"He is too good," said the Skirkh. "It will be easy. I will do it for you with Retho. My brother, Kror, will come too."

"Do what?" asked Guthrie.

"Steal his woman for you tonight. It will be a bad thing to do and the best time to do it. Elders say no moon tonight."

"But what makes you think—?"

"Your face. Do not say to Polf you not want. And if you not admit she is his woman, it is not bad enough a thing to do."

"You don't understand, Polf," said the spacer. "I couldn't ... that is, it's not the same for me...." My God! he thought. I'm beginning to sound like Trent!

"The storms come," murmured Polf. "You want the wrong spirits for friends? If it is tonight, elders stay with Trent. Will be easy."

"Won't you have to be there? And your friends?"

"Gah!" exclaimed Polf. "Whole dumb village be there. What better time to do bigger spirit work? You want Thyggar steal her first?"

Guthrie sat up abruptly, and almost slid from the roof.

"Well, why not?" he muttered after a moment. "She must have warned Trent by now. If he can't think of a way out, I'd better save what can be saved. That was his own idea. I can't help it if he wouldn't listen to me."

It did not sound quite right to him, but time was running out. The thought of being transformed lingeringly into a few pounds of hacked and burnt meat crossed his mind once again, and he could feel himself beginning to sweat. He glanced over his shoulder at the broad, expectant face.

"All right," he whispered. "Tell Retho and your brother."

What else can I do? he asked himself. If it has to be one of us—

Later, he tried to convince himself that he could sleep for a few hours.

Still later, following Polf down the torch-lit street, trying to look nonchalant before the unusual gathering of Skirkhi, he asked himself again, What else can I do? He avoided the amused glint in old Thyggar's eyes.

The doing drove out the thought, and it was some hours before it occurred to him again. When it did, he was stumbling up a pitch-black 

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