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do I pass it on to ? Some of the kids—some of the ones who've died, maybe?"
    He took notice of Job for the first time, and switched to English. "What are you doing in here? Get the hell out, and back upstairs!" And then in Italian into the telephone, "No, no, it's just one of the dumb kids. He don't understand squat. Look, if I'm to do it your way I'll need a lot of help, here and over on the Hill. And if I don't get that, you better remember you're in as deep as I am."
    Another torrent of words burst out of the telephone, but Job could wait no longer. He ran back upstairs at top speed. By the time he came to the fourth floor he was wheezing and his lungs were aflame.
    Laga had hardly moved since he left. She was no longer retching, or convulsing. He lifted her and turned her head, hugging her to him. She was warm and quiet against his chest. It was many seconds before he realized that she was not breathing.
    Even then he did not fully understand what had happened. There had been two deaths in Cloak House since Job had arrived there, but he had not seen either body. Laga was still warm, her skin was still soft, she lay just as though she were resting.
    When the fact of her death at last sank in, it drained Job. He laid Laga on the floor and leaned back against the wall. He was overwhelmed with misery, but the empty feeling inside left no urge to cry. For five minutes he sat unmoving, ignoring the shouts now coming from below.
    When half a dozen tough-looking men ran past him, heading for the fifth floor, Job at last stood up, gazed blankly at Laga's body for the last time, and went downstairs. He did not stop in his dormitory, or seek out any of his few possessions. He had no plan, no idea what he was going to do. When his steps led him to the front door of Cloak House, there was no sense of an action taken.
    The door was open. Four empty cars stood in the alley outside, lights on and engines running.
    Job stared incuriously into them, at their luxurious black upholstery, built-in communications systems, and tinted windows. Without slowing his step he went on past them, to the end of the alley where the street-lamp shone white; and on again, until he was swallowed up in the warm dark of the city's Indian summer night.

Chapter Four
    Bracewell Mansion
    By day the city had been intimidating in its size and complexity, but never scary. Perhaps it was Father Bonifant's presence, a figure so familiar, so intense, and so obviously poor that not even the lowest basura in the street people thought to rob or attack him. Job had roamed the potholed roadways in his footsteps, and loved it.
    But for a boy alone, and at night, the city put on a new face. Streets that he had walked a score of times became unfamiliar, filled with long, distorted shadows thrown by distant streetlights. He saw no one on sidewalk or pavement, but soft voices and strange sighs came from alleys and unlit corners. Without conscious decision Job turned his steps south and west, towards the glowing jewel of the Mall Compound. When he came within a quarter of a mile of the outer barricade, all aboveground structures ended. The Mall surround was dark, seamless concrete, unrelieved by light, tree, or blade of grass.
    Job hesitated, until the far-off lights drew him forward again. He began to walk slowly towards the nearest part of the barricade. The Compound was quiet tonight, with no helicopter activity. For fifty yards he moved in an odd silence.
    Suddenly a siren howled within the Compound. Twin spears of light converged and held him in a bright white focus.
    ATTENTION. A great bellowing voice spoke in Job's ear, so loud that he, ignorant of focused sonics, felt sure that it was audible across the whole city. ATTENTION. YOU ARE MOVING INTO A RESTRICTED ZONE, PROPERTY OF THE UNITED STATES GOVERNMENT. ACCESS IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED. THIS AREA IS PROTECTED BY AUTOMATED DEFENSE PROCEDURES. IF YOU DO NOT RETREAT AT ONCE TO THE BOUNDARY OF THE MALL PROTECTION ZONE,