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- his diverse identities - were like a bickering, uncontrollable, heckling audience to the efforts of the part which now attempted to communicate with the world outside itself; in fact with the thing’s son.
    Tony reeled at the rim of the pit; his brother caught his shoulder to steady him; the mental babble subsided, along with the ‘echoes’ of their father’s true or ‘sane’ voice. And:
    ‘Dangerous!’ Tony muttered. ‘He isn’t in control.’
    ‘Or is he simply playing with us? Francesco scowled. ‘His split-personalities, multi-identities: it wouldn’t be the first time he’d used them to confuse us …’
    Tony nodded, grimaced, and called down: ‘Father, plainly you are not yourself. The girl will keep, and we’ll try again later.’ He made himself believe it - in his mind - in case his father was listening. But then, as they reached for the metal platform hanging over the pit, as if to swing the girl aside:
    NO! came that enormous mental grunt from below. NO, WAIT! And a moment later - less forcefully, almost pleadingly now, as they paused - Does she come of her own free will? Is she pure? Is she … clean?
    And the brothers grinned at each other, nodding in unison. For this time there had been no background ‘static,’ no babble of crazed, secondary voices. When the thing in the pit desired it, he could control himself and shut them out.
    Tony waited a moment, then said, ‘She has no will. As for purity: it’s hard to find, father, in today’s world. But clean?
    She’s as clean as we can make her, yes. Except …’
    Yessss?
    ‘She knows things, which we would know. She’s yours, but before you use her, will you not first examine her? For us?’
    For a long moment there was silence, until: But… why don’t you examine her, my son? Before you give her to me? The old thing’s mental voice was sly now, wickedly intelligent.
    ‘He knows,’ Francesco grunted, coldly furious. ‘He knows that we can’t ask her, that even the best drugs won’t open her up, because she’s been forbidden to speak! Her mind’s been tampered with, locked from inside, and only he can get in. And he knows that, too! The old devil wants us to beg!’
    And: Oh, ha! ha! ha! laughed the thing, as the ‘miasma,’ his breath, thickened. Oh, but I hear and know you, my son, my …
    Francesco? The laughter ceased and the mental voice turned cold as ice. And still you have no respect…
    ‘Hah!’ Francesco scowled. ‘He thinks he’s a Don!’
    ‘He was,’ Tony reminded him. ‘A Don of Dons, one of the first. So don’t annoy him; don’t even think, but let me handle this!’
    And directing his thoughts and voice into the pit:
    ‘Father, it was you who gave word of a certain threat. We acted on your word. For two centuries we have acted on it, and at last we have a lead. This girl has secret knowledge, buried in her mind. Nothing we do will give us access. But you …?’
    And in a moment - when they could almost hear the brain below working, and the body seething - / can do it, yessss!
    ‘But will you?’
    Yessss! Send her down.
    ‘She must not be wasted,’ Tony cautioned. ‘Her knowledge can’t be lost. It was risky bringing her here; we paid for her; we may never see another opportunity like this. And always remember, father, what threatens us threatens you . .
    .’
    / understand, yessss. Send her down.
    ‘But you are hungry, we know, and occasionaly … impatient? And if—’
    SEND HER DOWN - NOW!
    There seemed nothing else for it. Francesco operated the gear to open one flap of the grile, and together they manoeuvred the platform and girl into position over the open half of the pit. Finaly Tony broke an ampoule under her nose, and she groaned and shook her head a little. But before she could wake up more fuly, they sent her on her way to hel.
    Her weight was measured on a dial on the control console. She sank skty, seventy, seventy-five feet… and her weight became zero. ‘Get it up!’ Tony