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Lamp Street was familiar and safe once more, stripped of the mystery of night. Silk, who had walked it often, found that he recognized several shops, and even the broad and freshly varnished door of the yellow house.

The corpulent woman who opened it in response to Crane’s knock seemed surprised by his presence. “It’s awfully early, Patera. Just got up myself.” She yawned as if to prove it, only tardily concealing her mouth. Her pink peignoir gaped in sympathy, its vibrant heat leaving the bulging flesh between its parted lips a deathly white.

The air of the place poured past her, hot and freighted with a hundred stale perfumes and the vinegar reek of wasted wine. “I was to meet Blood here at one o’clock,” Silk told her. “What time is it?”

Crane slipped past them into the reception room beyond.

The woman ignored him. “Blood’s always late,” she said vaguely. She led Silk through a low archway curtained with clattering wooden beads and into a small office. A door and a window opened onto the courtyard he had imagined the night before, and both stood open; despite them, the office seemed hotter even than the street outside.

“We’ve had exorcists before.” The corpulent woman took the only comfortable-looking chair, leaving Silk an armless one of varnished wood. He accepted it gratefully, dropping his bag to the floor, laying the cased triptych across his thighs, and holding Blood’s lioness-headed stick between his knees.

“I’ll have somebody fetch you a pillow, Patera. This is where I talk to my girls, and a hard chair’s better. It keeps them awake, and the narrow seat makes them think that they’re getting fat, which is generally the case.”

The memory of his fried tomatoes brought Silk a fresh pang of guilt, well salted with hunger. Could it be that some god spoke through this blowsy woman? “Leave it as it is,” he told her. “I, too, need to learn to love my belly less, and my bed.”

“You want to talk to all the girls together? One of the others did. Or I can just tell you.”

Silk waved the question aside. “What these particular devils may have done here is no concern of mine, and paying attention to their malicious tricks would risk encouraging them. They are devils, and unwelcome in this house; that is all I know, and if you and—and everyone else living here are willing to cooperate with me, it is all I need to know.”

“All right.” The corpulent woman adjusted her own chair’s ample cushions and leaned back. “You believe in them, huh?”

Here it was. “Yes,” Silk told her firmly.

“One of the others didn’t. He said lots of prayers and had the parade and all the rest of it anyway, but he thought we were crazy. He was about your age.”

“Doctor Crane thinks the same,” Silk told her, “and his beard is gray. He doesn’t phrase it quite as rudely as that, but that’s what he thinks. He thinks that I’m crazy too, of course.”

The corpulent woman smiled bitterly. “Uh-huh, I can guess. I’m Orchid, by the way.” She offered her hand as though she expected him to kiss it.

He clasped it. “Patera Silk, from the manteion on Sun Street.”

“That old place? Is it still open?”

“Yes, very much so.” The question reminded Silk that it soon might not be, although it was better not to mention that.

“We’re not now,” Orchid told him. “Not until nine, so you’ve got plenty of time. But tonight’s our biggest night, usually, so I’d appreciate it if you were finished by then.” At last noticing his averted eyes, she tugged ineffectually at the edges of the pink peignoir.

“It should take me no more than two hours to perform the initial rites and the ceremony proper, provided I have everyone’s cooperation. But it may be best to wait until Blood arrives. He told me last night that he would meet me here, and I feel sure that he will wish to take part.”

Orchid was eyeing him narrowly. “He’s paying you?”

“No. I’m performing this exorcism as a favor to him—I owe him much more, really. Did he pay the other exorcists you spoke of?”

“He did or I did, depending.”

Silk relaxed a little. “In that case, it’s not to be wondered at that their exorcisms were ineffectual. Exorcism is a sacred ceremony, and no such ceremony can be bought or sold.” Seeing that she did not understand, he added. “They cannot be sold—my statement is true in the most literal sense of its words—because once sold the ceremony loses all its sacred character. What is sold is then no more than a profane mummery. That is not what we will carry out here today.”

“But Blood could give you something, couldn’t he?”

“Yes, if he wished. No gift affects the nature of the ceremony. A gift is given freely—if one is given at all. The point upon which the efficacy of the ceremony turns is that there must be no bargain between us; and there is none. I would have no right to complaint if a promised gift were not forthcoming. Am I making this clear?”

Orchid nodded reluctantly.

“In point of fact, I expect no gift at all from Blood. I owe him several favors, as I said. When he asked me to do this, I was—as I remain—eager to oblige.”