NO GREATER LOVE

by Becky Bain

Greater love hath no man than this,

that a man lay down his life for his friends.

-- John XV, 15

Vincent returned to awareness slowly. He lay motionless and triedto force his sluggish brain to alertness. The inside of his mouthtasted thick and foul and there was a persistent buzzing in his ears.His entire body felt unnaturally heavy, but at last he found thestrength and the will to drag himself upright. He shook his head toclear it and forced his eyes to open.

His vision and mind began to focus, and the wavery lines beforehim solidified into vertical steel bars. He was in a cage. A large,roomy cage, but a cage nonetheless.

With a roar, he threw himself toward the door. An instant later,his feet were jerked violently from beneath him and he crashedheavily to the ground. Snarling in fury, he rolled instinctively toface his assailant. His mind, working much more slowly than usual,finally told him that no one was there.

He rose to his knees and noticed for the first time that his everymovement was accompanied by a dull, metallic clank. The reason forhis fall, and the heaviness of his limbs, was the tempered steelchains which bound him.

Still snarling softly, in frustration now as much as rage, heretreated to the back of his prison and began to examine his fetters.Heavy steel bands, connected by short lengths of chain, encircledwrists and ankles. The one between his wrists was joined, midpoint,with one around his waist, limiting the movement of his hands. Thechain between his ankles was linked to a longer chain leading to asteel ring firmly embedded in the rock wall. The shiny newness of theshackles and chains made Vincent suspect this had all been preparedespecially for him. He wasn't surprised when he heard a maliciouschuckle from outside the cage.

He turned slowly and held himself with dignity as he faced his oldenemy. "Paracelsus." He acknowledged the man coldly.

"So, Vincent." Paracelsus seemed to enjoy the sight of Vincentbehind bars and in chains. "You are awake at last. I began to fear Ihad given you too much of the drug that made you sleep."

Vincent did not reply, but fury smoldered just beneath thesurface.

Paracelsus chuckled again. "You won't be alone in your prison forlong," he said, with malevolent glee. "Your Catherine and my oldfriend Jacob will be joining you soon."

He spun sharply and left the small chamber; Vincent couldn't stopthe low, rumbling growl that followed, but when he was alone again,he fought to contain the part of him that wanted to rip at his bondsin mindless frenzy.

At last the fury retreated to lie simmering just beneath thesurface and, in control again, Vincent knelt in the dust andmeticulously examined his chains. He tested each link and fasteningin turn, twisting and tugging. All was solid.

He turned his attention to the ring set in the wall. It appearedto be firmly anchored, but, as he had tested the rest of his bonds,he had to test this one. He braced himself solidly, let out a roar ofpure animal rage and wrenched at it, letting the fury fuel hisefforts. He kept it up until his breath burned in his throat and hishead swam, but it was no use. Neither the ring nor the chain showedany sign of weakening. Breathing hard, Vincent was forced torecognize that for now, at least, he must remain a prisoner.

He arranged his chains and lowered himself to lie on a wide stoneshelf that ran across the rear of the cage. His back, shoulders, andarms ached from his strenuous efforts and he needed to rest.

His mind couldn't be still, though. There was danger for Catherineand Father and he was helpless to protect them. The risk wasespecially great for Catherine, isolated as she was from his world.But surely when as Father realized Paracelsus was behind Vincent'sdisappearance, he would take special steps to guard her. With ashudder, Vincent remembered how, once before, Paracelsus had managedto kidnap Catherine from her home. Silently, he begged Father not tolet it happen again. No matter what happened to him, Catherine mustbe kept safe.

At last, exhausted by his struggles against his restraints andstill fighting vestiges of the sedative in his system, Vincent sankinto a restless, nightmarish sleep.

He awoke some time later to a heavy feeling of apprehension --apprehension approaching fear. He surged to his feet, tugging at hischains in helplessness. Catherine was afraid...

* * * * *

She had begun to fear for Vincent the moment she received themessage from Father. Her anxiety grew as she hurried along thenow-familiar path through the tunnels to Father's chamber; her pacequickened to a half-run down the last long passage, and she stoppedoutside the short entry to Father's study only long enough to gatherher courage before going inside.

"Catherine!" The look on Father's face confirmed her fears as hecame toward her.

"What's wrong? Where's Vincent?" Her throat felt tight withdread.

"We don't know," Father replied gravely, taking her arm to guideher to a chair. "He's missing."

She yanked herself from his grip and stared at him in horror."What do you mean, missing? How long has he been gone?"

"No one's seen him since yesterday morning," Father admitted."Mouse saw him then, on his way to an area where we're making somerepairs, but he never arrived.

"Please, Catherine, sit down."

"I don't want to sit down! What are you doing to find him?"

"We've started organizing..."

Father's explanation was interrupted when Geoffrey burst into thechamber and clattered down the short flight of stairs. "Father!Father!" he cried, his voice shrill with excitement. "I found this!It has your name on it!" Carefully he placed a small brownpaper-wrapped parcel into Father's hands.

"Thank you, Geoffrey," Father said automatically, his fingersalready opening the bundle. Inside lay two things... a small leatherpouch on a long drawstring, and a shiny gold coin.

"Paracelsus," Catherine said softly, touching the coin."Paracelsus has him."

"Yes." Father lifted the pouch, letting it dangle from tremblingfingers. "Vincent's rose. He would never have parted with itwillingly."

He hesitated, as if seeking the right words. "Catherine..." Hepaused again, searching her eyes. "Through your bond, yourconnection... would you know? Is Vincent... alive?"

She blinked in confusion. "I... I don't know," she faltered andstepped back. "It's not as strong with me. I can't feel him the wayhe can me." She looked at Father and knew he shared her fear. Sheclosed her eyes and tried consciously to determine if anything wasdifferent. "It feels the same," she whispered finally. "Surely, if hewere... gone, I would sense a change?"

Father shook his head helplessly. "I understand it even less thanyou do." He sighed. "We must believe he is all right. We need to findhim and get him away somehow."

He glanced warily at Catherine. "You must remain below until thisis resolved."

"No!" Her protest was automatic.

"Catherine, Vincent would never forgive me if I allowed anythingto happen to you. I cannot protect you above and we know that Johnhas the means to reach you there. You must remain here. For Vincent.Please."

Catherine wavered. Her first impulse, as always, was to remainabove, independent and self-reliant, but deep down she knew Fatherwas right. Reluctantly, she nodded. "For Vincent."

Father's relief showed in his eyes. "Good. I'll have Mary preparea chamber..."

"Please," Catherine interrupted. "I want to sleep in Vincent'schamber."

"Of course," Father agreed instantly.

Her gaze went past him to the small leather pouch he'd laid on hisdesk. She picked it up and held it almost reverently. "I'll keep thisfor him 'til he gets back," she whispered.

Father nodded, all his attention fixed on the gold coin in hishand. Catherine wondered briefly if he even saw her go.

In Vincent's chamber, Catherine sank down on the bed. She loosenedthe drawstring, slipped Vincent's rose from the pouch, and held itgently cupped in both hands. It was doubly precious to her, not onlybecause it had once been her mother's, but now, because it belongedto Vincent.

"I'm thinking of you, Vincent," she whispered, remembering thenight she'd given it to him. "I love you." She hoped, with all herheart, that wherever he was, Vincent could feel her thinking of him,and loving him.

Two agonizing days passed. The search parties found no trace ofeither Vincent or Paracelsus, but planned to go deeper, further, withnew searches. The problem, Catherine had been told, was that therewere literally miles of tunnels and chambers and caverns; it couldtake weeks to search them all.

Father refused to even consider permitting her to join one of thesearch parties, and though she recognized the validity of hisargument, it didn't make her exclusion easy to accept. As a result,she'd spent most of the two days pacing Vincent's chamberrestlessly.

She'd shortened the drawstring on the pouch for Vincent's rose andwore it now around her neck, under her clothes. The feel of itagainst her heart somehow made Vincent seem closer. She wasn't surewhy, exactly, but she had gradually become convinced that wherever hewas, he was all right, at least for now.

Still, she slept only fitfully at night, waking over and overagain to the dreadful knowledge that he was not there.

By the afternoon of the second day, she could no longer bear theconfinement of Vincent's chamber. Father had cautioned her aboutventuring beyond the guarded perimeter, but she could walk thetunnels and passageways that connected the living areas, and shethought perhaps a short walk would relieve some of the agonizingtension.

As she passed an unfamiliar side tunnel, she heard a child's voicecalling for help. She paused, listening. Yes, there it was again,more clearly this time. She started down the passage, straining hereyes and ears for signs and sounds from the distressed child.

"Someone help me, please!" The cry was louder and Catherine brokeinto a half-run.

Someone rushed at her from a niche in the tunnel wall and shesmelled a familiar sweet odor as she was seized and a cloth waspressed to her face. She fought wildly, but her assailant was muchstronger, and she felt herself slipping into blackness.

When she came to, she was being carried, slung uncomfortably oversomeone's shoulder. Instinctively, she began to struggle. Immediatelyshe was set on her feet and a dirty, leering face looked down ather.

"If you're awake, little lady, then you can walk."

The man's teeth were bad and his breath worse; Catherine turnedher head away and shrank back in revulsion. He didn't seem to noticeor care as he picked up a short length of rope dangling from hertightly bound wrists and dragged her along.

She stumbled along in his wake, her mind still fogged fromwhatever had been on the cloth. By the time she felt truly alert,they had already passed through a seemingly endless series oftunnels, caverns, ladders, and chutes.

Eventually they arrived in a vast, torchlit chamber. Her captorpulled her to a desk, where Paracelsus sat writing. He looked up attheir approach.

"Ah, Catherine! How nice to see you again!" His invidious smilesent a cold shiver down the back of her neck.

"Where is Vincent?" she demanded, ignoring his pleasantries. "Whathave you done to him?"

"Vincent is fine, fine," he assured her smoothly. "A bit unhappy,but that's to be expected. I'm sure having company will cheer himup." He jerked his head and her captor tugged on the rope. Shefollowed him into a short passage that ended in a smaller room, aroom taken up almost completely by a cage.

Vincent was on his feet to meet her as they entered and Catherinestared in horror at the chains which bound him. Paracelsus's henchmanuntied her wrists before he opened the cage door and gave her a roughshove that sent her sprawling inside.

Vincent snarled viciously and Catherine rolled, scrambling to herfeet to glare defiance as the man impassively locked the cage andleft the chamber.

Only when she was sure he was gone did she turn and fling her armsaround Vincent with a small, glad cry. His return embrace seemedawkward but he placed his hands on her waist and pressed his cheekagainst her hair.

"Are you all right?" she asked at last, drawing back to look athim.

He nodded briefly, obviously torn between joy at seeing her anddismay that now she, too, had been made captive.

A sound outside their prison made both turn; Vincent caughtCatherine's arm, drawing her behind him as a man Catherine didn'trecognize entered, carrying a wooden tray.

The man knelt and slid the tray through a narrow space in a cornerof the cage and used a long wooden pole to push it within reach ofVincent's chains; it joined four identical trays on the floorthere.

The man looked up and caught her eye. She stared at him;oblivious, he nodded once and went out. Vincent stood quite still inthe center of their prison. Catherine eased around him and approachedthe tray.

It held two large wooden bowls. One was filled with a thin,grayish stew; the other held water. The other trays were the same.None of the bowls had been touched.

She spun accusingly. "You haven't been eating? Vincent, you mustnot give up! Father has parties out looking..."

Vincent shook his head gravely, cutting her off. "It isn't that,"he said quietly, his voice sounding hoarse. He lifted his hands andshowed her how the manacles he wore kept him from raising them anyhigher than mid-chest. "I cannot feed myself, Catherine," he said,his voice hard. "And I will not let him reduce me to eating like ananimal."

She stared at him for a horrified moment. No wonder his face wasgaunt, his eyes hollow. She suspected only stubborn pride was keepinghim on his feet. She turned to the tray and reached for the waterbowl.

"Sit down," she commanded, carrying the bowl back to him. He sankdown on the wide stone shelf and she brought the rim to his mouth andtipped it.

He drank greedily. The water was tepid, its surface filmed withdust, but he didn't seem to care. He made a small, instinctive soundof protest when Catherine took the bowl away.

"If you drink too much too soon, you'll be sick," she remindedhim. "Let's wait a few minutes." It was a full half-hour before histhirst was quenched. By then, he'd managed to down most of the water,a few sips at a time, and she went for the other bowl.

The stew was accompanied by a small, flattish loaf of bread. Therewere no utensils, so Catherine broke off a small piece of bread,dipped it in the broth, and raised it to Vincent's lips. "Eat," sheurged him. His gaze never left her face as he took the morsel gentlyfrom her fingers.

Slowly they shared the scanty meal. Catherine fished out the solidbits with her fingers and paused often to offer Vincent more water.She fed most of the stew to Vincent, eating herself only when heinsisted.

When only the broth remained, she lifted the bowl so they couldtake turns drinking from it, and used the last scrap of bread to sopup the final drops of gravy and shared that, too.

She returned the empty vessels to the tray and used her foot topush it out of the cage before turning to the other three trays. Thebowls of stew were congealed and probably spoiled, but the flatloaves of bread, while stale, were still edible, so she gathered themup. She kept the water bowls too, placing them carefully against thewall so they wouldn't spill, and pushed the trays out.

With the housekeeping chores finished, she turned back to Vincent.He still sat where she'd left him on the stone shelf, watching herevery move. She curled close beside him and linked her arm throughhis. The closeness helped dim their bleak surroundings. His handgathered hers in, enveloping it in warm security.

"I don't want to look a gift horse in the mouth," she saidpresently, "But why is Paracelsus allowing us to live? I know hewants you..." She broke off, unable to finish the sentence.

"It is no longer enough for Paracelsus simply to win," Vincentsaid slowly. "First he must demonstrate his cleverness. He must beable to tell us that victory is his before he kills us."

Catherine nodded in thoughtful agreement. "That is his weakness,then."

"Yes. His need to parade his triumph gives us time." Vincentlooked down at his manacled wrists. "Does Father know it'sParacelsus?"

"Yes. He sent a package. A gold coin, and this..." Releasing hisarm, Catherine ran a finger inside her collar, catching a longleather thong. She drew out the pouch that held Vincent's rose andpulled it over her head.

"I kept it for you." She felt almost shy as she untied the knotthat had shortened the drawstring and moved to place it around hisneck.

Vincent fingered the pouch tenderly. "Will Father know you aregone?" he asked presently.

She nodded. "I've been staying below. Father was afraid hecouldn't protect me above." She laughed shortly, almost bitterly. "Itdoesn't seem to have made much difference."

Vincent reached for her hand and immediately she felt ashamed."I'm sorry," she whispered. "I don't mean to blame anyone. Even ifFather had sent someone to guard me, it wouldn't have helped."

Vincent listened patiently as she described what she couldremember of her kidnapping. At the mention of the child's cry forhelp, he stiffened and Catherine looked up in sudden realization.

"He used that to lure you, too!" she exclaimed.

Vincent moved his head in a brief gesture of agreement. "And useda much stronger drug. When I finally awakened, I was here, likethis." He shook his chains.

"They're looking for us, Vincent," Catherine tried to reassurehim. "They won't stop looking. We just have to stay alive..."

"Yes," he agreed softly. "Alive."

Catherine shivered in the chill and burrowed closer to Vincent forwarmth. His chains kept him from putting an arm around her, but hepulled part of his cloak over her legs, and eventually she fell intoan uneasy sleep.

She was jostled awake when Vincent moved away from her. Rubbingher eyes, she saw that the chamber was brighter; another lanternstood outside the cage, close beside the one that had burned allnight. It must be morning.

The same man who had brought their supper the night beforeappeared, carrying another tray. Again, he knelt and slid it underthe door. The other trays were already gone -- she guessed that waswhat had made Vincent stand up. She yawned and crossed the cage tobring back the food.

It was more of the lukewarm stew with another hard chunk of bread,and again Catherine used her fingers to feed them both.

She had just returned to Vincent's side after pushing the dirtydishes out when Paracelsus came in with his two followers. Vincentput himself between Catherine and the men outside, shielding her.

"So." Paracelsus's smile could only be described as sinister. "Itrust you had an uneventful night?"

Vincent stood silently. Behind him, Catherine rested her hand onhis back, feeling the faint tremor of the fury coiled within.

One of the men unlocked the door and opened it. Paracelsus spokealmost pleasantly. "Catherine. You will step outside the cagenow."

"No." Vincent's voice was harsh and definitive. Catherine didn'tmove.

"Come, now." Paracelsus ignored Vincent and spoke only toCatherine, coaxing. "Vincent can't protect you, bound as he is. If wemust remove you forcibly, he's sure to be hurt. If I must, I willdrug him. I have done so before..."

Vincent's low growl said that he remembered the earlier occasionall too clearly. Catherine remembered, too, and before Vincent couldstop her she had stepped past him, out of his reach. The look shegave him was regretful as she joined Paracelsus outside.

"Don't hurt him," she warned in a low voice.

"My dear!" Paracelsus sounded surprised. "I have no intention ofhurting him. Indeed, I'm going to make him more comfortable.Vincent!" Paracelsus shifted his attention. "It may be difficult foryou to believe, but I did not intend to humiliate you with yourchains. I had no idea that you could not feed yourself. Maddock," heindicated the man who had brought Catherine to this place, "will comein to adjust your bonds. Culver," he nodded toward the man who hadbrought their meals, "will ensure your cooperation."

At his signal, the man he called Culver stepped behind Catherine,seized a handful of her hair, and yanked her back against him. Beforeshe could resist, he had produced a knife and pressed the pointlightly against her throat.

For an instant there was shocked, motionless silence. Then Vincentlet out a strangled roar, straining at his chains.

Patiently, Paracelsus waited until Vincent's rage wore itself outand he stood braced against his fetters, lip curled in a silentsnarl. "Your struggles are useless, Vincent. You cannot escapeme."

"Let her go." Vincent's voice was low and furious. "It is me youwant. Catherine is not part of our world. Let her go."

Paracelsus's scarred face twisted bitterly behind his mask. "Youforget, Vincent. She has worked against me, helped obstruct my plans.There is a debt to be paid. But for now, she is simply a tool. Amethod to control you, Vincent. You will be perfectly still whileMaddock adjusts your chains. If you move so much as a finger..."

Paracelsus signalled again and the knife against Catherine'sthroat moved quickly, precisely. She flinched from the blade's touch;it was a moment before the place began to sting and she could feelthe wet oozing of blood from a newly inflicted cut.

Vincent snarled softly between clenched teeth. A tremor shook himand then he was still. Maddock entered the cage cautiously, glancingapprehensively at his master before squatting in front of Vincent tobegin working on the chains.

Vincent ignored him. His entire consciousness seemed focused onCatherine, his gaze fixed on hers. Slowly, her fear dissipated.Though her head was held forcibly back and Culver's knife pricked herskin, she was almost relaxed -- she knew Vincent wouldn't move, nomatter what Maddock might do to him. Not if it endangered her.

She concentrated, sending him her trust, knowing her confidencehelped Vincent keep his dark urges contained. Gradually the wrath inhis eyes faded; for a moment she thought he almost smiled.

Maddock gave a grunt of satisfaction. He picked up his tools andstepped outside the cage, pulling the door shut behind him. Culverreleased his grip on Catherine's hair and took her arm.

He tugged and, with horror, she realized he meant to take heraway. She balked.

Vincent roared and threw himself forward, fighting the chains andshe used the momentary distraction to twist free of Culver's grip.She scrambled back, giving herself room, and settled into thedefensive stance Isaac Stubbs had so carefully taught her. There werethree of them, but maybe, if she was lucky...

Vincent roared again, furiously. No one else moved.

Paracelsus waited until Vincent's rage subsided into a soft,frustrated snarl. "Come, my dear," he said persuasively, when thenoise died away. "This won't do any good. You can't escape and afterall, I still have Vincent."

Involuntarily, Catherine's gaze flicked to Vincent, now standingmotionless in the center of the cage.

"Go, Catherine," he urged. "Run."

"If you run, what happens to Vincent will be your responsibility,"Paracelsus countered ruthlessly, and her fighting spirit faltered.Just as he had been unable to risk harm to her, so she must protecthim. Deliberately she relaxed and dropped her hands to her sides; shemade no effort to resist when Culver took her arm again.

Vincent growled, low in his throat.

"You needn't worry, Vincent," Paracelsus said. "I won't harm her.She's still useful to me."

Culver led Catherine to a corner of the large chamber and fasteneda single manacle around her wrist. With a grimace that could almostpass for a friendly smile, he left her there.

An outcropping of rock blocked her view of the rest of thechamber; this place was really more like a small alcove, but therewas nothing here to harm her. Paracelsus must have wanted to separateher from Vincent, but she couldn't imagine why.

Unless...

An agonizing thought burst upon her and she surged to the end ofher chain, straining to see the opening to the chamber she'd justleft. She heard Vincent's answering roar and fought to contain herterror -- not for herself, but for him. What if Paracelsus wanted herhere because he meant, in some way, to harm Vincent?

Heart pounding, she stood at the end of her fetter and listened.Vincent was growling, but she could detect no signs of activity in ornear the chamber where he was held. The sharp edge of her panic fadedand Vincent's sounds of frenzy -- a response, she realized, to herown momentary panic -- quieted as well.

A kind of silence descended, broken only by the slow, steady dripof water from somewhere high above her, but even though she wasreasonably sure that Vincent was safe, it was a long time beforeCatherine was able to turn away and examine her corner. The steelbracelet on her arm was lighter than the ones Vincent wore, as wasthe chain, but the shiny new tempered steel was still far too strongfor her to have any hope of breaking.

The other end of her chain was fastened to a ring, set in the wallat eye level. The five-foot length of chain allowed her to sit oreven lie down and gave her a small radius of floor to walk over. Shepaced restlessly for a while, but there was little to see and theirregular, amorphous sounds she heard told her nothing.

Time passed slowly. She had given up pacing and was crouchedagainst the wall, eyes half-closed in drowsy boredom when Maddockapproached. She snapped to alertness when he squatted down beside herand put his hand out to touch her face.

"Pretty," he murmured, leaning closer. He smiled a horriblesmile.

An icy finger of horror trailed down her spine.

"I haven't had a woman in a long time," he continued, leering.

She jerked away from his hand. "Don't touch me!"

"Aw, what do you want to be like that for?" he crooned, strokingher cheek. "I just want a little lovin'."

"Go away," she ground out through clenched teeth. "You'rerepulsive."

"And that thing in that cage in there ain't?" His voice turnedugly. "You'd better be nice to me," he threatened. "I can hurt him. Ican hurt him bad." His eyes gleamed with malevolence.

Catherine glared defiance, but she felt suddenly sick as all themorning's terror came flooding back. As long as they had Vincent, shewould have to submit to anything they wanted. Anything.

Desperately, she reached for the inner strength that Vincentmaintained she had, keeping her hands rigidly at her sides when whatshe wanted was to lash out at Maddock's face with the extra length ofchain.

He grinned lasciviously and his hand left her face, stroking downher throat. He slipped a grimy hand inside the collar of her shirt,tracing along her collarbone; she closed her eyes and tried to detachherself from what was happening. If she could stop herself fromfeeling anything, then Vincent wouldn't know, and suddenly protectinghim from knowing seemed most important.

Maddock's hands grew bolder and he leaned close, his breath fetidon her cheek. She tried to will her consciousness away from her body."This isn't happening to me," she whispered, but panic was risingunbidden; she couldn't stop it.

A sudden, outraged roar from the other chamber brought her eyesopen again and she clenched her teeth. "Don't, Vincent," shewhispered. Maddock ignored her, intent on his own pursuits, and shestared sightlessly past him. "Don't fight. It's all right. I'll beall right."

Soothing Vincent gave her a focus and she clung to it, willfullyshutting out reality.

"Maddock!"

Paracelsus's voice cracked like a whip, bringing her abruptlyback. He stood over them, his expression savage. Maddock cowered andCatherine used the opportunity to edge away.

"I told you to leave her alone!" Paracelsus thundered, ignoringher.

Maddock peered from behind upraised arms. "I just wanted..."

"What you want is of no consequence. The woman is mine, just asVincent is mine. And I will decide what is to be done with them. Doyou understand?"

Maddock nodded miserably.

"Good. Now get out of my sight!"

Maddock scuttled away in terror and Paracelsus watched him go, hiseyes cold and hard. Only when the other man had disappeared did heturn to Catherine.

"I apologize," he told her formally. "He will not bother youagain." He turned sharply and strode away.

Limp with relief, hardly able to credit what had just happened,she sank back against the rock wall. It was a few moments before shesummoned the strength to straighten her clothing. Her flesh crawledwhere Maddock had touched her and she wished fiercely for soap andwater to wash away the memory. Vincent's roars had died to occasionalsnarls of impotent rage and she set herself to calming him, sendinghim all the serenity she could muster.

More hours passed and she guessed it must be evening when Culvercame to unlock her shackle and lead her back to the cage. She waiteduntil his footsteps had died away before turning to Vincent.

His chains still kept him from putting his arms around her, butthe mere touch of his hands at her waist, his cheek on her hair, wasenough to reassure and comfort. She lingered there, pressed againsthim, knowing their embrace, hampered as it was, strengthened him asmuch as it did her.

Only when footsteps sounded in the passage did she step back. Itwas Culver, bringing more of the stew and bread and she went to thedoor to meet him. He offered her another of his hesitant smiles as hepushed the tray through, nodding happily at her whispered, automatic,"Thank you."

She brought the food back to the shelf and set it down betweenthem. "You'd think they could give us a spoon," she muttered underher breath, and was rewarded with the soft, breathy sound ofVincent's laughter. After a moment, she saw the irony herself, andsmiled back.

"At least I can feed myself tonight," he said, and showed her howMaddock had fixed his bonds so the chain between his wrists ranfreely through a ring at his waist. Now he could raise one hand at atime.

Catherine still had to hold the bowls for him to drink broth orwater -- they were too large and clumsy for him to manage with onehand -- but, even so, the meal went more quickly.

"I feel positively grubby," she said, after they'd eaten. "A hotshower would feel good about now."

"I can't provide a shower, but we have water," Vincent remindedher, indicating the bowls left over from the meals served him beforeshe came. "You could wash." His gaze went to her throat. "You shouldbathe that cut. It might become infected."

She touched her neck; flecks of dark, dried blood came away on herfingers, reminding her of the small wound Culver had so casually putthere. "I'd forgotten," she confessed.

Vincent rose to his feet and produced a small square of cloth --torn from his shirt, she guessed. He dampened it, squeezing out theexcess liquid.

The touch of his hand on her chin was gentle and she allowed himto tip her head up and a little to one side. The cloth was cool, themovement of his hand tender, but there was a hardness in his eyesthat disturbed her. He was upset that she had been hurt, but whetherhe was angry with himself or with their captors, she wasn't sure.

"It's only a cut, Vincent," she said. "It'll heal."

He didn't answer.

She reached up, stilling his hand. "Vincent..." She broke off whenhe gasped softly and flinched. "What? Did I hurt you?"

He started to turn away and she caught his arm. He resisted herfirst efforts to draw his hand into her lap, but she persisted and atlast he yielded.

Beneath the manacle, his wrist was gashed and torn, his shirt cuffstained with blood. Some of the wounds were dried; others still oozedwetly. She gasped in horror and reached for his other hand. It wasthe same.

"Oh, Vincent. Why didn't you tell me?" She looked up and saw theanswer in his eyes. To him, this was the price he paid for hisinability to protect her.

"These need attention," she said softly. "Sit down." He hesitatedand she tightened her grip on his fingers and tugged. "Sit down,Vincent."

He bowed to her insistence, sat on the low shelf and pulled backhis cuffs. Catherine brought back the cleanest of the four bowls ofwater, wishing she had some way to heat and sterilize it. Failingthat, she searched for something to use as bandages; the scrap fromVincent's shirt was far too small.

But thinking of Vincent's shirt reminded her of something else andshe reached for the leather ties that held the front of her overshirttogether.

"What are you doing?" Vincent's voice held more than a littlealarm, but, fixed on her task, she didn't look up.

"I'm taking off my shirt."

"Why?" He started to his feet and she took one hand away from thelaces long enough to push him back down.

"If you don't want to see, close your eyes," she advised briskly."But sit there."

Something in her voice must have made an impression; he sank backand studiously turned his head away. She spared a small smile for hisinnocence. "I'm sorry, Vincent. I don't mean to embarrass you." Shepulled off the light, embroidered overshirt and followed it quicklywith the heavier sweater underneath.

When she'd dressed the other morning, she'd been below, so she waswearing several warm layers. The innermost layer was a soft cottont-shirt, and it was this she wanted. It wasn't exactly sterile afterlying against her skin for two days, but it was easily the cleanestthing she had on. She pulled it off, shivering a little in the coolair, and set it aside before putting the sweater and overshirt backon.

"You can look now," she said, and turned her attention to thet-shirt. Worn as it was, it still resisted her efforts to tear it andshe turned to Vincent. "Help me."

She expected him to use his claws. Instead, he caught the hem ofthe shirt in his sharp teeth and jerked, and it tore with a loudripping sound. "More?" he asked.

"No, I can get it now that it's started." She set aside a sizablerectangle and swiftly reduced the rest of the shirt to a pile oftwo-inch wide strips.

She knelt beside him and bathed the lacerated flesh of his wrists,steeling herself against the knowledge that she was hurting him; whenthe wounds were clean she patted them dry and bandaged them thickly,hoping the extra layers of cloth would protect him from the steelbracelets.

Vincent suffered her ministrations in silence; when she finished,he shook his cuffs down over the bandages and moved to the end of hisfetters. Catherine rinsed out what was left of her shirt and hung itover a small protrusion of rock to dry.

"Vincent?"

When he didn't turn, she moved close, touching his shoulder.

"Are you all right?"

Long minutes passed before he spoke. "Catherine. This afternoonsomething happened to frighten you."

"Yes," she agreed quietly. She pressed close to his side. Themuscles of Vincent's arm were rigid beneath her hand and she rubbedgently, trying to get him to relax.

"You tried to shut me out." His voice shook. He turned his head tolook at her.

"I didn't want to upset you," she whispered. "I thought if I couldkeep you from knowing..."

Vincent rounded on her. "Keep me from knowing...?" he repeated. Hecaught her arm. "Tell me."

She shook her head. "It was nothing."

"The truth, Catherine."

She tried to look away from his implacable stare and failed. "Itwas Maddock," she confessed, finally, her voice no more than awhisper.

"Did he hurt you?" he asked, his voice low and savage.

"No."

"He touched you." There was danger in his voice, a barely leashedrage that frightened her.

She managed a tiny, reluctant nod.

"And you did nothing to stop him."

Again she shook her head.

"Why?"

"He threatened you. If I didn't cooperate..."

His arm felt as if it had been carved from marble; his eyes wereglacial.

"It was Paracelsus who stopped him." She forced a smile. "I neverthought the day would come when I'd be glad to see him."

"He protected you." Vincent sounded as if he could not quitebelieve it.

"No, Vincent. You protected me."

Her statement, simple and sincere, seemed to bleed away some ofthe unbearable tension, and he allowed her to guide him back to thelow stone shelf. She sat, pulling him down beside her, and lifted hiselbow to duck underneath and nestle in the protective curve of hisarm.

"You drew Paracelsus's attention to what was happening," she wenton. "You saved me."

"I endangered you, simply by my existence," he countered. His armtightened around her shoulders and she twisted to face him.

"You know better than that, Vincent."

After a moment, he looked away from the challenge in her eyes andshe knew he was past that simmering, helpless rage, at least for now.She put her arms around his waist and held him hard.

Too soon, he pulled away. "Catherine, there is something else wemust do."

She looked at him curiously in the dim glow of lantern light."What's that?"

"This morning you had an opportunity to escape."

"No, Vincent. I won't leave you. Not after what Paracelsus said."She forced a laugh. "Besides, I wouldn't know where to go. I'd getlost."

"Catherine, if another such opportunity arises, you must not thinkof Paracelsus's threats. There is too much at stake... the safety ofmy world... your life..."

"My life means nothing without you," she reminded him stubbornly."But you're right about your world... they should be warned..."

"And Paracelsus is not likely to kill me just yet," Vincentobserved. "Only make me extremely uncomfortable."

She suppressed a shudder, thinking of the ways in which Paracelsuscould make Vincent's prediction come true.

He squeezed her hand and rose from the shelf to kneel in the dust."Come here. I believe I know where we are. I'll show you the wayback."

Catherine spent the next two hours kneeling on the cold, dustyfloor, watching as Vincent drew out a map of the route between theirprison and the community tunnels. Because of the distance involved,the map was intricate and Vincent was painstaking with details,carefully including all side tunnels, spurs, and chambers. When itwas complete, he made her trace it with a finger, over and over,repeating the landmarks aloud.

"Good," he said simply, after she'd gone over the route,error-free, for the third time. "Do you know it?"

She rubbed her tired eyes with a grimy hand and nodded. "I thinkso."

He ran his hand over the map, erasing it. "Show me."

"Vincent..." She looked up. His expression held regret for herweariness, but determination was there, too. Clearly, he would pushher on this, if he had to. She swallowed her protest and bent overthe newly smoothed surface. "We're here. I go this way; there will betwo passages going off to my left and one to my right; when I reachthe third passage going left, I take it. Follow it until it starts toclimb..." She ticked off each landmark as she marked it in the dust;when she finished, she sank back, exhausted.

"Good." He rose to his feet and reached down to help her up. "Youshould sleep now," he told her.

"What about you?" she asked. His face was drawn with fatigue andshe touched his cheek softly.

"I must watch."

"If Paracelsus means to harm us, he doesn't have to wait until wesleep," Catherine pointed out rationally. "Besides, you'll wake up ifanyone enters. Lie down here with me."

His look of vague protest gave way to the wisdom of her argumentand he yielded, stretching out along the stone shelf. On the floor oftheir cell was a grimy blanket Culver had shoved through the barsearlier. Catherine picked it up, shaking it to remove the worst ofthe dirt, and joined Vincent on the shelf.

The chamber was cooled by constantly moving currents of air andshe snuggled close, seeking to share his warmth. He still wore hiscloak, unable to remove it because of his shackles, but there wasplenty of fabric in the body of the garment and he pulled it overher, trying to augment the dirty, threadbare blanket.

Slowly she relaxed, letting drowsiness creep over her . "Vincent?"she murmured. "What's going to happen to us now?"

He shifted, drawing her closer. "I don't know."

"If we don't get out... if no one comes to free us..."

"Shhh. You mustn't think of that. Someone will come."

"But if they don't..."

"We aren't going to die, Catherine." Vincent sounded verycertain.

"I know, but... I just thought... If something happens... if wedo... tomorrow, or anytime, I want you to know..." She moved her headto look at him. "...how much I love you. How much I wanted..." Shelet the sentence drift away, unfinished.

He held her very tightly, his cheek pressed hard against her hair."I know."

Safe in his arms, Catherine slept, and did not wake until Culverbrought breakfast. Afterward, Culver and Maddock came to remove herfrom the cage, but when she rose to accompany them, Vincent caughther arm.

"No, Catherine," he said forcefully. "No."

He held her in a grip so tight it made her wrist ache. Outsidetheir prison, Culver and Maddock watched with open interest.

"Let me go, Vincent," she argued in a fierce whisper. "I have togo with them. You know that."

His eyes pleaded with her. "Whatever Paracelsus might do to punishme cannot be as bad as what might happen to you, alone outthere..."

"It could easily be worse, Vincent. Please. I have to do this. Icouldn't bear to watch you being hurt..."

"And what do you think it is for me, to stand here and watch yougo, unable to protect you..."

"You're asking me to accept a certainty to protect myself from apossibility. I can't do that." She looked at him. "And if thesituation was reversed, neither could you."

Slowly his grip eased. "No," he agreed softly, finally. "Icouldn't."

She could see, by his eyes, what effort it took for him to let goof her; she wouldn't offer him any physical consolation with Culverand Maddock outside the bars watching, but she could let her love,her trust show on her face and after a moment he nodded briefly andstepped back.

"Go carefully, Catherine."

"I will."

She stepped outside, careful to avoid Maddock, and Culver took herarm to lead her into the larger chamber. Instead of returning her tothe corner, though, he escorted her to the large desk where she'dseen Paracelsus the first night, and, with a series of gestures,invited her to sit down. Hesitantly she did, keeping a firm hold onher apprehension. There was no point in agitating Vincent if shecould avoid it.

It wasn't long until Paracelsus emerged from a side passage andtook his seat across from her. "Good morning," he greeted hercordially. "I trust you slept well?"

"Not particularly," she answered him coldly. "What do youwant?"

He rubbed his hands together in a familiar, if somewhat sinister,gesture. "Information," he informed her. "Jacob has changed thedefenses. You were there. Tell me what he's done."

She stared at him. "I don't know."

"You were there," he repeated smoothly. "Am I to believe that youtook no interest in the steps being taken to protect you?"

She leaned forward. "I don't care what you believe," she hissed,feeling fully capable of lunging across the desk and squeezing thelife from him with her bare hands. Culver's presence a few feet awaystayed the impulse. "I'm not a member of the community. Nobody askedfor my opinion."

He leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers thoughtfully."Perhaps Vincent knows," he mused.

Her hands were suddenly cold and she squeezed them between herthighs to keep them from trembling. "Vincent knows nothing," shesaid, trying to keep the desperation from her voice. "He was here,remember?"

"Ah, but think, dear Catherine. One of Vincent's main duties isthe protection of Jacob's world. Wouldn't it be odd if he had no ideawhat their defense plans were?"

"Even if he knew, he wouldn't tell you. No matter what you do tohim."

Paracelsus leaned forward, his expression suddenly deadly. "But hewill. If the threat is not to him, but to you."

Behind her, she heard the low rumble of Vincent's growl, hisresponse to the icy terror she could no longer keep at bay.Paracelsus jerked his head in an angry signal and Culver came forwardto take her arm.

He dragged her up, pulled her to the far corner of the chamber andshackled her to the wall. Cold with fear, she huddled, waiting.Beyond the stone abutment that blocked her view, she could hearsomeone -- perhaps several someones -- moving about.

She understood, now, what Paracelsus was doing, saw his purpose inseparating her from Vincent and the reasons behind everything he'dsaid. It was a form of psychological warfare, building their fearsfor each other, allowing them time together and then separating themin a cycle designed to feed Vincent's rage.

She wondered what his ultimate purpose was. They'd assumed hewanted what he'd always claimed to want -- to replace Father as headof the tunnel society -- but now she wondered if his real intent wasnot far more deadly than that.

Vincent's sudden snarl of fury brought her out of her thoughts andsharply to her feet. The roar that followed echoed eerily through thechamber, bouncing back on itself before fading away. In the intervalthat followed, she could hear the quick rattle and clank of chainsand the low, insistent voice of Paracelsus.

The sounds continued for more than an hour, building until theroars were a continuous noise, drowning out all else, seeping intoher skull until she thought she might go mad, visualizing the tormenthe must be enduring.

The silence afterward was almost worse. There was no sound at allbeyond the soft shuffling step that she had identified as Culver's.When at length he came to escort her back, she followed himanxiously, squinting in the dim wavering light of the singlelantern.

The sight of Paracelsus and Maddock waiting just outside the cagestopped her breath and her step faltered. Culver moved on, oblivious,and she stumbled after him.

Vincent stood as close to the bars as his fetters allowed. He wasdusty, disheveled, and bore a long scrape across one high cheekbone;his stance was defiant, his lip curled in a silent snarl, but hiseyes... his eyes held only terror.

"What have you done to him?" she hissed furiously.

Paracelsus didn't bother to answer her question. "I'm very sorry,my dear," he said instead. "I tried to persuade him to tell me what Ineed to know, but he refuses. So this becomes necessary..."

At his signal, Maddock swung open the cage door and Culver pushedher inside. As the door clanged shut, she whirled, keeping anuncertain eye on their captors. "Vincent? What's happening?"

As if in answer to her question, Maddock raised what looked like arifle to his shoulder; before she could move to interfere, hefired.

Catherine spun around in time to see Vincent yank something fromhis arm and drop it on the floor.

A tranquilizer dart.

"I'm sorry, Vincent," Paracelsus said. Incredibly, his voice heldwhat seemed to be genuine regret. "You gave me no choice." With ajerk of his head, he signaled Maddock and Culver out of the chamberand followed them.

"Catherine." Vincent's voice was jerky, a product of his unevenand accelerated breathing. "You must stay away. As far as you can.Don't move. Don't do anything that might..."

Attract your attention, she finished for him, silently. "I will,"she agreed swiftly, sinking down against the bars, making herselfsmall.

"Catherine... forgive me. I couldn't tell him... they're myfamily..." His sentences were fragmented; whether from the substancein the dart or simply from agitation, she couldn't tell.

"I know, Vincent. I understand." And she did. All too well.Because he'd refused to give the information Paracelsus required, hewas being punished. Drugged.

She had been placed in the cage to create an additional fear forhim; that, if the drug somehow made him able to break free of hisrestraints, he might strike out at any living thing. In ahallucinogenic frenzy, he could kill her, and never even know it.

He stumbled to the far side of the cage and crumpled there, ahuddled, formless mass, waiting for the worst.

She watched anxiously, heart pounding. Irrationally, she wishedfor water to moisten her suddenly dry mouth, but the water bowls wereon Vincent's side of the cage. And then she wished she'd had thepresence of mind, before the drug took over, clouding his reason, totell him she loved him.

Long minutes passed in dreadful silence. Outside the bars, a pairof lanterns glowed brightly, casting sharp-edged shadows against therough walls.

At last Vincent stirred. "Catherine?" he whispered, sounding, forthe first time in her memory, small and lost.

He'd told her not to attract his attention, but he showed no signsof violence and somehow she knew he wanted an answer. "Yes," shewhispered back. "I'm here."

Slowly he lifted a hand, holding it up in front of him. It wassteady and as she watched, he turned it and flexed the fingers. "I...feel nothing."

"You mean you're numb?"

"No. I feel normal. As I usually do." He lifted the other hand andgave it the same examination as the first. Only then did he lift hishead to look at her. His eyes were clear and focused, if a littlepuzzled, and impulsively she rose.

"Don't!" he warned, but already she was there, taking his hands inhers.

"You're all right, Vincent. The dart must have been empty."

He studied her face for a moment before nodding. "Yes. He meant itas a warning. Of what could happen if I do not cooperate."

"He meant to frighten us."

His fingers tightened on hers. "He succeeded."

A noise outside silenced them and after a moment Culver came incarrying their dinner tray. He didn't seem surprised to see themsitting together; with his usual vacuous grin he pushed the trayunder the door. Catherine had grown used to the bland, unvarying menuand she brought the tray back without even a sigh of resignation.

Vincent studied the bowl of stew uneasily. "He could have putsomething in the food," he said. "Or the water."

"Yes," Catherine agreed. "But then he'd be drugging me, too. Whatwould be the point? Besides, he could have done it before now, if hewanted."

"Yes." He looked at her. "Shall we risk it?"

Catherine looked down at the thin, grayish concoction andshrugged. "I don't think we have a choice." She dipped her fingers inand brought out the first morsel -- a chunk of unidentifiablevegetable. With a here-goes-nothing quirk of her eyebrows, she poppedit into her mouth. "See? Delicious."

Some of the tension ever-present in the lines of Vincent's faceeased; for a moment, she thought he might smile. Instead, he brokeoff a chunk of bread, dipped it into the broth, and ate it.

Between bites, she told him of the morning's interview withParacelsus and what he had threatened.

"Yes. I had much the same conversation with him, myself," Vincentadmitted. "And yet I do not think he really wishes to know about myworld's defenses."

"What, then?"

"He's dealing in fear. He wants you to fear me; he wants me tofear myself." He looked away, his expression dark.

She touched his arm. "Vincent, he can't make me fear you. Youcould never hurt me. I believe that."

He pivoted so fast that the ends of his hair, matted and dirty asit was, whipped out behind him. His eyes blazed fiercely. "Do youthink, if the dart had not been empty, I would have had a choice? Anyone of several drugs might have given me the strength to break free,despite what the effort might do to me." He held out his wrists soshe could see how the bandages she'd so lovingly wrapped around themwere now torn and blood-soaked. "It could easily blind me to you,Catherine. You would become simply an obstacle, perhaps athreat..."

She wanted to argue, to blunt his fury and refute the words thatwere so obviously tearing at him even as he said them. But she couldnot. Because they could be true.

"Perhaps he won't try again," she whispered. "It's like a game tohim. Maybe he won't want to do the same thing twice."

He had gone quite still and the new look in his eyes chilled her."We cannot risk it. You must leave. Tonight."

She blinked at him. "Tonight? You mean now? How?" She gesturedwildly at the bars that surrounded them.

"There is a gap..." His gaze shifted and she turned to look.

The vertical steel bars of their cage touched the rock ceiling inmost places. Some spots showed signs of being chiseled away to makeroom for the bars. Vincent indicated a corner where the naturalceiling was a little higher and the crossbar on top of the cagedidn't quite meet it.

Catherine looked at the narrow opening, glancing from it toVincent and back again as understanding dawned.

Slowly she approached the corner, assessing the small space aboveit. She seized the section of bars and shook them vigorously to besure they would support her weight. They were, as she expected,solid.

She stepped back, judged the height of the crossbar, took twoquick running steps and jumped, grasping the vertical bars andpulling herself up. Her fingers just brushed the top bar before shelost momentum and dropped back down.

She dusted her hands against her thighs and tried again. This timeshe managed to catch the top bar with one hand. She swung her otherhand up and dangled for a moment, catching her breath, before bracingher feet against the bars and hoisting herself up. With one hand, shemeasured the space, assessing, planning.

The ceiling rose abruptly from the corner, dropping gradually,then sharply to meet the bars again. The gap it left was almostrectangular, about three feet long. It was eight inches high on oneend, dwindling to about five inches on the other.

Satisfied with her examination, she jumped down and dusted herhands again.

"Can you get through?" Vincent asked quietly.

"I'm not sure. I think so." She looked at him. "I don't want toleave you."

He shook his head gently.

"I know, I have to," she went on doggedly.

"No one will come until morning," he reminded her. "You must gonow."

She nodded. "I know that, too." She came close, slipping under hiselbow to stand within the circle made by his arm and the chain. Shehugged him fiercely, trying not to think of Paracelsus's threats.Vincent responded, crushing her to him, tight and tighter, and sherose on tiptoe to press her cheek against his.

"Be well, Vincent," she whispered, as if saying the words couldcast a spell to protect him from their enemy. "Be safe."

It was hard to step back from him, harder to turn away.

"Take the blanket," Vincent advised. "You may need itswarmth."

She nodded and placed the blanket and her jacket near the bars.Again, she had to make two leaps before she grasped the top bar.

She hung by her hands and secured her grip before starting to rocksideways. When she had gained enough momentum she swung herself hard,twisting her legs up to hook one heel over the crossbar. That gaveher the leverage to pull herself higher and push her legs through theopening.

Her body followed more slowly; the gap was a tight fit and it washard to force herself through. She was halfway when her foot slipped,upsetting her balance; Vincent's sharp gasp cut through her ownmuffled grunt as she bruised a shoulder against the rough rockceiling.

She couldn't spare the concentration to reassure him, though. Herbalance here was too precarious. Kicking blindly, she found anotherfoothold and braced feet and knees against the tempered steelbars.

Only when she was steady again did she glance at him. Vincent heldhis breath, fists curled tightly and she tried, without much success,to smile.

Her moment's rest over, she renewed her grip on the crossbar andbegan to ease her shoulders through the narrow opening. This waseasily the most dangerous part of the maneuver. If she slipped now,her head would be trapped between the bar and the ceiling. It wouldprobably break her neck. If it didn't, Vincent, chained as he was,would be powerless to help her, and she would slowly strangle.

She dared not dwell on the possibilities, dared not hesitate, anda moment later she was through, dropping safely to the ground.

Vincent let out his breath in audible relief and she knew he hadrecognized the danger. She managed a triumphant grin, rubbing at someof the scrapes and bruises she'd acquired as she pushed her bodythrough a space scarcely large enough to accommodate it. Hisexpression softened and he nodded, encouraging her to go on.

She bent and pulled her jacket and the dingy blanket through thebars, donning the jacket and tying the blanket loosely around hershoulders. Culver had left two lighted lanterns tonight and shepicked one up, hefting it. It was heavy, full of oil. Only when herpreparations were complete did she turn back to Vincent.

Despite the chains which bound him, he wore an air of dignity andlong-suffering nobility. For a wild instant, Catherine wanted toclimb back through that painfully small opening and hurl herself intohis arms, never to leave, but she knew the impossibility of that.Instead, she gave him a look which said more than mere words evercould. His eyes answered eloquently.

"Go with care," Vincent said finally, breaking the spell.

"I will," she answered, her voice soft. "Vincent..."

There were no words for what she wanted to tell him. He tilted hishead. "I know." His hand went to the pouch that held his rose. "Gonow."

She went.

There were two passages leading from the small chamber which heldthe cage. One led to the large chamber where Paracelsus was;Catherine took the other one, walking as quickly as she dared. Hastewas important because Paracelsus would be in pursuit as soon as heknew she was gone, but caution was necessary because the floor of thetunnels was rocky and uneven. The lantern swinging from her handthrew shadows everywhere, making it difficult to see.

Following the advice Vincent had given during their map session,she made herself stop and rest for five minutes of every hour.Impatience made her want to press on, but the brief rest periodswould help conserve her strength.

That strength began to wane, though, after hours of walking, andshe found herself increasingly leg-weary, hungry, and thirsty.According to Vincent's map, which so far had proved accurate, thereshould be a chamber with a spring not far from here. Catherinestumbled on.

The light from her lantern had begun to flicker, making theshadows swell and fade in time with her steps. Puddles of darknesswavered at her feet and she stepped carefully, trying to avoidthem.

Suddenly, the solid ground beneath her broke away, and shestumbled. She threw her hands out instinctively and there was a crashof breaking glass as she dropped the lantern. The light went out. Shefell, striking hard against the rough granite wall.

Moaning, she rolled over on the rocky floor. Hot, stabbing painshot through her right ankle; for a few incredibly long moments itwas all she could do not to cry out.

The pain finally began to subside and she sat up, breathing hard.In the uncertain light provided by the burning pool of oil from hersmashed lantern, she gingerly removed her shoe. Rolling down hersock, she examined the ankle in the near-darkness. The side of herfoot was already dark with bruising and the sharp bone of her anklehad disappeared beneath puffy flesh.

She touched it lightly, testing. The skin was numb and didn'tregister the feel of her fingers. She wriggled her toesexperimentally. Her ankle ached with a deep, fierce ache, but shedidn't think it was broken. In any case, she had to go on.

With dogged determination, she tore strips from her grimy blanket.She pulled up her sock and gently replaced her shoe, lacing itloosely. Using the strips of the blanket, she wrapped her anklesecurely, shoe and all. It felt better with the firm support and shepushed herself up, leaning against the wall, putting all her weighton the good leg.

The small pool of oil had almost burned itself out, and with asickening lurch of terror she realized that in her fall, she hadcompletely lost her sense of direction. She had no idea which wayshe'd come.

Fighting panic, she forced herself to stay still until she couldthink it out. Her right foot had twisted away from her and she hadfallen to her right, coming up hard against the wall. Her shoulderstill stung from the impact. That same wall supported her now as sheleaned against it, so she had come from the left and needed tocontinue down the tunnel to her right.

She hoped.

Panic rose again.

She closed her eyes and reached for Vincent, suddenly realizing hemust be frantic, wondering what was wrong. "I'm all right, Vincent,"she murmured aloud. "I'm going to be okay." Thinking of him, speakingto him even though he couldn't hear, comforted her and at last shewas calm.

Using the wall as both a support and a guide, she resumed herjourney. Her ankle protested vigorously every time she moved it, butit would bear her weight, so she forced herself on, her goal nolonger the chamber where the spring should be, or even help forVincent, but only to travel five more feet, ten more feet.

She moved in utter blackness now, concentrating on the nextpainful step, and the next. She did not know how far or long she hadbeen struggling when she suddenly realized she could see, dimly. Shelooked up.

Pale light outlined an opening ahead and to the left. She hobbledfaster.

The opening led to a large, domed chamber, faintly illuminated byan unseen source. She recognized it from Vincent's description. Shehad been trying to ignore her parched throat and dry, cottony mouth,but now the thought of water gave her new energy. She listened forthe faint bubbling of the spring and scrambled toward it recklessly.The water was icy cold and tasted wonderful.

She gulped it in feral haste until her first, fierce thirst wasslaked. Then, afraid of making herself sick by drinking too much toosoon, she pushed away from the spring and lay on her back, breathinghard.

Her too-rapid movement had started a fresh crescendo of pain inher foot and ankle. What the injury needed was ice to slow theinternal bleeding and swelling, and rest to allow it to heal.Catherine might have laughed if she had not been hurting so badly.Rest was out of the question as long as Vincent was Paracelsus'sprisoner, and ice did not exist this far below the surface.

She rolled over for a few more gulps of the numbingly cold waterand paused, stunned by her blindness. The spring water was icy cold.In lieu of actual ice, it should do nicely.

With painstaking care, she unwrapped the strips of blanket whichbound her ankle, eased off the shoe and peeled off her sock. Rollingup the leg of her jeans, she gritted her teeth and plunged theinjured foot into the frigid water. The active pain of the sprain wasrapidly replaced by the numbing ache of cold.

Catherine endured it as long as she could before withdrawing thefoot, warming frozen toes with her hands before thrusting her footinto the water again.

Her foot was immersed for the third time when she heard the rattleof a dislodged stone behind her. Cursing herself for carelessness,she rolled quickly to the side, groping futilely for anything shecould use as a weapon as she frantically scanned the chamber.

Movement caught her eye and she focused on it. Gradually, she madeout a shock of disheveled blond hair. One wary blue eye peered at herfrom behind a rock and recognition struck simultaneously.

"Catherine!"

"Mouse!"

Half an hour later, Catherine warmed herself by a small fire, herinjured foot propped up and a tin mug of hot tea in her hands. Mouse,she'd learned, was part of a search party; the other members wereJamie, Philip, and Zach.

Zach had been dispatched to the nearest pipe to relay a messageand summon help. Philip, a young man Catherine knew only by sightuntil today, was in the tunnel she had come from, standing watch.Jamie was efficiently caring for Catherine's injury, soakingcompresses in the icy-cold spring and wringing them out beforepacking them gently around the swollen, discolored ankle.

Mouse crouched beside her, intently studying the design Catherinetraced in the dirt as she tried to reconstruct the maps Vincent hadmade her memorize and the route she had taken.

Mouse was no less exacting than Vincent had been, requiring her togo over and over the maps until he was certain he knew where Vincentwas being held.

"Sure?" he asked skeptically, eyeing her latest map. "Long way."He looked pointedly at her sprained ankle.

"Mouse," Catherine said with weary patience, "I walked for hoursbefore I fell. I know I don't travel as quickly as you do, but I knowI came a long way. The map is just the way Vincent drew it forme."

Mouse had to accept her word as Jamie brushed him aside to serveCatherine a simple meal of canned stew and crackers. The similaritybetween this and the meals provided by Paracelsus made Catherinewonder if Vincent had anything to eat. It had been a long time sincethey'd shared the last bowl of stew, however, and Catherine wasravenous. She ate the stew as quickly as manners allowed.

Meanwhile, Jamie wrapped her injured ankle firmly with strips ofcloth torn from an extra shirt in Mouse's pack. With her hunger satedand the pain in her ankle muted to a dull throb, Catherine stretchedout beside the fire and closed her eyes.

She didn't know how long she'd slept before Zach returned. She satup, rubbing her eyes, as the boy squatted by the fire and reached forthe crackers.

"They're coming," he announced and stuffed a cracker in his mouth."Twenty-four hours."

"Twenty-four hours!" Catherine exclaimed, the last vestiges ofsleep vanishing in the face of her indignation. "Anything couldhappen to Vincent before then!"

Mouse was gone and Philip sat in his place. "You have toremember," he told Catherine kindly, "everyone was searching. They'rescattered. It will take time to contact them all and bring themhere." He reached across the fire and placed a hand on her shoulder."We care for Vincent too, and we're prepared to fight for him." Henodded toward Jamie's crossbow and Catherine realized that the stoutstaff Philip carried was more a weapon than a walking support.

"I'm sorry," she said, helplessly contrite. "I'm justworried..."

"We all are," Jamie interrupted. "But Vincent's tough. He'll beokay."

Catherine struggled to her feet.

"Where are you going?" Jamie asked suspiciously.

Catherine reached for her jacket. "I'm going back," she said,pulling the grimy garment on.

"Catherine, twenty-four hours..."

"Are too many!" Catherine shot back, cutting Jamie off. "I've donewhat I was supposed to do. You know where he is now, and maybe I canhelp him if I'm there. I have to go back."

Jamie exchanged worried glances with Philip. He shrugged.

"Okay," Jamie agreed reluctantly. "But sit down first. You shouldeat again and I'll have to change the bandage on your foot. We don'twant Paracelsus to know you found us."

Catherine admitted the wisdom of that and swallowed a fewmouthfuls of stew while Jamie replaced the clean cloth from Mouse'sshirt with the grimy blanket strips Catherine had originallyused.

The cold compresses and a few hours of rest had helped, and withher ankle firmly supported, Catherine was able to limp along with amanageable level of pain. Philip picked up his staff and joined her,offering his arm as support.

Catherine accepted his assistance gratefully and both Philip andMouse accompanied her back the way she had come.

"We'll stay with you as long as we can," Philip said firmly, whenshe tried to protest.

"You get lost, Vincent'll be mad," Mouse added brightly.

"He's going to be mad, anyway," Philip muttered, not quite underhis breath. Catherine thought it very likely he was right, but stillshe had to go.

A half-hour's slow progress took them to the spot where she hadfallen. The smashed, blackened remnants of her lantern lay amongglittering shards of glass.

They stopped there for a brief rest and Catherine told them how,in the dark following her fall, she had lost her sense ofdirection.

"That's good," Philip said. "Tell them that, if they ask. Afteryou fell, you got turned around and went the wrong way."

"Okay." Catherine could see the sense in that. Above all else,Paracelsus must not know she had been able to pass on a message.

With a groan, she let Mouse help her to her feet again and leanedon him heavily as they resumed their slow progress.

It was several rest stops later when Philip came back from ascouting expedition waving his hands for silence. "Someone's coming,"he breathed, extinguishing their lantern. In the sudden blackness, afaint golden glow could be seen from the tunnel ahead.

"Tell Vincent it won't be long," Philip whispered, close toCatherine's ear.

Mouse squeezed her arm in encouragement and they both meltedsilently away. Catherine sank down against the tunnel wall and triedto look despondent.

A moment later, the man with the lantern appeared around a curvein the passage and stopped at sight of her. She was relieved to seeit was Culver. It had only occurred to her in the last few secondsthat it might be Maddock and she didn't know if she'd have had thecourage to go with that horrible man without calling out for the helpwhich she knew hovered nearby.

Face buried in her arms, she waited. Culver came to her slowly anddropped to his knees. He pulled her hands together and bound herwrists tightly, all while smiling his gentle, vacuous smile. AsMaddock had done at her earlier capture, he left a length of rope touse as a leash and pulled on it stolidly.

With painful effort, Catherine climbed to her feet and fell intostep behind him. Culver habitually moved slowly, but his pace wasstill too fast for her injured foot. She pulled on the rope andstopped.

When Culver turned, she pointed down. "I can't go that fast," sheexplained, slowly and clearly. She didn't know if Culver was deaf orsimple, or perhaps both and she wanted to be understood. "I'm hurt. Ican't go fast," she repeated.

He glanced down at her heavily wrapped ankle and shrugged. Heturned and walked on at the same, too-rapid pace.

Catherine couldn't keep up and when she tried to stop again, thepull on her wrists upset her balance and she fell. Culver waitedpatiently while she hauled herself to her feet, but she was scarcelyup before he set off again.

The rest of the trip was nothing short of a nightmare. Catherinetried to ignore the stabbing pain in her ankle, straining to keep upwith her captor, but her best efforts were not enough and shestumbled frequently.

Each step, each fall aggravated her injury and increased herfatigue, and as time went on, she fell more often, absorbing theimpact with knees, hips, elbows and shoulders. Her coordinationdecreased in direct ratio to her exhaustion and she began to fallmore clumsily, striking and scraping against rough rock walls andfloors.

Each time she fell, Culver waited for her to regain her feet. Ifshe was too slow, he prodded her with his filthy boot.

Dazed by unremitting pain and the need to stay on her feet,Catherine was only dimly aware when Culver stopped and released therope around her wrists. His hand on her shoulder sent her stumblingforward and, as she put her weight on it, her ankle gave way. Shefell again, and this time, with no boot jabbing at her side, she wascontent to remain in the dust, half-propped on bloody elbows.

For the last few minutes, her ears had been filled with a roaringand, afraid of losing consciousness altogether, she shook her head toclear it. The roaring stopped and she heard someone softly call hername.

From somewhere, she found the strength to lift her head. Vincentcrouched just out of reach, one hand stretched toward her.

"You have to come to me," he said, pleading. "I can't reachyou."

She would have been happy to just put her head down in the dirtand go to sleep, but of course Vincent wouldn't allow that. So shedragged herself across the four vast feet which separated them andfinally felt the tender strength of Vincent's hands as he pulled herinto his lap, cradling her against his shoulder and rockinggently.

There was little of her body which had not made painful contactwith floors or walls during one of her many falls. The elbows of herjacket hung in tattered shreds and her hands and forearms werescraped and gashed, bleeding in scores of places. Her knees were rawand bloody and her hips, thighs, shoulders and ribs were bruised andsore.

During some of her later, more clumsy falls, she had been unableto protect her face. Her upper lip was split and swollen, making itdifficult to speak. The whole left side of her face was a raw,stinging scrape and rivulets of blood from a gash above her ear hadclumped and dried in her hair.

She could feel his fingers probing gently, finding each injury inturn and she tried not to flinch from his touch. The sounds he made,deep in his throat, were of pain and regret. Her painfully mumbledreassurances did not seem to penetrate as he lifted her withexquisite tenderness and placed her on the stone ledge.

A movement near the door made him spin defiantly and Catherineopened her eyes in time to see his upper lip raised in a low snarl.It was Culver, who ignored Vincent and slid a tray beneath the door,pushing it within Vincent's reach. Vincent waited until the man wasgone before he abandoned his protective stance and brought the trayclose to the ledge.

He dampened a cloth in the bowl of water and began to bathe herface, washing away the blood and dust. After her face, he worked onher arms and knees, bathing the wounds tenderly, covering the worstgashes with strips torn from his own shirt. Only when he had made heras comfortable as possible did he turn to the bowl of stew. She shookher head faintly when he offered her some and while he ate, she gavein to the exhaustion that tugged at her.

She had no idea how long she'd slept, nor did she remember Vincentlying down beside her but she came startlingly, heart-poundinglyawake when he twisted suddenly away from her, lurching to his feetwith a low, savage snarl.

It must be morning, she decided, struggling to sit up. Paracelsusand his men stood on the far side of the bars.

"Good morning, Vincent," Paracelsus said. "I told you we wouldbring her back." His gaze moved to Catherine and he viewed herbruised face dispassionately. "I am sorry for your injuries, my dear,but I'm afraid they were quite unavoidable. You should be grateful.I've decided there's no need for further punishment this time..."

Vincent's low growl cut through Paracelsus's speech and he steppedforward, reaching the limits of his chains. "You will not touch heragain," he snarled. "Catherine stays here today."

Paracelsus's one visible brow rose in mock astonishment. "Why,Vincent. You are quite protective this morning. But as it happens, Ihave already decided to allow you and your Catherine some timetogether. Perhaps, after you've spoken with one another, you willstop this foolish resistance. And if not..." He didn't finish thesentence, but behind him, Maddock hefted the tranquilizer gun andgrinned.

Paracelsus and Maddock left the chamber; Culver, burdened withtheir breakfast tray, bent and pushed it under the door beforefollowing them out.

The tray was beyond the scope of Vincent's chains; Culver hadforgotten to push it within reach. With a muffled groan of pain andstiffness, Catherine rolled off the shelf and hobbled across the cageto bring it back. Vincent took it from her as soon as she was closeenough, placing it swiftly on the shelf and turning back to assisther slow progress.

"I don't suppose you have an aspirin," she tried to joke as hehelped her to sit.

"No." His expression was grave. "Catherine, I would never haveasked you to go if I had known... if I had imagined..."

"I would be hurt," she finished for him. "It doesn't matter,Vincent. I'll be okay. Paracelsus didn't hurt you?"

He shook his head. "I had no breakfast yesterday; when Paracelsusdiscovered you were gone, he refused to feed me until you returned,but beyond that, nothing. I think Maddock and Culver were both outsearching for you; they had no time to think of me."

She nodded her relief. "Good. That's good."

"But you, Catherine... and for nothing."

"Not for nothing, Vincent."

His head came up, his eyes meeting hers.

She nodded. "I found them, Vincent. Jamie and Mouse and someothers. Mouse knows this place. They'll wait for help and come forus."

"When?"

"Twenty-four hours. From... whenever Zach sent the message." Shelooked at him helplessly. "Maybe eight or ten hours before Culverbrought me back?"

"It's close to twenty hours now, then. Soon."

"Yes. Soon."

He brought the food close. "You must eat. You'll need yourstrength."

Paracelsus didn't seem concerned about Catherine making anotherescape attempt; he seemed to assume her injuries would be enough todiscourage her. There was no sign he suspected she'd actually reachedhelp; no one was sent to guard them and the morning passeduneventfully.

The bobbing light from several lanterns was the first sign thathelp was here; Vincent noticed it first and Catherine, who had beenlying down, pushed herself up. Seconds later, a handful of theirfriends emerged from the tunnel, moving soundlessly to prearrangedpositions.

Mouse was at the cage door, grinning, a silencing finger pressedagainst his lips. Jamie, crossbow at the ready, guarded his back.Mouse picked the lock on the door and when it swung open, wentstraight to Vincent and knelt to work on his chains. Jamie laid hercrossbow aside and came swiftly to the low stone ledge, offeringCatherine a supportive arm.

Catherine gave her a wan smile.

"What did they do to you?" Jamie asked in horror. Even as shespoke, her hands were busy removing the ragged blanket bandage fromCatherine's ankle and rewrapping it with clean strips of cloth.

Vincent watched this over his shoulder as Mouse worked on hisright manacle. "Jamie," he asked quietly, "why did you allowCatherine to return?"

Jamie glanced up from her work. "Are you kidding? How were wesupposed to stop her?"

Vincent's glance went to Catherine's face and she touched itself-consciously. The places that weren't scabbed with dried bloodfelt tender and swollen.

Jamie grinned at her. "She wanted to come back," she said,shrugging, and Catherine knew that Jamie, at least, understood.

While Mouse worked on Vincent's chains and Jamie worked onCatherine's ankle, some of the others -- Philip, Sidney and David --had moved through the other passage, into the larger chamber. Now adisturbance in the passage could be heard, and all turned tolook.

Philip and Sidney were not alone when they returned. Paracelsus'sman Culver was with them; Sidney gripped his arm roughly.

"Look what we found," Sidney said. "Hiding."

Free of his fetters, Vincent moved toward Culver purposefully.Panicked, Catherine tried to scramble after him. "Vincent? Vincent,don't!"

His steps didn't falter and she was suddenly very afraid that sheknew what was going on inside him. Insult had been heaped uponindignity these past few days, stretching his tolerance to itslimits; fear for Catherine and the future of his home had furtherdepleted his self-control.

He wouldn't have forgotten that Culver was the one who had heldCatherine in an iron grip and used a knife to cut her neck, and whohad brought her back from her escape attempt bruised and bleeding.His hands were half-curled in the manner he used for attack and shecould hear a vicious snarl as he advanced.

It was Jamie who moved, finally, to block his path. "Vincent,stop," she said.

He stopped, but his gaze was still fixed beyond her. Catherine wasstill trying to get to her feet, was still calling his name.

"Vincent, don't," Jamie said, but he was oblivious, staring overher head at Culver. For Catherine, the terror in Jamie's eyes was asgood as a mirror.

Jamie swallowed hard, and did what was obviously the only thingshe could think of to gain Vincent's attention -- she drew back herfist and punched him hard in the chest.

Startled, he growled, and his head came down as his focus shiftedto her. Instinctively, Jamie stepped backwards, fear clearlyreflected on her face. Catherine's heart pounded, counting time untilVincent's shoulders slumped and she knew the humanity had returned tohis eyes.

She had reached him now, her stance unbalanced as she tried tokeep weight from her injured foot. She swayed and Vincent began toturn, but already Mouse was there, reaching out to catch her.

"Shouldn't do that, Vincent," he chided. "Make Catherine hurtherself."

It was Mouse who helped her back to the stone shelf; after amoment and a long look at Vincent, Jamie followed. "Are you okay?"she asked, examining the wrapped limb.

"Yes. Jamie..."

Jamie looked up.

"Thank you."

"Jamie's brave," Mouse added, sotto voce, glancing at Vincent, whostood with his back to them. His head was bowed and his fistsclenched, as if he fought some inner battle. "Vincent was mad," Mouseadded.

"I've never been so scared," Jamie admitted. "I've never seen himlook like that before."

"I have," Catherine murmured quietly, to no one in particular.

Jamie nodded. "I just had to stop him. I couldn't let himdo..."

Catherine didn't realize Vincent had moved until he hunkered downbeside her. "Is Catherine all right?" he asked, speaking only toJamie.

Jamie nodded. "Vincent, I'm sorry I hit you..."

He stopped her with a look. "Don't be sorry, Jamie. You did whatwas necessary, and kept me from something I would haveregretted."

"It's Paracelsus who needs to be brought to justice," Catherineadded, through bruised lips. "Culver is only a tool."

"Yes," Vincent agreed. There was a hard edge to his voice andCatherine caught his hand.

"Vincent. What are you thinking?"

"You said it yourself, Catherine. Paracelsus must be brought tojustice." He rose swiftly to his feet.

Despite the soreness of her bruised and abraded palms, Catherinekept hold of his hand. "Not by you."

"If we refuse to take action now, we may not have anotheropportunity," Vincent said. His eyes held a frightening glint. "Hecould have killed you," he added relentlessly. "I will not leave himfree to try again."

He turned swiftly toward Paracelsus's large chamber, cloakflaring. Catherine watched after him, distressed.

"Philip, Sidney, Andrew, go with him," Jamie directed. "Helphim."

The men moved to obey, following Vincent down the passage towardthe vast, torch-lit chamber.

Jamie waited until they had disappeared from sight before shespoke again. "Come on," she said. "Let's get out of here." She helpedCatherine up, supporting her weight as she hobbled to the cagedoor.

What was left of the rescue party reformed into a travellinggroup; Zach came to brace Catherine's other side and they setoff.

Catherine moved slowly despite being half-carried by Jamie andZach, straining all the while for the sounds that would mean Vincenthad found his prey. All was silent behind them, and soon they hadtravelled too far for any noise from the cavern to reach them.

When Jamie judged they'd gone far enough, Mouse found afresh-water spring and they made camp beside it. Blankets werearranged to make a rough bed for Catherine and Jamie tended her manyscrapes and cuts, smoothing on an antiseptic salve she carried in herknapsack.

Because she hurt in so many places, Catherine allowed herself tobe cosseted but she refused to sleep, keeping her eyes open until, atlast, Vincent and his three companions stepped into the flickeringcircle of light cast by the small fire.

Philip shook his head in answer to the questioning glances."Nothing," he said. "Paracelsus was gone, and so was his second man.We looked, but found no trace." Tiredly, he and the others sank downbeside the fire.

Vincent came to kneel at Catherine's side and she attempted acrooked smile. "Part of me is glad you didn't find him," shewhispered.

He touched her face lightly. "Is that the same part of you thatmade you come back after you'd found safety?" he asked.

"It's the part of me that wants to protect you. The part of methat needed to be with you." She felt an extraordinary tenderness forhim. "I couldn't leave you alone."

"But the cost, Catherine," he answered. "The pain yousuffered..."

"It wasn't intentional, Vincent. Culver never meant to hurt me. Hejust didn't understand why I couldn't keep up with him. I think hemust be mentally impaired in some way."

"Perhaps," Vincent conceded, his eyes bleak. He glanced across thefire to where Culver sat, closely guarded. "It is Paracelsus whomeans us harm," he continued. "As long as he is free, there isdanger. For you, for Father..."

"For you, too," she added. "I'll be careful, Vincent, and Fatherwill, too." She lifted her hand and winced as her battered bodyprotested. He bent to make it easier for her to touch his cheek.

"Paracelsus will come back," Mouse announced suddenly, withauthority. "Hurt Catherine, put Vincent in a cage. Bad man. Terribleman." Neither of them had seen him approach, but Vincent turned nowto include him in their conversation.

"I'm afraid you're right, Mouse," he agreed. "He is evil, and willsurely try again to destroy our world."

"Won't do it, though," Mouse said firmly. "Won't let him. Mousewill fight. Jamie, too."

"You were very brave today, Mouse," Catherine told him. "Thankyou."

He grinned his pleasure and moved back toward the fire.

"You're exhausted," Vincent observed softly. "You shouldsleep."

Weariness was already dragging her down. Catherine nodded. "Iwill. Now that you're safe..."

She woke much later to the realization that the muted voicesaround the campfire were gone. The only sound now was the evenbreathing of her companions and the soft pop and crackle of the fireitself. She turned her head toward its dull orange glow in time tosee a tall shape gliding silently across the chamber.

Vincent.

She watched him kneel beside the fire and stir it with a long,blackened stick before adding another of the driftwood logs Mouse andZach had scrounged from the banks of a nearby underground river. Whenthe new log was burning cheerily, he moved to a place near the fireand bent, reaching down.

It was a moment before Catherine realized he was waking one of thesleepers. They must be taking turns keeping watch, a wise thing withParacelsus still on the loose. The sleeper mumbled something and satup, stretching and rubbing his head. Catherine recognized him asPhilip. Vincent moved to another of the fireside pallets, and thistime it was Zach who got sleepily to his feet.

Only when the two new lookouts had been dispatched did Vincentturn away. To Catherine, the lines of his neck and shoulders and theapathy in his step spoke of his discouragement, his utter weariness.And, perhaps, something else. Her heart ached for him and she wished,with all her might, that there was something tangible she could do toease his burden.

Despite the closeness of the past few days, she expected him tochoose a sleeping place on the far side of the fire; Vincent nevershowed physical affection in the presence of others. But to hersurprise, he picked a careful path among the other sleepers and cameto her side.

With a softly muffled groan, he stretched out and wrapped hiscloak around him. He was close enough for her to feel the heat of hisbody, but it seemed odd he hadn't spoken. Surely he knew she wasawake.

He was very still, but when she closed her hand on his, hisfingers tightened in response.

"Mouse is right, you know," he said softly, his voice bleak.

Moving hurt, but she needed to see his face, even in theflickering half-light cast by the fire. She raised herself on onebattered forearm and peered into his eyes. They were open, the focusfixed on something beyond her shoulder.

"Right about what?" she whispered.

"About Paracelsus."

"Coming back?" she guessed.

"Yes."

She wished he would look at her, wished his expression, his voice,wasn't so flat and deadly. "You're afraid," she realized softly.

His answer was a long time coming. "Yes," he breathed finally,seeming relieved to be admitting it out loud.

"But not of Paracelsus," she went on, watching him.

For the first time his distant gaze flickered, shifting swiftly toher.

"I know, Vincent," she said, answering his unasked question. "Iknow what you fear. I fear it, too."

His full attention was on her now; his eyes seemed almost toplead.

"It's not what Paracelsus might do... to me, to you, to yourworld. It's you. It's what you might have to do to him."

Something very like panic flared in his eyes in the instant beforehe turned away. She moved closer, resting her weight against his sideand lifting one hand to caress his cheek. "It's all right, Vincent,"she murmured, close to his ear.

"I would have hurt Culver," he said, his voice low. "If Jamiehadn't stopped me..."

"I know."

"If I had found Paracelsus..."

She knew that, too, and wished for words to comfort him.

"I would have killed him, Catherine," he went on, relentless."With these hands. I would have rejoiced in the killing."

"You were very angry, Vincent," she temporized. "Look at what hedid to you, to me."

"Does he not deserve justice, then?" Vincent asked, his voicerising. "Should he not be brought back to be tried in council? Who amI to decide his fate?"

"He's already been tried by the council, Vincent," she argued."Years ago. You told me that yourself. He's already been exiled;there's nothing more the council can do to him."

Vincent was silent; he didn't acknowledge the truth of herwords.

"You are one of his victims, Vincent," she went on, pressing herpoint. "If you had found him, if you had loosed your anger... itwould be only justice. Only what he deserved. He has no regard forhuman life. He's dangerous."

"If I had followed him with those thoughts in mind, you might beright," he conceded tiredly. "But I did not. I had no thought ofprotecting my world from further harm. I thought only of your face,bruised and swollen. I thought only of my own frustration. I wouldhave killed him, Catherine, simply because he made me angry. And thatis no justice at all."

His words struck piercingly close to the truth and Catherine hadno argument to refute them. She put her head on his shoulder andclosed her eyes. "What I know is that if you had found him, if youhad dispensed your own justice..."

"Killed him," Vincent supplied mercilessly.

"Killed him," Catherine agreed reluctantly, "I would have beenglad, Vincent. Not glad you killed him, but glad he was dead."

"No."

"Yes. Because what I said before is true. He's dangerous. To me,to the helpers, to your world. And most of all, to you. He must bestopped, Vincent, and I don't know of any other way to stop him."

"Would you hunt him, then?" Vincent asked.

She thought about it. "No," she admitted with a sigh. "I guessnot. If I'd had a gun when we were down there, when he wasthreatening you, I could have used it easily, but to hunt him down incold blood? I couldn't. I might wish I could, but I couldn't." Shelifted herself again, capturing his attention. "And neither couldyou."

It was a moment of revelation for them both. "No," he admittedsoftly. "Without the rage... no. I couldn't." Immeasurable reliefshone in his eyes. "Thank you, Catherine, for showing me..."

"Of course." She leaned forward and touched her forehead to hischeek before sinking back down beside him.

"It leaves us at an impasse regarding Paracelsus," he murmured,after a moment. "He's still at large. He's still, as you keepreminding me, dangerous."

"That's a truth we can't change," she whispered. "Maybe, when weget back, the council will have some ideas. Maybe there is someaction we can take as a group. But for now, all we can do is bewatchful."

"And wait."

"Yes," she agreed softly. "And wait."

The echoes of their whispering voices died gradually against thehigh ceiling of the chamber; light from the fire danced with shadowson the walls. Around them, their friends slept, or kept watch againsttheir common enemy.

And somewhere, deep in the bowels of the earth, that enemy beganto plan anew.