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people fainted。 Joel saw none of this： but heard the cries with satisfaction。 This transformation was not just for his benefit： it was mon knowledge。 They were seeing it all； the truth； the filthy； gaping truth。
The mouth was huge； and lined with teeth like the maw of some deep…water fish； ridiculously large。 Joel's one good arm was under its lower jaw； just managing to keep it at bay； as he cried for help。
Nobody stepped forward。
The crowd stood at a polite distance； still screaming； still staring； unwilling to interfere。 It was purely a spectator sport； wrestling with the Devil。 Nothing to do with them。
Joel felt the last of his strength falter： his arm could keep the mouth at bay no longer。 Despairing； he felt the teeth at his brow and at his chin； felt them pierce his flesh and his bone； felt； finally； the white night invade him； as the mouth bit off his face。
The familiar rose up from the corpse with strands of Joel's head hanging out from between its teeth。 It had taken off the features like a mask； leaving a mess of blood and jerking muscle。 In the open hole of Joel's mouth the root of his tongue flapped and spurted； past speaking sorrow。
Burgess didn't care how he appeared to the world。 The race was everything： a victory was a victory however it was won。 And Jones had cheated after all。
'Here！' he yelled to the familiar。 'Heel！'
It turned its blood…strung face to him。
'e here；' Burgess ordered it。
They were only a few yards apart： a few strides to the line and the race was won。
'Run to me！' Burgess screeched。 'Run！ Run！ Run！'
The familiar was weary； but it knew its master's voice。 It loped towards the line； blindly following Burgess' calls。
Four paces。 Three … …And Kinderman ran past it to the line。 Short…sighted。
Kinderman； a pace ahead of Voight； took the race without knowing the victory he had won； without even seeing the horrors that were sprawled at his feet。
There were no cheers as he passed the line。 No congratu…lations。
The air around the steps seemed to darken； and an unseasonal frost appeared in the air。
Shaking his head apologetically； Burgess fell to his knees。 'Our Father； who wert in Heaven； unhallowed be thy name …'
Such an old trick。 Such a na？ve response。
The crowd began to back away。 Some people were already running。 Children； knowing the nature of the dark having been so recently touched by it； were the least troubled。 They took their parents' hands and led them away from the spot like lambs； telling them not to look behind them； and their parents half…remembered the womb； the first tunnel； the first aching exit from a hallowed place； the first terrible temptation to look behind and die。 Remembering； they went with their children。
Only Kinderman seemed untouched。 He sat on the steps and cleaned his glasses； smiling to have won； indifferent to the chill。
Burgess； knowing his prayers were insufficient； turned tail and disappeared into the Palace of Westminster。
The familiar； deserted； relinquished all claim to human appearance and became itself。 Insolid； insipid； it spat out the foul…tasting flesh of Joel Jones。 Half chewed； the runner's face lay on the gravel beside his body。 The familiar folded itself into the air and went back to the Circle it called home。
It was stale in the corridors of power： no life； no help。
Burgess was out of condition； and his running soon became a walk。 A steady step along the gloom…panelled corridors； his feet almost silent on the well trodden carpet。
He didn't quite know what to do。 Clearly he would be blamed for his failure to plan against all eventualities； but he was confident he could argue his way out of that。 He would give them whatever they required as repense for his lack of foresight。 An ear； a foot； he had nothing to lose but flesh and blood。
But he had to plan his defence carefully； because they hated bad logic。 It was more than his life was worth to e before them with half…formed excuses。
There was a chill behind him； he knew what it was。 Hell had followed him along these silent corridors； even into the very womb of democracy。 He would survive though； as long as he didn't turn round： as long as he kept his eyes on the floor； or on his thumbless hands； no harm would e to him。 That was one of the first lessons one learnt； dealing with the gulfs。
There was a frost in the air。 Burgess' breath was visible in front of him； and his head was aching with cold。
'I'm sorry；' he said sincerely to his pursuer。
The voice that came back to him was milder than he'd expected。
'It wasn't your fault。'
'No；' said Burgess； taking confidence from its concili…atory tone。 'It was an error and I am contrite。 I overlooked Kinderman。'
'That was a mistake。 We all make them；' said Hell。 'Still； in another hundred years； we'll try again。 Democracy is still a new cult： it's not lost its superficial glamour yet。 We'll give it another century； and have the best of them then。'
'Yes。' …'But you …'
'I know。'
'No power for you； Gregory。'
'No。'
'It's not the end of the world。 Look at me。'
'Not at the moment； if you don't mind。'
Burgess kept walking； steady step upon steady step。 Keep it calm； keep it rational。
'Look at me； please；' Hell cooed。
'Later； sir。'
'I'm only asking you to look at me。 A little respect would be appreciated。'
'I will。 I will； really。 Later。'
The corridor divided here。 Burgess took the left…hand fork。 He thought the symbolism might flatter。 It was a cul…de…sac。
Burgess stood still facing the wall。 The cold air was in his marrow； and the stumps of his thumbs were really giving him jip。 He took off his gloves and sucked； hard。
'Look at me。 Turn and look at me；' said the courteous voice。
What was he to do now？ Back out of the corridor and find another way was best； presumably。 He'd just have to walk around and around in circles until he'd argued his point sufficiently well for his pursuer to leave him be。
As he stood； juggling the alternatives available to him； he felt a slight ache in his neck。
'Look at me；' the voice said again。
And his throat was constricted。 There was； strangely； a grinding in his head； the sound of bone rasping bone。 It felt like a knife was lodged in the base of his skull。
'Look at me；' Hell said one final time； and Burgess' head turned。
Not his body。 That stayed standing facing the blank wall of the cul…de…sac。
But his head cranked around on its slender axis； dis…regarding reason and anatomy。 Burgess choked as his gullet twisted on itself like a flesh rope； his vertebrae screwed to powder； his cartilage to fibre mush。 His eyes bled； his ears popped； and he died； looking at that sunless； unbegotten face。
'I told you to look at me；' said Hell； and went its bitter way； leaving him standing there； a fine paradox for the democrats to find when they came； bustling with words； into the Palace of Westminster。
JACQUELINE ESS：
HER WILL AND TESTEMENT
MY GOD； SHE thought； this can't be living。 Day in； day out： the boredom； the drudgery； the frustration。
My Christ； she prayed； let me out； set me free； crucify me if you must； but put me out of my misery
In lieu of his euthanasia