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square-shouldered appeared. Two large horns crowned its bovine head.

    I took a step back.

    "Run," someone screamed. "Oh, dammit, run."

    "No," Pol yelled. "No. Be still, make no sound. Maybe it can't see."

    They ignored him. His efforts at holding Nary failed. They ran in a group—stumbling and whimpering, missing the left corridor.

    The creature lumbered after them, past us, moving fast, much too fast for its gait. Under the bubble lights, I saw it clearly: recurved horns, blood-stained as was the muzzle, wide green eyes—eyes more like a cat's than like a bull's.

    Our screaming companions ran straight back, to huddle by the wall that blocked their path. Still within full view of us, they pushed against the wall and screamed and kicked in a writhing pile. In their panic, each prevented the other from getting through the doors on either side.

    The Minotaur trotted towards them, head down, and charged bull fashion. It speared a balding man through the chest of his tie-dyed T-shirt. The man whimpered and fell like a deflated balloon. Blood gushed. His cry ended in a sort of gurgle.

    The Minotaur charged the group again.

    It all seemed to take place in slow motion and yet I knew it was very fast, taking no more than a few breaths. There was nothing I could do, no time to intervene.

    My stomach churned. I didn't want to think, to smell, to see, or to hear. But neither could I close my eyes. If I were to die I wanted to know it was going to happen. I wanted to know it was all over, even if only for a few seconds.

    Sweat running down my back, I concentrated on standing still, on breathing quietly.

    Pol, two steps to the right and in front of me, looked like a statue, only the slight rise of his broad chest betraying life.

    The Minotaur lowered its head again. A sharp cry sounded and a dark red stain bloomed on Nary's yellow dress.

    Pol swallowed audibly and shifted his weight to the foot closer to his girlfriend.

    The Minotaur lifted her, threw her. She landed in a heap close to us. Drops of her blood sprinkled my ankles.

    I closed my eyes, biting my lips together as acid bile rose from my stomach.

    Pol made a low, keening sound and the Minotaur turned an inquiring head. Pol bit his lips and, though his face glimmered white with shock and his eyes were wide and expressionless, he made no more sound.

    I concentrated on remaining still, on not moving to either help or run away. I could do nothing, except, if I were lucky, save my own life.

    I knew quite well, from my crèche days, that artifacts with the Minotaur's cat-eyes were not good at perceiving shapes and outlines. But they could always pick out movement, no matter how dark the surroundings.

    If I moved, he'd see me.

    I'd bet that the Minotaur could also hear better than natural people. It would have to if it had been designed to hunt in these corridors, to follow people by sound, to seek them out by stealth.

    Could its sense of smell also be improved? If it was, could it discern Pol's and my smells amid the stench of the labyrinth?

    Who was this beast? No, what was it? It couldn't be the good, vegetarian, mentally slow Minotaur we'd been promised, could it?

    Perhaps this was all an illusion, aided by great special effects. Perhaps. I opened one eye. The Minotaur, having made mince-meat of my companions, had squatted down to feasting. Its muzzle opened and closed. Blood dripped down its neck. Sharp carnivorous teeth gleamed, crunching their way through bones. I looked across at Pol.

    He wasn't there.

    I looked down.

    Pol had knelt on the ground.

    He stretched his hand to his girlfriend's corpse.

    With infinite, cautious slowness, he got hold of the woman's ridiculously thin stiletto high-heel and pulled the shoe loose.

    Engrossed in his meal, the Minotaur paid no attention.

    Pol straightened, clutching his prize. His feet worked against each other, stealthily getting rid of his own flopping sandals.

    The Minotaur grunted its satisfaction as it