caves to live in； holes where not even moonlight could stray。 The time had e to lay his cards on the table。
If the air in the house was cold； it was even colder in Mamoulian's room。 The European seemed to exhale a breath that was mortuary…chilled。
Breer stood in the doorway。 He'd only been in this room once before； and he had a niggling fear of it。 It was too plain。 The European had asked Breer to nail boards across the window： this he had done。 Now； by the light of a single wick； burning in a dish of oil on the floor； the room looked bleak and gray； everything in it seemed insubstantial； even the European。 He sat in the dark wood chair that was the only furnishing…and looked at Breer with eyes so glazed he could have been blind。
〃I didn't call you up here；〃 Mamoulian said。
〃I wanted 。 。 。 to talk to you。〃 〃Close the door； then。〃 Though this was against his better judgment； Breer obeyed。 The lock clicked at his back； the room was now centered on that single flame and the fitful luminosity it offered。 Sluggishly Breer looked around the room for someplace to sit； or at least lean。 But there was no fort here： its austerity would have shamed an ascetic。 Just a few blankets on the bare boards in the corner； where the great man slept； some books stacked against the wall； a pack of cards； a jug of water and a cup； little else。； The walls； except for the rosary that hung from a hook； were naked。
〃What do you want； Anthony？〃 All Breer could think was： I hate this room。
〃Say what you have to say。〃 〃I want to go 。 。 。〃 〃Go？〃 〃Away。 The flies bother me。 There are so many flies。〃 〃No more than there are in any other May。 It is perhaps a little warmer than usual。 All the signs are that the summer will be blistering。〃 The thought of heat and light made Breer sick。 And that was another thing： the way his belly revolted if he put food into it。 The European had promised him a new world…health； wealth and happiness…but he was suffering the torments of the damned。 It was a cheat： all a cheat。
〃Why didn't you let me die？〃 he said； without thinking what he was saying。
〃I need you。〃 〃But I feel ill。〃 〃The work will soon be over。〃 Breer looked straight at Mamoulian； something he very rarely mustered the courage to do。 But desperation was a rod at his back。
〃You mean finding Toy？〃 he said。 〃We won't find him。 It's impossible。〃 〃Oh； but we will； Anthony。 That I insist upon。〃 Breer sighed。 〃I wish I was dead；〃 he said。
〃Don't say that。 You've got all the freedom you want； haven't you？ You feel no guilt now； do you？〃 〃Most people would happily suffer your minor disforts to be guiltless； Anthony： to mit their heart's desire to flesh and never be called to regret it。 Rest today。 Tomorrow we're going to be busy； you and I。〃 〃Why？〃 〃We're going to visit Mr。 Whitehead。〃 Mamoulian had told him about Whitehead and the house and the dogs。 The damage they'd done to the European was conspicuous。 Though his torn hand had healed quickly； the tissue damage was irreparable。 A finger and a half missing； ugly scars raking palm and face； a thumb that would no longer move properly： his facility with the cards was permanently spoiled。 It was a long and sorry tale he'd told Breer the day he'd returned； bloodied； from his encounter with the dogs。 A history of promises broken and trust despised； of atrocities mitted against friendship。 The European had wept freely in the telling of it； and Breer had glimpsed the profundity of pain in him。 They were both despised men； conspired against and spat upon。 Remembering the European's confessional； the sense of injustice Breer had felt at the time was reawoken。 And here was he； who owed the European so much…his life； his sanity…planning to turn his back on his Savior。 The Razor…Eater felt ashamed。
〃Please；〃 he said； eager to make amends for his petty plaints； 〃let me go and kill this man for you。〃 〃No； Anthony。〃 〃I can；〃 Breer insisted。 〃I'm not afraid of dogs。 I feel no pain； not now； not since you came back。 I can kill him in his bed。〃 〃I'm sure you could。 And I will certainly need you； to keep the dogs off me。〃 〃I'll tear them apart。〃 Mamoulian looked deeply pleased。
〃You do that； Anthony。 I loathe the species。 Always have。 You deal with them while I have words with Joseph。〃 〃Why bother with him？ He's so old。〃 〃So am I；〃 Mamoulian replied。 〃Older than I look； believe me。 But a bargain is a bargain。〃 〃It's difficult；〃 said Breer； his eyes wet with phlegmy tears。
〃What is？〃 〃Being the Last。〃 〃Oh； yes。〃 〃Needing to do everything properly； so that the tribe's remembered 。 。 。〃 Breer's voice broke。 All the glories he'd missed； not being born into a Great Age。 What must that dream time have been like； when the Razor…Eaters and the Europeans； and all the other tribes； held the world in their hands？ There would never e such an Age again； Mamoulian had said so。
〃You won't be forgotten；〃 the European promised。
〃I think I will。〃 The European stood up。 He seemed bigger than Breer remembered him； and darker。
〃Have a little faith； Anthony。 There is so much to look forward to。〃 Breer felt a touch at the back of his neck。 It seemed a moth had alighted there and was stroking his nape with its furred antennae。 His head had begun to buzz； as though the flies that beset him had laid eggs in his ears； and they were suddenly hatching。 He shook his head to try to dislocate the sensation。
〃It's all right；〃 he heard the European say through the whirring of their wings。 〃Be calm。〃 〃I don't feel well；〃 Breer protested meekly； hoping his weakness would make Mamoulian merciful。 The room was fragmenting around him； the walls separating from the floor and ceiling； the six sides of this gray box ing apart at the seams and letting all kinds of nothingness in。 Everything had disappeared into a fog： furniture； blankets； even Mamoulian。
〃There's so much to look forward to；〃 he heard the European repeat； or was it an echo； ing back to him from some far…off cliff face？ Breer was terrified。 Though he could no longer even see his outstretched arm； he knew that this place went on forever and he was lost in it。 The tears came thicker。 His nose ran； his guts knotted。
Just as he thought he must scream or lose his mind； the European appeared out of the nothingness in front of him； and by the lightning flash of his eclipsed consciousness Breer saw the man transformed。 Here was the source of all flies； all blistering summers and killing winters； all loss； all fear； floating before him more naked than any man had right to be； naked to the point of not…being。 Now he spread his good hand toward Breer。 In it were bone dice； carved with faces Breer almost recognized； and the Last European was crouching； and was tossing the dice； faces and all； into the void； while somewhere close by a thing with fire for a head wept and wept until it seemed they would all drown in tears。
35
Whitehead took the vodka glass； and the bottle； and went down to the sauna。 It had bee a favorite retreat of his during the weeks of Crisis。 Now； though the danger was far from over； he had lost focus on the state of the Empire。 Large sectors of the corporation's European and Far Eastern operations had already been sold off to cut their losses； receivers had been called in to a couple of smaller firms； there were mass redundancies planned for some of the chemical plants in Germany and Scandinavia： last…ditch attempts to stave off closure or sale。 Joe had other problems on his mind； however。 Empires could be regained； life and sanity could not。 He'd sent the financiers away； and the government think…tank men： sent them back to their banks and their report…lined offices in Whitehall。 There was nothing they could tell him that he wanted to hear。 No graphs； no puter displays； no predictions interested him。 In the five weeks since the beginning of the Crisis he remembered with interest only one conversation： the debate he'd had with Strauss。
He liked Strauss。 More to the point； he trusted Strauss； and that was a modity rarer than uranium in the bazaar Joe bartered in。 Toy's instinct about Strauss had been correct； Bill had been a man with a nose for integrity in others。 Sometimes； particularly when the vo