(I don't know,) Fred said again. (How am I supposed to judge? But you're
*>zards, you should know how terrible a power belief is, especially in the
*rong hands — and how do you tell which hands are wrong? Believe some-
*"lrtg and the Universe is on its way to being changed. Because you've changed, by believing.
Once you've changed, other things start to follow, Is«'t that the way it works?)
Nita nodded as Fred looked across the dark expanse of Central Park. The ranches of trees were knitted together in tangled patterns of strife. Ivy jangled what it climbed. Paths were full of pitfalls, copses clutched themselves full of threat and darkness. Shadows moved secretively through shadows, making unnerving noises. (This is what — he — believes in,) Fred said sadly, (however he justifies the belief.)
Nita could find nothing to say. The wordless misery of the trees had been wearing at her ever since she set foot inside the wall. All the growing things there longed for light, though none of them knew what it was; she could feel their starved rage moving sluggishly in them, slow as sap in the cold. Only in one place was their anger muted — several blocks south, at Fifth and Central Park South, where in her own New York the equestrian statue of General Sherman and the Winged Victory had stood. Here the triumphant rider cast in black bronze was that handsome young man they had seen in the black glass building, his face set in a cold proud conqueror's smile. The creature he rode was a skull-faced eight-legged steed, which the wizards' manual said brought death with the sound of its hooves. And Victory with her palm branch was changed to a grinning Fury who held a dripping sword. Around the statue group the trees were silent, not daring to express even inarticulate feelings. They knew their master too well.
Nita shook her head and glanced at Kit, who was looking in the same direction. "I thought it'd be fun to know the Mason's Word and run around bringing statues to life," he said unhappily, "but somehow 1 don't think there's any statue here I'd want to use the Word on… You ready? We should start this." "Yeah."
The spell was brief and straightforward, and Nita turned to the right page in her manual and drew the necessary circle and diagram. Kit got the dark Book out of his backpack and dropped it in the middle of the circle. Nita held up her wand for light. They began to recite the spell. It was only three sentences long, but by the end of the first sentence Nita could feel the trees bending in close to watch — not with friendly, secretive interest, as in her first spell with Kit, but in hungry desperation. Even the abstract symbols and words of the Speech must have tasted of another Uni-verse where light was not only permitted, but free. The rowan wand was blazing by the end of the second sentence, maybe in reaction to being so close to something of the dark powers, and Nita wondered whether she should cover it up to keep them from being noticed. But the spell held her immobile as usual. For another thing, the trees all around were leaning in and in with such piteous feelings of hunger that she would as soon have eaten i*1 front of starving children and not offered them some of what she had. Branches began to toss and twist, reaching down for a taste of the light. and Kit finished the spell.
Kit reached right down to pick up the dark Book, which was as well immediately after the last word of the spell was spoken it actually itself a little way along the ground, southward. Kit could only hold it for moment before stuffing it back into his backpack. It no longer looked innocent. It burned, both to touch and to look at. Even when Kit had it hidden away and the backpack slung on, neither of them felt any easier. It was as if they were all now visible to something that was looking eagerly for them.
"Let's get out of here," Kit said, so subdued that Nita could hardly hear him- Nita stood and laid a hand against the trunk of the nearest tree, a consoling gesture. She was sorry she couldn't have left them more light. (I wish there was something I could do,) she said silently. But no answer came back. These trees were bound silent, like the car Kit had tended. She rejoined Kit, who was looking over the wall. "Nothing," he said. Together they swung over the dropping-streaked stone and hurried down Fifth Avenue, crossing the street to get a safe distance between them and the strange cries and half-seen movements of the park. "Straight south?" Nita said.
"Pretty nearly. It's pushing straight that way on my back. The bright Book looked like it was way downtown, didn't it, in that spell?"
"Uh huh. The financial district, I think." She gulped. It was a long way to walk — miles — even without having to worry about someone chasing you.
"Well, we'd better hurry," Kit said, He paused while they both stopped at the corner of Fifth and Sixty-first. When they were across, he added, "What gets me is that he's so sure that we're interference from the bright side. We haven't done anything yet."
"Huh," Nita said, gently scornful. "Sure we haven't. And anyway, whad-daya mean we aren't 'interference from the bright side'? You were the one who said we'd been had." Kit mulled this over as they approached Sixtieth. "Well … maybe. If they know about us, do you think they'll send help?"
"I don't know. I get the feeling that maybe we are the help,"
"Well, we're not dead yetf" Kit said, and peered around the corner of Sixtieth and Fifth — and then jumped back, pale with shock. "We're dead," he said, turned around, and began running back the way they had come, though he limped doing it. Nita looked around that corner just long enough to see what he had seen — a whole pack of big yellow cabs, thundering down
Sixtieth. The one in front had a twisted fender that stuck out slightly on one Slae, a jagged piece of metal. She turned and ran after Kit, frantic. "Where °an we hide?" 'The buildings are locked here too," Kit said from up ahead. He had been trying doors. "Fred, can you do something?"
(After that last emission? So soon?) Fred's thought was shaken. (It's all I Can do to radiate light. I need time to recover.)
'Crud! Kit, the park, maybe the trees'll slow them down."
They both ran for the curb, but there was no time. Cabs came roaring around the corner from Sixtieth, and another pack of them leaped around the corner of Sixty-first and hurtled down Fifth toward them; they would never make it across the street. Kit grabbed for his antenna, and Nita yanked out the wand, but without much hope — it hadn't worked that well on the helicopter. The cabs slowed closed in from both sides, forming a half- circle with Kit and Nita and Fred at the center, backing them against the wall of a dingy building. The cordon tightened until there were no gaps, and one cab at each side was up on the sidewalk, blocking it. No matter where Nita looked, all she saw were chromed grilles like gritted teeth, hungry headlights staring. One of the cabs shouldered forward, its engine snarling softly. The jagged place at one end of its front fender wore a brown discoloration. Not rust — Kit's blood, which it had tasted. Kit lifted the antenna, the hand that gripped it shaking. The high-pitched yowl of rage and defiance from outside the circle jerked Kit's head up. Nita stared. Fenders scraped and rattled against one another as the tight-wedged cabs jostled, trying to see what was happening. Even the bloodstained cab, the pack leader, looked away from Kit. But none of them could move any way but backward, and one cab paid immediately for that limitation as a fanged grille bit deep into its hindquarters and dragged it screaming out of the circle. Metal screeched and tore, glass shattered as the Lotus Esprit's jaws crushed through the cab's trunk, ripped away its rear axle, and with a quick sideways shake of its front end flung the bitten-off axle crashing down Fifth Avenue. Then the Lotus slashed sideways, its fangs opening up the side of another cab like a can opener. The circle broke amid enraged roaring; cabs circled and Feinted while the first victim dragged itself away by its front wheels to collapse in the street. Everything started happening at once. Nita slashed at the front of the cab closest to her. The whip of moonfire cracking across its face seemed to confuse and frighten it, but did no damage. 1 hope it doesn't notice that right away, she thought desperately, for there was no use yelling for help. Kit had his hands full. He had the antenna laid over his forearm again and was snapping off shot after shot of blinding-hot light, cracking headlights, bum-ing holes in hoods and exploding tires, a hit here, a hit there — nothing fatal, Nita noticed with dismay. But Kit was managing to hold the cabs at their distance as they harried him.