles characters\n vector< vector< Point> > contours;\n findContours(img_contours,\n contours, \/\/ a vector of contours\n CV_RETR_EXTERNAL, \/\/ retrieve the external contours\n CV_CHAIN_APPROX_NONE); \/\/ all pixels of each contour\n\nWe use the `CV_THRESH_BINARY_INV` parameter to invert the threshold output by turning the white input values black and black input values white. This is needed to get the contours of each character, because the contours algorithm looks for white pixels.\n\nFor each detected contour, we can make a size verification and remove all regions where the size is smaller or the aspect is not correct. In our case, the characters have a 45\/77 aspect, and we can accept a 35 percent error of aspect for rotated or distorted characters. If an area is higher than 80 percent, we consider that region to be a black block, and not a character. For counting the area, we can use the `countNonZero` function that counts the number of pixels with a value higher than 0:\n\n bool OCR::verifySizes(Mat r)\n {\n \/\/Char sizes 45x77\n float aspect=45.0f\/77.0f;\n float charAspect= (float)r.cols\/(float)r.rows;\n float error=0.35;\n float minHeight=15;\n float maxHeight=28;\n \/\/We have a different aspect ratio for number 1, and it can be \n \/\/~0.2\n float minAspect=0.2;\n float maxAspect=aspect+aspect*error;\n \/\/area of pixels\n float area=countNonZero(r);\n \/\/bb area\n float bbArea=r.cols*r.rows;\n \/\/% of pixel in area\n float percPixels=area\/bbArea;\n if(percPixels < 0.8 && charAspect > minAspect && charAspect <\n maxAspect && r.rows >= minHeight && r.rows < maxHeight)\n return true;\n else\n return false;\n }\n\nIf a segmented character is verified, we have to preprocess it to set the same size and position for all characters and save it in a vector with the auxiliary `CharSegment` class. This class saves the segmented character image and the position that we need to order the characters because the Find Contour algorithm does not return the contours in the required order.\n\n## Feature extraction\n\nThe next step for each segmented character is to extract the features for training and classifying the Artificial Neural Network algorithm.\n\nUnlike the plate detection feature-extraction step that is used in SVM, we don't use all of the image pixels; we will apply more common features used in optical character recognition containing horizontal and vertical accumulation histograms and a low-resolution image sample. We can see this feature more graphically in the next image, where each image has a low-resolution 5 x 5 and the histogram accumulations:\n\nFor each character, we count the number of pixels in a row or column with a non-zero value using the `countNonZero` function and store it in a new data matrix called `mhist`. We normalize it by looking for the maximum value in the data matrix using the `minMaxLoc` function and divide all elements of `mhist` by the maximum value with the `convertTo` function. We create the `ProjectedHistogram` function to create the accumulation histograms that have as input a binary image and the type of histogram we need--horizontal or vertical:\n\n Mat OCR::ProjectedHistogram(Mat img, int t)\n {\n int sz=(t)?img.rows:img.cols;\n Mat mhist=Mat::zeros(1,sz,CV_32F);\n\n for(int j=0; j(j)=countNonZero(data);\n }\n\n \/\/Normalize histogram\n double min, max;\n minMaxLoc(mhist, &min, &max);\n\n if(max>0)\n mhist.convertTo(mhist,-1 , 1.0f\/max, 0);\n\n return mhist;\n }\n\nOther features use a low-resolution sample image. Instead of using the whole character image, we create a low-resolution character, for example 5 x 5. We train the system with 5 x 5, 10 x 10, 15 x 15, and 20 x 20 characters, and then evaluate which one returns the best result so that we can use it in our system. Once we have all the features, we create a matrix of _M_ columns by one row where the columns are the features:\n\n Mat OCR::features(Mat in, int sizeData)\n {\n \/\/Histogram features\n **Mat vhist=ProjectedHistogram(in,VERTICAL);**\n **Mat hhist=ProjectedHistogram(in,HORIZONTAL);**\n \/\/Low data feature\n **Mat lowData;**\n **resize(in, lowData, Size(sizeData, sizeData) );**\n int numCols=vhist.cols + hhist.cols + lowData.cols * \n lowData.cols;\n Mat out=Mat::zeros(1,numCols,CV_32F);\n \/\/Assign values to feature\n int j=0;\n for(int i=0; i(j)=vhist.at(i); \n j++;\n }\n for(int i=0; i(j)=hhist.at(i);\n j++;\n }\n for(int x=0; x(j)=(float)lowData.at(x,y);\n j++;\n }\n }\n return out;\n }\n\n## OCR classification\n\nIn the classification step, we use an Artificial Neural Network machine-learning algorithm. More specifically, a **Multi-Layer Perceptron** ( **MLP** ), which is the most commonly used ANN algorithm.\n\nMLP consists of a network of neurons with an input layer, output layer, and one or more hidden layers. Each layer has one or more neurons connected with the previous and next layer.\n\nThe following example represents a 3-layer perceptron (it is a binary classifier that maps a real-valued vector input to a single binary value output) with three inputs, two outputs, and the hidden layer including five neurons:\n\nAll neurons in an MLP are similar and each one has several inputs (the previous linked neurons) and several output links with the same value (the next linked neurons). Each neuron calculates the output value as a sum of the weighted inputs plus a bias term and is transformed by a selected activation function:\n\nThere are three widely used activation functions: Identity, Sigmoid, and Gaussian; the most common and default activation function is the Sigmoid function. It has an alpha and beta value set to 1:\n\nAn ANN-trained network has a vector of input with features. It passes the values to the hidden layer and computes the results with the weights and activation function. It passes outputs further downstream until it gets the output layer that has the number of neuron classes.\n\nThe weight of each layer, synapses, and neuron is computed and learned by training the ANN algorithm. To train our classifier, we create two matrices of data as we did in the SVM training, but the training labels are a bit different. Instead of an _N_ x 1 matrix where _N_ stands for training data rows and 1 is the column, we use the label number identifier. We have to create an _N_ x _M_ matrix where _N_ is the training\/samples data and _M_ is the classes (10 digits + 20 letters in our case), and set 1 in a position ( _i_ , _j_ ) if the data row _i_ is classified with class _j_.\n\nWe create an `OCR::train` function to create all the needed matrices and train our system, with the training data matrix, classes matrix, and the number of hidden neurons in the hidden layers. The training data is loaded from an XML file just as we did for the SVM training.\n\nWe have to define the number of neurons in each layer to initialize the ANN class. For our sample, we only use one hidden layer, then we define a matrix of 1 row and 3 columns. The first column position is the number of features, the second column position is the number of hidden neurons in the hidden layer, and the third column position is the number of classes.\n\nOpenCV defines a `CvANN_MLP` class for ANN. With the `create` function, we can initiate the class by defining the number of layers and neurons, the activation function, and the `alpha` and `beta` parameters:\n\n void OCR::train(Mat TrainData, Mat classes, int nlayers)\n {\n Mat layerSizes(1,3,CV_32SC1);\n layerSizes.at(0)= TrainData.cols;\n layerSizes.at(1)= nlayers;\n layerSizes.at(2)= numCharacters;\n ann.create(layerSizes, CvANN_MLP::SIGMOID_SYM, 1, 1); \/\/ann is \n global class variable\n\n \/\/Prepare trainClasses\n \/\/Create a mat with n trained data by m classes\n Mat trainClasses;\n trainClasses.create( TrainData.rows, numCharacters, CV_32FC1 );\n for( int i = 0; i < trainClasses.rows; i++ )\n {\n for( int k = 0; k < trainClasses.cols; k++ )\n {\n \/\/If class of data i is same than a k class\n if( k == classes.at(i) )\n trainClasses.at(i,k) = 1;\n else\n trainClasses.at(i,k) = 0;\n }\n }\n Mat weights( 1, TrainData.rows, CV_32FC1, Scalar::all(1) );\n\n \/\/Learn classifier\n ann.train( TrainData, trainClasses, weights );\n trained=true;\n }\n\nAfter training, we can classify any segmented plate feature using the `OCR::classify` function:\n\n int OCR::classify(Mat f)\n {\n int result=-1;\n Mat output(1, numCharacters, CV_32FC1);\n **ann.predict(f, output);**\n Point maxLoc;\n double maxVal;\n **minMaxLoc(output, 0, &maxVal, 0, &maxLoc);**\n \/\/We need to know where in output is the max val, the x (cols) is \n \/\/the class.\n\n return maxLoc.x;\n }\n\nThe `CvANN_MLP` class uses the `predict` function for classifying a feature vector in a class. Unlike the SVM `classify` function, the ANN's `predict` function returns a row with the size equal to the number of classes with the probability of belonging to the input feature of each class.\n\nTo get the best result, we can use the `minMaxLoc` function to get the maximum and minimum response and the position in the matrix. The class of our character is specified by the x position of a higher value:\n\nTo finish each plate detected, we order its characters and return a string using the `str()` function of the `Plate` class and we can draw it on the original image:\n\n string licensePlate=plate.str();\n rectangle(input_image, plate.position, Scalar(0,0,200));\n putText(input_image, licensePlate, Point(plate.position.x, plate.position.y), CV_FONT_HERSHEY_SIMPLEX, 1, Scalar(0,0,200),2);\n\n## Evaluation\n\nOur project is finished, but when we train a machine-learning algorithm like OCR for example, we need to know the best features and parameters to use and how to correct the classification, recognition, and detection errors in our system.\n\nWe need to evaluate our system with different situations and parameters, and evaluate the errors produced, and get the best parameters that minimize those errors.\n\nIn this chapter, we evaluated the OCR task with the following variables: the size of low-level resolution image features and the number of hidden neurons in the hidden layer.\n\nWe have created the `evalOCR.cpp` application where we use the XML training data file generated by the `trainOCR.cpp` application. The `OCR.xml` file contains the training data matrix for 5 x 5, 10 x10, 15 x 15, and 20 x 20 downsampled image features.\n\n Mat classes;\n Mat trainingData;\n \/\/Read file storage.\n FileStorage fs;\n fs.open(\"OCR.xml\", FileStorage::READ);\n fs[data] >> trainingData;\n fs[\"classes\"] >> classes;\n\nThe evaluation application gets each downsampled matrix feature and gets 100 random rows for training, as well as other rows for testing the ANN algorithm and checking the error.\n\nBefore training the system, we test each random sample and check if the response is correct. If the response is not correct, we increment the error-counter variable and then divide by the number of samples to evaluate. This indicates the error ratio between 0 and 1 for training with random data:\n\n float test(Mat samples, Mat classes)\n {\n float errors=0;\n for(int i=0; i(i))\n errors++;\n }\n return errors\/samples.rows;\n }\n\nThe application returns the output command-line error ratio for each sample size. For a good evaluation, we need to train the application with different random training rows; this produces different test error values, then we can add up all errors and make an average. To do this task, we create the following `bash` Unix script to automate it:\n\n #!\/bin\/bash\n echo \"#ITS \\t 5 \\t 10 \\t 15 \\t 20\" > data.txt\n folder=$(pwd)\n\n for numNeurons in 10 20 30 40 50 60 70 80 90 100 120 150 200 500\n do\n s5=0;\n s10=0;\n s15=0;\n s20=0;\n for j in {1..100}\n do\n echo $numNeurons $j\n a=$($folder\/build\/evalOCR $numNeurons TrainingDataF5)\n s5=$(echo \"scale=4; $s5+$a\" | bc -q 2>\/dev\/null)\n\n a=$($folder\/build\/evalOCR $numNeurons TrainingDataF10)\n s10=$(echo \"scale=4; $s10+$a\" | bc -q 2>\/dev\/null)\n\n a=$($folder\/build\/evalOCR $numNeurons TrainingDataF15)\n s15=$(echo \"scale=4; $s15+$a\" | bc -q 2>\/dev\/null)\n\n a=$($folder\/build\/evalOCR $numNeurons TrainingDataF20)\n s20=$(echo \"scale=4; $s20+$a\" | bc -q 2>\/dev\/null)\n done\n\n echo \"$i \\t $s5 \\t $s10 \\t $s15 \\t $s20\"\n echo \"$i \\t $s5 \\t $s10 \\t $s15 \\t $s20\" >> data.txt\n done\n\nThis script saves a `data.txt` file that contains all results for each size and neuron-hidden layer number. This file can be used for plotting with gnuplot. We can see the result in the following figure:\n\nWe can see that the lowest error is under 8 percent and is using 20 neurons in a hidden layer and characters' features extracted from a downscaled 10 x 10 image patch.\n\n# Summary\n\nIn this chapter, we learned how an Automatic License Plate Recognition program works, and its two important steps: plate localization and plate recognition.\n\nIn the first step we learned how to segment an image looking for patches where we can have a plate, and how to use a simple heuristics and Support Vector Machine algorithm to make a binary classification for patches with plates and no plates.\n\nIn the second step we learned how to segment with the Find Contours algorithm, extract feature vector from each character, and use an Artificial Neural Network to classify each feature in a character class.\n\nWe also learned how to evaluate a machine algorithm with training using random samples and evaluate it using different parameters and features.\n\n# Chapter 6. Non-rigid Face Tracking\n\nNon-rigid face tracking, which is the estimation of a quasi-dense set of facial features in each frame of a video stream, is a difficult problem for which modern approaches borrow ideas from a number of related fields, including computer vision, computational geometry, machine learning, and image processing. Non-rigidity here refers to the fact that relative distances between facial features vary between facial expression and across the population, and is distinct from face detection and tracking, which aims only to find the location of the face in each frame, rather than the configuration of facial features. Non-rigid face tracking is a popular research topic that has been pursued for over two decades, but it is only recently that various approaches have become robust enough, and processors fast enough, which makes the building of commercial applications possible.\n\nAlthough commercial-grade face tracking can be highly sophisticated and pose a challenge even for experienced computer vision scientists, in this chapter we will see that a face tracker that performs reasonably well under constrained settings can be devised using modest mathematical tools and OpenCV's substantial functionality in linear algebra, image processing, and visualization. This is particularly the case when the person to be tracked is known ahead of time, and training data in the form of images and landmark annotations are available. The techniques described henceforth will act as a useful starting point and a guide for further pursuits towards a more elaborate face-tracking system.\n\nAn outline of this chapter is as follows:\n\n * **Overview** : This section covers a brief history of face tracking.\n * **Utilities** : This section outlines the common structures and conventions used in this chapter. It includes the object-oriented design, data storage and representation, and a tool for data collection and annotation.\n * **Geometrical constraints** : This section describes how facial geometry and its variations are learned from the training data and utilized during tracking to constrain the solution. This includes modeling the face as a linear shape model and how global transformations can be integrated into its representation.\n * **Facial feature detectors** : This section describes how to learn the appearance of facial features in order to detect them in an image where the face is to be tracked.\n * **Face detection and initialization** : This section describes how to use face detection to initialize the tracking process.\n * **Face tracking** : This section combines all components described previously into a tracking system through the process of image alignment. A discussion on the settings in which the system can be expected to work best is also carried out.\n\nThe following block diagram illustrates the relationships between the various components of the system:\n\n### Note\n\nNote that all methods employed in this chapter follow a data-driven paradigm whereby all models used are learned from data rather than being designed by hand in a rule-based setting. As such, each component of the system will involve two components: training and testing. Training builds the models from data and testing employs these models on new unseen data.\n\n# Overview\n\nNon-rigid face tracking was first popularized in the early to mid 90s with the advent of **active shape models** ( **ASM** ) by Cootes and Taylor. Since then, a tremendous amount of research has been dedicated to solving the difficult problem of generic face tracking with many improvements over the original method that ASM proposed. The first milestone was the extension of ASM to **active appearance models** ( **AAM** ) in 2001, also by Cootes and Taylor. This approach was later formalized though the principled treatment of image warps by Baker and colleges in the the mid 2000s. Another strand of work along these lines was the **3D Morphable Model** ( **3DMM** ) by Blanz and Vetter, which like AAM, not only modeled image textures as opposed to profiles along object boundaries as in ASM, but took it one step further by representing the models with a highly dense 3D data learned from laser scans of faces. From the mid to the late 2000s, the focus of research on face tracking shifted away from how the face was parameterized to how the objective of the tracking algorithm was posed and optimized. Various techniques from the machine-learning community were applied with various degrees of success. Since the turn of the century, the focus has shifted once again, this time towards joint parameter and objective design strategies that guarantee global solutions.\n\nDespite the continued intense research into face tracking, there have been relatively few commercial applications that use it. There has also been a lag in uptake by hobbyists and enthusiasts, despite there being a number of freely available source-code packages for a number of common approaches. Nonetheless, in the past two years there has been a renewed interest in the public domain for the potential use of face tracking and commercial-grade products are beginning to emerge.\n\n# Utilities\n\nBefore diving into the intricacies of face tracking, a number of book-keeping tasks and conventions common to all face-tracking methods must first be introduced. The rest of this section will deal with these issues. An interested reader may want to skip this section at the first reading and go straight to the section on geometrical constraints.\n\n## Object-oriented design\n\nAs with face detection and recognition, programmatically, face tracking consists of two components: data and algorithms. The algorithms typically perform some kind of operation on the incoming (that is, online) data by referencing prestored (that is, offline) data as a guide. As such, an object-oriented design that couples algorithms with the data they rely on is a convenient design choice.\n\nIn OpenCV v2.x, a convenient XML\/YAML file storage class was introduced that greatly simplifies the task of organizing offline data for use in the algorithms. To leverage this feature, all classes described in this chapter will implement read-and write-serialization functions. An example of this is shown as follows for an imaginary class `foo`:\n\n #include \n using namespace cv;\n class foo{\n public:\n Mat a;\n type_b b;\n void write(FileStorage &fs) const{\n assert(fs.isOpened());\n fs << \"{\" << \"a\" << a << \"b\" << b << \"}\";\n }\n void read(const FileNode& node){\n assert(node.type() == FileNode::MAP);\n node[\"a\"] >> a; node[\"b\"] >> b;\n }\n };\n\nHere, `Mat` is OpenCV's matrix class and `type_b` is an (imaginary) user-defined class that also has the serialization functionality defined. The I\/O functions `read` and `write` implement the serialization. The `FileStorage` class supports two types of data structures that can be serialized. For simplicity, in this chapter all classes will only utilize mappings, where each stored variable creates a `FileNode` object of type `FileNode::MAP`. This requires a unique key to be assigned to each element. Although the choice for this key is arbitrary, we will use the variable name as the label for consistency reasons. As illustrated in the preceding code snippet, the `read` and `write` functions take on a particularly simple form, whereby the streaming operators (`<<` and `>>`) are used to insert and extract data to the `FileStorage` object. Most OpenCV classes have implementations of the `read` and `write` functions, allowing the storage of the data that they contain to be done with ease.\n\nIn addition to defining the serialization functions, one must also define two additional functions for the serialization in the `FileStorage` class to work, as follows:\n\n void write(FileStorage& fs, const string&, const foo& x){\n x.write(fs);\n }\n void read(const FileNode& node, foo& x,const foo& default){\n if(node.empty())x = d; else x.read(node);\n }\n\nAs the functionality of these two functions remains the same for all classes we describe in this section, they are templated and defined in the `ft.hpp` header file found in the source code pertaining to this chapter. Finally, to easily save and load user-defined classes that utilize the serialization functionality, templated functions for these are also implemented in the header file as follows:\n\n template \n T load_ft(const char* fname){\n T x; FileStorage f(fname,FileStorage::READ);\n f[\"ft object\"] >> x; f.release(); return x;\n }\n template\n void save_ft(const char* fname,const T& x){\n FileStorage f(fname,FileStorage::WRITE);\n f << \"ft object\" << x; f.release();\n }\n\nNote that the label associated with the object is always the same (that is, `ft object`). With these functions defined, saving and loading object data is a painless process. This is shown with the help of the following example:\n\n #include \"opencv_hotshots\/ft\/ft.hpp\"\n #include \"foo.hpp\"\n int main(){\n ...\n foo A; save_ft(\"foo.xml\",A);\n ...\n foo B = load_ft(\"foo.xml\");\n ...\n }\n\nNote that the `.xml` extension results in an XML-formatted data file. For any other extension it defaults to the (more human readable) YAML format.\n\n## Data collection: Image and video annotation\n\nModern face tracking techniques are almost entirely data driven, that is, the algorithms used to detect the locations of facial features in the image rely on models of the appearance of the facial features and the geometrical dependencies between their relative locations from a set of examples. The larger the set of examples, the more robust the algorithms behave, as they become more aware of the gamut of variability that faces can exhibit. Thus, the first step in building a face tracking algorithm is to create an image\/video annotation tool, where the user can specify the locations of the desired facial features in each example image.\n\n### Training data types\n\nThe data for training face tracking algorithms generally consists of four components:\n\n * **Images** : This component is a collection of images (still images or video frames) that contain an entire face. For best results, this collection should be specialized to the types of conditions (that is, identity, lighting, distance from camera, capturing device, among others) in which the tracker is later deployed. It is also crucial that the faces in the collection exhibit the range of head poses and facial expressions that the intended application expects.\n * **Annotations** : This component has ordered hand-labeled locations in each image that correspond to every facial feature to be tracked. More facial features often lead to a more robust tracker as the tracking algorithm can use their measurements to reinforce each other. The computational cost of common tracking algorithms typically scales linearly with the number of facial features.\n * **Symmetry indices** : This component has an index for each facial feature point that defines its bilaterally symmetrical feature. This can be used to mirror the training images, effectively doubling the training set size and symmetrizing the data along the y axis.\n * **Connectivity indices** : This component has a set of index pairs of the annotations that define the semantic interpretation of the facial features. These connections are useful for visualizing the tracking results.\n\nA visualization of these four components is shown in the following image, where from left to right we have the raw image, facial feature annotations, color-coded bilateral symmetry points, mirrored image, and annotations and facial feature connectivity.\n\nTo conveniently manage such data, a class that implements storage and access functionality is a useful component. The `CvMLData` class in the `ml` module of OpenCV has the functionality for handling general data often used in machine-learning problems. However, it lacks the functionality required from the face-tracking data. As such, in this chapter we will use the `ft_data` class, declared in the `ft_data.hpp` header file, which is designed specifically with the peculiarity of face-tracking data in mind. All data elements are defined as public members of the class, as follows:\n\n class ft_data{\n public:\n vector symmetry;\n vector connections;\n vector imnames;\n vector > points;\n ...\n }\n\nThe `Vec2i` and `Point2f` types are OpenCV classes for vectors of two integers and 2D floating-point coordinates respectively. The `symmetry` vector has as many components as there are feature points on the face (as defined by the user). Each of the `connections` define a zero-based index pair of connected facial features. As the training set can potentially be very large, rather than storing the images directly, the class stores the filenames of each image in the `imnames` member variable (note that this requires the images to be located in the same relative path for the filenames to remain valid). Finally, for each training image, a collection of facial feature locations are stored as vectors of floating-point coordinates in the `points` member variable.\n\nThe `ft_data` class implements a number of convenience methods for accessing the data. To access an image in the dataset, the `get_image` function loads the image at the specified index, `idx`, and optionally mirrors it around the y axis as follows:\n\n Mat\n ft_data::get_image(\n const int idx, \/\/index of image to load from file\n const int flag){ \/\/0=gray,1=gray+flip,2=rgb,3=rgb+flip\n if((idx < 0) || (idx >= (int)imnames.size()))return Mat();\n Mat img,im;\n if(flag < 2)img = imread(imnames[idx],0);\n else img = imread(imnames[idx],1);\n if(flag % 2 != 0)flip(img,im,1); else im = img;\n return im;\n }\n\nThe (`0`,`1`) flag passed to OpenCV's `imread` function specifies whether the image is loaded as a 3-channel color image or as a single-channel grayscale image. The flag passed to OpenCV's `flip` function specifies mirroring around the y axis.\n\nTo access a point set corresponding to an image at a particular index, the `get_points` function returns a vector of floating-point coordinates with the option of mirroring their indices as follows:\n\n vector\n ft_data::get_points(\n const int idx, \/\/index of image corresponding to pointsconst bool flipped){ \/\/is the image flipped around the y-axis?\n if((idx < 0) || (idx >= (int)imnames.size()))\n return vector();\n vector p = points[idx];\n if(flipped){\n Mat im = this->get_image(idx,0); int n = p.size();\n vector q(n);\n for(int i = 0; i < n; i++){ \n q[i].x = im.cols-1-p[symmetry[i]].x;\n q[i].y = p[symmetry[i]].y;\n }return q;\n }else return p;\n }\n\nNotice that when the mirroring flag is specified, this function calls the `get_image` function. This is required to determine the width of the image in order to correctly mirror the facial feature coordinates. A more efficient method could be devised by simply passing the image width as a variable. Finally, the utility of the `symmetry` member variable is illustrated in this function. The mirrored feature location of a particular index is simply the feature location at the index specified in the `symmetry` variable with its x coordinate flipped and biased.\n\nBoth the `get_image` and `get_points` functions return empty structures if the specified index is outside the one that exists for the dataset. It is also possible that not all images in the collection are annotated. Face tracking algorithms can be designed to handle missing data, however, these implementations are often quite involved and are outside the scope of this chapter. The `ft_data` class implements a function for removing samples from its collection that do not have corresponding annotations, as follows:\n\n void\n ft_data::rm_incomplete_samples(){\n int n = points[0].size(),N = points.size();\n for(int i = 1; i < N; i++)n = max(n,int(points[i].size()));\n for(int i = 0; i < int(points.size()); i++){\n if(int(points[i].size()) != n){\n points.erase(points.begin()+i);\n imnames.erase(imnames.begin()+i); i--;\n }else{\n int j = 0;\n for(; j < n; j++){\n if((points[i][j].x <= 0) ||\n (points[i][j].y <= 0))break;\n }\n if(j < n){\n points.erase(points.begin()+i);\n imnames.erase(imnames.begin()+i); i--;\n }\n }\n }\n }\n\nThe sample instance that has the most number of annotations is assumed to be the canonical sample. All data instances that have a point set with less than that many number of points are removed from the collection using the vector's `erase` function. Also notice that points with (x, y) coordinates less than one are considered missing in their corresponding image (possibly due to occlusion, poor visibility, or ambiguity).\n\nThe `ft_data` class implements the serialization functions `read` and `write`, and can thus be stored and loaded easily. For example, saving a dataset can be done as simply as:\n\n ft_data D; \/\/instantiate data structure\n ... \/\/populate data\n save_ft(\"mydata.xml\",D); \/\/save data\n\nFor visualizing the dataset, `ft_data` implements a number of drawing functions. Their use is illustrated in the `visualize_annotations.cpp` file. This simple program loads annotation data stored in the file specified in the command line, removes the incomplete samples, and displays the training images with their corresponding annotations, symmetry, and connections superimposed. A few notable features of OpenCV's `highgui` module are demonstrated here. Although quite rudimentary and not well suited for complex user interfaces, the functionality in OpenCV's `highgui` module is extremely useful for loading and visualizing data and algorithmic outputs in computer vision applications. This is perhaps one of OpenCV's distinguishing qualities compared to other computer vision libraries.\n\n### Annotation tool\n\nTo aid in generating annotations for use with the code in this chapter, a rudimentary annotation tool can be found in the `annotate.cpp` file. The tool takes as input a video stream, either from a file or from the camera. The procedure for using the tool is listed in the following four steps:\n\n 1. **Capture images** : In this first step, the image stream is displayed on the screen and the user chooses the images to annotate by pressing the _S_ key. The best set of features to annotate are those that maximally span the range of facial behaviors that the face tracking system will be required to track.\n 2. **Annotate first image** : In this second step, the user is presented with the first image selected in the previous stage. The user then proceeds to click on the image at the locations pertaining to the facial features that require tracking.\n 3. **Annotate connectivity** : In this third step, to better visualize a shape, the connectivity structure of points needs to be defined. Here, the user is presented with the same image as in the previous stage, where the task now is to click a set of point pairs, one after the other, to build the connectivity structure for the face model.\n 4. **Annotate symmetry** : In this step, still with the same image, the user selects pairs of points that exhibit bilateral symmetry.\n 5. **Annotate remaining images** : In this final step, the procedure here is similar to that of step 2, except that the user can browse through the set of images and annotate them asynchronously.\n\nAn interested reader may want to improve on this tool by improving its usability or may even integrate an incremental learning procedure, whereby a tracking model is updated after each additional image is annotated and is subsequently used to initialize the points to reduce the burden of annotation.\n\nAlthough some publicly available datasets are available for use with the code developed in this chapter (see for example the description in the following section), the annotation tool can be used to build person-specific face tracking models, which often perform far better than their generic, person-independent, counterparts.\n\n### Pre-annotated data (The MUCT dataset)\n\nOne of the hindering factors of developing face tracking systems is the tedious and error-prone process of manually annotating a large collection of images, each with a large number of points. To ease this process for the purpose of following the work in this chapter, the publicly available MUCT dataset can be downloaded from: http:\/\/www\/milbo.org\/muct.\n\nThe dataset consists of 3,755 face images annotated with 76-point landmarks. The subjects in the dataset vary in age and ethnicity and are captured under a number of different lighting conditions and head poses.\n\nTo use the MUCT dataset with the code in this chapter, perform the following steps:\n\n 1. **Download the image set** : In this step, all the images in the dataset can be obtained by downloading the files `muct-a-jpg-v1.tar.gz` to `muct-e-jpg-v1.tar.gz` and uncompressing them. This will generate a new folder in which all the images will be stored.\n 2. **Download the annotations** : In this step, download the file containing the annotations `muct-landmarks-v1.tar.gz`. Save and uncompress this file in the same folder as the one in which the images were downloaded.\n 3. **Define connections and symmetry using the annotation tool** : In this step, from the command line, issue the command `.\/annotate -m $mdir -d $odir`, where `$mdir` denotes the folder where the MUCT dataset was saved and `$odir` denotes the folder to which the `annotations.yaml` file, containing the data stored as a `ft_data` object will be written.\n\n### Tip\n\nUsage of the MUCT dataset is encouraged to get a quick introduction to the functionality of the face tracking code described in this chapter.\n\n# Geometrical constraints\n\nIn face tracking, geometry refers to the spatial configuration of a predefined set of points that correspond to physically consistent locations on the human face (such as eye corners, nose tip, and eyebrow edges). A particular choice of these points is application dependent, with some applications requiring a dense set of over 100 points and others requiring only a sparser selection. However, robustness of face tracking algorithms generally improves with an increased number of points, as their separate measurements can reinforce each other through their relative spatial dependencies. For example, knowing the location of an eye corner is a good indication of where to expect the nose to be located. However, there are limits to improvements in robustness gained by increasing the number of points, where performance typically plateaus after around 100 points. Furthermore, increasing the point set used to describe a face carries with it a linear increase in computational complexity. Thus, applications with strict constraints on computational load may fare better with fewer points.\n\nIt is also the case that faster tracking often leads to more accurate tracking in the online setting. This is because, when frames are dropped, the perceived motion between frames increases, and the optimization algorithm used to find the configuration of the face in each frame has to search a larger space of possible configurations of feature points; a process that often fails when displacement between frames becomes too large. In summary, although there are general guidelines on how to best design the selection of facial feature points, to get an optimal performance, this selection should be specialized to the application's domain.\n\nFacial geometry is often parameterized as a composition of two elements: a global (rigid) transformation and a local (non-rigid) deformation. The global transformation accounts for the overall placement of the face in the image, which is often allowed to vary without constraint (that is, the face can appear anywhere in the image). This includes the (x, y) location of the face in the image, the in-plane head rotation, and the size of the face in the image. Local deformations, on the other hand, account for differences between facial shapes across identities and between expressions. In contrast to the global transformation, these local deformations are often far more constrained largely due to the highly structured configuration of facial features. Global transformations are generic functions of 2D coordinates, applicable to any type of object, whereas local deformations are object specific and must be learned from a training dataset.\n\nIn this section we will describe the construction of a geometrical model of a facial structure, hereby referred to as the shape model. Depending on the application, it can capture expression variations of a single individual, differences between facial shapes across a population, or a combination of both. This model is implemented in the `shape_model` class that can be found in the `shape_model.hpp` and `shape_model.cpp` files. The following code snippet is a part of the header of the `shape_model` class that highlights its primary functionality:\n\n class shape_model{ \/\/2d linear shape model\n public:\n Mat p; \/\/parameter vector (kx1) CV_32F\n Mat V; \/\/linear subspace (2nxk) CV_32F\n Mat e; \/\/parameter variance (kx1) CV_32F\n Mat C; \/\/connectivity (cx2) CV_32S\n ...\n void calc_params(\n const vector &pts, \/\/points to compute parameters\n const Mat &weight = Mat(), \/\/weight\/point (nx1) CV_32F\n const float c_factor = 3.0); \/\/clamping factor\n ...\n vector \/\/shape described by parameters\n calc_shape();\n ...\n void train(\n const vector > &p, \/\/N-example shapes\n const vector &con = vector(),\/\/connectivity\n const float frac = 0.95, \/\/fraction of variation to retain\n const int kmax = 10); \/\/maximum number of modes to retain\n ...\n }\n\nThe model that represents variations in face shapes is encoded in the subspace matrix `V` and variance vector `e`. The parameter vector `p` stores the encoding of a shape with respect to the model. The connectivity matrix `C` is also stored in this class as it pertains only to visualizing instances of the face's shape. The three functions of primary interest in this class are `calc_params`, `calc_shape`, and `train`. The `calc_params` function projects a set of points onto the space of plausible face shapes. It optionally provides separate confidence weights for each of the points to be projected. The `calc_shape` function generates a set of points by decoding the parameter vector `p` using the face model (encoded by `V` and `e`). The `train` function learns the encoding model from a dataset of face shapes, each of which consists of the same number of points. The parameters `frac` and `kmax` are parameters of the training procedure that can be specialized for the data at hand.\n\nThe functionality of this class will be elaborated in the sections that follow, where we begin by describing **Procrustes analysis** , a method for rigidly registering a point set, followed by the linear model used to represent local deformations. The programs in the `train_shape_model.cpp` and `visualize_shape_model.cpp` files train and visualize the shape model respectively. Their usage will be outlined at the end of this section.\n\n## Procrustes analysis\n\nIn order to build a deformation model of face shapes, we must first process the raw annotated data to remove components pertaining to global rigid motion. When modeling geometry in 2D, a rigid motion is often represented as a similarity transform; this includes the scale, in-plane rotation and translation. The following image illustrates the set of permissible motion types under a similarity transform. The process of removing global rigid motion from a collection of points is called Procrustes analysis.\n\nMathematically, the objective of Procrustes analysis is to simultaneously find a canonical shape and similarity transform each data instance that brings them into alignment with the canonical shape. Here, alignment is measured as the least-squares distance between each transformed shape with the canonical shape. An iterative procedure for fulfilling this objective is implemented in the `shape_model` class as follows:\n\n #define fl at\n Mat shape_model::procrustes(\n const Mat &X, \/\/interleaved raw shape data as columns\n const int itol, \/\/maximum number of iterations to try\n const float ftol) \/\/convergence tolerance\n {\n int N = X.cols,n = X.rows\/2; Mat Co,P = X.clone();\/\/copy\n for(int i = 0; i < N; i++){\n Mat p = P.col(i); \/\/i'th shape\n float mx = 0,my = 0; \/\/compute centre of mass...\n for(int j = 0; j < n; j++){ \/\/for x and y separately\n mx += p.fl(2*j); my += p.fl(2*j+1);\n }\n mx \/= n; my \/= n;\n for(int j = 0; j < n; j++){ \/\/remove center of mass\n p.fl(2*j) -= mx; p.fl(2*j+1) -= my;\n }\n }\n for(int iter = 0; iter < itol; iter++){ \n Mat C = P*Mat::ones(N,1,CV_32F)\/N; \/\/compute normalized...\n **normalize(C,C); \/\/canonical shape**\n if(iter > 0){if(norm(C,Co) < ftol)break;} \/\/converged?\n Co = C.clone(); \/\/remember current estimate\n for(int i = 0; i < N; i++){\n **Mat R = this- >rot_scale_align(P.col(i),C);**\n for(int j = 0; j < n; j++){ \/\/apply similarity transform\n float x = P.fl(2*j,i),y = P.fl(2*j+1,i);\n P.fl(2*j ,i) = R.fl(0,0)*x + R.fl(0,1)*y;\n P.fl(2*j+1,i) = R.fl(1,0)*x + R.fl(1,1)*y;\n }\n }\n }return P; \/\/returned procrustes aligned shapes\n }\n\nThe algorithm begins by subtracting the center of mass of each shape's instance followed by an iterative procedure that alternates between computing the canonical shape, as the normalized average of all shapes, and rotating and scaling each shape to best match the canonical shape. The normalization step of the estimated canonical shape is necessary to fix the scale of the problem and prevent it from shrinking all the shapes to zero. The choice of this anchor scale is arbitrary, here we have chosen to enforce the length of the canonical shape vector `C` to 1.0, as is the default behavior of OpenCV's `normalize` function. Computing the in-plane rotation and scaling that best aligns each shape's instance to the current estimate of the canonical shape is effected through the `rot_scale_align` function as follows:\n\n Mat shape_model::rot_scale_align(\n const Mat &src, \/\/[x1;y1;...;xn;yn] vector of source shape\n const Mat &dst) \/\/destination shape\n {\n \/\/construct linear system\n int n = src.rows\/2; float a=0,b=0,d=0;\n for(int i = 0; i < n; i++){\n d+= src.fl(2*i)*src.fl(2*i )+src.fl(2*i+1)*src.fl(2*i+1);\n a+= src.fl(2*i)*dst.fl(2*i )+src.fl(2*i+1)*dst.fl(2*i+1);\n b+= src.fl(2*i)*dst.fl(2*i+1)-src.fl(2*i+1)*dst.fl(2*i );\n }\n a \/= d; b \/= d;\/\/solve linear system\n return (Mat_(2,2) << a,-b,b,a);\n }\n\nThis function minimizes the following least-squares difference between the rotated and canonical shapes. Mathematically this can be written as:\n\nHere the solution to the least-squares problem takes on the closed-form solution shown in the following image on the right-hand side of the equation. Note that rather than solving for the scaling and in-plane rotation, which are nonlinearly related in the scaled 2D rotation matrix, we solve for the variables (a, b). These variables are related to the scale and rotation matrix as follows:\n\nA visualization of the effects of Procrustes analysis on raw annotated shape data is illustrated in the following image . Each facial feature is displayed with a unique color. After translation normalization, the structure of the face becomes apparent, where the locations of facial features cluster around their average locations. After the iterative scale and rotation normalization procedure, the feature clustering becomes more compact and their distribution becomes more representative of the variation induced by facial deformation. This last point is important as it is these deformations that we will attempt to model in the following section. Thus, the role of Procrustes analysis can be thought of as a preprocessing operation on the raw data that will allow better local deformation models of the face to be learned.\n\n## Linear shape models\n\nThe aim of facial-deformation modeling is to find a compact parametric representation of how the face's shape varies across identities and between expressions. There are many ways of achieving this goal with various levels of complexity. The simplest of these is to use a linear representation of facial geometry. Despite its simplicity, it has been shown to accurately capture the space of facial deformations, particularly when the faces in the dataset are largely in a frontal pose. It also has the advantage that inferring the parameters of its representation is an extremely simple and cheap operation, in contrast to its nonlinear counterparts. This plays an important role when deploying it to constrain the search procedure during tracking.\n\nThe main idea of linearly modeling facial shapes is illustrated in the following image. Here, a face shape, which consists of _N_ facial features, is modeled as a single point in a 2 _N_ -dimensional space. The aim of linear modeling is to find a low-dimensional hyperplane embedded within this 2 _N_ -dimensional space in which all the face shape points lie (that is, the green points in the image). As this hyperplane spans only a subset of the entire 2 _N_ -dimensional space it is often referred to as the subspace. The lower the dimensionality of the subspace the more compact the representation of the face is and the stronger the constraint that it places on the tracking procedure becomes. This often leads to more robust tracking. However, care should be taken in selecting the subspace's dimension so that it has enough capacity to span the space of all faces but not so much that non-face shapes lie within its span (that is, the red points in the image). It should be noted that when modeling data from a single person, the subspace that captures the face's variability is often far more compact than the one that models multiple identities. This is one of the reasons why person-specific trackers perform much better than generic ones.\n\nThe procedure for finding the best low-dimensional subspace that spans a dataset is called **Principal Component Analysis** ( **PCA** ). OpenCV implements a class for computing PCA, however, it requires the number of preserved subspace dimensions to be prespecified. As this is often difficult to determine a priori, a common heuristic is to choose it based on the fraction of the total amount of variation it accounts for. In the `shape_model::train` function, PCA is implemented as follows:\n\n **SVD svd(dY*dY.t());**\n int m = min(min(kmax,N-1),n-1);\n float vsum = 0; for(int i = 0; i < m; i++)vsum += svd.w.fl(i);\n float v = 0; int k = 0;\n **for(k = 0; k < m; k++){**\n **v += svd.w.fl(k); if(v\/vsum >= frac){k++; break;}**\n **}**\n if(k > m)k = m;\n **Mat D = svd.u(Rect(0,0,k,2*n));**\n\nHere, each column of the `dY` variable denotes the mean-subtracted Procrustes-aligned shape. Thus, **singular value decomposition** ( **SVD** ) is effectively applied to the covariance matrix of the shape data (that is, `dY.t()*dY`). The `w` member of OpenCV's `SVD` class stores the variance in the major directions of variability of the data, ordered from largest to smallest. A common approach to choose the dimensionality of the subspace is to choose the smallest set of directions that preserve a fraction `frac` of the total energy of the data, which is represented by the entries of `svd.w`. As these entries are ordered from largest to smallest, it suffices to enumerate the subspace selection by greedily evaluating the energy in the top k directions of variability. The directions themselves are stored in the `u` member of the `SVD` class. The `svd.w` and `svd.u` components are generally referred to as the eigenspectrum and eigenvectors respectively. A visualization of these two components are shown in the following figure:\n\n### Note\n\nNotice that the eigenspectrum decreases rapidly, which suggests that most of the variation contained in the data can be modeled with a low-dimensional subspace.\n\n## A combined local-global representation\n\nA shape in the image frame is generated by the composition of a local deformation and a global transformation. Mathematically, this parameterization can be problematic, as the composition of these transformations results in a nonlinear function that does not admit a closed-form solution. A common way to circumvent this problem is to model the global transformation as a linear subspace and append it to the deformation subspace. For a fixed shape, a similarity transform can be modeled with a subspace as follows:\n\nIn the `shape_model` class, this subspace is generated using the `calc_rigid_basis` function. The shape from which the subspace is generated (that is, the x and y components in the preceding equation) is the mean shape ov++er the Procustes-aligned shape (that is, the canonical shape). In addition to constructing the subspace in the aforementioned form, each column of the matrix is normalized to unit length. In the `shape_model::train` function, the variable `dY` described in the previous section is computed by projecting out the components of the data that pertain to rigid motion, as follows:\n\n Mat R = this->calc_rigid_basis(Y); \/\/compute rigid subspace\n Mat P = R.t()*Y; Mat dY = Y - R*P; \/\/project-out rigidity\n\nNotice that this projection is implemented as a simple matrix multiplication. This is possible because the columns of the rigid subspace have been length normalized. This does not change the space spanned by the model, and means only that `R.t()*R` equals the identity matrix.\n\nAs the directions of variability stemming from rigid transformations have been removed from the data before learning the deformation model, the resulting deformation subspace will be orthogonal to the rigid transformation subspace. Thus, concatenating the two subspaces results in a combined local-global linear representation of facial shapes that is also orthonormal. Concatenation here can be performed by assigning the two subspace matrices to submatrices of the combined subspace matrix through the ROI extraction mechanism implemented in OpenCV's `Mat` class as follows:\n\n V.create(2*n,4+k,CV_32F); \/\/combined subspace\n Mat Vr = V(Rect(0,0,4,2*n)); R.copyTo(Vr); \/\/rigid subspace\n Mat Vd = V(Rect(4,0,k,2*n)); D.copyTo(Vd); \/\/nonrigid subspace\n\nThe orthonormality of the resulting model means that the parameters describing a shape can be computed easily, as is done in the `shape_model::calc_params` function:\n\n p = V.t()*s;\n\nHere `s` is a vectorized face shape and `p` stores the coordinates in the face subspace that represents it.\n\nA final point to note about linearly modeling facial shapes is how to constrain the subspace coordinates such that shapes generated using it remain valid. In the following image, instances of face shapes that lie within the subspace are shown for an increasing value of the coordinates in one of the directions of variability in increments of four standard deviations. Notice that for small values, the resulting shape remains face-like, but deteriorates as the values become too large.\n\nA simple way to prevent such deformation is to clamp the subspace coordinate values to lie within a permissible region as determined from the dataset. A common choice for this is a box constraint within \u00b1 3 standard deviations of the data, which accounts for 99.7 percent of variation in the data. These clamping values are computed in the `shape_model::train` function after the subspace is found, as follows:\n\n Mat Q = V.t()*X; \/\/project raw data onto subspace\n for(int i = 0; i < N; i++){ \/\/normalize coordinates w.r.t scale\n **float v = Q.fl(0,i); Mat q = Q.col(i); q \/= v;**\n }\n e.create(4+k,1,CV_32F); multiply(Q,Q,Q);\n for(int i = 0; i < 4+k; i++){\n **if(i < 4)e.fl(i) = -1; \/\/no clamping for rigid coefficients**\n else e.fl(i) = Q.row(i).dot(Mat::ones(1,N,CV_32F))\/(N-1);\n }\n\nNotice that the variance is computed over the subspace coordinate `Q` after normalizing with respect to the coordinate of the first dimension (that is, scale). This prevents data samples that have relatively large scale from dominating the estimate. Also, notice that a negative value is assigned to the variance of the coordinates of the rigid subspace (that is, the first four columns of `V`). The clamping function `shape_model::clamp` checks to see if the variance of a particular direction is negative and only applies clamping if it is not, as follows:\n\n void shape_model::clamp(\n const float c){ \/\/clamping as fraction of standard deviation\n double scale = p.fl(0); \/\/extract scale\n for(int i = 0; i < e.rows; i++){\n **if(e.fl(i) < 0)continue; \/\/ignore rigid components**\n float v = c*sqrt(e.fl(i)); \/\/c*standard deviations box\n if(fabs(p.fl(i)\/scale) > v){ \/\/preserve sign of coordinate\n **if(p.fl(i) > 0)p.fl(i) = v*scale; \/\/positive threshold**\n **else p.fl(i) = -v*scale; \/\/negative threshold**\n }\n }\n }\n\nThe reason for this is that the training data is often captured under contrived settings where the face is upright and centered in the image at a particular scale. Clamping the rigid components of the shape model to adhere to the configurations in the training set would then be too restrictive. Finally, as the variance of each deformable coordinate is computed in the scale-normalized frame, the same scaling must be applied to the coordinates during clamping.\n\n## Training and visualization\n\nAn example program for training a shape model from the annotation data can be found in `train_shape_model.cpp`. With the command-line argument `argv[1]` containing the path to the annotation data, training begins by loading the data into memory and removing incomplete samples, as follows:\n\n ft_data data = load_ft(argv[1]);\n data.rm_incomplete_samples();\n\nThe annotations for each example, and optionally their mirrored counterparts, are then stored in a vector before passing them to the training function as follows:\n\n vector > points;\n for(int i = 0; i < int(data.points.size()); i++){\n points.push_back(data.get_points(i,false));\n if(mirror)points.push_back(data.get_points(i,true));\n }\n\nThe shape model is then trained by a single function call to `shape_model::train` as follows:\n\n shape_model smodel; smodel.train(points,data.connections,frac,kmax);\n\nHere, `frac` (that is, the fraction of variation to retain) and `kmax` (that is, the maximum number of eigenvectors to retain) can be optionally set through command-line options, although the default settings of 0.95 and 20, respectively, tend to work well in most cases. Finally, with the command-line argument `argv[2]` containing the path to save the trained shape model to, saving can be performed by a single function call as follows:\n\n save_ft(argv[2],smodel);\n\nThe simplicity of this step results from defining the `read` and `write` serialization functions for the `shape_model` class.\n\nTo visualize the trained shape model, the `visualize_shape_model.cpp` program animates the learned non-rigid deformations of each direction in turn. It begins by loading the shape model into memory as follows:\n\n shape_model smodel = load_ft(argv[1]);\n\nThe rigid parameters that place the model at the center of the display window are computed as follows:\n\n int n = smodel.V.rows\/2;\n float scale = calc_scale(smodel.V.col(0),200);\n float tranx =\n n*150.0\/smodel.V.col(2).dot(Mat::ones(2*n,1,CV_32F));\n float trany =\n n*150.0\/smodel.V.col(3).dot(Mat::ones(2*n,1,CV_32F));\n\nHere, the `calc_scale` function finds the scaling coefficient that would generate face shapes with a width of 200 pixels. The translation components are computed by finding the coefficients that generate a translation of 150 pixels (that is, the model is mean-centered and the display window is 300 x 300 pixels in size).\n\n### Note\n\nNote that the first column of `shape_model::V` corresponds to scale and the third and fourth columns to x and y translations respectively.\n\nA trajectory of parameter values is then generated, which begins at zero, moves to the positive extreme, moves to the negative extreme, and then back to zero as follows:\n\n vector val;\n for(int i = 0; i < 50; i++)val.push_back(float(i)\/50);\n for(int i = 0; i < 50; i++)val.push_back(float(50-i)\/50);\n for(int i = 0; i < 50; i++)val.push_back(-float(i)\/50);\n for(int i = 0; i < 50; i++)val.push_back(-float(50-i)\/50);\n\nHere, each phase of the animation is composed of fifty increments. This trajectory is then used to animate the face model and render the results in a display window as follows:\n\n Mat img(300,300,CV_8UC3); namedWindow(\"shape model\");\n while(1){\n for(int k = 4; k < smodel.V.cols; k++){\n for(int j = 0; j < int(val.size()); j++){\n **Mat p = Mat::zeros(smodel.V.cols,1,CV_32F);**\n **p.at (0) = scale;**\n **p.at (2) = tranx;**\n **p.at (3) = trany;**\n **p.at (k) = scale*val[j]*3.0***\n **sqrt(smodel.e.at (k)); **\n p.copyTo(smodel.p); img = Scalar::all(255);\n vector q = smodel.calc_shape();\n draw_shape(img,q,smodel.C);\n imshow(\"shape model\",img);\n if(waitKey(10) == 'q')return 0;\n }\n }\n }\n\n### Note\n\nNote that the rigid coefficients (that is, those corresponding to the first four columns of `shape_model::V`) are always set to the values computed previously, to place the face at the center of the display window. \n\n# Facial feature detectors\n\nDetecting facial features in images bares a strong resemblance to general object detection. OpenCV has a set of sophisticated functions for building general object detectors, the most well-known of which is the cascade of Haar-based feature detectors used in their implementation of the well-known Viola-Jones face detector. There are, however, a few distinguishing factors that make facial feature detection unique. These are as follows:\n\n * **Precision versus robustness** : In generic object detection, the aim is to find the coarse position of the object in the image; facial feature detectors are required to give highly precise estimates of the location of the feature. An error of a few pixels is considered inconsequential in object detection but it can mean the difference between a smile and a frown in facial expression estimation through feature detections.\n * **Ambiguity from limited spatial support** : It is common to assume that the object of interest in generic object detection exhibits sufficient image structure such that it can be reliably discriminated from image regions that do not contain the object. This is often not the case for facial features, which typically have limited spatial support. This is because image regions that do not contain the object can often exhibit a very similar structure to facial features. For example, a feature on the periphery of the face, seen from a small bounding box centered at the feature, can be easily confused with any other image patch that contains a strong edge through its center.\n * **Computational complexity** : Generic object detection aims to find all instances of the object in an image. Face tracking, on the other hand, requires the locations of all facial features, which often ranges from around 20 to 100 features. Thus, the ability to evaluate each feature detector efficiently is paramount in building a face tracker that can run in real time.\n\nDue to these differences, the facial feature detectors used in face tracking are often specifically designed with that purpose in mind. There are, of course, many instances of generic object-detection techniques being applied to facial feature detectors in face tracking. However, there does not appear to be a consensus in the community about which representation is best suited for the problem.\n\nIn this section, we will build facial feature detectors using a representation that is perhaps the simplest model one would consider: a linear image patch. Despite its simplicity, with due care in designing its learning procedure, we will see that this representation can in fact give reasonable estimates of facial feature locations for use in a face tracking algorithm. Furthermore, their simplicity enables an extremely rapid evaluation that makes real-time face tracking possible. Due to their representation as an image patch, the facial feature detectors are hereby referred to as patch models. This model is implemented in the `patch_model` class that can be found in the `patch_model.hpp` and `patch_model.cpp` files. The following code snippet is of the header of the `patch_model` class that highlights its primary functionality:\n\n class patch_model{\n public:\n Mat P; \/\/normalized patch\n ...\n Mat \/\/response map\n calc_response(\n const Mat &im, \/\/image patch of search region\n const bool sum2one = false); \/\/normalize to sum-to-one?\n ...\n void\n train(const vector &images, \/\/training image patches\n const Size psize, \/\/patch size\n const float var = 1.0, \/\/ideal response variance\n const float lambda = 1e-6, \/\/regularization weight\n const float mu_init = 1e-3, \/\/initial step size\n const int nsamples = 1000, \/\/number of samples\n const bool visi = false); \/\/visualize process?\n ...\n };\n\nThe patch model used to detect a facial feature is stored in the matrix `P`. The two functions of primary interest in this class are `calc_response` and `train`. The `calc_response` function evaluates the patch model's response at every integer displacements over the search region `im`. The `train` function learns the patch model `P` of size `psize` that, on an average, yields response maps over the training set that is as close as possible to the ideal response map. The parameters `var`, `lambda`, `mu_init`, and `nsamples` are parameters of the training procedure that can be tuned to optimize performance for the data at hand.\n\nThe functionality of this class will be elaborated in this section. We begin by discussing the correlation patch and its training procedure, which will be used to learn the patch model. Next, the `patch_models` class, which is a collection of the patch models for each facial feature and has functionality that accounts for global transformations, will be described. The programs in `train_patch_model.cpp` and `visualize_patch_model.cpp` train and visualize the patch models, respectively, and their usage will be outlined at the end of this section on facial feature detectors.\n\n## Correlation-based patch models\n\nIn learning detectors, there are two primary competing paradigms: generative and discriminative. Generative methods learn an underlying representation of image patches that can best generate the object appearance in all its manifestations. Discriminative methods, on the other hand, learn a representation that best discriminates instances of the object from other objects that the model will likely encounter when deployed. Generative methods have the advantage that the resulting model encodes properties specific to the object, allowing novel instances of the object to be visually inspected. A popular approach that falls within the paradigm of generative methods is the famous Eigenfaces method. Discriminative methods have the advantage that the full capacity of the model is geared directly towards the problem at hand; discriminating instances of the object from all others. Perhaps the most well-known of all discriminative methods is the support vector machine. Although both paradigms can work well in many situations, we will see that when modeling facial features as an image patch, the discriminative paradigm is far superior.\n\n### Note\n\nNote that the eigenfaces and support vector machine methods were originally developed for classification rather than detection or image alignment. However, their underlying mathematical concepts have been shown to be applicable to the face tracking domain.\n\n### Learning discriminative patch models\n\nGiven an annotated dataset, the feature detectors can be learned independently from each other. The learning objective of a discriminative patch model is to construct an image patch that, when cross-correlated with an image region containing the facial feature, yields a strong response at the feature location and weak responses everywhere else. Mathematically, this can be expressed as:\n\nHere, **P** denotes the patch model, **I** denotes the i'th training image I(a:b, c:d) denotes the rectangular region whose top-left and bottom-right corners are located at (a, c) and (b, d), respectively. The period symbol denotes the inner product operation and **R** denotes the ideal response map. The solution to this equation is a patch model that generates response maps that are, on average, closest to the ideal response map as measured using the least-squares criterion. An obvious choice for the ideal response map, R, is a matrix with zeros everywhere except at the center (assuming the training image patches are centered at the facial feature of interest). In practice, since the images are hand-labeled, there will always be an annotation error. To account for this, it is common to describe R as a decaying function of distance from the center. A good choice is the 2D-Gaussian distribution, which is equivalent to assuming the annotation error is Gaussian distributed. A visualization of this setup is shown in the following figure for the left outer eye corner:\n\nThe learning objective as written previously is in a form commonly referred to as linear least squares. As such, it affords a closed-form solution. However, the degrees of freedom of this problem, that is, the number of ways the variables can vary to solve the problem, is equal to the number of pixels in the patch. Thus, the computational cost and memory requirements of solving for the optimal patch model can be prohibitive, even for a moderately sized patch or example, a 40 x 40- patch model has 1,600 degrees of freedom).\n\nAn efficient alternative to solving the learning problem as a linear system of equations is a method called stochastic gradient descent. By visualizing the learning objective as an error terrain over the degrees of freedom of the patch model, stochastic gradient descent iteratively makes an approximate estimate of the gradient direction of the terrain and takes a small step in the opposite direction. For our problem, the approximation to gradient can be computed by considering only the gradient of the learning objective for a single, randomly chosen image from the training set:\n\nIn the `patch_model` class, this learning process is implemented in the `train` function:\n\n void\n patch_model::train(\n const vector &images, \/\/featured centered training images\n const Size psize, \/\/desired patch model size\n const float var, \/\/variance of annotation error\n const float lambda, \/\/regularization parameter\n const float mu_init, \/\/initial step size\n const int nsamples, \/\/number of stochastic samples\n const bool visi){ \/\/visualise training process\n int N = images.size(),n = psize.width*psize.height;\n int dx = wsize.width-psize.width; \/\/center of response map\n int dy = wsize.height-psize.height; \/\/...\n **Mat F(dy,dx,CV_32F); \/\/ideal response map**\n **for(int y = 0; y < dy; y++){ float vy = (dy-1)\/2 - y;**\n **for(int x = 0; x < dx; x++){float vx = (dx-1)\/2 - x;**\n **F.fl(y,x) = exp(-0.5*(vx*vx+vy*vy)\/var); \/\/Gaussian**\n **}**\n **}**\n **normalize(F,F,0,1,NORM_MINMAX); \/\/normalize to [0:1] range**\n\n \/\/allocate memory\n Mat I(wsize.height,wsize.width,CV_32F);\n Mat dP(psize.height,psize.width,CV_32F);\n Mat O = Mat::ones(psize.height,psize.width,CV_32F)\/n;\n P = Mat::zeros(psize.height,psize.width,CV_32F);\n\n \/\/optimise using stochastic gradient descent\n RNG rn(getTickCount()); \/\/random number generator\n **double mu=mu_init,step=pow(1e-8\/mu_init,1.0\/nsamples);**\n for(int sample = 0; sample < nsamples; sample++){\n int i = rn.uniform(0,N); \/\/randomly sample image index\n **I = this- >convert_image(images[i]); dP = 0.0;**\n **for(int y = 0; y < dy; y++){ \/\/compute stochastic gradient**\n **for(int x = 0; x < dx; x++){**\n **Mat Wi=I(Rect(x,y,psize.width,psize.height)).clone();**\n **Wi -= Wi.dot(O); normalize(Wi,Wi); \/\/normalize**\n **dP += (F.fl(y,x) - P.dot(Wi))*Wi;**\n **}**\n **}**\n **P += mu*(dP - lambda*P); \/\/take a small step**\n mu *= step; \/\/reduce step size\n ...\n }return;\n }\n\nThe first highlighted code snippet in the preceding code is where the ideal response map is computed. Since the images are centered on the facial feature of interest, the response map is the same for all samples. In the second highlighted code snippet, the decay rate, `step`, of the step sizes is determined such that after `nsamples` iterations, the step size would have decayed to a value close to zero. The third highlighted code snippet is where the stochastic gradient direction is computed and used to update the patch model. There are two things to note here. First, the images used in training are passed to the `patch_model::convert_image` function, which converts the image to a single-channel image (if it is a color image) and applies the natural logarithm to the image pixel intensities:\n\n I += 1.0; log(I,I);\n\nA bias value of one is added to each pixel before applying the logarithm since the logarithm of zero is undefined. The reason for performing this pre-processing on the training images is because log-scale images are more robust against differences in contrast and changes in illumination conditions. The following figure shows images of two faces with different degrees of contrast in the facial region. The difference between the images is much less pronounced in the log-scale images than it is in the raw images.\n\nThe second point to note about the update equation is the subtraction of `lambda*P` from the update direction. This effectively regularizes the solution from growing too large; a procedure that is often applied in machine-learning algorithms to promote generalization to unseen data. The scaling factor `lambda` is user defined and is usually problem dependent. However, a small value typically works well for learning patch models for facial feature detection.\n\n### Generative versus discriminative patch models\n\nDespite the ease of which discriminative patch models can be learned as described previously, it is worth considering whether generative patch models and their corresponding training regimes are simpler enough to achieve similar results. The generative counterpart of the correlation patch model is the average patch. The learning objective for this model is to construct a single image patch that is as close as possible to all examples of the facial feature as measured via the least-squares criterion:\n\nThe solution to this problem is exactly the average of all the feature-centered training image patches. Thus, in a way, the solution afforded by this objective is far simpler.\n\nIn the following figure, a comparison is shown for the response maps obtained by cross-correlating the average and correlation patch models with an example image. The respective average and correlation patch models are also shown, where the range of pixel values are normalized for visualization purposes. Although the two patch model types exhibit some similarities, the response maps they generate differ substantially. While the correlation patch model generates response maps that are highly peaked around the feature location, the response map generated by the average patch model is overly smooth and does not strongly distinguish the feature location from those close by. Inspecting the patch models' appearance, the correlation patch model is mostly gray, which corresponds to zero in the un-normalized pixel range, with strong positive and negative values strategically placed around prominent areas of the facial feature. Thus, it preserves only components of the training patches useful for discriminating it from misaligned configuration, which leads to highly peaked responses. In contrast, the average patch model encodes no knowledge of misaligned data. As a result, it is not well suited to the task of facial feature localization, where the task is to discriminate an aligned image patch from locally shifted versions of itself.\n\n## Accounting for global geometric transformations\n\nSo far, we have assumed that the training images are centered at the facial feature and are normalized with respect to global scale and rotation. In practice, the face can appear at any scale and rotation within the image during tracking. Thus, a mechanism must be devised to account for this discrepancy between the training and testing conditions. One approach is to synthetically perturb the training images in scale and rotation within the ranges one expects to encounter during deployment. However, the simplistic form of the detector as a correlation patch model often lacks the capacity to generate useful response maps for that kind of data. On the other hand, the correlation patch model does exhibit a degree of robustness against small perturbations in scale and rotation. Since motion between consecutive frames in a video sequence is relatively small, one can leverage the estimated global transformation of the face in the previous frame to normalize the current image with respect to scale and rotation. All that is needed to enable this procedure is to select a reference frame in which the correlation patch models are learned.\n\nThe `patch_models` class stores the correlation patch models for each facial feature as well as the reference frame in which they are trained. It is the `patch_models` class, rather than the `patch_model` class, that the face tracker code interfaces with directly, to obtain the feature detections. The following code snippet of the declaration of this class highlights its primary functionality:\n\n class patch_models{\n public:\n Mat reference; \/\/reference shape [x1;y1;...;xn;yn]\n vector patches; \/\/patch model\/facial feature\n ...\n void\n train(ft_data &data, \/\/annotated image and shape data\n const vector &ref, \/\/reference shape\n const Size psize, \/\/desired patch size\n const Size ssize, \/\/training search window size\n const bool mirror = false, \/\/use mirrored training data\n const float var = 1.0, \/\/variance of annotation error\n const float lambda = 1e-6, \/\/regularisation weight\n const float mu_init = 1e-3, \/\/initial step size\n const int nsamples = 1000, \/\/number of samples\n const bool visi = false); \/\/visualise training procedure?\n ...\n vector\/\/location of peak responses\/feature in image\n calc_peaks(\n const Mat &im, \/\/image to detect features in\n const vector &points, \/\/current estimate of shape\n const Size ssize = Size(21,21)); \/\/search window size\n ...\n };\n\nThe `reference` shape is stored as an interleaved set of (x, y) coordinates that are used to normalize the scale and rotation of the training images, and later during deployment that of the test images. In the `patch_models::train` function, this is done by first computing the similarity transform between the `reference` shape and the annotated shape for a given image using the `patch_models::calc_simil` function, which solves a similar problem to that in the `shape_model::procrustes` function, albeit for a single pair of shapes. Since the rotation and scale is common across all facial features, the image normalization procedure only requires adjusting this similarity transform to account for the centers of each feature in the image and the center of the normalized image patch. In `patch_models::train`, this is implemented as follows:\n\n Mat S = this->calc_simil(pt),A(2,3,CV_32F);\n A.fl(0,0) = S.fl(0,0); A.fl(0,1) = S.fl(0,1);\n A.fl(1,0) = S.fl(1,0); A.fl(1,1) = S.fl(1,1);\n A.fl(0,2) = pt.fl(2*i ) - (A.fl(0,0)*(wsize.width -1)\/2 +\n A.fl(0,1)*(wsize.height-1)\/2);\n A.fl(1,2) = pt.fl(2*i+1) - (A.fl(1,0)*(wsize.width -1)\/2 +\n A.fl(1,1)*(wsize.height-1)\/2);\n Mat I; warpAffine(im,I,A,wsize,INTER_LINEAR+WARP_INVERSE_MAP);\n\nHere, `wsize` is the total size of the normalized training image, which is the sum of the patch size and the search region size. As just mentioned, that the top-left (2 x 2) block of the similarity transform from the reference shape to the annotated shape `pt`, which corresponds to the scale and rotation component of the transformation, is preserved in the affine transform passed to OpenCV's `warpAffine` function. The last column of the affine transform `A` is an adjustment that will render the i'th facial feature location centered in the normalized image after warping (that is, the normalizing translation). Finally, the `cv::warpAffine` function has the default setting of warping from the image to the reference frame. Since the similarity transform was computed for transforming the `reference` shape to the image-space annotations `pt`, the `WARP_INVERSE_MAP` flag needs to be set to ensure the function applies the warp in the desired direction. Exactly the same procedure is performed in the `patch_models::calc_peaks` function, with the additional step that the computed similarity transform between the reference and the current shape in the image-frame is re-used to un-normalize the detected facial features, placing them appropriately in the image:\n\n vector\n patch_models::calc_peaks(const Mat &im,\n const vector &points,const Size ssize){\n int n = points.size(); assert(n == int(patches.size()));\n Mat pt = Mat(points).reshape(1,2*n);\n **Mat S = this- >calc_simil(pt);**\n **Mat Si = this- >inv_simil(S);**\n **vector pts = this->apply_simil(Si,points);**\n for(int i = 0; i < n; i++){\n Size wsize = ssize + patches[i].patch_size();\n Mat A(2,3,CV_32F),I; \n A.fl(0,0) = S.fl(0,0); A.fl(0,1) = S.fl(0,1);\n A.fl(1,0) = S.fl(1,0); A.fl(1,1) = S.fl(1,1);\n A.fl(0,2) = pt.fl(2*i ) - (A.fl(0,0)*(wsize.width -1)\/2 +\n A.fl(0,1)*(wsize.height-1)\/2);\n A.fl(1,2) = pt.fl(2*i+1) - (A.fl(1,0)*(wsize.width -1)\/2 +\n A.fl(1,1)*(wsize.height-1)\/2);\n warpAffine(im,I,A,wsize,INTER_LINEAR+WARP_INVERSE_MAP);\n Mat R = patches[i].calc_response(I,false);\n Point maxLoc; minMaxLoc(R,0,0,0,&maxLoc);\n **pts[i] = Point2f(pts[i].x + maxLoc.x - 0.5*ssize.width,**\n **pts[i].y + maxLoc.y - 0.5*ssize.height);**\n **}return this- >apply_simil(S,pts);**\n\nIn the first highlighted code snippet in the preceding code, both the forward and inverse similarity transforms are computed. The reason why the inverse transform is required here is so that the peaks of the response map for each feature can be adjusted according to the normalized locations of the current shape estimate. This must be performed before reapplying the similarity transform to place the new estimates of the facial feature locations back into the image frame using the `patch_models::apply_simil` function.\n\n## Training and visualization\n\nAn example program for training the patch models from annotation data can be found in `train_patch_model.cpp`. With the command-line argument `argv[1]` containing the path to the annotation data, training begins by loading the data into memory and removing incomplete samples:\n\n ft_data data = load_ft(argv[1]);\n data.rm_incomplete_samples();\n\nThe simplest choice for the reference shape in the `patch_models` class is the average shape of the training set, scaled to a desired size. Assuming that a shape model has previously been trained for this dataset, the reference shape is computed by first loading the shape model stored in `argv[2]` as follows:\n\n shape_model smodel = load_ft(argv[2]);\n\nThis is followed by the computation of the scaled centered average shape:\n\n smodel.p = Scalar::all(0.0);\n smodel.p.fl(0) = calc_scale(smodel.V.col(0),width);\n vector r = smodel.calc_shape();\n\nThe `calc_scale` function computes the scaling factor to transform the average shape (that is, the first column of `shape_model::V`) to one with a width of `width`. Once the reference shape `r `is defined, training the set of patch models can be done with a single function call:\n\n patch_models pmodel; pmodel.train(data,r,Size(psize,psize),Size(ssize,ssize));\n\nThe optimal choices for the parameters `width`, `psize`, and `ssize` are application dependent; however, the default values of 100, 11, and 11, respectively, give reasonable results in general.\n\nAlthough the training process is quite simple, it can still take some time to complete. Depending on the number of facial features, the size of the patches, and the number of stochastic samples in the optimization algorithm, the training process can take anywhere between a few minutes to over an hour. However, since the training of each patch can be performed independently of all others, this process can be sped up substantially by parallelizing the training process across multiple processor-cores or machines.\n\nOnce training has been completed, the program in `visualize_patch_model.cpp` can be used to visualize the resulting patch models. As with the `visualize_shape_model.cpp` program, the aim here is to visually inspect the results to verify if anything went wrong during the training process. The program generates a composite image of all the patch models, `patch_model::P`, each centered at their respective feature location in the reference shape, `patch_models::reference`, and displays a bounding rectangle around the patch whose index is currently active. The `cv::waitKey` function is used to get user input for selecting the active patch index and terminating the program. The following image shows three examples of composite patch images learned for patch model with varying spatial support. Despite using the same training data, modifying the spatial support of the patch model appears to change the structure of the patch models substantially. Visually inspecting the results in this way can lend intuition into how to modify the parameters of the training process, or even the training process itself, in order to optimize results for a particular application.\n\n# Face detection and initialization\n\nThe method for face tracking described thus far has assumed that the facial features in the image are located within a reasonable proximity to the current estimate. Although this assumption is reasonable during tracking, where face motion between frames is often quite small, we are still faced with the dilemma of how to initialize the model in the first frame of the sequence. An obvious choice for this is to use OpenCV's in-built cascade detector to find the face. However, the placement of the model within the detected bounding box will depend on the selection made for the facial features to track. In keeping with the data-driven paradigm we have followed so far in this chapter, a simple solution is to learn the geometrical relationship between the face detection's bounding box and the facial features.\n\nThe `face_detector` class implements exactly this solution. A snippet of its declaration that highlights its functionality is given as follows:\n\n class face_detector{ \/\/face detector for initialisation\n public:\n string detector_fname; \/\/file containing cascade classifier\n Vec3f detector_offset; \/\/offset from center of detection\n Mat reference; \/\/reference shape\n CascadeClassifier detector; \/\/face detector\n\n vector \/\/points describing detected face in image\n detect(const Mat &im, \/\/image containing face\n const float scaleFactor = 1.1,\/\/scale increment\n const int minNeighbours = 2, \/\/minimum neighborhood size\n const Size minSize = Size(30,30));\/\/minimum window size\n\n void\n train(ft_data &data, \/\/training data\n const string fname, \/\/cascade detector\n const Mat &ref, \/\/reference shape\n const bool mirror = false, \/\/mirror data?\n const bool visi = false, \/\/visualize training?\n const float frac = 0.8, \/\/fraction of points in detection\n const float scaleFactor = 1.1, \/\/scale increment\n const int minNeighbours = 2, \/\/minimum neighbourhood size\n const Size minSize = Size(30,30)); \/\/minimum window size\n ...\n };\n\nThe class has four public member variables: the path to an object of type `cv::CascadeClassifier` called `detector_fname`, a set of offsets from a detection bounding box to the location and scale of the face in the image `detector_offset`, a reference shape to place in the bounding box `reference`, and a face detector `detector`. The primary function of use to a face tracking system is `face_detector::detect`, which takes an image as the input, along with standard options for the `cv::CascadeClassifier` class, and returns a rough estimate of the facial feature locations in the image. Its implementation is as follows:\n\n Mat gray; \/\/convert image to grayscale and histogram equalize\n if(im.channels() == 1)gray = im;\n else cvtColor(im,gray,CV_RGB2GRAY);\n Mat eqIm; equalizeHist(gray,eqIm);\n vector faces; \/\/detect largest face in image\n detector.detectMultiScale(eqIm,faces,scaleFactor,\n minNeighbours,0\n |CV_HAAR_FIND_BIGGEST_OBJECT\n |CV_HAAR_SCALE_IMAGE,minSize);\n if(faces.size() < 1){return vector();}\n\n **Rect R = faces[0]; Vec3f scale = detector_offset*R.width;**\n **int n = reference.rows\/2; vector p(n);**\n **for(int i = 0; i < n; i++){ \/\/predict face placement**\n **p[i].x = scale[2]*reference.fl(2*i ) +**\n **R.x + 0.5 * R.width + scale[0];**\n **p[i].y = scale[2]*reference.fl(2*i+1) +**\n **R.y + 0.5 * R.height + scale[1];**\n **}return p;**\n\nThe face is detected in the image in the usual way, except that the `CV_HAAR_FIND_BIGGEST_OBJECT` flag is set so as to enable tracking the most prominent face in the image. The highlighted code is where the reference shape is placed in the image in accordance with the detected face's bounding box. The `detector_offset` member variable consists of three components: an (x, y) offset of the center of the face from the center of the detection's bounding box, and the scaling factor that resizes the reference shape to best fit the face in the image. All three components are a linear function of the bounding box's width.\n\nThe linear relationship between the bounding box's width and the `detector_offset` variable is learned from the annotated dataset in the `face_detector::train` function. The learning process is started by loading the training data into memory and assigning the reference shape:\n\n detector.load(fname.c_str()); detector_fname = fname; reference = ref.clone();\n\nAs with the reference shape in the `patch_models` class, a convenient choice for the reference shape is the normalized average face shape in the dataset. The `cv::CascadeClassifier` is then applied to each image (and optionally its mirrored counterpart) in the dataset and the resulting detection is checked to ensure that enough annotated points lie within the detected bounding box (see the figure towards the end of this section) to prevent learning from misdetections:\n\n if(this->enough_bounded_points(pt,faces[0],frac)){\n Point2f center = this->center_of_mass(pt);\n float w = faces[0].width;\n xoffset.push_back((center.x -\n (faces[0].x+0.5*faces[0].width ))\/w);\n yoffset.push_back((center.y -\n (faces[0].y+0.5*faces[0].height))\/w);\n zoffset.push_back(this->calc_scale(pt)\/w);\n }\n\nIf more than a fraction of `frac` of the annotated points lie within the bounding box, the linear relationship between its width and the offset parameters for that image are added as a new entry in an STL `vector` class object. Here, the `face_detector::center_of_mass` function computes the center of mass of the annotated point set for that image and the `face_detector::calc_scale` function computes the scaling factor for transforming the reference shape to the centered annotated shape. Once all images have been processed, the `detector_offset` variable is set to the median over all of the image-specific offsets:\n\n Mat X = Mat(xoffset),Xsort,Y = Mat(yoffset),Ysort,Z = Mat(zoffset),Zsort;\n cv::sort(X,Xsort,CV_SORT_EVERY_COLUMN|CV_SORT_ASCENDING);\n int nx = Xsort.rows;\n cv::sort(Y,Ysort,CV_SORT_EVERY_COLUMN|CV_SORT_ASCENDING);\n int ny = Ysort.rows;\n cv::sort(Z,Zsort,CV_SORT_EVERY_COLUMN|CV_SORT_ASCENDING);\n int nz = Zsort.rows;\n detector_offset =\n Vec3f(Xsort.fl(nx\/2),Ysort.fl(ny\/2),Zsort.fl(nz\/2));\n\nAs with the shape and patch models, the simple program in `train_face_detector.cpp` is an example of how a `face_detector` object can be built and saved for later use in the tracker. It first loads the annotation data and the shape model, and sets the reference shape as the mean-centered average of the training data (that is, the identity shape of the `shape_model` class):\n\n ft_data data = load_ft(argv[2]);\n shape_model smodel = load_ft(argv[3]);\n smodel.set_identity_params();\n vector r = smodel.calc_shape();\n Mat ref = Mat(r).reshape(1,2*r.size());\n\nTraining and saving the face detector, then, consists of two function calls:\n\n face_detector detector;\n detector.train(data,argv[1],ref,mirror,true,frac);\n save_ft(argv[4],detector);\n\nTo test the performance of the resulting shape-placement procedure, the program in `visualize_face_detector.cpp` calls the `face_detector::detect` function for each image in the video or camera input stream and draws the results on screen. An example of the results using this approach is shown in the following figure Although the placed shape does not match the individual in the image, its placement is close enough so that face tracking can proceed using the approach described in the following section:\n\n# Face tracking\n\nThe problem of face tracking can be posed as that of finding an efficient and robust way to combine the independent detections of various facial features with the geometrical dependencies they exhibit in order to arrive at an accurate estimate of facial feature locations in each image of a sequence. With this in mind, it is perhaps worth considering whether geometrical dependencies are at all necessary. In the following figure, the results of detecting the facial features with and without geometrical constraints are shown. These results clearly highlight the benefit of capturing the spatial interdependencies between facial features. The relative performance of these two approaches is typical, whereby relying strictly on the detections leads to overly noisy solutions. The reason for this is that the response maps for each facial feature cannot be expected to always peak at the correct location. Whether due to image noise, lighting changes, or expression variation, the only way to overcome the limitations of facial feature detectors is by leveraging the geometrical relationship they share with each other.\n\nA particularly simple, but surprisingly effective, way to incorporate facial geometry into the tracking procedure is by projecting the output of the feature detections onto the linear shape model's subspace. This amounts to minimizing the distance between the original points and its closest plausible shape that lies on the subspace. Thus, when the spatial noise in the feature detections is close to being Gaussian distributed, the projection yields the maximum likely solution. In practice, the distribution of detection errors on occasion does not follow a Gaussian distribution and additional mechanisms need to be introduced to account for this.\n\n## Face tracker implementation\n\nAn implementation of the face tracking algorithm can be found in the `face_tracker` class (see `face_tracker.cpp` and `face_tracker.hpp`). The following code is a snippet of its header that highlights its primary functionality:\n\n class face_tracker{\n public:\n bool tracking; \/\/are we in tracking mode?\n fps_timer timer; \/\/frames\/second timer\n vector points; \/\/current tracked points\n face_detector detector; \/\/detector for initialisation\n shape_model smodel; \/\/shape model\n patch_models pmodel; \/\/feature detectors\n\n face_tracker(){tracking = false;}\n\n int \/\/0 = failure\n track(const Mat &im, \/\/image containing face\n const face_tracker_params &p = \/\/fitting parameters\n face_tracker_params()); \/\/default tracking parameters\n\n void\n reset(){ \/\/reset tracker\n tracking = false; timer.reset();\n }\n ...\n protected:\n ...\n vector \/\/points for fitted face in image\n fit(const Mat &image,\/\/image containing face\n const vector &init, \/\/initial point estimates\n const Size ssize = Size(21,21),\/\/search region size\n const bool robust = false, \/\/use robust fitting?\n const int itol = 10, \/\/maximum number of iterations\n const float ftol = 1e-3); \/\/convergence tolerance\n };\n\nThe class has public member instances of the `shape_model`, `patch_models`, and `face_detector` classes. It uses the functionality of these three classes to effect tracking. The `timer` variable is an instance of the `fps_timer` class that keeps track of the frame-rate at which the `face_tracker::track` function is called and is useful for analyzing the effects patch and shape model configurations on the computational complexity of the algorithm. The `tracking` member variable is a flag to indicate the current state of the tracking procedure. When this flag is set to `false`, as it is in the constructor and the `face_tracker::reset` function, the tracker enters a Detection mode whereby the `face_detector::detect` function is applied to the next incoming image to initialize the model. When in the tracking mode, the initial estimate used for inferring facial feature locations in the next incoming image is simply their location in the previous frame. The complete tracking algorithm is implemented simply as follows:\n\n int face_tracker::\n track(const Mat &im,const face_tracker_params &p){\n Mat gray; \/\/convert image to grayscale\n if(im.channels()==1)gray=im;\n else cvtColor(im,gray,CV_RGB2GRAY);\n if(!tracking) \/\/initialize\n points = detector.detect(gray,p.scaleFactor,\n p.minNeighbours,p.minSize);\n if((int)points.size() != smodel.npts())return 0;\n **for(int level = 0; level < int(p.ssize.size()); level++)**\n **points = this- >fit(gray,points,p.ssize[level],**\n **p.robust,p.itol,p.ftol);**\n tracking = true; timer.increment(); return 1;\n }\n\nOther than bookkeeping operations, such as setting the appropriate `tracking` state and incrementing the tracking time, the core of the tracking algorithm is the multi-level fitting procedure, which is highlighted in the preceding code snippet. The fitting algorithm, implemented in the `face_tracker::fit` function, is applied multiple times with the different search window sizes stored in `face_tracker_params::ssize`, where the output of the previous stage is used as input to the next. In its simplest setting, the `face_tracker_params::ssize` function performs the facial feature detection around the current estimate of the shape in the image:\n\n smodel.calc_params(init);\n vector pts = smodel.calc_shape();\n vector peaks = pmodel.calc_peaks(image,pts,ssize);\n\nIt also projects the result onto the face shape's subspace:\n\n smodel.calc_params(peaks); \n pts = smodel.calc_shape();\n\nTo account for gross outliers in the facial features' detected locations, a robust model's fitting procedure can be employed instead of a simple projection by setting the `robust` flag to `true`. However, in practice, when using a decaying search window size (that is, as set in `face_tracker_params::ssize`), this is often unnecessary as gross outliers typically remain far from its corresponding point in the projected shape, and will likely lie outside the search region of the next level of the fitting procedure. Thus, the rate at which the search region size is reduced acts as an incremental outlier rejection scheme.\n\n## Training and visualization\n\nUnlike the other classes detailed in this chapter, training a `face_tracker` object does not involve any learning process. It is implemented in `train_face_tracker.cpp` simply as:\n\n face_tracker tracker;\n tracker.smodel = load_ft(argv[1]);\n tracker.pmodel = load_ft(argv[2]);\n tracker.detector = load_ft(argv[3]);\n save_ft(argv[4],tracker);\n\nHere `arg[1]` to `argv[4]` contain the paths to the `shape_model`, `patch_model`, `face_detector`, and `face_tracker` objects, respectively. The visualization for the face tracker in `visualize_face_tracker.cpp` is equally simple. Obtaining its input image stream either from a camera or video file, through the `cv::VideoCapture` class, the program simply loops until the end of the stream or until the user presses the _Q_ key, tracking each frame as it comes in. The user also has the option of resetting the tracker by pressing the _D_ key at any time.\n\n## Generic versus person-specific models\n\nThere are a number of variables in the training and tracking process that can be tweaked to optimize the performance for a given application. However, one of the primary determinants of tracking quality is the range of shape and appearance variability the tracker has to model. As a case in point, consider the generic versus person-specific case. A generic model is trained using annotated data from multiple identities, expressions, lighting conditions, and other sources of variability. In contrast, person-specific models are trained specifically for a single individual. Thus, the amount of variability it needs to account for is far smaller. As a result, person-specific tracking is often more accurate than its generic counter part by a large magnitude.\n\nAn illustration of this is shown in the following image. Here the generic model was trained using the MUCT dataset. The person-specific model was learned from data generated using the annotation tool described earlier in this chapter. The results clearly show a substantially better tracking offered by the person-specific model, capable of capturing complex expressions and head-pose changes, whereas the generic model appears to struggle even for some of the simpler expressions:\n\nIt should be noted that the method for face tracking described in this chapter is a bare-bones approach that serves to highlight the various components utilized in most non-rigid face tracking algorithms. The numerous approaches to remedy some of the drawbacks of this method are beyond the scope of this book and require specialized mathematical tools that are not yet supported by OpenCV's functionality. The relatively few commercial-grade face-tracking software packages available is testament to the difficulty of this problem in the general setting. Nonetheless, the simple approach described in this chapter can work remarkably well in constrained settings.\n\n# Summary\n\nIn this chapter we have built a simple face tracker that can work reasonably in constrained settings using only modest mathematical tools and OpenCV's substantial functionality for basic image processing and linear algebraic operations. Improvements to this simple tracker can be achieved by employing more sophisticated techniques in each of the three components of the tracker: the shape model, the feature detectors, and the fitting algorithm. The modular design of the tracker described in this section should allow these three components to be modified without substantial disruptions to the functionality of the others.\n\n# References\n\n * _Procrustes Problems_ , _Gower, John C. and_ _Dijksterhuis, Garmt B_ , _Oxford University Press_ , _2004_.\n\n# Chapter 7. 3D Head Pose Estimation Using AAM and POSIT\n\nA good computer vision algorithm can't be complete without great, robust capabilities as well as wide generalization and a solid math foundation. All these features accompany the work mainly developed by Tim Cootes with Active Appearance Models. This chapter will teach you how to create an **Active Appearance Model** of your own using OpenCV as well as how to use it to search for the closest position your model is located at in a given frame. Besides, you will learn how to use the POSIT algorithm and how to fit your 3D model in the \"posed\" image. With all these tools, you will be able to track a 3D model in a video, in real time; ain't it great? Although the examples focus on head pose, virtually any deformable model could use the same approach.\n\nAs you read the sections, you will come across the following topics:\n\n * Active Appearance Models overview\n * Active Shape Models overview\n * Model instantiation--playing with the Active Appearance Model\n * AAM search and fitting\n * POSIT\n\nThe following list has an explanation of the terms that you will come across in the chapter:\n\n * **Active Appearance Model** ( **AAM** ): An object model containing statistical information of its shape and texture. It is a powerful way of capturing shape and texture variation from objects.\n * **Active Shape Model** ( **ASM** ): A statistical model of the shape of an object. It is very useful for learning shape variation.\n * **Principal Component Analysis** ( **PCA** ): An orthogonal linear transformation that transforms the data to a new coordinate system such that the greatest variance by any projection of the data comes to lie on the first coordinate (called the first principal component), the second greatest variance on the second coordinate, and so on. This procedure is often used in dimensionality reduction. When reducing the dimension of the original problem, one can use a faster-fitting algorithm.\n * **Delaunay Triangulation (DT)**: For a set of P points in a plane, it is a triangulation such that no point in P is inside the circumcircle of any triangle in the triangulation. It tends to avoid skinny triangles. The triangulation is required for texture mapping.\n * **Affine transformation** : Any transformation that can be expressed in the form of a matrix multiplication followed by a vector addition. This can be used for texture mapping.\n * **Pose from Orthography and Scaling with Iterations** ( **POSIT** ): A computer vision algorithm that performs 3D pose estimation.\n\n# Active Appearance Models overview\n\nIn few words, Active Appearance Models are a nice model parameterization of combined texture and shape coupled to an efficient search algorithm that can tell exactly where and how a model is located in a picture frame. In order to do that, we will start with the _Active Shape Models_ section and will see that they are more closely related to landmark positions. A principal component analysis and some hands-on experience will be better described in the following sections. Then, we will be able to get some help from OpenCV's Delaunay functions and learn some triangulation. From that we will evolve to applying piecewise affine warps in the triangle texture warping section, where we can get information from an object's texture.\n\nAs we get enough background to build a good model, we can play with the techniques in the model instantiation section. We will then be able to solve the inverse problem through AAM search and fitting. These by themselves are already very useful algorithms for 2D and maybe even 3D image matching. But when one is able to get it to work, why not bridge it to **POSIT** ( **Pose from Orthography and Scaling with Iterations** ), another rock solid algorithm for 3D model fitting? Diving into the POSIT section will give us enough background to work with it in OpenCV, and we will then learn how to couple a head model to it, in the following section. This way, we can use a 3D model to fit the already matched 2D frame. And if a sharp reader wants to know where this will take us, it is just a matter of combining AAM and Posit in a frame-by-frame fashion to get real-time 3D tracking by detection for deformable models! These details will be covered in the tracking from webcam or video file section.\n\nIt is said that a picture is worth a thousand words; imagine if we get _N_ pictures. This way, what we previously mentioned is easily tracked in the following screenshot:\n\n**Overview of the chapter algorithms** : Given an image (upper-left image in the preceding screenshot), we can use an Active Appearance search algorithm to find the 2D pose of the human head. The upper-right side figure in the screenshot shows a previously trained Active Appearance model used in the search algorithm. After a pose has been found, POSIT can be applied to extend the result to a 3D pose. If the procedure is applied to a video sequence, 3D tracking by detection will be obtained.\n\n# Active Shape Models\n\nAs mentioned previously, AAMs require a shape model, and this role is played by Active Shape Models (ASMs). In the coming sections, we will create an ASM that is a statistical model of shape variation. The shape model is generated through the combination of shape variations. A training set of labeled images is required, as described in the article _Active Shape Models - Their Training and Application_, by Timothy Cootes. In order to build a face-shape model, several images marked with points on key positions of a face are required to outline the main features. The following screenshot shows such an example:\n\nThere are 76 landmarks on a face, which are taken from the MUCT dataset. These landmarks are usually marked up by hand and they outline several face features, such as mouth contour, nose, eyes, eyebrows, and face shape, since they are easier to track.\n\n### Note\n\n**Procrustes Analysis** : A form of statistical shape analysis used to analyze the distribution of a set of shapes. Procrustes superimposition is performed by optimally translating, rotating, and uniformly scaling the objects.\n\nIf we have the previously mentioned set of images, we can generate a statistical model of shape variation. Since the labeled points on an object describe the shape of that object, we firstly align all the sets of points into a coordinate frame using Procrustes Analysis, if required, and represent each shape by a vector, _x_. Then, we apply Principal Component Analysis (PCA) to the data. We can then approximate any example using the following formula:\n\nx = x + Ps bs\n\nIn the preceding formula, _x_ is the mean shape, _Ps_ is a set of orthogonal modes of variation, and _bs_ is a set of shape parameters. Well, in order to understand that better, we will create a simple application in the rest of this section, which will show us how to deal with PCA and shape models.\n\nWhy use PCA at all? Because PCA is going to really help us when it comes to reducing the number of parameters of our model. We will also see how much that helps when searching for it in a given image later in this chapter. A web page URL should be given for the following quote ():\n\n> PCA can supply the user with a lower-dimensional picture, a \"shadow\" of this object when viewed from its (in some sense) most informative viewpoint. This is done by using only the first few principal components so that the dimensionality of the transformed data is reduced.\n\nThis becomes clear when we see a screenshot such as the following:\n\nImage source: \n\nThe preceding screenshot shows the PCA of a multivariate Gaussian distribution centered at (2,3). The vectors shown are the eigenvectors of the covariance matrix, shifted so their tails are at the mean.\n\nThis way, if we wanted to represent our model with a single parameter, taking the direction from the eigenvector that points to the upper-right part of the screenshot would be a good idea. Besides, by varying the parameter a bit, we can extrapolate data and get values similar to the ones we are looking for.\n\n## Getting the feel of PCA\n\nIn order to get a feeling of how PCA could help us with our face model, we will start with an active shape model and test some parameters.\n\nSince face detection and tracking has been studied for a while, several face databases are available online for research purposes. We are going to use a couple of samples from the IMM database.\n\nFirst, let's understand how the PCA class works in OpenCV. We can conclude from the documentation that the PCA class is used to compute a special basis for a set of vectors, which consists of eigenvectors of the covariance matrix computed from the input set of vectors. This class can also transform vectors to and from the new coordinate space, using `project` and `backproject` methods. This new coordinate system can be quite accurately approximated by taking just the first few of its components. This means we can represent the original vector from a high-dimensional space with a much shorter vector consisting of the projected vector's coordinates in the subspace.\n\nSince we want a parameterization in terms of a few scalar values, the main method we will use from the class is the `backproject` method. It takes principal component coordinates of projected vectors and reconstructs the original ones. We could retrieve the original vectors if we retained all the components, but the difference will be very small if we just use a couple of components; that's one of the reasons for using PCA. Since we want some variability around the original vectors, our parameterized scalars will be able to extrapolate the original data.\n\nBesides, the PCA class can transform vectors to and from the new coordinate space, defined by the basis. Mathematically, it means that we compute projection of the vector to a subspace formed by a few eigenvectors corresponding to the dominant eigenvalues of the covariance matrix, as one can see from the documentation.\n\nOur approach will be annotating our face images with landmarks yielding a training set for our **point distribution model** ( **PDM** ). If we have _k_ aligned landmarks in two dimensions, our shape description becomes:\n\nX = { x1, y1, x2, y2,..., xk, yk}\n\nIt's important to note that we need consistent labeling across all image samples. So, for instance, if the left part of the mouth is landmark number _3_ in the first image, it will need to be number _3_ in all other images.\n\nThese sequences of landmarks will now form the shape outlines, and a given training shape can be defined as a vector. We generally assume this scattering is Gaussian in this space, and we use PCA to compute normalized eigenvectors and eigenvalues of the covariance matrix across all training shapes. Using the top-center eigenvectors, we create a matrix of dimensions _2k * m_ , which we will call _P_. This way, each eigenvector describes a principal mode of variation along the set.\n\nNow we can define a new shape through the following equation:\n\nX' = X' + Pb\n\nHere, _X'_ is the mean shape across all training images--we just average each of the landmarks--and _b_ is a vector of scaling values for each principal component. This leads us to create a new shape modifying the value of _b_. It's common to set _b_ to vary within three standard deviations so that the generated shape can fall inside the training set.\n\nThe following screenshot shows point-annotated mouth landmarks for three different pictures:\n\nAs can be seen in the preceding screenshot, the shapes are described by their landmark sequences. One could use a program like GIMP or ImageJ as well as building a simple application in OpenCV, in order to annotate the training images. We will assume the user has completed this process and saved the points as sequences of _x_ and _y_ landmark positions for all training images in a text file, which will be used in our PCA analysis. We will then add two parameters to the first line of this file, which is the number of training images and the number of read columns. So, for _k_ 2D points, this number will be _2*k_.\n\nIn the following data, we have an instance of this file, which was obtained through the annotation of three images from IMM database, in which _k_ is equal to 5:\n\n 3 10\n 265 311 303 321 337 310 302 298 265 311\n 255 315 305 337 346 316 305 309 255 315\n 262 316 303 342 332 315 298 299 262 316\n\nNow that we have annotated images, let's turn this data into our shape model. Firstly, load this data into a matrix. This will be achieved through the function `loadPCA`. The following code snippet shows the use of the `loadPCA` function:\n\n PCA loadPCA(char* fileName, int& rows, int& cols,Mat& pcaset){\n FILE* in = fopen(fileName,\"r\");\n int a;\n fscanf(in,\"%d%d\",&rows,&cols);\n\n pcaset = Mat::eye(rows,cols,CV_64F);\n int i,j;\n\n for(i=0;i(i,j) = a;\n }\n }\n\n PCA pca(pcaset, \/\/ pass the data\n Mat(), \/\/ we do not have a pre-computed mean vector,\n \/\/ so let the PCA engine compute it\n CV_PCA_DATA_AS_ROW, \/\/ indicate that the vectors\n \/\/ are stored as matrix rows\n \/\/ (use CV_PCA_DATA_AS_COL if the vectors are\n \/\/ the matrix columns)\n pcaset.cols\/\/ specify, how many principal components to retain\n );\n return pca;\n }\n\nNote that our matrix is created in the line `pcaset = Mat::eye(rows,cols,CV_64F)` and that enough space is allocated for _2*k_ values. After the two _for_ loops load the data into the matrix, the PCA constructor is called with the data--an empty matrix--that could be our precomputed mean vector, if we wish to make it only once. We also indicate that our vectors will be stored as matrix rows and that we wish to keep the same number of given rows as the number of components, though we could use just a few ones.\n\nNow that we have filled our PCA object with our training set, it has everything it needs to backproject our shape according to given parameters. We do so by invoking `PCA.backproject`, passing the parameters as a row vector, and receiving the backprojected vector into the second argument.\n\nThe two previous screenshots show two different shape configurations according to the selected parameters chosen from the slider. The yellow and green shapes show training data, while the red one reflects the shape generated from the chosen parameters.\n\nA sample program can be used to experiment with active shape models, as it allows the user to try different parameters for the model. One is able to note that varying only the first two scalar values through the slider (which correspond to the first and second modes of variation) we can achieve a shape that is very close to the trained ones. This variability will help us when searching for a model in AAM, since it provides interpolated shapes. We will discuss triangulation, texturing, AAM, and AAM-search in the following sections.\n\n## Triangulation\n\nAs the shape we are looking for might be distorted, such as an open mouth for instance, we are required to map our texture back to a mean shape and then apply PCA to this normalized texture. In order to do that, we will use triangulation. The concept is very simple: we will create triangles including our annotated points and then map from one triangle to another. OpenCV comes with a handy function called `cvCreateSubdivDelaunay2D`, which creates an empty Delaunay triangulation. You can just consider this a good triangulation that will avoid skinny triangles.\n\n### Note\n\nIn mathematics and computational geometry, a **Delaunay triangulation** for a set _P_ of points in a plane is a triangulation DT(P) such that no point in _P_ is inside the circumcircle of any triangle in DT(P). Delaunay triangulations maximize the minimum angle of all the angles of the triangles in the triangulation; they tend to avoid skinny triangles. The triangulation is named after Boris Delaunay for his work on this topic from 1934 onwards.\n\nAfter a Delaunay subdivision has been initialized, one will use `cvSubdivDelaunay2DInsert` to populate points into the subdivision. The following lines of code will elucidate what a direct use of triangulation would be like:\n\n CvMemStorage* storage;\n CvSubdiv2D* subdiv;\n CvRect rect = { 0, 0, 640, 480 };\n\n storage = cvCreateMemStorage(0);\n subdiv = cvCreateSubdivDelaunay2D(rect,storage);\n\n std::vector points;\n\n \/\/initialize points somehow\n ...\n\n \/\/iterate through points inserting them in the subdivision\n for(int i=0;iedges->total;\n int elem_size = subdiv->edges->elem_size;\n cvStartReadSeq((CvSeq*)(subdiv->edges), &reader, 0);\n\n for(i = 0; i < total; i++){\n CvQuadEdge2D* edge = (CvQuadEdge2D*)(reader.ptr);\n\n if(CV_IS_SET_ELEM(edge)){\n\n CvSubdiv2DEdge t = (CvSubdiv2DEdge)edge;\n\n for(j=0;j<3;j++){\n\n CvSubdiv2DPoint* pt = cvSubdiv2DEdgeOrg(t);\n if(!pt) break;\n buf[j] = cvPoint(cvRound(pt->pt.x), cvRound(pt->pt.y));\n t = cvSubdiv2DGetEdge(t, triangleDirection);\n }\n }\n CV_NEXT_SEQ_ELEM(elem_size, reader);\n }\n }\n\nGiven a subdivision, we initialize its edge reader calling the `cvStartReadSeq` function. From OpenCV's documentation, we have the following quoted definition:\n\n> The function initializes the reader state. After that, all the sequence elements from the first one down to the last one can be read by subsequent calls of the macro CV_READ_SEQ_ELEM( read_elem, reader ) in the case of forward reading and by using CV_REV_READ_SEQ_ELEM( read_elem, reader ) in the case of reverse reading. Both macros put the sequence element to read_elem and move the reading pointer toward the next element.\n\nAn alternative way of getting the following element is by using the macro `CV_NEXT_SEQ_ELEM( elem_size, reader )`,which is preferred if sequence elements are large. In this case, we use `CvQuadEdge2D* edge = (CvQuadEdge2D*)(reader.ptr)` to access the edge, which is just a cast from a reader pointer to a `CvQuadEdge2D` pointer. The macro `CV_IS_SET_ELEM` only checks whether the specified edge is occupied or not. Given an edge, for us to get the source point we need to call the `cvSubdiv2DEdgeOrg` function. In order to run around a triangle, we repeatedly call `cvSubdiv2DGetEdge` and pass the triangle direction, which could be `CV_NEXT_AROUND_LEFT` or `CV_NEXT_AROUND_RIGHT`, for instance.\n\n## Triangle texture warping\n\nNow that we've been able to iterate through the triangles of a subdivision, we are able to warp one triangle from an original annotated image into a generated distorted one. This is useful for mapping the texture from the original shape to a distorted one. The following piece of code will guide the process:\n\n void warpTextureFromTriangle(Point2f srcTri[3], Mat originalImage, Point2f dstTri[3], Mat warp_final){\n\n Mat warp_mat(2, 3, CV_32FC1);\n Mat warp_dst, warp_mask;\n CvPoint trianglePoints[3];\n trianglePoints[0] = dstTri[0];\n trianglePoints[1] = dstTri[1];\n trianglePoints[2] = dstTri[2];\n warp_dst = Mat::zeros(originalImage.rows, originalImage.cols, originalImage.type());\n warp_mask = Mat::zeros(originalImage.rows, originalImage.cols, originalImage.type());\n\n \/\/\/ Get the Affine Transform\n warp_mat = getAffineTransform(srcTri, dstTri);\n\n \/\/\/ Apply the Affine Transform to the src image\n warpAffine(originalImage, warp_dst, warp_mat, warp_dst.size());\n cvFillConvexPoly(new IplImage(warp_mask), trianglePoints, 3, CV_RGB(255,255,255), CV_AA, 0); \n warp_dst.copyTo(warp_final, warp_mask);\n\n }\n\nThe preceding code assumes we have the triangle vertices packed in the `srcTri` array and the destination one packed in the `dstTri` array. The 2 x 3 `warp_mat` matrix is used to get the affine transformation from the source triangles to the destination ones. More information can be quoted from OpenCV's _cvGetAffineTransform_ documentation:\n\nThe function `cvGetAffineTransform` calculates the matrix of an affine transform such that:\n\nIn the preceding equation, destination _(i)_ is equal to (xi',yi'), source _(i)_ is equal to (xi, yi), and _i_ is equal to 0, 1, 2.\n\nAfter retrieving the affine matrix, we can apply the affine transformation to the source image. This is done through the `warpAffine` function. Since we don't want to do it in the entire image--we want to focus on our triangle--a mask can be used for this task. This way, the last line copies only the triangle from our original image with our just-created mask, which was made through a `cvFillConvexPoly` call.\n\nThe following screenshot shows the result of applying this procedure to every triangle in an annotated image. Note that the triangles are mapped back to the alignment frame, which faces toward the viewer. This procedure is used to create the statistical texture of the AAM.\n\nThe preceding screenshot shows the result of warping all the mapped triangles in the left image to a mean reference frame.\n\n# Model Instantiation - playing with the Active Appearance Model\n\nAn interesting aspect of AAMs is their ability to easily interpolate the model that we trained our images on. We can get used to their amazing representational power through the adjustment of a couple of shape or model parameters. As we vary shape parameters, the destination of our warp changes according to the trained shape data. On the other hand, while appearance parameters are modified, the texture on the base shape is modified. Our warp transforms will take every triangle from the base shape to the modified destination shape so we can synthesize a closed mouth on top of an open mouth, as shown in the following screenshot:\n\nThis preceding screenshot shows a synthesized closed mouth obtained through active appearance model instantiation on top of another image. It shows how one could combine a smiling mouth with an admired face, extrapolating the trained images.\n\nThe preceding screenshot was obtained by changing only three parameters for shape and three for the texture, which is the goal of AAMs. A sample application has been developed and is available at for the reader to try out AAM. Instantiating a new model is just a question of sliding the equation parameters, as defined in the section _Getting the feel of PCA_. You should note that AAM search and fitting rely on this flexibility to find the best match for a given captured frame of our model in a different position from the trained ones. We will see this in the next section.\n\n# AAM search and fitting\n\nWith our fresh new combined shape and texture model, we have found a nice way to describe how a face could change not only in shape but also in appearance. Now we want to find which set of _p_ shape and _\u03bb_ appearance parameters will bring our model as close as possible to a given input image _I(x)_. We could naturally calculate the error between our instantiated model and the given input image in the coordinate frame of _I(x)_ , or map the points back to the base appearance and calculate the difference there. We are going to use the latter approach. This way, we want to minimize the following function:\n\nIn the preceding equation, _S0_ denotes the set of pixels _x_ is equal to _(x,y)T_ that lie inside the AAMs base mesh, _A_ _0_ _(x)_ is our base mesh texture, _A_ _i_ _(x)_ is appearance images from PCA, and _W(x;p)_ is the warp that takes pixels from the input image back to the base mesh frame.\n\nSeveral approaches have been proposed for this minimization through years of studying. The first idea was use an additive approach, in which _\u2206 p_ _i_ and _\u2206 \u03bb_ _i_ were calculated as linear functions of the error image and then shape parameter p and appearance \u03bb were updated as _p_ _i_ <- _p_ _i_ \\+ _\u2206 p_ _i_ and _\u03bb_ _i_ <- _\u03bb_ _i_ \\+ _\u2206 \u03bb_ _i_ , in the _i-th_ iteration. Although convergence can occur sometimes, the delta doesn't always depend on current parameters, and this might lead to divergence. Another approach--which was studied based on the gradient descent algorithms--was very slow, so another way of finding convergence was sought. Instead of updating the parameters, the whole warp could be updated. This way, a compositional approach was proposed by Ian Mathews and Simon Baker in a famous paper called _Active Appearance Models Revisited_. More details can be found in the paper, but the important contribution it gave to fitting was that it brought the most intensive computation to a pre-compute step, as seen in the following screenshot:\n\nNote that the update occurs in terms of a compositional step as seen in step **(9)** (see the previous screenshot). Equations **(40)** and **(41)** from the paper can be seen in the following screenshots:\n\nAlthough the algorithm just mentioned will mostly converge very well from a position near the final one, this might not be the case when there's a big difference in rotation, translation, or scale. We can bring more information to the convergence through the parameterization of a global 2D similarity transform. This is equation _42_ in the paper and is shown as follows:\n\nIn the preceding equation, the four parameters _q_ = ( _a_ , _b_ , _t_ _x_ , _t_ _y_ )T have the following interpretations. The first pair ( _a_ , _b_ ) are related to the scale _k_ and rotation \u03b8: _a_ is equal to k cos \u03b8 \\- 1, and _b_ = k sin \u03b8. The second pair ( _t_ _x_ , _t_ _y_ ) are the _x_ and _y_ translations, as proposed in the Active Appearance Models Revisited paper.\n\nWith a bit more of math transformations, one can finally use the preceding algorithm to find the best image fit with a global 2D transform.\n\nAs the warp compositional algorithm has several performance advantages, we will use the one described in the AAM Revisited paper, the inverse compositional project-out algorithm. Remember that in this method, the effects of appearance variation during fitting can be precomputed--or projected out-- improving AAM fitting performance.\n\nThe following screenshot shows convergence for different images from the MUCT dataset using the inverse compositional project-out AAM fitting algorithm.\n\nThe preceding screenshot shows successful convergences--over faces outside the AAM training set--using the inverse compositional project-out AAM fitting algorithm.\n\n# POSIT\n\nAfter we have found the 2D position of our landmark points, we can derive the 3D pose of our model using the POSIT. The pose _P_ of a 3D object is defined as the 3 x 3 rotation matrix _R_ and the 3D translation vector _T_ , hence _P_ is equal to _[ R | T ]_.\n\n### Note\n\nMost of this section is based on the _OpenCV POSIT_ tutorial by Javier Barandiaran.\n\nAs the name implies, POSIT uses the **Pose from Orthography and Scaling** ( **POS** ) algorithm in several iterations, so it is an acronym for POS with Iterations. The hypothesis for its working is that we can detect and match in the image four or more non-coplanar feature points of the object and that we know their relative geometry on the object.\n\nThe main idea of the algorithm is that we can find a good approximation to the object pose, supposing that all the model points are in the same plane, since their depths are not very different from one another if compared to the distance from the camera to a face. After the initial pose is obtained, the rotation matrix and translation vector of the object are found by solving a linear system. Then, the approximate pose is iteratively used to better compute scaled orthographic projections of the feature points, followed by POS application to these projections instead of the original ones. For more information, you can refer to the paper by DeMenton, _Model-Based Object Pose in 25 Lines of Code_.\n\n## Diving into POSIT\n\nIn order for POSIT to work, you need at least four non-coplanar 3D model points and their respective matchings in the 2D image. We add to that a termination criteria--since POSIT is an iterative algorithm--which generally is a number of iterations or a distance parameter. We then call the function `cvPOSIT`, which yields the rotation matrix and the translation vector.\n\nAs an example, we will follow the tutorial from Javier Barandiaran, which uses POSIT to obtain the pose of a cube. The model is created with four points. It is initialized with the following code:\n\n float cubeSize = 10.0;\n std::vector modelPoints;\n modelPoints.push_back(cvPoint3D32f(0.0f, 0.0f, 0.0f));\n modelPoints.push_back(cvPoint3D32f(0.0f, 0.0f, cubeSize));\n modelPoints.push_back(cvPoint3D32f(cubeSize, 0.0f, 0.0f));\n modelPoints.push_back(cvPoint3D32f(0.0f, cubeSize, 0.0f));\n CvPOSITObject *positObject = cvCreatePOSITObject( &modelPoints[0], static_cast(modelPoints.size()) );\n\nNote that the model itself is created with the `cvCreatePOSITObject` method, which returns a `CvPOSITObject` method that will be used in the `cvPOSIT` function. Be aware that the pose will be calculated referring to the first model point, which makes it a good idea to put it at the origin.\n\nWe then need to put the 2D image points in another vector. Remember that they must be put in the array in the same order that the model points were inserted in; this way, the i'th 2D image point matches the i'th 3D model point. A catch here is that the origin for the 2D image points is located at the center of the image, which might require you to translate them. You can insert the following 2D image points (of course, they will vary according to the user's matching):\n\n std::vector srcImagePoints;\n srcImagePoints.push_back( cvPoint2D32f( -48, -224 ) );\n srcImagePoints.push_back( cvPoint2D32f( -287, -174 ) );\n srcImagePoints.push_back( cvPoint2D32f( 132, -153 ) );\n srcImagePoints.push_back( cvPoint2D32f( -52, 149 ) );\n\nNow, you only need to allocate memory for the matrixes and create termination criteria, followed by a call to `cvPOSIT`, as shown in the following code snippet:\n\n \/\/Estimate the pose\n CvMatr32f rotation_matrix = new float[9];\n CvVect32f translation_vector = new float[3]; \n CvTermCriteria criteria = cvTermCriteria(CV_TERMCRIT_EPS | CV_TERMCRIT_ITER, 100, 1.0e-4f);\n cvPOSIT( positObject, &srcImagePoints[0], FOCAL_LENGTH, criteria, rotation_matrix, translation_vector );\n\nAfter the iterations, `cvPOSIT` will store the results in `rotation_matrix` and `translation_vector`. The following screenshot shows the inserted `srcImagePoints` with white circles as well as a coordinate axis showing the rotation and translation results:\n\nWith reference to the preceding screenshot, let's see the input points and results of running the POSIT algorithm:\n\n * The white circles show input points, while the coordinate axes show the resulting model pose.\n * Make sure you use the focal length of your camera as obtained through a calibration process. You might want to check one of the calibration procedures available in the _Camera calibration_ section in Chapter 2, _Marker-based Augmented Reality on iPhone or iPad_. The current implementation of POSIT will only allow square pixels, so there won't be room for focal length in the x and y axes.\n * Expect the rotation matrix in the following format:\n\n[rot[0] rot[1] rot[2]]\n\n[rot[3] rot[4] rot[5]]\n\n[rot[6] rot[7] rot[8]]\n\n * The translation vector will be in the following format:\n\n[trans[0]]\n\n[trans[1]]\n\n[trans[2]]\n\n## POSIT and head model\n\nIn order to use POSIT as a tool for head pose, you will need to use a 3D head model. There is one available from the Institute of Systems and Robotics of the University of Coimbra and can be found at . Note that the model can be obtained from where it says:\n\n float Model3D[58][3]= {{-7.308957,0.913869,0.000000}, ...\n\nThe model can be seen in the following screenshot:\n\nThe preceding screenshot shows a 58-point 3D head model available for POSIT.\n\nIn order to get POSIT to work, the point corresponding to the 3D head model must be matched accordingly. Note that at least four non-coplanar 3D points and their corresponding 2D projections are required for POSIT to work, so these must be passed as parameters, pretty much as described in the _Diving into POSIT_ section. Note that this algorithm is linear in terms of the number of matched points. The following screenshot shows how matching should be done:\n\nThe preceding screenshot shows the correctly matched points of a 3D head model and an AAM mesh.\n\n## Tracking from webcam or video file\n\nNow that all the tools have been assembled to get 6 degrees of freedom head tracking, we can apply it to a camera stream or video file. OpenCV provides the `VideoCapture` class that can be used in the following manner (see the _Accessing the webcam_ section in Chapter 1, _Cartoonifier and Skin Changer for Android_ , for more details):\n\n #include \"cv.h\"\n #include \"highgui.h\"\n\n using namespace cv;\n\n int main(int, char**)\n {\n VideoCapture cap(0);\/\/ opens the default camera, could use a\n \/\/ video file path instead\n\n if(!cap.isOpened()) \/\/ check if we succeeded\n return -1;\n\n AAM aam = loadPreviouslyTrainedAAM();\n HeadModel headModel = load3DHeadModel();\n Mapping mapping = mapAAMLandmarksToHeadModel();\n\n Pose2D pose = detectFacePosition();\n\n while(1)\n {\n Mat frame;\n cap >> frame; \/\/ get a new frame from camera\n\n Pose2D new2DPose = performAAMSearch(pose, aam);\n Pose3D new3DPose = applyPOSIT(new2DPose, headModel, mapping);\n\n if(waitKey(30) >= 0) break;\n }\n\n \/\/ the camera will be deinitialized automatically in VideoCapture \/\/ destructor\n return 0;\n }\n\nThe algorithm works like this. A video capture is initialized through `VideoCapture cap(0)`, so that the default webcam is used. Now that we have video capture working, we also need to load our trained active appearance model, which will occurs in the pseudocode `loadPreviouslyTrainedAAM` mapping. We also load the 3D head model for POSIT and the mapping of landmark points to 3D head points in our mapping variable.\n\nAfter everything we need has been loaded, we will need to initialize the algorithm from a known pose, which is a known 3D position, known rotation, and a known set of AAM parameters. This could be made automatically through OpenCV's highly documented Haar features classifier face detector (more details in the _Face Detection_ section of Chapter 6, _Non-rigid Face Tracking_ , or in OpenCV's cascade classifier documentation), or we could manually initialize the pose from a previously annotated frame. A brute-force approach, which would be to run an AAM fitting for every rectangle, could also be used, since it would be very slow only during the first frame. Note that by initialization we mean finding the 2D landmarks of the AAM through their parameters.\n\nWhen everything is loaded, we can iterate through the main loop delimited by the _while_ loop. In this loop, we first query the next grabbed frame, and we then run an active appearance model fit so that we can find landmarks on the next frame. Since the current position is very important at this step, we pass it as a parameter to the pseudocode function `performAAMSearch(pose,aam)`. If we find the current pose, which is signaled through error image convergence, we will get the next landmark positions so we can provide them to POSIT. This happens in the following line, `applyPOSIT(new2DPose, headModel, mapping)`, where the new 2D pose is passed as a parameter, as also our previously loaded `headModel` and the mapping. After that, we can render any 3D model in the obtained pose like a coordinate axis or an augmented reality model. As we have landmarks, more interesting effects can be obtained through model parameterization, such as opening a mouth or changing eyebrow position.\n\nAs this procedure relies on previous pose for next estimation, we could accumulate errors and diverge from head position. A workaround could be to reinitialize the procedure every time it happens, checking a given error image threshold. Another factor to pay attention to is the use of filters when tracking, since jittering can occur. A simple mean filter for each of the translation and rotation coordinates can give reasonable results.\n\n# Summary\n\nIn this chapter, we have discussed how active appearance models can be combined with the POSIT algorithm in order to obtain a 3D head pose. An overview on how to create, train, and manipulate AAMs has been given and the reader can use this background for any other field, such as medical, imaging, or industry. Besides dealing with AAMs, we got familiar to Delaunay subdivisions and learned how to use such an interesting structure as a triangulated mesh. We also showed how to perform texture mapping in the triangles using OpenCV functions. Another interesting topic was approached in AAM fitting. Although only the inverse compositional project-out algorithm was described, we could easily obtain the results of years of research by simply using its output.\n\nAfter enough theory and practice of AAMs, we dived into the details of POSIT in order to couple 2D measurements to 3D ones explaining how to fit a 3D model using matchings between model points. We concluded the chapter by showing how to use all the tools in an online face tracker by detection, which yields 6 degrees of freedom head pose--3 degrees for rotation-- and 3 for translation. The complete code for this chapter can be downloaded from .\n\n# References\n\n * _Active Appearance Models_ , _T.F. Cootes_ , _G. J. Edwards_ , _and_ _C. J. Taylor_ , _ECCV_ , _2:484 -498_, _1998_ ()\n * _Active Shape Models - Their Training and Application_, _T.F. Cootes_ , _C.J. Taylor_ , _D.H. Cooper_ , _and_ _J. Graham_ , _Computer Vision and Image Understanding_ , _(61): 38 -59_, _1995_ ()\n * _The MUCT Landmarked Face Database_ , _S. Milborrow_ , _J. Morkel_ , and _F. Nicolls_ , _Pattern Recognition Association of South Africa_ , _2010_ ()\n * _The IMM Face Database - An Annotated Dataset of 240 Face Images_, _Michael M. Nordstrom_ , _Mads Larsen_ , _Janusz Sierakowski_ , _and_ _Mikkel B. Stegmann_ , _Informatics and Mathematical Modeling_ , _Technical University of Denmark_ , _2004_ , ()\n * _Sur la sph ere vide_, _B. Delaunay_ , _Izvestia Akademii Nauk SSSR_ , _Otdelenie Matematicheskikh i Estestvennykh Nauk_ , _7:793 -800_, _1934_\n * _Active Appearance Models for Facial Expression Recognition and Monocular Head Pose Estimation Master Thesis_ , _P. Martins_ , _2008_\n * _Active Appearance Models Revisited_ , _International Journal of Computer Vision_ , _Vol. 60_ , _No. 2_ , _pp. 135 - 164_ , _I. Mathews_ _and_ _S. Baker_ , _November_ , _2004_ ()\n * _POSIT Tutorial_ , _Javier Barandiaran_ ()\n * _Model-Based Object Pose in 25 Lines of Code, International Journal of Computer Vision_ , _15_ , _pp. 123-141_ , _Dementhon_ _and_ _L.S Davis_ , _1995_ ()\n\n# Chapter 8. Face Recognition using Eigenfaces or Fisherfaces\n\nThis chapter will introduce concepts in face detection and face recognition and provide a project to detect faces and recognize them when it sees them again. Face recognition is both a popular and a difficult topic, and many researchers devote years to the field of face recognition. So this chapter will explain simple methods of face recognition, giving the reader a good start if they want to explore more complex methods.\n\nIn this chapter, we cover the following:\n\n * Face detection\n * Face preprocessing\n * Training a machine-learning algorithm from collected faces\n * Face recognition\n * Finishing touches\n\n# Introduction to face recognition and face detection\n\nFace recognition is the process of putting a label to a known face. Just like humans learn to recognize their family, friends and celebrities just by seeing their face, there are many techniques for a computer to learn to recognize a known face. These generally involve four main steps:\n\n 1. **Face detection** : It is the process of locating a face region in an image (a large rectangle near the center of the following screenshot). This step does not care who the person is, just that it is a human face.\n 2. **Face preprocessing** : It is the process of adjusting the face image to look more clear and similar to other faces (a small grayscale face in the top-center of the following screenshot).\n 3. **Collect and learn faces** : It is the process of saving many preprocessed faces (for each person that should be recognized), and then learning how to recognize them.\n 4. **Face recognition** : It is the process that checks which of the collected people are most similar to the face in the camera (a small rectangle on the top-right of the following screenshot).\n\n### Note\n\nNote that the phrase face recognition is often used by the general public for finding positions of faces (that is, face detection, as described in step 1), but this book will use the formal definition of face recognition referring to step 4 and face detection referring to step 1.\n\nThe following screenshot shows the final WebcamFaceRec project, including a small rectangle at the top-right corner highlighting the recognized person. Also notice the confidence bar that is next to the preprocessed face (a small face at the top-center of the rectangle marking the face), which in this case shows roughly 70 percent confidence that it has recognized the correct person.\n\nThe current face detection techniques are quite reliable in real-world conditions, whereas current face recognition techniques are much less reliable when used in real-world conditions. For example, it is easy to find research papers showing face recognition accuracy rates above 95 percent, but when testing those same algorithms yourself, you may often find that accuracy is lower than 50 percent. This comes from the fact that current face recognition techniques are very sensitive to exact conditions in the images, such as the type of lighting, direction of lighting and shadows, exact orientation of the face, expression of the face, and the current mood of the person. If they are all kept constant when training (collecting images) as well as when testing (from the camera image), then face recognition should work well, but if the person was standing to the left-hand side of the lights in a room when training, and then stood to the right-hand side while testing with the camera, it may give quite bad results. So the dataset used for training is very important.\n\nFace preprocessing (step 2) aims to reduce these problems, such as by making sure the face always appears to have similar brightness and contrast, and perhaps makes sure the features of the face will always be in the same position (such as aligning the eyes and\/or nose to certain positions). A good face preprocessing stage will help improve the reliability of the whole face recognition system, so this chapter will place some emphasis on face preprocessing methods.\n\nDespite the big claims about face recognition for security in the media, it is unlikely that the current face recognition methods alone are reliable enough for any true security system, but they can be used for purposes that don't need high reliability, such as playing personalized music for different people entering a room or a robot that says your name when it sees you. There are also various practical extensions to face recognition, such as gender recognition, age recognition, and emotion recogniion.\n\n## Step 1: Face detection\n\nUntil year 2000, there were many different techniques used for finding faces, but all of them were either very slow, very unreliable, or both. A major change came in 2001 when Viola and Jones invented the Haar-based cascade classifier for object detection, and in 2002 when it was improved by Lienhart and Maydt. The result is an object detector that is both fast (can detect faces in real time on a typical desktop with a VGA webcam) and reliable (detects approximately 95 percent of frontal faces correctly). This object detector revolutionized the field of face recognition (as well as that of robotics and computer vision in general), as it finally allowed real-time face detection and face recognition, especially as Lienhart himself wrote the object detector that comes free with OpenCV! It works not only for frontal faces but also side-view faces (referred to as profile faces), eyes, mouths, noses, company logos, and many other objects.\n\nThis object detector was extended in OpenCV v2.0 to also use LBP features for detection based on work by Ahonen, Hadid and Pietikainen in 2006, as LBP-based detectors are potentially several times faster than Haar-based detectors, and don't have the licensing issues that many Haar detectors have.\n\nThe basic idea of the Haar-based face detector is that if you look at most frontal faces, the region with the eyes should be darker than the forehead and cheeks, and the region with the mouth should be darker than cheeks, and so on. It typically performs about 20 stages of comparisons like this to decide if it is a face or not, but it must do this at each possible position in the image and for each possible size of the face, so in fact it often does thousands of checks per image. The basic idea of the LBP-based face detector is similar to the Haar-based one, but it uses histograms of pixel intensity comparisons, such as edges, corners, and flat regions.\n\nRather than have a person decide which comparisons would best define a face, both Haar- and LBP-based face detectors can be automatically trained to find faces from a large set of images, with the information stored as XML files to be used later. These cascade classifier detectors are typically trained using at least 1,000 unique face images and 10,000 non-face images (for example, photos of trees, cars, and text), and the training process can take a long time even on a multi-core desktop (typically a few hours for LBP but one week for Haar!). Luckily, OpenCV comes with some pretrained Haar and LBP detectors for you to use! In fact you can detect frontal faces, profile (side-view) faces, eyes, or noses just by loading different cascade classifier XML files to the object detector, and choose between the Haar or LBP detector, based on which XML file you choose.\n\n### Implementing face detection using OpenCV\n\nAs mentioned previously, OpenCV v2.4 comes with various pretrained XML detectors that you can use for different purposes. The following table lists some of the most popular XML files:\n\nType of cascade classifier | XML filename\n\n---|---\n\nFace detector (default) | `haarcascade_frontalface_default.xml`\n\nFace detector (fast Haar) | `haarcascade_frontalface_alt2.xml`\n\nFace detector (fast LBP) | `lbpcascade_frontalface.xml`\n\nProfile (side-looking) face detector | `haarcascade_profileface.xml`\n\nEye detector (separate for left and right) | `haarcascade_lefteye_2splits.xml`\n\nMouth detector | `haarcascade_mcs_mouth.xml`\n\nNose detector | `haarcascade_mcs_nose.xml`\n\nWhole person detector | `haarcascade_fullbody.xml`\n\nHaar-based detectors are stored in the folder `data\\haarcascades` and LBP-based detectors are stored in the folder `data\\lbpcascades` of the OpenCV root folder, such as `C:\\opencv\\data\\lbpcascades\\`.\n\nFor our face recognition project, we want to detect frontal faces, so let's use the LBP face detector because it is the fastest and doesn't have patent licensing issues. Note that this pretrained LBP face detector that comes with OpenCV v2.x is not tuned as well as the pretrained Haar face detectors, so if you want more reliable face detection then you may want to train your own LBP face detector or use a Haar face detector.\n\n### Loading a Haar or LBP detector for object or face detection\n\nTo perform object or face detection, first you must load the pretrained XML file using OpenCV's `CascadeClassifier` class as follows:\n\n CascadeClassifier faceDetector;\n faceDetector.load(faceCascadeFilename);\n\nThis can load Haar or LBP detectors just by giving a different filename. A very common mistake when using this is to provide the wrong folder or filename, but depending on your build environment, the `load()` method will either return `false` or generate a C++ exception (and exit your program with an assert error). So it is best to surround the `load()` method with a `try`\/`catch` block and display a nice error message to the user if something went wrong. Many beginners skip checking for errors, but it is crucial to show a help message to the user when something did not load correctly, otherwise you may spend a very long time debugging other parts of your code before eventually realizing something did not load. A simple error message can be displayed as follows:\n\n CascadeClassifier faceDetector;\n try {\n **faceDetector.load(faceCascadeFilename);**\n } catch (cv::Exception e) {}\n if ( faceDetector.empty() ) {\n cerr << \"ERROR: Couldn't load Face Detector (\";\n cerr << faceCascadeFilename << \")!\" << endl;\n exit(1);\n }\n\n### Accessing the webcam\n\nTo grab frames from a computer's webcam or even from a video file, you can simply call the `VideoCapture::open()` function with the camera number or video filename, then grab the frames using the C++ stream operator, as mentioned in the section _Accessing the webcam_ in Chapter 1, _Cartoonifier and Skin Changer for Android_.\n\n### Detecting an object using the Haar or LBP Classifier\n\nNow that we have loaded the classifier (just once during initialization), we can use it to detect faces in each new camera frame. But first we should do some initial processing of the camera image just for face detection, by performing the following steps:\n\n 1. **Grayscale color conversion** : Face detection only works on grayscale images. So we should convert the color camera frame to grayscale.\n 2. **Shrinking the camera image** : The speed of face detection depends on the size of the input image (it is very slow for large images but fast for small images), and yet detection is still fairly reliable even at low resolutions. So we should shrink the camera image to a more reasonable size (or use a large value for `minFeatureSize` in the detector, as explained shortly).\n 3. **Histogram equalization** : Face detection is not as reliable in low-light conditions. So we should perform histogram equalization to improve the contrast and brightness.\n\n#### Grayscale color conversion\n\nWe can easily convert an RGB color image to grayscale using the `cvtColor()` function. But we should only do this if we know we have a color image (that is, it is not a grayscale camera), and we must specify the format of our input image (usually 3-channel BGR on desktop or 4-channel BGRA on mobile). So we should allow three different input color formats, as shown in the following code:\n\n Mat gray;\n if (img.channels() == 3) {\n **cvtColor(img, gray, CV_BGR2GRAY);**\n }\n else if (img.channels() == 4) {\n **cvtColor(img, gray, CV_BGRA2GRAY);**\n }\n else {\n \/\/ Access the grayscale input image directly.\n gray = img;\n }\n\n#### Shrinking the camera image\n\nWe can use the `resize()` function to shrink an image to a certain size or scale factor. Face detection usually works quite well for any image size greater than 240 x 240 pixels (unless you need to detect faces that are far away from the camera), because it will look for any faces larger than the `minFeatureSize` (typically 20 x 20 pixels). So let's shrink the camera image to be 320 pixels wide; it doesn't matter if the input is a VGA webcam or a 5 mega pixel HD camera. It is also important to remember and enlarge the detection results, because if you detect faces in a shrunk image then the results will also be shrunk. Note that instead of shrinking the input image, you could use a large `minFeatureSize` value in the detector instead. We must also ensure the image does not become fatter or thinner. For example, a widescreen 800 x 400 image when shrunk to 300 x 200 would make a person look thin. So we must keep the aspect ratio (the ratio of width to height) of the output same as the input. Let's calculate how much to shrink the image width by, then apply the same scale factor to the height as well, as follows:\n\n const int DETECTION_WIDTH = 320;\n \/\/ Possibly shrink the image, to run much faster.\n Mat smallImg;\n float scale = img.cols \/ (float) DETECTION_WIDTH;\n if (img.cols > DETECTION_WIDTH) {\n \/\/ Shrink the image while keeping the same aspect ratio.\n int scaledHeight = cvRound(img.rows \/ scale);\n **resize(img, smallImg, Size(DETECTION_WIDTH, scaledHeight));**\n }\n else {\n \/\/ Access the input directly since it is already small.\n smallImg = img;\n }\n\n#### Histogram equalization\n\nWe can easily perform histogram equalization to improve the contrast and brightness of an image, using the `equalizeHist()` function (as explained in _Learning OpenCV: Computer Vision with the OpenCV Library_ ). Sometimes this will make the image look strange, but in general it should improve the brightness and contrast and help face detection. The `equalizeHist()` function is used as follows:\n\n \/\/ Standardize the brightness & contrast, such as\n \/\/ to improve dark images.\n Mat equalizedImg;\n **equalizeHist(inputImg, equalizedImg);**\n\n## Detecting the face\n\nNow that we have converted the image to grayscale, shrunk the image, and equalized the histogram, we are ready to detect the faces using the `CascadeClassifier::detectMultiScale()` function! There are many parameters that we pass to this function:\n\n * `minFeatureSize`: This parameter determines the minimum face size that we care about, typically 20 x 20 or 30 x 30 pixels but this depends on your use case and image size. If you are performing face detection on a webcam or smartphone where the face will always be very close to the camera, you could enlarge this to 80 x 80 to have much faster detections, or if you want to detect far away faces, such as on a beach with friends, then leave this as 20 x 20.\n * `searchScaleFactor`: The parameter determines how many different sizes of faces to look for; typically it would be `1.1` for good detection, or `1.2` for faster detection that does not find the face as often.\n * `minNeighbors`: This parameter determines how sure the detector should be that it has detected a face, typically a value of `3` but you can set it higher if you want more reliable faces, even if many faces are not detected.\n * `flags`: This parameter allows you to specify whether to look for all faces (default) or only look for the largest face (`CASCADE_FIND_BIGGEST_OBJECT`). If you only look for the largest face, it should run faster. There are several other parameters you can add to make the detection about one percent or two percent faster, such as `CASCADE_DO_ROUGH_SEARCH` or `CASCADE_SCALE_IMAGE`.\n\nThe output of the `detectMultiScale()` function will be a `std::vector` of the `cv::Rect` type object. For example, if it detects two faces then it will store an array of two rectangles in the output. The `detectMultiScale()` function is used as follows:\n\n int flags = CASCADE_SCALE_IMAGE; \/\/ Search for many faces.\n Size minFeatureSize(20, 20); \/\/ Smallest face size.\n float searchScaleFactor = 1.1f; \/\/ How many sizes to search.\n int minNeighbors = 4; \/\/ Reliability vs many faces.\n\n \/\/ Detect objects in the small grayscale image.\n std::vector faces;\n **faceDetector.detectMultiScale(img, faces, searchScaleFactor,**\n **minNeighbors, flags, minFeatureSize);**\n\nWe can see if any faces were detected by looking at the number of elements stored in our vector of rectangles, that is by using the `objects.size()` function.\n\nAs mentioned earlier, if we gave a shrunken image to the face detector, the results will also be shrunk, so we need to enlarge them if we want to know the face regions for the original image. We also need to make sure faces on the border of the image stay completely within the image, as OpenCV will now raise an exception if this happens, as shown by the following code:\n\n \/\/ Enlarge the results if the image was temporarily shrunk.\n if (img.cols > scaledWidth) {\n for (int i = 0; i < (int)objects.size(); i++ ) {\n objects[i].x = cvRound(objects[i].x * scale);\n objects[i].y = cvRound(objects[i].y * scale);\n objects[i].width = cvRound(objects[i].width * scale);\n objects[i].height = cvRound(objects[i].height * scale);\n }\n }\n \/\/ If the object is on a border, keep it in the image.\n for (int i = 0; i < (int)objects.size(); i++ ) {\n if (objects[i].x < 0)\n objects[i].x = 0;\n if (objects[i].y < 0)\n objects[i].y = 0;\n if (objects[i].x + objects[i].width > img.cols)\n objects[i].x = img.cols - objects[i].width;\n if (objects[i].y + objects[i].height > img.rows)\n objects[i].y = img.rows - objects[i].height;\n }\n\nNote that the preceding code will look for all faces in the image, but if you only care about one face, then you could change the flag variable as follows:\n\n int flags = CASCADE_FIND_BIGGEST_OBJECT | \n CASCADE_DO_ROUGH_SEARCH;\n\nThe WebcamFaceRec project includes a wrapper around OpenCV's Haar or LBP detector, to make it easier to find a face or eye within an image. For example:\n\n Rect faceRect; \/\/ Stores the result of the detection, or -1.\n int scaledWidth = 320;\t\/\/ Shrink the image before detection.\n **detectLargestObject(cameraImg, faceDetector, faceRect,**\n **scaledWidth);**\n if (faceRect.width > 0)\n cout << \"We detected a face!\" << endl;\n\nNow that we have a face rectangle, we can use it in many ways, such as to extract or crop the face image from the original image. The following code allows us to access the face:\n\n \/\/ Access just the face within the camera image.\n Mat faceImg = cameraImg(faceRect);\n\nThe following image shows the typical rectangular region given by the face detector:\n\n## Step 2: Face preprocessing\n\nAs mentioned earlier, Face recognition is extremely vulnerable to changes in lighting conditions, face orientation, face expression, and so on, so it is very important to reduce these differences as much as possible. Otherwise the face recognition algorithm will often think there is more similarity between faces of two different people in the same conditions than between two faces of the same person.\n\nThe easiest form of face preprocessing is just to apply histogram equalization using the `equalizeHist()` function, like we just did for face detection. This may be sufficient for some projects where the lighting and positional conditions won't change by much. But for reliability in real-world conditions, we need many sophisticated techniques, including facial feature detection (for example, detecting eyes, nose, mouth and eyebrows). For simplicity, this chapter will just use eye detection and ignore other facial features such as the mouth and nose, which are less useful. The following image shows an enlarged view of a typical preprocessed face, using the techniques that will be covered in this section:\n\n### Eye detection\n\nEye detection can be very useful for face preprocessing, because for frontal faces you can always assume a person's eyes should be horizontal and on opposite locations of the face and should have a fairly standard position and size within a face, despite changes in facial expressions, lighting conditions, camera properties, distance to camera, and so on. It is also useful to discard false positives when the face detector says it has detected a face and it is actually something else. It is rare that the face detector and two eye detectors will all be fooled at the same time, so if you only process images with a detected face and two detected eyes then it will not have many false positives (but will also give fewer faces for processing, as the eye detector will not work as often as the face detector).\n\nSome of the pretrained eye detectors that come with OpenCV v2.4 can detect an eye whether it is open or closed, whereas some of them can only detect open eyes.\n\nEye detectors that detect open or closed eyes are as follows:\n\n * `haarcascade_mcs_lefteye.xml` (and `haarcascade_mcs_righteye.xml`)\n * `haarcascade_lefteye_2splits.xml` (and `haarcascade_righteye_2splits.xml`)\n\nEye detectors that detect open eyes only are as follows:\n\n * `haarcascade_eye.xml`\n * `haarcascade_eye_tree_eyeglasses.xml`\n\n### Note\n\nAs the open or closed eye detectors specify which eye they are trained on, you need to use a different detector for the left and the right eye, whereas the detectors for just open eyes can use the same detector for left or right eyes.\n\nThe detector `haarcascade_eye_tree_eyeglasses.xml` can detect the eyes if the person is wearing glasses, but is not reliable if they don't wear glasses.\n\nIf the XML filename says \"left eye\", it means the actual left eye of the person, so in the camera image it would normally appear on the right-hand side of the face, not on the left-hand side!\n\nThe list of four eye detectors mentioned is ranked in approximate order from most reliable to least reliable, so if you know you don't need to find people with glasses then the first detector is probably the best choice.\n\n### Eye search regions\n\nFor eye detection, it is important to crop the input image to just show the approximate eye region, just like doing face detection and then cropping to just a small rectangle where the left eye should be (if you are using the left eye detector) and the same for the right rectangle for the right eye detector. If you just do eye detection on a whole face or whole photo then it will be much slower and less reliable. Different eye detectors are better suited to different regions of the face, for example, the `haarcascade_eye.xml` detector works best if it only searches in a very tight region around the actual eye, whereas the `haarcascade_mcs_lefteye.xml` and `haarcascade_lefteye_2splits.xml` detectors work best when there is a large region around the eye.\n\nThe following table lists some good search regions of the face for different eye detectors (when using the LBP face detector), using relative coordinates within the detected face rectangle:\n\nCascade Classifier | EYE_SX | EYE_SY | EYE_SW | EYE_SH\n\n---|---|---|---|---\n\n`haarcascade_eye.xml` | 0.16 | 0.26 | 0.30 | 0.28\n\n`haarcascade_mcs_lefteye.xml` | 0.10 | 0.19 | 0.40 | 0.36\n\n`haarcascade_lefteye_2splits.xml` | 0.12 | 0.17 | 0.37 | 0.36\n\nHere is the source code to extract the left-eye and right-eye regions from a detected face:\n\n int leftX = cvRound(face.cols * EYE_SX);\n int topY = cvRound(face.rows * EYE_SY);\n int widthX = cvRound(face.cols * EYE_SW);\n int heightY = cvRound(face.rows * EYE_SH);\n int rightX = cvRound(face.cols * (1.0-EYE_SX-EYE_SW));\n\n Mat topLeftOfFace = faceImg(Rect(leftX, topY, widthX,\n heightY));\n Mat topRightOfFace = faceImg(Rect(rightX, topY, widthX, \n heightY));\n\nThe following image shows the ideal search regions for the different eye detectors, where `haarcascade_eye.xml` and `haarcascade_eye_tree_eyeglasses.xml` are best with the small search region, while `haarcascade_mcs_*eye.xml` and `haarcascade_*eye_2splits.xml` are best with larger search regions. Note that the detected face rectangle is also shown, to give an idea of how large the eye search regions are compared to the detected face rectangle:\n\nWhen using the eye search regions given in the preceding table, here are the approximate detection properties of the different eye detectors:\n\nCascade Classifier | Reliability* | Speed** | Eyes found | Glasses\n\n---|---|---|---|---\n\n`haarcascade_mcs_lefteye.xml` | 80% | 18 msec | Open or closed | no\n\n`haarcascade_lefteye_2splits.xml` | 60% | 7 msec | Open or closed | no\n\n`haarcascade_eye.xml` | 40% | 5 msec | Open only | no\n\n`haarcascade_eye_tree_eyeglasses.xml` | 15% | 10 msec | Open only | yes\n\n* Reliability values show how often both eyes will be detected after LBP frontal face detection when no eyeglasses are worn and both eyes are open. If eyes are closed then the reliability may drop, or if eyeglasses are worn then both reliability and speed will drop.\n\n** Speed values are in milliseconds for images scaled to the size of 320 x 240 pixels on an Intel Core i7 2.2 GHz (averaged across 1,000 photos). Speed is typically much faster when eyes are found than when eyes are not found, as it must scan the entire image, but the `haarcascade_mcs_lefteye.xml` is still much slower than the other eye detectors.\n\nFor example, if you shrink a photo to 320 x 240 pixels, perform a histogram equalization on it, use the LBP frontal face detector to get a face, then extract the left-eye-region and right-eye-region from the face using the `haarcascade_mcs_lefteye.xml` values, then perform a histogram equalization on each eye region. Then if you the `haarcascade_mcs_lefteye.xml` detector on the left eye (which is actually on the top-right side of your image) and use the `haarcascade_mcs_righteye.xml` detector on the right eye (the top-left part of your image), each eye detector should work in roughly 90 percent of photos with LBP-detected frontal faces. So if you want both eyes detected then it should work in roughly 80 percent of photos with LBP-detected frontal faces.\n\nNote that while it is recomended to shrink the camera image before detecting faces, you should detect eyes at the full camera resolution because eyes will obviously be much smaller than faces, so you need as much resolution as you can get.\n\n### Note\n\nBased on the table, it seems that when choosing an eye detector to use, you should decide whether you want to detect closed eyes or only open eyes. And remember that you can even use one eye detector, and if it does not detect an eye then you can try with another one.\n\nFor many tasks, it is useful to detect eyes whether they are opened or closed, so if speed is not crucial, it is best to search with the `mcs_*eye` detector first, and if it fails then search with the `eye_2splits` detector.\n\nBut for face recognition, a person will appear quite different if their eyes are closed, so it is best to search with the plain `haarcascade_eye` detector first, and if it fails then search with the `haarcascade_eye_tree_eyeglasses` detector.\n\nWe can use the same `detectLargestObject()`function we used for face detection to search for eyes, but instead of asking to shrink the images before eye detection, we specify the full eye region width to get a better eye detection. It is easy to search for the left eye using one detector, and if it fails then try another detector (same for right eye). The eye detection is done as follows:\n\n CascadeClassifier eyeDetector1(\"haarcascade_eye.xml\");\n CascadeClassifier \n eyeDetector2(\"haarcascade_eye_tree_eyeglasses.xml\");\n ...\n Rect leftEyeRect; \/\/ Stores the detected eye.\n \/\/ Search the left region using the 1st eye detector.\n **detectLargestObject(topLeftOfFace, eyeDetector1, leftEyeRect,**\n **topLeftOfFace.cols);**\n \/\/ If it failed, search the left region using the 2nd eye \n \/\/ detector.\n if (leftEyeRect.width <= 0)\n **detectLargestObject(topLeftOfFace, eyeDetector2,**\n **leftEyeRect, topLeftOfFace.cols);**\n \/\/ Get the left eye center if one of the eye detectors worked.\n Point leftEye = Point(-1,-1);\n if (leftEyeRect.width <= 0) {\n leftEye.x = leftEyeRect.x + leftEyeRect.width\/2 + leftX;\n leftEye.y = leftEyeRect.y + leftEyeRect.height\/2 + topY;\n }\n\n \/\/ Do the same for the right-eye\n ...\n\n \/\/ Check if both eyes were detected.\n if (leftEye.x >= 0 && rightEye.x >= 0) {\n ...\n }\n\nWith the face and both eyes detected, we'll perform face preprocessing by combining:\n\n * **Geometrical transformation and cropping** : This process would include scaling, rotating, and translating the images so that the eyes are aligned, followed by the removal of the forehead, chin, ears, and background from the face image.\n * **Separate histogram equalization for left and right sides** : This process standardizes the brightness and contrast on both the left- and right-hand sides of the face independently.\n * **Smoothing** : This process reduces the image noise using a bilateral filter.\n * **Elliptical mask** : The elliptical mask removes some remaining hair and background from the face image.\n\nThe following image shows the face preprocessing steps 1 to 4 applied to a detected face. Notice how the final image has good brightness and contrast on both sides of the face, whereas the original does not:\n\n#### Geometrical transformation\n\nIt is important that the faces are all aligned together, otherwise the face recognition algorithm might be comparing part of a nose with part of an eye, and so on. The output of face detection just seen will give aligned faces to some extent, but it is not very accurate (that is, the face rectangle will not always be starting from the same point on the forehead).\n\nTo have better alignment we will use eye detection to align the face so the positions of the two detected eyes line up perfectly in desired positions. We will do the geometrical transformation using the `warpAffine()` function, which is a single operation that will do four things:\n\n * Rotate the face so that the two eyes are horizontal.\n * Scale the face so that the distance between the two eyes is always the same.\n * Translate the face so that the eyes are always centered horizontally and at a desired height.\n * Crop the outer parts of the face, since we want to crop away the image background, hair, forehead, ears, and chin.\n\nAffine Warping takes an affine matrix that transforms the two detected eye locations to the two desired eye locations, and then crops to a desired size and position. To generate this affine matrix, we will get the center between the eyes, calculate the angle at which the two detected eyes appear, and look at their distance apart as follows:\n\n \/\/ Get the center between the 2 eyes.\n Point2f eyesCenter;\n eyesCenter.x = (leftEye.x + rightEye.x) * 0.5f;\n eyesCenter.y = (leftEye.y + rightEye.y) * 0.5f;\n\n \/\/ Get the angle between the 2 eyes.\n double dy = (rightEye.y - leftEye.y);\n double dx = (rightEye.x - leftEye.x);\n double len = sqrt(dx*dx + dy*dy);\n \/\/ Convert Radians to Degrees.\n **double angle = atan2(dy, dx) * 180.0\/CV_PI;**\n\n \/\/ Hand measurements shown that the left eye center should \n \/\/ ideally be roughly at (0.16, 0.14) of a scaled face image.\n const double DESIRED_LEFT_EYE_X = 0.16;\n const double DESIRED_RIGHT_EYE_X = (1.0f - 0.16);\n \/\/ Get the amount we need to scale the image to be the desired\n \/\/ fixed size we want.\n const int DESIRED_FACE_WIDTH = 70;\n const int DESIRED_FACE_HEIGHT = 70;\n double desiredLen = (DESIRED_RIGHT_EYE_X - 0.16);\n **double scale = desiredLen * DESIRED_FACE_WIDTH \/ len;**\n\nNow we can transform the face (rotate, scale, and translate) to get the two detected eyes to be in the desired eye positions in an ideal face as follows:\n\n \/\/ Get the transformation matrix for the desired angle & size.\n Mat rot_mat = getRotationMatrix2D(eyesCenter, angle, scale);\n \/\/ Shift the center of the eyes to be the desired center.\n double ex = DESIRED_FACE_WIDTH * 0.5f - eyesCenter.x;\n double ey = DESIRED_FACE_HEIGHT * DESIRED_LEFT_EYE_Y - \n eyesCenter.y;\n rot_mat.at(0, 2) += ex;\n rot_mat.at(1, 2) += ey;\n \/\/ Transform the face image to the desired angle & size & \n \/\/ position! Also clear the transformed image background to a \n \/\/ default grey.\n Mat warped = Mat(DESIRED_FACE_HEIGHT, DESIRED_FACE_WIDTH,\n CV_8U, Scalar(128));\n **warpAffine(gray, warped, rot_mat, warped.size());**\n\n#### Separate histogram equalization for left and right sides\n\nIn real-world conditions, it is common to have strong lighting on one half of the face and weak lighting on the other. This has an enormous effect on the face recognition algorithm, as the left- and right-hand sides of the same face will seem like very different people. So we will perform histogram equalization separately on the left and right halves of the face, to have standardized brightness and contrast on each side of the face.\n\nIf we simply applied histogram equalization on the left half and then again on the right half, we would see a very distinct edge in the middle because the average brightness is likely to be different on the left and the right side, so to remove this edge, we will apply the two histogram equalizations gradually from the left-or right-hand side towards the center and mix it with a whole-face histogram equalization, so that the far left-hand side will use the left histogram equalization, the far right-hand side will use the right histogram equalization, and the center will use a smooth mix of left or right value and the whole-face equalized value.\n\nThe following image shows how the left-equalized, whole-equalized, and right-equalized images are blended together:\n\nTo perform this, we need copies of the whole face equalized as well as the left half equalized and the right half equalized, which is done as follows:\n\n int w = faceImg.cols;\n int h = faceImg.rows;\n Mat wholeFace;\n **equalizeHist(faceImg, wholeFace);**\n int midX = w\/2;\n Mat leftSide = faceImg(Rect(0,0, midX,h));\n Mat rightSide = faceImg(Rect(midX,0, w-midX,h));\n **equalizeHist(leftSide, leftSide);**\n **equalizeHist(rightSide, rightSide);**\n\nNow we combine the three images together. As the images are small, we can easily access pixels directly using the `image.at(y,x)` function even if it is slow; so let's merge the three images by directly accessing pixels in the three input images and output images, as follows:\n\n for (int y=0; y(y,x);**\n }\n else if (x < w*2\/4) {\n \/\/ Mid-left 25%: blend the left face & whole face.\n int lv = leftSide.at(y,x);\n int wv = wholeFace.at(y,x);\n \/\/ Blend more of the whole face as it moves\n \/\/ further right along the face.\n float f = (x - w*1\/4) \/ (float)(w\/4);\n **v = cvRound((1.0f - f) * lv + (f) * wv);**\n }\n else if (x < w*3\/4) {\n \/\/ Mid-right 25%: blend right face & whole face.\n int rv = rightSide.at(y,x-midX);\n int wv = wholeFace.at(y,x);\n \/\/ Blend more of the right-side face as it moves\n \/\/ further right along the face.\n float f = (x - w*2\/4) \/ (float)(w\/4);\n **v = cvRound((1.0f - f) * wv + (f) * rv);**\n }\n else {\n \/\/ Right 25%: just use the right face.\n **v = rightSide.at (y,x-midX);**\n }\n faceImg.at(y,x) = v;\n }\/\/ end x loop\n }\/\/end y loop\n\nThis separated histogram equalization should significantly help reduce the effect of different lighting on the left- and right-hand sides of the face, but we must understand that it won't completely remove the effect of one-sided lighting, since the face is a complex 3D shape with many shadows.\n\n#### Smoothing\n\nTo reduce the effect of pixel noise, we will use a bilateral filter on the face, as a bilateral filter is very good at smoothing most of an image while keeping edges sharp. Histogram equalization can significantly increase the pixel noise, so we will make the filter strength `20` to cover heavy pixel noise, but use a neighborhood of just two pixels as we want to heavily smooth the tiny pixel noise but not the large image regions, as follows:\n\n Mat filtered = Mat(warped.size(), CV_8U);\n **bilateralFilter(warped, filtered, 0, 20.0, 2.0);**\n\n#### Elliptical mask\n\nAlthough we have already removed most of the image background and forehead and hair when we did the geometrical transformation, we can apply an elliptical mask to remove some of the corner region such as the neck, which might be in shadow from the face, particularly if the face is not looking perfectly straight towards the camera. To create the mask, we will draw a black-filled ellipse onto a white image. One ellipse to perform this has a horizontal radius of 0.5 (that is, it covers the face width perfectly), a vertical radius of 0.8 (as faces are usually taller than they are wide), and centered at the coordinates 0.5, 0.4, as shown in the following image, where the elliptical mask has removed some unwanted corners from the face:\n\nWe can apply the mask when calling the `cv::setTo()` function, which would normally set a whole image to a certain pixel value, but as we will give a mask image, it will only set some parts to the given pixel value. We will fill the image in gray so that it should have less contrast to the rest of the face:\n\n \/\/ Draw a black-filled ellipse in the middle of the image.\n \/\/ First we initialize the mask image to white (255).\n Mat mask = Mat(warped.size(), CV_8UC1, Scalar(255));\n double dw = DESIRED_FACE_WIDTH;\n double dh = DESIRED_FACE_HEIGHT;\n Point faceCenter = Point( cvRound(dw * 0.5),\n cvRound(dh * 0.4) );\n Size size = Size( cvRound(dw * 0.5), cvRound(dh * 0.8) );\n **ellipse(mask, faceCenter, size, 0, 0, 360, Scalar(0),**\n **CV_FILLED);**\n\n \/\/ Apply the elliptical mask on the face, to remove corners.\n \/\/ Sets corners to gray, without touching the inner face.\n **filtered.setTo(Scalar(128), mask);**\n\nThe following enlarged image shows a sample result from all the face preprocessing stages. Notice it is much more consistent for face recognition in different brightness, face rotations, angle from camera, backgrounds, positions of lights, and so on. This preprocessed face will be used as input to the face recognition stages, both when collecting faces for training, and when trying to recognize input faces:\n\n## Step 3: Collecting faces and learning from them\n\nCollecting faces can be just as simple as putting each newly preprocessed face into an array of preprocessed faces from the camera, as well as putting a label into an array (to specify which person the face was taken from). For example, you could use 10 preprocessed faces of the first person and 10 preprocessed faces of a second person, so the input to the face recognition algorithm will be an array of 20 preprocessed faces and an array of 20 integers (where the first 10 numbers are 0 and the next 10 numbers are 1).\n\nThe face recognition algorithm will then learn how to distinguish between the faces of the different people. This is referred to as the training phase and the collected faces are referred to as the training set. After the face recognition algorithm has finished training, you could then save the generated knowledge to a file or memory and later use it to recognize which person is seen in front of the camera. This is referred to as the testing phase. If you used it directly from a camera input then the preprocessed face would be referred to as the test image, and if you tested with many images (such as from a folder of image files), it would be referred to as the testing set.\n\nIt is important that you provide a good training set that covers the types of variations you expect to occur in your testing set. For example, if you will only test with faces that are looking perfectly straight ahead (such as ID photos), then you only need to provide training images with faces that are looking perfectly straight ahead. But if the person might be looking to the left or up, then you should make sure the training set will also include faces of that person doing this, otherwise the face recognition algorithm will have trouble recognizing them, as their face will appear quite different. This also applies to other factors such as facial expression (for example, if the person is always smiling in the training set but not smiling in the testing set) or lighting direction (for example, a strong light is to the left-hand side in the training set but to the right-hand side in the testing set), then the face recognition algorithm will have difficulty recognizing them. The face preprocessing steps that we just saw will help reduce these issues, but it certainly won't remove these factors, particularly the direction in which the face is looking, as it has a large effect on the position of all elements in the face.\n\n### Note\n\nOne way to obtain a good training set that will cover many different real-world conditions is for each person to rotate their head from looking left, to up, to right, to down then looking directly straight. Then the person tilts their head sideways and then up and down, while also changing their facial expression, such as alternating between smiling, looking angry, and having a neutral face. If each person follows a routine such as this while collecting faces, then there is a much better chance of recognizing everyone in the real-world conditions.\n\nFor even better results, it should be performed again with one or two more locations or directions, such as by turning the camera around by 180 degrees and walking in the opposite direction of the camera then repeating the whole routine, so that the training set would include many different lighting conditions.\n\nSo in general, having 100 training faces for each person is likely to give better results than having just 10 training faces for each person, but if all 100 faces look almost identical then it will still perform badly because it is more important that the training set has enough variety to cover the testing set, rather than to just have a large number of faces. So to make sure the faces in the training set are not all too similar, we should add a noticeable delay between each collected face. For example, if the camera is running at 30 frames per second, then it might collect 100 faces in just several seconds when the person has not had time to move around, so it is better to collect just one face per second, while the person moves their face around. Another simple method to improve the variation in the training set is to only collect a face if it is noticeably different from the previously collected face.\n\n### Collecting preprocessed faces for training\n\nTo make sure there is at least a one-second gap between collecting new faces, we need to measure how much time has passed. This is done as follows:\n\n \/\/ Check how long since the previous face was added.\n double current_time = (double)getTickCount();\n double timeDiff_seconds = (current_time -\n old_time) \/ getTickFrequency();\n\nTo compare the similarity of two images, pixel by pixel, you can find the relative L2 error, which just involves subtracting one image from the other, summing the squared value of it, and then getting the square root of it. So if the person had not moved at all, subtracting the current face with the previous face should give a very low number at each pixel, but if they had just moved slightly in any direction, subtracting the pixels would give a large number and so the L2 error will be high. As the result is summed over all pixels, the value will depend on the image resolution. So to get the mean error we should divide this value by the total number of pixels in the image. Let's put this in a handy function, `getSimilarity()`, as follows:\n\n double getSimilarity(const Mat A, const Mat B) {\n \/\/ Calculate the L2 relative error between the 2 images.\n **double errorL2 = norm(A, B, CV_L2);**\n \/\/ Scale the value since L2 is summed across all pixels.\n double similarity = errorL2 \/ (double)(A.rows * A.cols);\n return similarity;\n }\n\n ...\n\n \/\/ Check if this face looks different from the previous face.\n double imageDiff = MAX_DBL;\n if (old_prepreprocessedFaceprepreprocessedFace.data) {\n imageDiff = getSimilarity(preprocessedFace,\n old_prepreprocessedFace);\n }\n\nThis similarity will often be less than 0.2 if the image did not move much, and higher than 0.4 if the image did move, so let's use 0.3 as our threshold for collecting a new face.\n\nThere are many tricks we can play to obtain more training data, such as using mirrored faces, adding random noise, shifting the face by a few pixels, scaling the face by a percentage, or rotating the face by a few degrees (even though we specifically tried to remove these effects when preprocessing the face!) Let's add mirrored faces to the training set, so that we have both, a larger training set as well as a reduction in the problems of asymmetrical faces or if a user is always oriented slightly to the left or right during training but not testing. This is done as follows:\n\n \/\/ Only process the face if it's noticeably different from the\n \/\/ previous frame and there has been a noticeable time gap.\n **if ((imageDiff > 0.3) && (timeDiff_seconds > 1.0)) {**\n \/\/ Also add the mirror image to the training set.\n Mat mirroredFace;\n flip(preprocessedFace, mirroredFace, 1);\n\n \/\/ Add the face & mirrored face to the detected face lists.\n preprocessedFaces.push_back(preprocessedFace);\n preprocessedFaces.push_back(mirroredFace);\n faceLabels.push_back(m_selectedPerson);\n faceLabels.push_back(m_selectedPerson);\n\n \/\/ Keep a copy of the processed face,\n \/\/ to compare on next iteration.\n old_prepreprocessedFace = preprocessedFace;\n old_time = current_time;\n }\n\nThis will collect the `std::vector` arrays `preprocessedFaces` and `faceLabels` for a preprocessed face as well as the label or ID number of that person (assuming it is in the integer `m_selectedPerson` variable).\n\nTo make it more obvious to the user that we have added their current face to the collection, you could provide a visual notification by either displaying a large white rectangle over the whole image or just displaying their face for just a fraction of a second so they realize a photo was taken. With OpenCV's C++ interface, you can use the `+` overloaded `cv::Mat` operator to add a value to every pixel in the image and have it clipped to 255 (using `saturate_cast`, so it doesn't overflow from white back to black!) Assuming `displayedFrame` will be a copy of the color camera frame that should be shown, insert this after the preceding code for face collection:\n\n \/\/ Get access to the face region-of-interest.\n Mat displayedFaceRegion = displayedFrame(faceRect);\n \/\/ Add some brightness to each pixel of the face region.\n displayedFaceRegion += CV_RGB(90,90,90);\n\n### Training the face recognition system from collected faces\n\nAfter you have collected enough faces for each person to recognize, you must train the system to learn the data using a machine-learning algorithm suited for face recognition. There are many different face recognition algorithms in literature, the simplest of which are Eigenfaces and Artificial Neural Networks. Eigenfaces tends to work better than ANNs, and despite its simplicity, it tends to work almost as well as many more complex face recognition algorithms, so it has become very popular as the basic face recognition algorithm for beginners as well as for new algorithms to be compared to.\n\nAny reader who wishes to work further on face recognition is recommended to read the theory behind:\n\n * Eigenfaces (also referred to as **Principal Component Analysis** ( **PCA** )\n * Fisherfaces (also referred to as **Linear Discriminant Analysis** ( **LDA** )\n * Other classic face recognition algorithms (many are available at )\n * Newer face recognition algorithms in recent Computer Vision research papers (such as CVPR and ICCV at ), as there are hundreds of face recognition papers published each year\n\nHowever, you don't need to understand the theory of these algorithms in order to use them as shown in this book. Thanks to the OpenCV team and Philipp Wagner's `libfacerec` contribution, OpenCV v2.4.1 provided `cv::Algo` `rithm` as a simple and generic method to perform face recognition using one of several different algorithms (even selectable at runtime) without necessarily understanding how they are implemented. You can find the available algorithms in your version of OpenCV by using the `Algorithm::getList()` function, such as with this code:\n\n vector algorithms;\n **Algorithm::getList(algorithms);**\n cout << \"Algorithms: \" << algorithms.size() << endl;\n for (int i=0; i and .\n\nThese face recognition algorithms are available through the `FaceRecognizer` class in OpenCV's `contrib` module. Due to dynamic linking, it is possible that your program is linked to the `contrib` module but it is not actually loaded at runtime (if it was deemed as not required). So it is recommended to call the `cv::initModule_contrib()` function before trying to access the `FaceRecognizer` algorithms. This function is only available from OpenCV v2.4.1, so it also ensures that the face recognition algorithms are at least available to you at compile time:\n\n \/\/ Load the \"contrib\" module is dynamically at runtime.\n **bool haveContribModule = initModule_contrib();**\n if (!haveContribModule) {\n cerr << \"ERROR: The 'contrib' module is needed for \";\n cerr << \"FaceRecognizer but hasn't been loaded to OpenCV!\";\n cerr << endl;\n exit(1);\n }\n\nTo use one of the face recognition algorithms, we must create a `FaceRecognizer` object using the `cv::Algorithm::create()` function. We pass the name of the face recognition algorithm we want to use, as a string to this create function. This will give us access to that algorithm if it is available in the OpenCV version. So it may be used as a runtime error check to ensure the user has OpenCV v2.4.1 or newer. For example:\n\n string facerecAlgorithm = \"FaceRecognizer.Fisherfaces\";\n Ptr model;\n \/\/ Use OpenCV's new FaceRecognizer in the \"contrib\" module:\n **model = Algorithm::create (facerecAlgorithm);**\n if (model.empty()) {\n cerr << \"ERROR: The FaceRecognizer [\" << facerecAlgorithm;\n cerr << \"] is not available in your version of OpenCV. \";\n cerr << \"Please update to OpenCV v2.4.1 or newer.\" << endl;\n exit(1);\n }\n\nOnce we have loaded the `FaceRecognizer` algorithm, we simply call the `FaceRecognizer::train()` function with our collected face data as follows:\n\n \/\/ Do the actual training from the collected faces.\n **model- >train(preprocessedFaces, faceLabels);**\n\nThis one line of code will run the whole face recognition training algorithm that you selected (for example, Eigenfaces, Fisherfaces, or potentially other algorithms). If you have just a few people with less than 20 faces, then this training should return very quickly, but if you have many people with many faces, it is possible that `train()` function will take several seconds or even minutes to process all the data.\n\n### Viewing the learned knowledge\n\nWhile it is not necessary, it is quite useful to view the internal data structures that the face recognition algorithm generated when learning your training data, particularly if you understand the theory behind the algorithm you selected and want to verify if it worked or find why it is not working as you hoped. The internal data structures can be different for different algorithms, but luckily they are the same for Eigenfaces and Fisherfaces, so let's just look at those two. They are both based on 1D eigenvector matrices that appear somewhat like faces when viewed as 2D images, therefore it is common to refer eigenvectors as eigenfaces when using the Eigenface algorithm or as fisherfaces when using the Fisherface algorithm.\n\nIn simple terms, the basic principle of Eigenfaces is that it will calculate a set of special images (eigenfaces) and blending ratios (eigenvalues), which when combined in different ways can generate each of the images in the training set but can also be used to differentiate the many face images in the training set from each other. For example, if some of the faces in the training set had a moustache and some did not, then there would be at least one eigenface that shows a moustache, and so the training faces with a moustache would have a high blending ratio for that eigenface to show that it has a moustache, and the faces without a moustache would have a low blending ratio for that eigenvector. If the training set had 5 people with 20 faces for each person, then there would be 100 eigenfaces and eigenvalues to differentiate the 100 total faces in the training set, and in fact these would be sorted so the first few eigenfaces and eigenvalues would be the most critical differentiators, and the last few eigenfaces and eigenvalues would just be random pixel noises that don't actually help to differentiate the data. So it is common practice to discard some of the last eigenfaces and just keep the first 50 or so eigenfaces.\n\nIn comparison, the basic principle of Fisherfaces is that instead of calculating a special eigenvector and eigenvalue for each image in the training set, it only calculates one special eigenvector and eigenvalue for each person. So in the preceding example that has 5 people with 20 faces for each person, the Eigenfaces algorithm would use 100 eigenfaces and eigenvalues whereas the Fisherfaces algorithm would use just 5 fisherfaces and eigenvalues.\n\nTo access the internal data structures of the Eigenfaces and Fisherfaces algorithms, we must use the `cv::Algorithm::get()` function to obtain them at runtime, as there is no access to them at compile time. The data structures are used internally as part of mathematical calculations rather than for image processing, so they are usually stored as floating-point numbers typically ranging between 0.0 and 1.0, rather than 8-bit uchar pixels ranging from 0 to 255, similar to pixels in regular images. Also, they are often either a 1D row or column matrix or they make up one of the many 1D rows or columns of a larger matrix. So before you can display many of these internal data structures, you must reshape them to be the correct rectangular shape, and convert them to 8-bit uchar pixels between 0 and 255. As the matrix data might range from 0.0 to 1.0 or -1.0 to 1.0 or anything else, you can use the `cv::normalize()` function with the `cv::NORM_MINMAX` option to make sure it outputs data ranging between 0 and 255 no matter what the input range may be. Let's create a function to perform this reshaping to a rectangle and conversion to 8-bit pixels for us as follows:\n\n \/\/ Convert the matrix row or column (float matrix) to a\n \/\/ rectangular 8-bit image that can be displayed or saved.\n \/\/ Scales the values to be between 0 to 255.\n Mat getImageFrom1DFloatMat(const Mat matrixRow, int height)\n {\n \/\/ Make a rectangular shaped image instead of a single row.\n **Mat rectangularMat = matrixRow.reshape(1, height);**\n \/\/ Scale the values to be between 0 to 255 and store them \n \/\/ as a regular 8-bit uchar image.\n Mat dst;\n **normalize(rectangularMat, dst, 0, 255, NORM_MINMAX,**\n **CV_8UC1);**\n return dst;\n }\n\nTo make it easier to debug OpenCV code and even more so when internally debugging the `cv::Algorithm` data structure, we can use the `ImageUtils.cpp` and `ImageUtils.h` files to display information about a `cv::Mat` structure easily as follows:\n\n Mat img = ...;\n printMatInfo(img, \"My Image\");\n\nYou will see something similar to the following printed to your console:\n\n**My Image: 640w480h 3ch 8bpp, range[79,253][20,58][18,87]**\n\nThis tells you that it is 640 elements wide and 480 high (that is, a 640 x 480 image or a 480 x 640 matrix, depending on how you view it), with three channels per pixel that are 8-bits each (that is, a regular BGR image), and it shows the min and max value in the image for each of the color channels.\n\n### Note\n\nIt is also possible to print the actual contents of an image or matrix by using the `printMat()` function instead of the `printMatInfo()` function. This is quite handy for viewing matrices and multichannel-float matrices as these can be quite tricky to view for beginners.\n\nThe ImageUtils code is mostly for OpenCV's C interface, but is gradually including more of the C++ interface over time. The the most recent version can always be found at .\n\n### Average face\n\nBoth the Eigenfaces and Fisherfaces algorithms first calculate the average face that is the mathematical average of all the training images, so they can subtract the average image from each facial image to have better face recognition results. So let's view the average face from our training set. The average face is named `mean` in the Eigenfaces and Fisherfaces implementations, shown as follows:\n\n **Mat averageFace = model- >get(\"mean\");**\n printMatInfo(averageFace, \"averageFace (row)\");\n \/\/ Convert a 1D float row matrix to a regular 8-bit image.\n **averageFace = getImageFrom1DFloatMat(averageFace, faceHeight);**\n printMatInfo(averageFace, \"averageFace\");\n imshow(\"averageFace\", averageFace);\n\nYou should now see an average face image on your screen similar to the following (enlarged) image that is a combination of a man, a woman, and a baby. You should also see similar text shown on your console:\n\n**averageFace (row): 4900w1h 1ch 64bpp, range[5.21,251.47]**\n\n**averageFace: 70w70h 1ch 8bpp, range[0,255]**\n\nThe image would appear as shown in the following screenshot:\n\nNotice that **averageFace (row)** was a single row matrix of 64-bit floats, whereas **averageFace** is a rectangular image with 8-bit pixels covering the full range from 0 to 255.\n\n### Eigenvalues, Eigenfaces, and Fisherfaces\n\nLet's view the actual component values in the eigenvalues (as text):\n\n **Mat eigenvalues = model- >get(\"eigenvalues\");**\n printMat(eigenvalues, \"eigenvalues\");\n\nFor Eigenfaces, there is one eigenvalue for each face, so if we have three people with four faces each, we get a column vector with 12 eigenvalues sorted from best to worst as follows:\n\n eigenvalues: 1w18h 1ch 64bpp, range[4.52e+04,2.02836e+06]\n 2.03e+06\n 1.09e+06\n 5.23e+05\n 4.04e+05\n 2.66e+05\n 2.31e+05\n 1.85e+05\n 1.23e+05\n 9.18e+04\n 7.61e+04\n 6.91e+04\n 4.52e+04\n\nFor Fisherfaces, there is just one eigenvalue for each extra person, so if there are three people with four faces each, we just get a row vector with two eigenvalues as follows:\n\n eigenvalues: 2w1h 1ch 64bpp, range[152.4,316.6]\n 317, 152\n\nTo view the eigenvectors (as Eigenface or Fisherface images), we must extract them as columns from the big eigenvectors matrix. As data in OpenCV and C\/C++ is normally stored in matrices using row-major order, it means that to extract a column, we should use the `Mat::clone()` function to ensure the data will be continuous, otherwise we can't reshape the data to a rectangle. Once we have a continuous column Mat, we can display the eigenvectors using the `getImageFrom1DFloatMat()` function just like we did for the average face:\n\n \/\/ Get the eigenvectors\n **Mat eigenvectors = model- >get(\"eigenvectors\");**\n printMatInfo(eigenvectors, \"eigenvectors\");\n\n \/\/ Show the best 20 eigenfaces\n for (int i = 0; i < min(20, eigenvectors.cols); i++) {\n \/\/ Create a continuous column vector from eigenvector #i.\n **Mat eigenvector = eigenvectors.col(i).clone();**\n\n Mat eigenface = getImageFrom1DFloatMat(eigenvector,\n faceHeight);\n imshow(format(\"Eigenface%d\", i), eigenface);\n }\n\nThe following figure displays eigenvectors as images. You can see that for three people with four faces, there are 12 Eigenfaces (left-hand side of the figure) or two Fisherfaces (right-hand side).\n\nNotice that both Eigenfaces and Fisherfaces seem to have the resemblance of some facial features but they don't really look like faces. This is simply because the average face was subtracted from them, so they just show the differences for each Eigenface from the average face. The numbering shows which Eigenface it is, because they are always ordered from the most significant Eigenface to the least significant Eigenface, and if you have 50 or more Eigenfaces then the later Eigenfaces will often just show random image noise and therefore should be discarded.\n\n## Step 4: Face recognition\n\nNow that we have trained the Eigenfaces or Fisherfaces machine-learning algorithm with our set of training images and face labels, we are finally ready to figure out who a person is, just from a facial image! This last step is referred to as face recognition or face identification.\n\n### Face identification: Recognizing people from their face\n\nThanks to OpenCV's `FaceRecognizer` class, we can identify the person in a photo simply by calling the `FaceRecognizer::predict()` function on a facial image as follows:\n\n int identity = model->predict(preprocessedFace);\n\nThis `identity` value will be the label number that we originally used when collecting faces for training. For example, 0 for the first person, 1 for the second person, and so on.\n\nThe problem with this identification is that it will always predict one of the given people, even if the input photo is of an unknown person or of a car. It would still tell you which person is the most likely person in that photo, so it can be difficult to trust the result! The solution is to obtain a confidence metric so we can judge how reliable the result is, and if it seems that the confidence is too low then we assume it is an unknown person.\n\n### Face verification: Validating that it is the claimed person\n\nTo confirm if the result of the prediction is reliable or whether it should be taken as an unknown person, we perform face verification (also referred to as face authentication), to obtain a confidence metric showing whether the single face image is similar to the claimed person (as opposed to face identification, which we just performed, comparing the single face image with many people).\n\nOpenCV's `FaceRecognizer` class can return a confidence metric when you call the `predict()` function but unfortunately the confidence metric is simply based on the distance in eigen-subspace, so it is not very reliable. The method we will use is to reconstruct the facial image using the eigenvectors and eigenvalues, and compare this reconstructed image with the input image. If the person had many of their faces included in the training set, then the reconstruction should work quite well from the learnt eigenvectors and eigenvalues, but if the person did not have any faces in the training set (or did not have any that have similar lighting and facial expressions as the test image), then the reconstructed face will look very different from the input face, signaling that it is probably an unknown face.\n\nRemember we said earlier that the Eigenfaces and Fisherfaces algorithms are based on the notion that an image can be roughly represented as a set of eigenvectors (special face images) and eigenvalues (blending ratios). So if we combine all the eigenvectors with the eigenvalues from one of the faces in the training set then we should obtain a fairly close replica of that original training image. The same applies with other images that are similar to the training set--if we combine the trained eigenvectors with the eigenvalues from a similar test image, we should be able to reconstruct an image that is somewhat a replica to the test image.\n\nOnce again, OpenCV's `FaceRecognizer` class makes it quite easy to generate a reconstructed face from any input image, by using the `subspaceProject()` function to project onto the eigenspace and the `subspaceReconstruct()` function to go back from eigenspace to image space. The trick is that we need to convert it from a floating-point row matrix to a rectangular 8-bit image (like we did when displaying the average face and eigenfaces), but we don't want to normalize the data, as it is already in the ideal scale to compare with the original image. If we normalized the data, it would have a different brightness and contrast from the input image, and it would become difficult to compare the image similarity just by using the L2 relative error. This is done as follows:\n\n \/\/ Get some required data from the FaceRecognizer model.\n Mat eigenvectors = model->get(\"eigenvectors\");\n Mat averageFaceRow = model->get(\"mean\");\n\n \/\/ Project the input image onto the eigenspace.\n **Mat projection = subspaceProject(eigenvectors, averageFaceRow,**\n **preprocessedFace.reshape(1,1));**\n\n \/\/ Generate the reconstructed face back from the eigenspace.\n **Mat reconstructionRow = subspaceReconstruct(eigenvectors,**\n **averageFaceRow, projection);**\n\n \/\/ Make it a rectangular shaped image instead of a single row.\n Mat reconstructionMat = reconstructionRow.reshape(1, \n faceHeight);\n \/\/ Convert the floating-point pixels to regular 8-bit uchar.\n Mat reconstructedFace = Mat(reconstructionMat.size(), CV_8U);\n reconstructionMat.convertTo(reconstructedFace, CV_8U, 1, 0);\n\nThe following image shows two typical reconstructed faces. The face on the left-hand side was reconstructed well because it was from a known person, whereas the face on the right-hand side was reconstructed badly because it was from an unknown person or a known person but with unknown lighting conditions\/facial expression\/face direction.\n\nWe can now calculate how similar this reconstructed face is to the input face by using the same `getSimilarity()` function we created previously for comparing two images, where a value less than 0.3 implies that the two images are very similar. For Eigenfaces, there is one eigenvector for each face, so reconstruction tends to work well and therefore we can typically use a threshold of 0.5, but Fisherfaces has just one eigenvector for each person, so reconstruction will not work as well and therefore it needs a higher threshold, say 0.7. This is done as follows:\n\n similarity = getSimilarity(preprocessedFace, \n reconstructedFace);\n if (similarity > UNKNOWN_PERSON_THRESHOLD) {\n identity = -1; \/\/ Unknown person.\n }\n\nNow you can just print the identity to the console, or use it for wherever your imagination takes you! Remember that this face recognition method and this face verification method are only reliable in the certain conditions that you train it for. So to obtain good recognition accuracy, you will need to ensure that the training set of each person covers the full range of lighting conditions, facial expressions, and angles that you expect to test with. The face preprocessing stage helped reduce some differences with lighting conditions and in-plane rotation (if the person tilts their head towards their left or right shoulder), but for other differences such as out-of-plane rotation (if the person turns their head towards the left-hand side or right-hand side), it will only work if it is covered well in your training set.\n\n## Finishing touches: Saving and loading files\n\nYou could potentially add a command-line based method that processes input files and saves them to the disk, or even perform face detection, face preprocessing and\/or face recognition as a web service, and so on. For these types of projects, it is quite easy to add the desired functionality by using the `save` and `load` functions of the `FaceRecognizer` class. You may also want to save the trained data and then load it on the program's start up.\n\nSaving the trained model to an XML or YML file is very easy:\n\n **model- >save(\"trainedModel.yml\");**\n\nYou may also want to save the array of preprocessed faces and labels, if you will want to add more data to the training set later.\n\nFor example, here is some sample code for loading the trained model from a file. Note that you must specify the face recognition algorithm (for example `FaceRecognizer.Eigenfaces` or `FaceRecognizer.Fisherfaces`) that was originally used to create the trained model:\n\n string facerecAlgorithm = \"FaceRecognizer.Fisherfaces\";\n model = Algorithm::create(facerecAlgorithm);\n Mat labels;\n try {\n **model- >load(\"trainedModel.yml\");**\n labels = model->get(\"labels\");\n } catch (cv::Exception &e) {}\n if (labels.rows <= 0) {\n cerr << \"ERROR: Couldn't load trained data from \"\n \"[trainedModel.yml]!\" << endl;\n exit(1);\n }\n\n## Finishing touches: Making a nice and interactive GUI\n\nWhile the code given so far in this chapter is sufficient for a whole face recognition system, there still needs to be a way to put the data into the system and a way to use it. Many face recognition systems for research will choose the ideal input to be text files listing where the static image files are stored on the computer, as well as other important data such as the true name or identity of the person and perhaps true pixel coordinates of regions of the face (such as ground truth of where the face and eye centers actually are). This would either be collected manually by another face recognition system.\n\nThe ideal output would then be a text file comparing the recognition results with the ground truth, so that statistics may be obtained for comparing the face recognition system with other face recognition systems.\n\nHowever, as the face recognition system in this chapter is designed for learning as well as practical fun purposes, rather than competing with the latest research methods it is useful to have an easy-to-use GUI that allows face collection, training, and testing, interactively from the webcam in real time. So this section will provide an interactive GUI providing these features. The reader is expected to either use this provided GUI that comes with this book, or to modify the GUI for their own purposes, or to ignore this GUI and design their own GUI to perform the face recognition techniques discussed so far.\n\nAs we need the GUI to perform multiple tasks, let's create a set of modes or states that the GUI will have, with buttons or mouse clicks for the user to change modes:\n\n * **Startup** : This state loads and initializes the data and webcam.\n * **Detection** : This state detects faces and shows them with preprocessing, until the user clicks on the **Add Person** button.\n * **Collection** : This state collects faces for the current person, until the user clicks anywhere in the window. This also shows the most recent face of each person. User clicks either one of the existing people or the **Add Person** button, to collect faces for different people.\n * **Training** : In this state, the system is trained with the help of all the collected faces of all the collected people.\n * **Recognition** : This consists of highlighting the recognized person and showing a confidence meter. The user clicks either one of the people or the **Add Person** button, to return to mode 2 (Collection).\n\nTo quit, the user can hit Escape in the window at any time. Let's also add a **Delete All** mode that restarts a new face recognition system, and a **Debug** button that toggles the display of extra debug info. We can create an enumerated `mode` variable to show the current mode.\n\n### Drawing the GUI elements\n\nTo display the current mode on the screen, let's create a function to draw text easily. OpenCV comes with a `cv::putText()` function with several fonts and anti-aliasing, but it can be tricky to place the text in the correct location that you want. Luckily, there is also a `cv::getTextSize()` function to calculate the bounding box around the text, so we can create a wrapper function to make it easier to place text. We want to be able to place text along any edge of the window and make sure it is completely visible and also to allow placing multiple lines or words of text next to each other without overwriting each other. So here is a wrapper function to allow you to specify either left-justified or right-justified, as well as to specify top-justified or bottom-justified, and return the bounding box, so we can easily draw multiple lines of text on any corner or edge of the window:\n\n \/\/ Draw text into an image. Defaults to top-left-justified \n \/\/ text, so give negative x coords for right-justified text,\n \/\/ and\/or negative y coords for bottom-justified text.\n \/\/ Returns the bounding rect around the drawn text.\n Rect drawString(Mat img, string text, Point coord, Scalar \n color, float fontScale = 0.6f, int thickness = 1,\n int fontFace = FONT_HERSHEY_COMPLEX);\n\nNow to display the current mode on the GUI, as the background of the window will be the camera feed, it is quite possible that if we simply draw text over the camera feed, it might be the same color as the camera background! So let's just draw a black shadow of text that is just 1 pixel apart from the foreground text we want to draw. Let's also draw a line of helpful text below it, so the user knows the steps to follow. Here is an example of how to draw some text using the `drawString()` function:\n\n string msg = \"Click [Add Person] when ready to collect faces.\";\n \/\/ Draw it as black shadow & again as white text.\n float txtSize = 0.4;\n int BORDER = 10;\n **drawString(displayedFrame, msg, Point(BORDER, -BORDER-2),**\n CV_RGB(0,0,0), txtSize);\n **Rect rcHelp = drawString(displayedFrame, msg, Point(BORDER+1,**\n -BORDER-1), CV_RGB(255,255,255), txtSize);\n\nThe following partial screenshot shows the mode and info at the bottom of the GUI window, overlaid on top of the camera image:\n\nWe mentioned that we want a few GUI buttons, so let's create a function to draw a GUI button easily as follows:\n\n \/\/ Draw a GUI button into the image, using drawString().\n \/\/ Can give a minWidth to have several buttons of same width.\n \/\/ Returns the bounding rect around the drawn button.\n Rect drawButton(Mat img, string text, Point coord,\n int minWidth = 0)\n {\n const int B = 10;\n Point textCoord = Point(coord.x + B, coord.y + B);\n \/\/ Get the bounding box around the text.\n **Rect rcText = drawString(img, text, textCoord,**\n **CV_RGB(0,0,0));**\n \/\/ Draw a filled rectangle around the text.\n Rect rcButton = Rect(rcText.x - B, rcText.y - B,\n rcText.width + 2*B, rcText.height + 2*B);\n \/\/ Set a minimum button width.\n if (rcButton.width < minWidth)\n rcButton.width = minWidth;\n \/\/ Make a semi-transparent white rectangle.\n Mat matButton = img(rcButton);\n matButton += CV_RGB(90, 90, 90);\n \/\/ Draw a non-transparent white border.\n **rectangle(img, rcButton, CV_RGB(200,200,200), 1, CV_AA);**\n\n \/\/ Draw the actual text that will be displayed.\n **drawString(img, text, textCoord, CV_RGB(10,55,20));**\n\n return rcButton;\n }\n\nNow we create several clickable GUI buttons using the `drawButton()` function, which will always be shown at the top-left of the GUI, as shown in the following partial screenshot:\n\nAs we mentioned, the GUI program has some modes that it switches between (as a finite state machine), beginning with the Startup mode. We will store the current mode as the `m_mode` variable.\n\n#### Startup mode\n\nIn Startup mode, we just need to load the XML detector files to detect the face and eyes and initialize the webcam, which we've already covered. Let's also create a main GUI window with a mouse callback function that OpenCV will call whenever the user moves or clicks their mouse in our window. It may also be desirable to set the camera resolution to something reasonable, for example, 640 x 480, if the camera supports it. This is done as follows:\n\n \/\/ Create a GUI window for display on the screen.\n namedWindow(windowName);\n \/\/ Call \"onMouse()\" when the user clicks in the window.\n setMouseCallback(windowName, onMouse, 0);\n\n \/\/ Set the camera resolution. Only works for some systems.\n videoCapture.set(CV_CAP_PROP_FRAME_WIDTH, 640);\n videoCapture.set(CV_CAP_PROP_FRAME_HEIGHT, 480);\n\n \/\/ We're already initialized, so let's start in Detection mode.\n m_mode = MODE_DETECTION;\n\n#### Detection mode\n\nIn Detection mode, we want to continuously detect faces and eyes, draw rectangles or circles around them to show the detection result, and show the current preprocessed face. In fact we will want these to be displayed no matter which mode we are in. The only thing special about Detection mode is that it will change to the next mode (Collection) when the user clicks the **Add Person** button.\n\nIf you remember from the detection step previously in this chapter, the output of our detection stage will be:\n\n * `Mat preprocessedFace`: The preprocessed face (if face and eyes were detected)\n * `Rect faceRect`: The detected face region coordinates\n * `Point leftEye`, `rightEye`: The detected left and right eye center coordinates\n\nSo we should check if a preprocessed face was returned and draw a rectangle and circles around the face and eyes if they were detected as follows:\n\n bool gotFaceAndEyes = false;\n if (preprocessedFace.data)\n gotFaceAndEyes = true;\n\n if (faceRect.width > 0) {\n \/\/ Draw an anti-aliased rectangle around the detected face.\n **rectangle(displayedFrame, faceRect, CV_RGB(255, 255, 0), 2,**\n **CV_AA);**\n\n \/\/ Draw light-blue anti-aliased circles for the 2 eyes.\n Scalar eyeColor = CV_RGB(0,255,255);\n if (leftEye.x >= 0) { \/\/ Check if the eye was detected\n **circle(displayedFrame, Point(faceRect.x + leftEye.x,**\n **faceRect.y + leftEye.y), 6, eyeColor, 1,**\n **CV_AA);**\n }\n if (rightEye.x >= 0) { \/\/ Check if the eye was detected\n **circle(displayedFrame, Point(faceRect.x + rightEye.x,**\n **faceRect.y + rightEye.y), 6, eyeColor, 1,**\n **CV_AA);**\n }\n }\n\nWe will overlay the current preprocessed face at the top-center of the window as follows:\n\n int cx = (displayedFrame.cols - faceWidth) \/ 2;\n if (preprocessedFace.data) {\n \/\/ Get a BGR version of the face, since the output is BGR.\n Mat srcBGR = Mat(preprocessedFace.size(), CV_8UC3);\n cvtColor(preprocessedFace, srcBGR, CV_GRAY2BGR);\n\n \/\/ Get the destination ROI.\n Rect dstRC = Rect(cx, BORDER, faceWidth, faceHeight);\n Mat dstROI = displayedFrame(dstRC);\n\n \/\/ Copy the pixels from src to dst.\n **srcBGR.copyTo(dstROI);**\n }\n \/\/ Draw an anti-aliased border around the face.\n **rectangle(displayedFrame, Rect(cx-1, BORDER-1, faceWidth+2,**\n faceHeight+2), CV_RGB(200,200,200), 1, CV_AA);\n\nThe following screenshot shows the displayed GUI when in Detection mode. The preprocessed face is shown at the top-center, and the detected face and eyes are marked:\n\n#### Collection mode\n\nWe enter Collection mode when the user clicks on the **Add Person** button to signal that they want to begin collecting faces for a new person. As mentioned previously, we have limited the face collection to one face per second and then only if it has changed noticeably from the previously collected face. And remember, we decided to collect not only the preprocessed face but also the mirror image of the preprocessed face.\n\nIn Collection mode, we want to show the most recent face of each known person and let the user click on one of those people to add more faces to them or click the **Add Person** button to add a new person to the collection. The user must click somewhere in the middle of the window to continue to the next (Training) mode.\n\nSo first we need to keep a reference to the latest face that was collected for each person. We'll do this by updating the `m_latestFaces` array of integers, which just stores the array index of each person, from the big `preprocessedFaces` array (that is, the collection of all faces of all the people). As we also store the mirrored face in that array, we want to reference the second last face, not the last face. This code should be appended to the code that adds a new face (and mirrored face) to the `preprocessedFaces` array as follows:\n\n \/\/ Keep a reference to the latest face of each person.\n m_latestFaces[m_selectedPerson] = preprocessedFaces.size() - 2;\n\nWe just have to remember to always grow or shrink the `m_latestFaces` array whenever a new person is added or deleted (for example, due to the user clicking on the **Add Person** button). Now let's display the most recent face for each of the collected people, on the right-hand side of the window (both in Collection mode and Recognition mode later) as follows:\n\n m_gui_faces_left = displayedFrame.cols - BORDER - faceWidth;\n m_gui_faces_top = BORDER;\n for (int i=0; i= 0 && index < (int)preprocessedFaces.size()) {\n Mat srcGray = preprocessedFaces[index];\n if (srcGray.data) {\n \/\/ Get a BGR face, since the output is BGR.\n Mat srcBGR = Mat(srcGray.size(), CV_8UC3);\n cvtColor(srcGray, srcBGR, CV_GRAY2BGR);\n\n \/\/ Get the destination ROI\n int y = min(m_gui_faces_top + i * faceHeight,\n displayedFrame.rows - faceHeight);\n Rect dstRC = Rect(m_gui_faces_left, y, faceWidth,\n faceHeight);\n Mat dstROI = displayedFrame(dstRC);\n\n \/\/ Copy the pixels from src to dst.\n **srcBGR.copyTo(dstROI);**\n }\n }\n }\n\nWe also want to highlight the current person being collected, using a thick red border around their face. This is done as follows:\n\n if (m_mode == MODE_COLLECT_FACES) {\n if (m_selectedPerson >= 0 &&\n m_selectedPerson < m_numPersons) {\n int y = min(m_gui_faces_top + m_selectedPerson * \n faceHeight, displayedFrame.rows - \n faceHeight);\n Rect rc = Rect(m_gui_faces_left, y, faceWidth, \n faceHeight);\n **rectangle(displayedFrame, rc, CV_RGB(255,0,0), 3,**\n **CV_AA);**\n }\n }\n\nThe following partial screenshot shows the typical display when faces for several people have been collected. The user can click any of the people at the top-right to collect more faces for that person.\n\n#### Training mode\n\nWhen the user finally clicks in the middle of the window, the face recognition algorithm will begin training on all the collected faces. But it is important to make sure there have been enough faces or people collected, otherwise the program may crash. In general, this just requires making sure there is at least one face in the training set (which implies there is at least one person). But the Fisherfaces algorithm looks for comparisons between people, so if there are less than two people in the training set, it will also crash. So we must check whether the selected face recognition algorithm is Fisherfaces. If it is, then we require at least two people with faces, otherwise we require at least one person with a face. If there isn't enough data, then the program goes back to Collection mode so the user can add more faces before training.\n\nTo check if there are at least two people with collected faces, we can make sure that when a user clicks on the **Add Person** button, a new person is only added if there isn't any empty person (that is, a person that was added but does not have any collected faces yet). We can then also make sure that if there are just two people and we are using the Fisherfaces algorithm, then we must make sure an `m_latestFaces` reference was set for the last person during the collection mode. `m_latestFaces[i]` is initialized to -1 when there still haven't been any faces added to that person, and then it becomes `0` or higher once faces for that person have been added. This is done as follows:\n\n \/\/ Check if there is enough data to train from.\n bool haveEnoughData = true;\n if (!strcmp(facerecAlgorithm, \"FaceRecognizer.Fisherfaces\")) {\n **if ((m_numPersons < 2) ||**\n **(m_numPersons == 2 && m_latestFaces[1] < 0) ) {**\n cout << \"Fisherfaces needs >= 2 people!\" << endl;\n haveEnoughData = false;\n }\n }\n **if (m_numPersons < 1 || preprocessedFaces.size() <= 0 ||**\n preprocessedFaces.size() != faceLabels.size()) {\n cout << \"Need data before it can be learnt!\" << endl;\n haveEnoughData = false;\n }\n\n if (haveEnoughData) {\n \/\/ Train collected faces using Eigenfaces or Fisherfaces.\n **model = learnCollectedFaces(preprocessedFaces, faceLabels,**\n **facerecAlgorithm);**\n\n \/\/ Now that training is over, we can start recognizing!\n m_mode = MODE_RECOGNITION;\n }\n else {\n \/\/ Not enough training data, go back to Collection mode!\n m_mode = MODE_COLLECT_FACES;\n }\n\nThe training may take a fraction of a second or it may take several seconds or even minutes, depending on how much data is collected. Once the training of collected faces is complete, the face recognition system will automatically enter Recognition mode.\n\n#### Recognition mode\n\nIn Recognition mode, a confidence meter is shown next to the preprocessed face, so the user knows how reliable the recognition is. If the confidence level is higher than the unknown threshold, it will draw a green rectangle around the recognized person to show the result easily. The user can add more faces for further training if they click on the **Add Person** button or one of the existing people, which causes the program to return to the Collection mode.\n\nNow we have obtained the recognized identity and the similarity with the reconstructed face as mentioned earlier. To display the confidence meter, we know that the L2 similarity value is generally between 0 to 0.5 for high confidence and between 0.5 to 1.0 for low confidence, so we can just subtract it from 1.0 to get the confidence level between 0.0 to 1.0. Then we just draw a filled rectangle using the confidence level as the ratio shown as follows:\n\n int cx = (displayedFrame.cols - faceWidth) \/ 2;\n Point ptBottomRight = Point(cx - 5, BORDER + faceHeight);\n Point ptTopLeft = Point(cx - 15, BORDER);\n\n \/\/ Draw a gray line showing the threshold for \"unknown\" people.\n Point ptThreshold = Point(ptTopLeft.x, ptBottomRight.y -\n (1.0 - UNKNOWN_PERSON_THRESHOLD) * faceHeight);\n rectangle(displayedFrame, ptThreshold, Point(ptBottomRight.x,\n ptThreshold.y), CV_RGB(200,200,200), 1, CV_AA);\n\n \/\/ Crop the confidence rating between 0 to 1 to fit in the bar.\n double confidenceRatio = 1.0 - min(max(similarity, 0.0), 1.0);\n Point ptConfidence = Point(ptTopLeft.x, ptBottomRight.y -\n confidenceRatio * faceHeight);\n\n \/\/ Show the light-blue confidence bar.\n **rectangle(displayedFrame, ptConfidence, ptBottomRight,**\n **CV_RGB(0,255,255), CV_FILLED, CV_AA);**\n \/\/ Show the gray border of the bar.\n rectangle(displayedFrame, ptTopLeft, ptBottomRight,\n CV_RGB(200,200,200), 1, CV_AA);\n\nTo highlight the recognized person, we draw a green rectangle around their face as follows:\n\n if (identity >= 0 && identity < 1000) {\n int y = min(m_gui_faces_top + identity * faceHeight,\n displayedFrame.rows - faceHeight);\n Rect rc = Rect(m_gui_faces_left, y, faceWidth, faceHeight);\n **rectangle(displayedFrame, rc, CV_RGB(0,255,0), 3, CV_AA);**\n }\n\nThe following partial screenshot shows a typical display when running in Recognition mode, showing the confidence meter next to the preprocessed face at the top-center, and highlighting the recognized person in the top-right corner.\n\n### Checking and handling mouse clicks\n\nNow that we have all our GUI elements drawn, we just need to process mouse events. When we initialized the display window, we told OpenCV that we want a mouse event callback to our `onMouse` function. We don't care about mouse movement, only the mouse clicks, so first we skip the mouse events that aren't for the left-mouse-button click as follows:\n\n void onMouse(int event, int x, int y, int, void*)\n {\n if (event != CV_EVENT_LBUTTONDOWN)\n return;\n\n Point pt = Point(x,y);\n\n ... (handle mouse clicks) ...\n\n }\n\nAs we obtained the drawn rectangle bounds of the buttons when drawing them, we just check if the mouse click location is in any of our button regions by calling OpenCV's `inside()` function. Now we can check for each button we have created.\n\nWhen the user clicks on the **Add Person** button, we just add 1 to the `m_numPersons` variable, allocate more space in the `m_latestFaces` variable, select the new person for collection, and begin Collection mode (no matter which mode we were previously in).\n\nBut there is one complication; to ensure that we have at least one face for each person when training, we will only allocate space for a new person if there isn't already a person with zero faces. This will ensure that we can always check the value of `m_latestFaces[m_numPersons-1]` to see if a face has been collected for every person. This is done as follows:\n\n if (pt.inside(m_btnAddPerson)) {\n \/\/ Ensure there isn't a person without collected faces.\n if ((m_numPersons==0) ||\n (m_latestFaces[m_numPersons-1] >= 0)) {\n \/\/ Add a new person.\n **m_numPersons++;**\n m_latestFaces.push_back(-1);\n }\n m_selectedPerson = m_numPersons - 1;\n **m_mode = MODE_COLLECT_FACES;**\n }\n\nThis method can be used to test for other button clicks, such as toggling the debug flag as follows:\n\n else if (pt.inside(m_btnDebug)) {\n m_debug = !m_debug;\n }\n\nTo handle the **Delete All** button, we need to empty various data structures that are local to our main loop (that is, not accessible from the mouse event callback function), so we change to the **Delete All** mode and then we can delete everything from inside the main loop. We also must deal with the user clicking the main window (that is, not a button). If they clicked on one of the people on the right-hand side, then we want to select that person and change to Collection mode. Or if they clicked in the main window while in Collection mode, then we want to change to Training mode. This is done as follows:\n\n else {\n \/\/ Check if the user clicked on a face from the list.\n int clickedPerson = -1;\n for (int i=0; i= 0) {\n Rect rcFace = Rect(m_gui_faces_left, \n m_gui_faces_top + i * faceHeight, \n faceWidth, faceHeight);\n if (pt.inside(rcFace)) {\n clickedPerson = i;\n break;\n }\n }\n }\n \/\/ Change the selected person, if the user clicked a face.\n if (clickedPerson >= 0) {\n \/\/ Change the current person & collect more photos.\n **m_selectedPerson = clickedPerson;**\n **m_mode = MODE_COLLECT_FACES;**\n }\n \/\/ Otherwise they clicked in the center.\n else {\n \/\/ Change to training mode if it was collecting faces.\n if (m_mode == MODE_COLLECT_FACES) {\n **m_mode = MODE_TRAINING;**\n }\n }\n }\n\n# Summary\n\nThis chapter has shown you all the steps required to create a real time face recognition app, with enough preprocessing to allow some differences between the training set conditions and the testing set conditions, just using basic algorithms. We used face detection to find the location of a face within the camera image, followed by several forms of face preprocessing to reduce the effects of different lighting conditions, camera and face orientations, and facial expressions. We then trained an Eigenfaces or Fisherfaces machine-learning system with the preprocessed faces we collected, and finally we performed face recognition to see who the person is with face verification providing a confidence metric in case it is an unknown person.\n\nRather than providing a command-line tool that processes image files in an offline manner, we combined all the preceding steps into a self-contained real time GUI program to allow immediate use of the face recognition system. You should be able to modify the behavior of the system for your own purposes, such as to allow an automatic login of your computer, or if you are interested in improving the recognition reliability then you can read conference papers about recent advances in face recognition to potentially improve each step of the program until it is reliable enough for your specific needs. For example, you could improve the face preprocessing stages, or use a more advanced machine-learning algorithm, or an even better face verification algorithm, based on methods at and \n\n# References\n\n * _Rapid Object Detection using a Boosted Cascade of Simple Features_ , _P. Viola and M.J. Jones_ , _Proceedings of the IEEE Transactions on CVPR 2001_ , _Vol. 1_ , _pp. 511-518_\n * _An Extended Set of Haar-like Features for Rapid Object Detection_ , _R. Lienhart and J. Maydt_ , _Proceedings of the IEEE Transactions on ICIP 2002_ , _Vol. 1_ , _pp. 900-903_\n * _Face Description with Local Binary Patterns: Application to Face Recognition_ , _T. Ahonen, A. Hadid and M. Pietik ainen_, _Proceedings of the IEEE Transactions on PAMI 2006_ , _Vol. 28_ , _Issue 12_ , _pp. 2037-2041_\n * _Learning OpenCV: Computer Vision with the OpenCV Library_ , _G. Bradski and A. Kaehler_ , _pp. 186-190_ , _O'Reilly Media_.\n * _Eigenfaces for recognition_ , _M. Turk and A. Pentland_ , _Journal of Cognitive Neuroscience 3_ , _pp. 71-86_\n * _Eigenfaces vs. Fisherfaces: Recognition using class specific linear projection_ , _P.N. Belhumeur, J. Hespanha and D. Kriegman_ , _Proceedings of the IEEE Transactions on PAMI 1997_ , _Vol. 19_ , _Issue 7_ , _pp. 711 -720_\n * _Face Recognition with Local Binary Patterns_ , _T. Ahonen, A. Hadid and M. Pietik ainen_, _Computer Vision - ECCV 2004_ , _pp. 469 -48_\n\n# Index\n\n## A\n\n * AAM \/ Overview\n * overview \/ Active Appearance Models overview\n * Model Instantiation \/ Model Instantiation \u2013 playing with the Active Appearance Model\n * search \/ AAM search and fitting\n * addRawViewOutput function \/ Accessing the camera\n * Algorithm\n * TopicngetList() function \/ Training the face recognition system from collected faces\n * algorithms, for descriptor matching\n * brute force matcher \/ Matching of feature points\n * flann-based matcher \/ Matching of feature points\n * alien mode\n * generating, skin detection used \/ Generating an \"alien\" mode using skin detection\n * ALPR\n * about \/ Introduction to ANPR\n * Android\n * program, porting from desktop to \/ Porting from desktop to Android\n * Android 2.2 (Froyo) \/ Porting from desktop to Android\n * Android app\n * reviewing \/ Reviewing the Android app\n * Frames Per Second, displaying for \/ Showing the FPS of the app\n * Android Cartoonifier app\n * customizing \/ Customizing the app\n * Android Emulator \/ Porting from desktop to Android\n * Android gallery\n * about \/ Saving the image to a file and to the Android picture gallery\n * image, saving to \/ Saving the image to a file and to the Android picture gallery\n * Android menu bar\n * cartoon modes, modifying through \/ Changing cartoon modes through the Android menu bar\n * Android NDK app\n * cartoonifier code, adding to \/ Adding the cartoonifier code to the Android NDK app\n * Android notification message\n * displaying, for saved image \/ Showing an Android notification message about a saved image\n * Android project\n * setting up \/ Setting up an Android project that uses OpenCV\n * color formats, used for image processing \/ Color formats used for image processing on Android\n * color format, inputting from camera \/ Input color format from the camera\n * output color format, for display \/ Output color format for display\n * ANN algorithm\n * about \/ OCR classification\n * annotation tool\n * using \/ Annotation tool\n * ANPR\n * about \/ Introduction to ANPR\n * overview \/ Introduction to ANPR\n * ANPR algorithm\n * about \/ ANPR algorithm\n * pattern recognition steps \/ ANPR algorithm\n * plate detection \/ Plate detection\n * plate recognition \/ Plate recognition\n * application architecture\n * about \/ Application architecture\n * application infrastructure\n * about \/ Application infrastructure\n * ARPipeline.hpp \/ ARPipeline.hpp\n * ARPipeline.cpp \/ ARPipeline.cpp\n * support, enabling for 3D visualization in OpenCV \/ Enabling support for 3D visualization in OpenCV\n * arbitrary image, on video\n * searching, feature descriptors used \/ Using feature descriptors to find an arbitrary image on video\n * ARDrawingContext.cpp file \/ ARDrawingContext.cpp\n * ARDrawingContext.hpp file \/ ARDrawingContext.hpp\n * ARDrawingContext class \/ ARDrawingContext.hpp, ARDrawingContext.cpp\n * ARPipeline.cpp file\n * about \/ ARPipeline.cpp\n * ARPipeline.hpp file \/ ARPipeline.hpp\n * ARPipeline class\n * about \/ ARPipeline.hpp\n * AR scene\n * rendering \/ Rendering an AR scene\n * Artificial Neural Network (ANN)\n * about \/ Plate recognition\n * ASM \/ Overview\n * about \/ Active Shape Models\n * PCA, working with \/ Getting the feel of PCA\n * triangulation \/ Triangulation\n * triangle texture warping \/ Triangle texture warping\n * Augmented Reality (AR)\n * rendering \/ Rendering augmented reality\n * Augmented Reality (AR), rendering\n * ARDrawingContext.hpp \/ ARDrawingContext.hpp\n * ARDrawingContext.cpp \/ ARDrawingContext.cpp\n * Augmented Reality (AR) application\n * about \/ Application architecture\n * components \/ Application architecture\n * camera, accessing \/ Accessing the camera\n * AVCaptureDevice class \/ Accessing the camera\n * AVCaptureMovieFileOutput interface\n * about \/ Accessing the camera\n * AVCaptureSession object \/ Accessing the camera\n * AVCaptureStillImageOutput interface\n * about \/ Accessing the camera\n * AVCaptureVideoDataOutput class \/ Accessing the camera\n * AVCaptureVideoDataOutput interface\n * about \/ Accessing the camera\n * AVCaptureVideoPreviewLayer class \/ Accessing the camera\n * AVCaptureVideoPreviewLayer interface\n * about \/ Accessing the camera\n * AVI\n * about \/ Introduction to ANPR\n\n## B\n\n * bilateralFilter() method \/ Generating a color painting and a cartoon\n * black and white sketch\n * generating \/ Generating a black-and-white sketch\n * brute force matcher\n * about \/ Matching of feature points\n * bucket fill tool \/ Implementation of the skin-color changer\n * buildPatternFromImage class\n * about \/ PatternDetector.cpp\n * buildProjectionMatrix function \/ ARDrawingContext.cpp\n * Bundle Adjustment (BA) \/ Refinement of the reconstruction\n\n## C\n\n * calc_scale function \/ Training and visualization, Training and visualization\n * camera\n * color format, inputting from \/ Input color format from the camera\n * accessing \/ Accessing the camera\n * camera-intrinsic matrix\n * about \/ Obtaining the camera-intrinsic matrix\n * obtaining \/ Obtaining the camera-intrinsic matrix\n * CameraCalibration class\n * about \/ Camera calibration\n * camera calibration process\n * about \/ Camera calibration\n * camera matrices\n * finding \/ Finding camera matrices\n * camera motion\n * estimating, from a pair of images \/ Estimating the camera motion from a pair of images\n * camera motion estimation, from pair of images\n * about \/ Estimating the camera motion from a pair of images\n * point matching, rich feature descriptors used \/ Point matching using rich feature descriptors\n * point matching, optical flow used \/ Point matching using optical flow\n * camera matrices, finding \/ Finding camera matrices\n * camera resolution\n * using \/ Using a different camera resolution\n * camera_cailbration.exe package \/ Obtaining the camera-intrinsic matrix\n * candidates search \/ Candidates search\n * Canny edge detector\n * about \/ Generating a black-and-white sketch\n * cartoon\n * generating \/ Generating a color painting and a cartoon\n * cartoon.cpp file \/ Generating a black-and-white sketch, Adding the cartoonifier code to the Android NDK app\n * cartoonifier code\n * adding, to Android NDK app \/ Adding the cartoonifier code to the Android NDK app\n * CartoonifierView class \/ Saving the image to a file and to the Android picture gallery\n * cartoonifyImage() function \/ Generating a black-and-white sketch, Porting from desktop to Android, Adding the cartoonifier code to the Android NDK app, Showing an Android notification message about a saved image\n * CartoonifyImage() function \/ Adding the cartoonifier code to the Android NDK app\n * cartoon modes\n * modifying, through Android menu bar \/ Changing cartoon modes through the Android menu bar\n * CharSegment class \/ OCR segmentation\n * CIELab color space \/ Skin-detection algorithm\n * classification\n * about \/ Classification\n * collection mode \/ Collection mode\n * color format\n * inputting, from camera \/ Input color format from the camera\n * outputting, for display \/ Output color format for display\n * color formats\n * used, for image processing on Android \/ Color formats used for image processing on Android\n * color painting\n * generating \/ Generating a color painting and a cartoon\n * components. Augmented Reality (AR) application\n * video source \/ Application architecture\n * image processing routine \/ Application architecture\n * visualization engine \/ Application architecture\n * computePose function \/ Pattern.cpp\n * contours detection\n * about \/ Contours detection\n * convertTo function \/ Feature extraction\n * corner-based feature detectors \/ Feature extraction\n * correlation-based patch models\n * about \/ Correlation-based patch models\n * discriminative patch models \/ Learning discriminative patch models, Generative versus discriminative patch models\n * generative patch models \/ Generative versus discriminative patch models\n * countNonZero function \/ Feature extraction\n * CPR\n * about \/ Introduction to ANPR\n * cross-match filter\n * about \/ Cross-match filter\n * cv\n * TopicninitModule_contrib() function \/ Training the face recognition system from collected faces\n * TopicnAlgorithmTopicn \/ Training the face recognition system from collected faces, Viewing the learned knowledge\n * cv**BFMatcher class \/ Cross-match filter\n * cv**cornerSubPix function \/ Marker location refinement\n * cv**countNonZero function \/ Marker code recognition\n * cv**FeatureDetector class \/ Feature extraction\n * cv**findCountours function \/ Contours detection\n * cv**findHomography function \/ Homography estimation\n * cv**FlannBasedMatcher method \/ Matching of feature points\n * cv**getPerspectiveTransform function \/ Candidates search\n * cv**getTextSize() function \/ Drawing the GUI elements\n * cv**imshow() method \/ Main camera processing loop for a desktop app\n * cv**Mat object \/ Accessing the webcam\n * cv**normalize() function \/ Viewing the learned knowledge\n * cv**putText() function \/ Drawing the GUI elements\n * cv**setOpenGlDrawCallback method \/ ARDrawingContext.cpp\n * cv**solvePnP function \/ Obtaining the camera-intrinsic matrix\n * cv**VideoCapture**set() method \/ Accessing the webcam\n * cv**VideoCapture object \/ Accessing the webcam\n * cv**waitKey() method \/ Main camera processing loop for a desktop app\n * cv**WINDOW_OPENGL flag \/ Creating OpenGL windows using OpenCV\n * cv\\\n * \\TopicnVideoCapture class \/ Training and visualization\n\n## D\n\n * 3D\n * marker, placing in \/ Placing a marker in 3D\n * 3DMM \/ Overview\n * 3D point clouds\n * visualizing, with PCL \/ Visualizing 3D point clouds with PCL\n * 3D virtual object\n * rendering \/ Rendering the 3D virtual object\n * 3D visualization\n * support, enabling in OpenCV \/ Enabling support for 3D visualization in OpenCV\n * data.txt file \/ Evaluation\n * Delaunay triangulation \/ Triangulation\n * demonstration project\n * about \/ Demonstration\n * main.cpp \/ main.cpp\n * descriptor\n * about \/ Point matching using rich feature descriptors\n * descriptor-extraction algorithms \/ Feature extraction\n * desktop app\n * main camera processing loop \/ Main camera processing loop for a desktop app\n * detected feature points\n * about \/ Feature extraction\n * detection mode \/ Detection mode\n * detection process\n * controlling \/ Putting it all together\n * detectLargestObject()function \/ Eye search regions\n * detect method \/ Feature extraction\n * DetectRegions class \/ Classification\n * dilate() method \/ Implementation of the skin-color changer\n * DirectX \/ Rendering the 3D virtual object\n * display\n * color format, outputting for \/ Output color format for display\n * drawFrame function \/ Rendering an AR scene\n * drawString() function \/ Drawing the GUI elements\n\n## E\n\n * EAGLView class \/ Creating the OpenGL rendering layer, Rendering an AR scene\n * edge filters\n * used, for generating evil mode \/ Generating an \"evil\" mode using edge filters, Skin-detection algorithm, Showing the user where to put their face, Implementation of the skin-color changer\n * ellipse() function \/ Showing the user where to put their face\n * equalizeHist() function \/ Step 2: Face preprocessing\n * erode() method \/ Implementation of the skin-color changer\n * errors, matching\n * false-positive matches \/ Outlier removal\n * false-negative matches \/ Outlier removal\n * estimatePosition function \/ Marker pose estimation\n * evil mode\n * generating, edge filters used \/ Generating an \"evil\" mode using edge filters, Skin-detection algorithm, Showing the user where to put their face, Implementation of the skin-color changer\n * example code\n * using \/ Using the example code\n * extraction\n * about \/ Point matching using rich feature descriptors\n * eye search regions\n * about \/ Eye search regions\n * cascade classifier \/ Eye search regions\n * example \/ Eye search regions\n * face preprocessing, performing \/ Eye search regions\n * geometrical transformation \/ Geometrical transformation, Separate histogram equalization for left and right sides\n * histogram equalization \/ Separate histogram equalization for left and right sides\n * pixel noise effect, reducing \/ Smoothing\n * Elliptical mask \/ Elliptical mask\n\n## F\n\n * face\n * detecting \/ Detecting the face\n * face detection\n * about \/ Face detection and initialization, Introduction to face recognition and face detection, Step 1: Face detection\n * implementing, OpenCV \/ Implementing face detection using OpenCV\n * Haar for object, loading \/ Loading a Haar or LBP detector for object or face detection\n * LBP detector for object, loading \/ Loading a Haar or LBP detector for object or face detection\n * webcam, accessing \/ Accessing the webcam\n * object detecting, LBP Classifier used \/ Detecting an object using the Haar or LBP Classifier\n * object detecting, Haar used \/ Detecting an object using the Haar or LBP Classifier\n * face preprocessing \/ Introduction to face recognition and face detection\n * about \/ Step 2: Face preprocessing\n * eye, detecting \/ Eye detection\n * eye search regions \/ Eye search regions\n * face recognition\n * about \/ Introduction to face recognition and face detection, Step 4: Face recognition\n * from face \/ Face identification: Recognizing people from their face\n * claimed person, verifying \/ Face verification: Validating that it is the claimed person\n * files, saving \/ Finishing touches: Saving and loading files\n * files, loading \/ Finishing touches: Saving and loading files\n * interactive GUI, creating \/ Finishing touches: Making a nice and interactive GUI\n * FaceRecognizer**train() function \/ Training the face recognition system from collected faces\n * faces\n * collecting \/ Step 3: Collecting faces and learning from them\n * researching \/ Step 3: Collecting faces and learning from them\n * preprocessed faces, collecting \/ Collecting preprocessed faces for training\n * face recognition system, training \/ Training the face recognition system from collected faces\n * internal data structures, viewing \/ Viewing the learned knowledge\n * average face \/ Average face\n * eigenvalues \/ Eigenvalues, Eigenfaces, and Fisherfaces\n * eigenfaces \/ Eigenvalues, Eigenfaces, and Fisherfaces\n * Fisherfaces \/ Eigenvalues, Eigenfaces, and Fisherfaces\n * face tracking\n * about \/ Face tracking\n * implementing \/ Face tracker implementation\n * visualization \/ Training and visualization\n * training \/ Training and visualization\n * person-specific models \/ Generic versus person-specific models\n * geometric-specific models \/ Generic versus person-specific models\n * face tracking algorithms\n * data training, image component \/ Training data types\n * data training, annotations componentt \/ Training data types\n * data training, symmetry indices component \/ Training data types\n * data training, connectivity indices component \/ Training data types\n * data training, components \/ Training data types\n * face_detector class \/ Face detection and initialization\n * facial feature detectors\n * using \/ Facial feature detectors\n * advantages \/ Facial feature detectors\n * correlation-based patch models \/ Correlation-based patch models\n * global geometric transformations \/ Accounting for global geometric transformations\n * visualization \/ Training and visualization\n * training \/ Training and visualization\n * false-negative matches\n * about \/ Outlier removal\n * false-positive matches\n * about \/ Outlier removal\n * feature descriptors\n * used, for searching arbitrary image on video \/ Using feature descriptors to find an arbitrary image on video\n * about \/ Feature extraction\n * feature detection\n * about \/ Feature extraction\n * feature extraction\n * about \/ Feature extraction, Feature extraction\n * feature point\n * about \/ Using feature descriptors to find an arbitrary image on video\n * feature point orientation\n * about \/ Feature extraction\n * feature points\n * detecting \/ Feature extraction\n * matching \/ Matching of feature points\n * Find Contours algorithm\n * about \/ OCR segmentation\n * findContours function \/ Segmentation\n * findFundamentalMat function \/ Estimating the camera motion from a pair of images\n * flag parameter \/ Segmentation\n * flags parameter \/ Detecting the face\n * flann-based matcher\n * about \/ Matching of feature points\n * floodFill() function \/ Implementation of the skin-color changer\n * floodFill function \/ Segmentation\n * Frames Per Second speed\n * displaying, of Android app \/ Showing the FPS of the app\n * FREAK algorithm\n * about \/ Feature extraction\n * ft_data class \/ Training data types\n\n## G\n\n * geometrical constraints\n * about \/ Geometrical constraints\n * procrustes analysis \/ Procrustes analysis\n * linear shape models \/ Linear shape models\n * combined local-global representation \/ A combined local-global representation\n * training \/ Training and visualization\n * visualization \/ Training and visualization\n * getResult method \/ Application architecture\n * getSimilarity() function \/ Face verification: Validating that it is the claimed person\n * getStructuringElement function \/ Segmentation\n * grayscale conversion \/ Grayscale conversion\n * GUI\n * creating \/ Finishing touches: Making a nice and interactive GUI\n * modes, creating \/ Finishing touches: Making a nice and interactive GUI\n * elements, drawing \/ Drawing the GUI elements\n * mouse clicks, checking \/ Checking and handling mouse clicks\n * mouse clicks, handling \/ Checking and handling mouse clicks\n * GUI elements\n * drawing \/ Drawing the GUI elements\n * startup mode \/ Startup mode\n * detection mode \/ Detection mode\n * collection mode \/ Collection mode\n * training mode \/ Training mode\n * recognition mode \/ Recognition mode\n\n## H\n\n * Hamming Code\n * about \/ Marker code recognition\n * homography estimation \/ Homography estimation\n * PatternDetector.cpp \/ PatternDetector.cpp\n * homography refinement\n * about \/ Homography refinement\n * PatternDetector.cpp \/ PatternDetector.cpp\n * HSV (Hue-Saturation-Brightness) \/ Skin-detection algorithm, Implementation of the skin-color changer\n\n## I\n\n * ICCV conference papers\n * URL \/ Customizing the app\n * image\n * cartoonifying \/ Cartoonifying the image when the user taps the screen\n * saving, to Android gallery \/ Saving the image to a file and to the Android picture gallery\n * image binarization \/ Image binarization\n * image recognition\n * about \/ Using feature descriptors to find an arbitrary image on video\n * imwrite() function \/ Saving the image to a file and to the Android picture gallery\n * Infrared (IR) camera\n * about \/ Introduction to ANPR\n * initWithCoder function \/ Creating the OpenGL rendering layer\n * inside() function \/ Checking and handling mouse clicks\n * iOS project\n * creating \/ Creating an iOS project that uses OpenCV\n * OpenCV framework, adding \/ Adding OpenCV framework\n * OpenCV headers, including \/ Including OpenCV headers\n * Iterative Closest Point(ICP) procedure \/ Reconstruction from many views\n\n## J\n\n * JavaCV library \/ Porting from desktop to Android\n * JNI (Java Native Interface) \/ Porting from desktop to Android\n\n## K\n\n * k-nearest neighbor (kNN) radius \/ Point matching using optical flow\n * keypoints container\n * about \/ Feature extraction\n\n## L\n\n * Laplacian filters\n * about \/ Generating a black-and-white sketch\n * LDA \/ Training the face recognition system from collected faces\n * loDiff parameter \/ Segmentation\n\n## M\n\n * main camera processing loop\n * for desktop app \/ Main camera processing loop for a desktop app\n * marker\n * about \/ Marker detection\n * placing, in 3D \/ Placing a marker in 3D\n * strengths \/ Marker-based versus marker-less AR\n * limitations \/ Marker-based versus marker-less AR\n * marker, in 3D\n * camera calibration process \/ Camera calibration\n * marker pose estimation \/ Marker pose estimation\n * marker-based approach\n * versus marker-less approach \/ Marker-based versus marker-less AR\n * marker-less AR approach\n * versus marked-based AR approach \/ Marker-based versus marker-less AR\n * strengths \/ Marker-based versus marker-less AR\n * marker code\n * reading \/ Reading marker code\n * marker code recognition\n * about \/ Marker code recognition\n * marker code, reading \/ Reading marker code\n * location refinement \/ Marker location refinement\n * marker detection procedure\n * about \/ Marker detection\n * marker identification \/ Marker identification\n * contours detection \/ Contours detection\n * candidates search \/ Candidates search\n * marker detection routine\n * about \/ Marker identification\n * grayscale conversion \/ Grayscale conversion\n * image binarization \/ Image binarization\n * MarkerDetector class \/ Application architecture, Marker detection\n * MarkerDetector function \/ Image binarization\n * marker location refinement \/ Marker location refinement\n * marker pose estimation\n * about \/ Marker pose estimation\n * Mat**channels() method \/ Output color format for display\n * match function \/ Matching of feature points\n * matching\n * errors \/ Outlier removal\n * about \/ Point matching using rich feature descriptors\n * mbgra variable \/ Output color format for display\n * minAreaRect function \/ Segmentation\n * minContourPointsAllowed variable \/ Contours detection\n * minFeatureSize parameter \/ Detecting the face\n * minMaxLoc function \/ Feature extraction\n * minNeighbors parameter \/ Detecting the face\n * morphologyEx function \/ Segmentation\n * MUCT dataset\n * about \/ Pre-annotated data (The MUCT dataset)\")\n * using \/ Pre-annotated data (The MUCT dataset)\")\n * Multi-Layer Perceptron (MLP)\n * about \/ OCR classification\n\n## N\n\n * NDK (Native Development Kit) \/ Porting from desktop to Android\n * newVal parameter \/ Segmentation\n * nextFrameShouldBeSaved()function \/ Cartoonifying the image when the user taps the screen\n * nextFrameShouldBeSaved() function \/ Saving the image to a file and to the Android picture gallery\n * non-rigid face tracking\n * overview \/ Overview\n\n## O\n\n * object detection\n * grayscale color conversion \/ Grayscale color conversion\n * camera image, shrinking \/ Shrinking the camera image\n * histogram equalization \/ Histogram equalization\n * OCR\n * about \/ Introduction to ANPR\n * OCR**train function \/ OCR classification\n * OCR.xml file \/ Evaluation\n * OCR classification\n * about \/ OCR classification\n * OCR segmentation\n * about \/ OCR segmentation\n * Ogre \/ Rendering the 3D virtual object\n * onMouse function \/ Checking and handling mouse clicks\n * onTouch() function \/ Cartoonifying the image when the user taps the screen\n * OpenCV\n * webcam, accessing \/ Accessing the webcam\n * about \/ Accessing the webcam, Creating an iOS project that uses OpenCV\n * main camera processing loop, for desktop app \/ Main camera processing loop for a desktop app\n * Android project, setting up \/ Setting up an Android project that uses OpenCV\n * adding, to iOS project \/ Creating an iOS project that uses OpenCV\n * URL \/ Adding OpenCV framework\n * feature detection algorithms \/ Feature extraction\n * support, enabling for 3D visualization \/ Enabling support for 3D visualization in OpenCV\n * used, for creating OpenGL windows \/ Creating OpenGL windows using OpenCV\n * used, for capturing videos \/ Video capture using OpenCV\n * used, for face detection implementing \/ Implementing face detection using OpenCV\n * OpenCV framework\n * adding, to iOS project \/ Adding OpenCV framework\n * OpenCV headers\n * adding, to iOS project \/ Including OpenCV headers\n * OpenCV v2.4.1\n * recognition algorithms \/ Training the face recognition system from collected faces\n * OpenGL \/ Rendering the 3D virtual object\n * rendering layer, creating \/ Creating the OpenGL rendering layer\n * OpenGL rendering layer\n * creating \/ Creating the OpenGL rendering layer\n * OpenGL windows\n * creating, OpenCV used \/ Creating OpenGL windows using OpenCV\n * optical flow (OF)\n * used, for point matching \/ Point matching using optical flow\n * ORB algorithm\n * about \/ Feature extraction\n * outlier removal\n * about \/ Outlier removal\n * cross-match filter \/ Cross-match filter\n * ratio test \/ Ratio test\n * homography estimation \/ Homography estimation\n * homography refinement \/ Homography refinement\n\n## P\n\n * .pch file \/ Including OpenCV headers\n * Pattern.cpp \/ Pattern.cpp\n * PatternDetector.cpp\n * about \/ PatternDetector.cpp\n\/ PatternDetector.cpp, PatternDetector.cpp, PatternDetector.cpp\n * PatternDetector.cpp file \/ PatternDetector.cpp\n * PatternMatcher class \/ Putting it all together\n * pattern object\n * defining \/ Definition of a pattern object\n * Pattern object\n * about \/ PatternDetector.cpp\n * pattern pose estimation\n * about \/ Pattern pose estimation\n * PatternDetector.cpp \/ PatternDetector.cpp\n * pattern recognition algorithms, steps\n * segmentation \/ ANPR algorithm\n * feature extraction \/ ANPR algorithm\n * classification \/ ANPR algorithm\n * Perspective N-Point(PNP) \/ Reconstruction from many views\n * plate detection procedure\n * about \/ Plate detection\n * segmentation \/ Segmentation\n * classification \/ Classification\n * plate recognition procedure\n * about \/ Plate recognition\n * OCR segmentation \/ OCR segmentation\n * feature extraction \/ Feature extraction\n * OCR classification \/ OCR classification\n * evaluation \/ Evaluation\n * Point Cloud Library (PCL)\n * used, for visualizing 3D point clouds \/ Visualizing 3D point clouds with PCL\n * about \/ Visualizing 3D point clouds with PCL\n * POS \/ POSIT\n * POSIT\n * about \/ POSIT\n * dividing into \/ Diving into POSIT\n * head model \/ POSIT and head model\n * video file, tracing from \/ Tracking from webcam or video file\n * webcam, tracing from \/ Tracking from webcam or video file\n * predict() function \/ Face verification: Validating that it is the claimed person\n * printMat() function \/ Viewing the learned knowledge\n * printMatInfo() function \/ Viewing the learned knowledge\n * processFrame() function \/ Output color format for display, Cartoonifying the image when the user taps the screen, Saving the image to a file and to the Android picture gallery, Application architecture\n * processFrame function \/ main.cpp\n * processSingleImage function \/ main.cpp\n * Procrustes Analysis \/ Active Shape Models\n * program\n * porting, from desktop to Android \/ Porting from desktop to Android\n * ProjectedHistogram function \/ Feature extraction\n\n## Q\n\n * query descriptors\n * matching \/ PatternDetector.cpp\n\n## R\n\n * random pepper noise\n * reducing, from sketch image \/ Reducing the random pepper noise from the sketch image\n * random sample consensus (RANSAC) method \/ Homography estimation\n * ratio test\n * about \/ Ratio test\n * PatternDetector.cpp \/ PatternDetector.cpp\n * used, for performing robust descriptor matching \/ PatternDetector.cpp\n * real-life image\n * converting, to sketch drawing \/ Generating a black-and-white sketch\n * recognition mode \/ Recognition mode\n * reconstruction, scene\n * refining \/ Refinement of the reconstruction\n * removePepperNoise() function \/ Reducing the random pepper noise from the sketch image\n * RGB (Red-Green-Blue) \/ Skin-detection algorithm, Implementation of the skin-color changer\n * robust descriptor matching\n * performing, ratio test used \/ PatternDetector.cpp\n * RotatedRect class \/ Segmentation\n * rotation invariant\n * about \/ Feature extraction\n\n## S\n\n * saved image\n * Android notification message, displaying for \/ Showing an Android notification message about a saved image\n * savePNGImageToGallery() function \/ Saving the image to a file and to the Android picture gallery\n * savingRegions variable \/ Classification\n * scene\n * reconstructing \/ Reconstructing the scene\n * reconstructing, from multiple view \/ Reconstruction from many views\n * Scharr\n * about \/ Generating a black-and-white sketch\n * searchScaleFactor parameter \/ Detecting the face\n * segmentation\n * about \/ Segmentation\n * setupCamera() function \/ Using a different camera resolution\n * showNotificationMessage() function \/ Showing an Android notification message about a saved image\n * ShowPreview() function \/ Output color format for display, Adding the cartoonifier code to the Android NDK app, Cartoonifying the image when the user taps the screen\n * SIFT\n * about \/ Feature extraction\n * Simple Sparse Bundle Adjustment (SSBA) library \/ Refinement of the reconstruction\n * Singular Value Decomposition (SVD) \/ Finding camera matrices\n * sketch drawing\n * real-life image, converting to \/ Generating a black-and-white sketch\n * sketch image\n * random pepper noise, reducing from \/ Reducing the random pepper noise from the sketch image\n * skin color changer\n * implementing \/ Implementation of the skin-color changer\n * skin detection\n * used, for generating alien mode \/ Generating an \"alien\" mode using skin detection\n * Skin detection algorithm\n * about \/ Skin-detection algorithm\n * Sobel\n * about \/ Generating a black-and-white sketch\n * Sobel filter\n * about \/ Segmentation\n * solvePnP functions \/ Reconstruction from many views\n * solvePnPRansac function \/ Reconstruction from many views\n * Speeded-Up Robust Features (SURF) features\n * about \/ Point matching using rich feature descriptors\n * Startup mode \/ Startup mode\n * statistical outlier removal (SOR) tool \/ Visualizing 3D point clouds with PCL\n * Structure from Motion (SfM)\n * exploring \/ Structure from Motion concepts\n * subspaceProject() function \/ Face verification: Validating that it is the claimed person\n * subspaceReconstruct() function \/ Face verification: Validating that it is the claimed person\n * Support Vector Machine (SVM)\n * about \/ Plate detection\n * Support Vector Machine (SVM) algorithm \/ Classification\n * SURF\n * about \/ Feature extraction\n * surfaceChanged() function \/ Using a different camera resolution\n * SVD \/ Linear shape models\n\n## T\n\n * threshold function \/ Segmentation\n * training mode \/ Training mode\n * TriangulatePoints function \/ Reconstruction from many views\n\n## U\n\n * UIGetScreenImage function \/ Accessing the camera\n * UIViewController interface \/ Application architecture\n * Unity \/ Rendering the 3D virtual object\n * Unreal Engine \/ Rendering the 3D virtual object\n * upDiff parameter \/ Segmentation\n * user face\n * placing, for alien mode \/ Showing the user where to put their face\n * utilities\n * about \/ Utilities\n * Object-oriented design \/ Object-oriented design\n * data collections \/ Data collection: Image and video annotation\n\n## V\n\n * videos\n * capturing, OpenCV used \/ Video capture using OpenCV\n * VideoSource interface \/ Accessing the camera\n * ViewController class \/ Application architecture\n * VisualizationController \/ Application architecture\n * VisualizationControllerclass \/ Rendering an AR scene\n\n## W\n\n * warpAffine() function \/ Geometrical transformation\n * warpAffine function \/ Segmentation, Triangle texture warping\n * webcam\n * accessing \/ Accessing the webcam\n\n","meta":{"redpajama_set_name":"RedPajamaBook"}}