promised I'd make no trouble. I've never broken a promise to anyone, alive or dead." The fists formed, relaxed again.

Suddenly he raised one hand, flung it away, and spat on the floor. Then he turned toward the steps to the door.

Then the noise hit them. They both turned toward Snake. The boy's black eyes darted under twin spots of light from the lamp, to Urson, to Geo, then back.

The noise came again, quieter this time, and recognizable as the word Help, only it was no sound, but like the fading hum of a tuning fork inside their skulls, immediate, yet fuzzy.

... You ... help ... me ... together ... came the words once more, indistinct and blurring into one another.

"Hey," Urson said, "is that you?"

... Do ... not ... angry ... came the words.

"We're not angry," Geo said. "What are you doing?"

I ... thinking ... were the words that seemed to generate from the boy now.

"What sort of a way to think is that if everyone can hear it?" demanded Urson.

Snake tried to explain. Not ... everyone ... Just ... you ... You ... think ... I ... hear ... came the sound again. I ... think ... You ... hear.

"I know we hear," Urson said. "It's just like you were talking."

"That's not what he means," Geo said. "He means he hears what we think just like we hear him. Is that right, Snake?"

When ... you ... think ... loud ... I ... hear.

"I may just have been doing some pretty loud thinking," Urson said. "And if I thought something I wasn't supposed to, well, I apologize."

Snake didn't seem interested in the apology, but asked again, You ... help ... me ... together.

"What sort of help do you want?" Geo asked.

"And what sort of trouble are you in that you need help out of it?" added Urson.

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