of the Forrester demise had been quite a shock
to her, poor girl), and what better way than to introduce her to his own
religion, the best of all possible religions? The Autumn Bacchanal must
have looked like the perfect time and place for that introduction, and
Gerda's escort, a friend of Ed's--somehow Forrester had to think of him
as Ed's friend; it was clearly not possible that he was Gerda's--had
been brought along to help cheer the girl up and show her the advantages
of worshipping Dionysus.

Unfortunately, the advantages hadn't turned out to be all that had been
expected of them. Because now Gerda had seen Forrester alive and--

Wait a minute, Forrester told himself.

Gerda hadn't seen William Forrester at all.

She had seen just what she expected to see; Dionysus, God of Wine. There
was no reason for him to shrink from her, or try to hide. Just because
he was walking along with seven beautiful girls, drinking about sixteen
times the consumption of any normal right-thinking fish, and carousing
like the most unprincipled of men, he didn't have to be ashamed of
himself.

He was only doing his job.

And Gerda did not know that he wasn't Dionysus.

The thought made him feel a little better, but it saddened him, too,
just a bit. He set himself grimly and shouted: "Forward!" once more. To
his own ears, his voice lacked conviction, but the crowd didn't seem to
notice. The cheered frantically. Forrester wished they would all go
away.

He started forward. His foot found a large pebble that hadn't been
there before, and he performed the magnificent feat of tripping on it.
He flailed the air frantically, and managed to regain his balance. Then
he was back on his feet, clutching at the girls. His big left toe hurt,
but he ignored the agony bravely.

He had to think of something to do, and fast. The crowd had seen him
stumble--and that just didn't happen to a God. It wouldn't have happened
to him, either except for Gerda.

He got his mind off Gerda with an effort and thought about what to do to
cover his slip. In a moment he had it. He swore a great oath, empurpling
the air. Then he bent down and picked up the stone. He held it aloft for
a second, and then threw it. Slowly and carefully he pointed his index
finger at it, extending it and raising his thumb like a little boy
playing Stick-'Em-Up.

"_Zap_," he said mildly, cocking the thumb forward.

A crackling, searing bolt of blue-white energy leaped out of the