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erhaps nobody had found Slape's corpse yet。 It was possible。 None of the boys had seemed in a fit mood for recreation。 Perhaps they had slipped silently to their dormitories； to sleep off their worship。
It was time to find a phone and call the Police。
Man and boy walked down the corridor towards the Governor's Office hand in hand。 Lacey had fallen silent again； but his expression was no longer so manic； it looked as though cleansing tears might be close。 He sniffed； made noises in his throat。
His grip on Redman's hand tightened； then relaxed pletely。
Ahead； the vestibule was in darkness。 Somebody had smashed the bulb recently。 It still rocked gently on its cable； illuminated by a seepage of dull light from the window。
〃e on。 There's nothing to be afraid of。 e on； boy。〃 Lacey bent to Redman's hand and bit the flesh。 The trick was so quick he let the boy go before he could prevent himself； and Lacey was showing his heels as he scooted away down the corridor away from the vestibule。
No matter。 He couldn't get far。 For once Redman was glad the place had walls and bars。
Redman crossed the darkened vestibule to the Secretary's Office。 Nothing moved。 Whoever had broken the bulb was keeping very quiet； very still。
The telephone had been smashed too。 Not just broken； smashed to smithereens。
Redman doubled back to the Governor's room。 There was a telephone there； he'd not be stopped by vandals。
The door was locked； of course； but Redman was prepared for that。 He smashed the frosted glass in the window of the door with his elbow； and reached through to the other side。 No key there。
To hell with it； he thought； and put his shoulder to the door。 It was sturdy； strong wood； and the lock was good quality。 His shoulder ached and the wound in his stomach had reopened by the time the lock gave； and he gained access to the room。
The floor was littered with straw； the smell inside made the sty seem sweet。 The Governor was lying behind his desk； his heart eaten out。
〃The pig；〃 said Redman。 〃The pig。 The pig。〃 And saying； 〃the pig〃； he reached for the phone。
A sound。 He turned； and met the blow full…face。 It broke his cheek…bone and his nose。 The room mottled； and went white。
The vestibule was no longer dark。 Candles were burning； it seemed hundreds of them； in every corner； on every edge。 But then his head was swimming； his eyesight blurred with concussion。 It could have been a single candle； multiplied by senses that could no longer be trusted to tell the truth。
He stood in the middle of the arena of the vestibule； not quite knowing how he could be standing； for his legs felt numb and useless beneath him。 At the periphery of his vision； beyond the light of the candles； he could hear people talking。 No； not really talking。 They weren't proper words。 They were nonsense sounds； made by people who may or may not have been there。
Then he heard the grunt； the low； asthmatic grunt of the sow； and straight ahead she emerged from the swimming light of the candles。 She was bright and beautiful no longer。 Her flanks were charred； her beady eyes withered； her snout somehow twisted out of true。 She hobbled towards him very slowly； and very slowly the figure astride her became apparent。 It was Tommy Lacey of course； naked as the day he was born； his body as pink and as hairless as one of her farrow； his face as innocent of human feeling。 His eyes were now her eyes； as he guided the great sow by her ears。 And the noise of the sow； the snaffling sound； was not out of the pig's mouth； but out of his。 His was the voice of the pig。
Redman said his name； quietly。 Not Lacey； but Tommy。 The boy seemed not to hear。 Only then； as the pig and her rider approached； did Redman register why he hadn't fallen on his face。
There was a rope around his neck。
Even as he thought the thought； the noose tightened； and he was hauled off his feet into the air。
No pain； but a terrible horror； worse； so much worse than pain； opened in him； a gorge of loss and regret； and all he was sank away into it。
Below him； the sow and the boy had e to a halt； beneath his jangling feet。 The boy； still grunting； had climbed off the pig and was squatting down beside the beast。 Through the greying air Redman could see the curve of the boy's spine； the flawless skin of his back。 He saw too the knotted rope that protruded from between his pale buttocks； the end frayed。 For all the world like the tail of a pig。
The sow put its head up； though its eyes were beyond seeing。
He liked to think that she suffered； and would suffer now until she died。 It was almost sufficient； to think of that。 Then the sow's mouth opened； and she spoke。 He wasn't certain how the words came； but they came。 A boy's voice； lilting。
〃This is the state of the beast；〃 it said； 〃to eat and be eaten。〃 Then the sow smiled； and Redman felt； though he had believed himself numb； the first shock of pain as Lacey's teeth bit off a piece from his foot； and the boy clambered； snorting； up his saviour's body to kiss out his life。
SEX； DEATH AND STAR SHINE
DIANE RAN HER scented fingers through the two days〃 growth of ginger stubble on Terry's chin。
〃I love it；〃 she said； 〃Even the grey bits。〃 She loved everything about him； or at least that's what she claimed。
When he kissed her： I love it。
When he undressed her： I love it。
When he slid his briefs off： I love it； I love it； I love it。
She'd go down on him with such unalloyed enthusiasm； all he could do was watch the top of her ash…blonde head bobbing at his groin； and hope to God nobody chanced to walk into the dressing…room。 She was a married woman； after all； even if she was an actress。 He had a wife himself； somewhere。 This tête…à…tête would make some juicy copy for one of the local rags； and here he was trying to garner a reputation as a serious…minded director； no gimmicks； no gossip； just art。
Then； even thoughts of ambition would be dissolved on her tongue； as she played havoc with his nerve…endings。 She wasn't much of an actress； but by God she was quite a performer。 Faultless technique； immaculate timing： she knew either by instinct or by rehearsal just when to pick up the rhythm and bring the whole scene to a satisfying conclusion When she'd finished milking the moment dry； he almost wanted to applaud。
The whole cast of Calloway's production of Twelfth Night knew about the affair； of course。 There'd be the occasional snide ment passed if actress and director were both late for rehearsals； or if she arrived looking full； and he flushed。 He tried to persuade her to control the cat…with…the…cream look that crept over her face； but she just wasn't that good a deceiver。 Which was rich； considering her profession。
But then La Duvall； as Edward insisted on calling her； didn't need to be a great player； she was famous。 So what if she spoke Shakespeare like it was Hiawatha； dum de dum de dum de dum？ So what if her grasp of psychology was dubious； her logic faulty； her projection inadequate？ So what if she had as much sense of poetry as she did propriety？ She was a star； and that meant