r, in
such a cause. I am not vengeful, but my son was no wizard. Yet the
Inquisitor took him and had a confession from him; you know well the
worth of such confessions. And soon there will be others, for when the
curse strikes a family it does not stop with one member." He tightened
his lips. "It is not for myself I am afraid," he said.

Jonas nodded. "Were there such a plan," he said, "be assured I would
tell you."

"But--"

"There is none," Jonas said. "Herr Knupf shall remain, for all that I
can do, while the earth remains."

Scharpe opened his mouth, shut it again, and then shrugged. "I see," he
said at last. "You do not trust me. Perhaps you are wise. I might talk
foolishly; I am an old man; older, in this last month, than in all my
other years."

"Believe me," Jonas began. "I--"

"Let it be," Scharpe said quietly. "I believe you. If that is what you
want, I believe you." He shrugged again, moving out toward the door of
the hut. "And, in any case," he said, "the money is needed. For there
are fines to pay, and costs of the Inquisition."

"I understand," Jonas said helplessly.

Scharpe turned and looked him full in the face. In the big man's eyes,
bitterness and hopelessness glittered. "I am sure you do," he said, and
turned again toward the door.

* * * * *

The others he met only briefly. Frau Scharpe was a little woman with the
face of a walnut, who looked as if she had never really been cheerful.
Her son's death, he saw when he looked into her mind, had not come as a
surprise to her; it was one more unhappy event, in a lifetime in which
she had expected nothing else. Unhappiness, she told herself, was her
portion in this life; in the Life Above, things would be different.

Jonas had met the type before, and was uninterested in going further.
But Ilse Scharpe was something else entirely. She did not say a word to
him, coming into the house that evening, a pace behind her mother, like
an obedient slave. She was about seventeen, and her mind was as fresh
and clean and pretty as her face and figure. Jonas started musing on
Heroes again, but he never had the chance to make a move toward her. She
had a very nice smile, and from memories in the others' minds he could
hear her voice, low and quiet and entirely satisfactory.

Jonas sighed. The job, he told himself sternly, came first. And
afterward--

Though, come to think of it, there wouldn't be an afterward.

The eveni