"Ahhhhh," he said. "Whum-whum-whum. Awww, jawww ..." Brett stooped quickly. "I'm sorry," he cried. He looked around. "Help! This man ..." Nobody was watching. The next man, a few feet away, stood close against his neighbor, hatless, his jaw moving. "This man's sick," said Brett, tugging at the man's arm. "He fell." The man's eyes moved reluctantly to Brett. "None of my business," he muttered. "Won't anybody give me a hand?" "Probably a drunk." Behind Brett a voice called in a penetrating whisper: "Quick! You! Get into the alley...!" He turned. A gaunt man of about thirty with sparse reddish hair, perspiration glistening on his upper lip, stood at the mouth of a narrow way like the one Brett had come through. He wore a grimy pale yellow shirt with a wide-flaring collar, limp and sweat-stained, dark green knee-breeches, soft leather boots, scuffed and dirty, with limp tops that drooped over his ankles. He gestured, drew back into the alley. "In here." Brett went toward him. "This man ..." "Come on, you fool!" The man took Brett's arm, pulled him deeper into the dark passage. Brett resisted. "Wait a minute. That fellow ..." He tried to point. "Don't you know yet?" The red-head spoke with a strange accent. "Golems ... You got to get out of sight before the--" * * * The man froze, flattened himself against the wall. Automatically Brett moved to a place beside him. The man's head was twisted toward the alley mouth. The tendons in his weathered neck stood out. He had a three-day stubble of beard. Brett could smell him, standing this close. He edged away. "What--" "Don't make a sound! Don't move, you idiot!" His voice was a thin hiss. Brett followed the other's eyes toward the sunny street. The fallen man lay on the pavement, moving feebly, eyes open. Something moved up to him, a translucent brownish shape, like muddy water. It hovered for a moment, then dropped on the man like a breaking wave, flowed around him. The body shifted, rotating stiffly, then tilted upright. The sun struck through the fluid shape that flowed down now, amber highlights twinkling, to form itself into the crested wave, flow away. "What the hell...!" "Come on!" The red-head turned, trotted silently toward the shadowy bend under the high grey walls. He looked back, beckoned impatiently, passed out of sight around the turn-- Brett came up behind him, saw a wide avenue, tall trees with chartreuse springtime leaves, a wrought-iron fence, and beyond it, rolling green lawns. There were no people in sight. "Wait a minute! What is this place?!" His companion turned red-rimmed eyes on Brett. "How long have you been here?" he asked. "How did you get in?" "I came through a gate. Just about an hour ago." "I knew you were a man as soon as I saw you talking to the golem," said the red-head. "I've been here two months; maybe more. We've got to get out of sight. You want food? There's a place ..." He jerked his thumb. "Come on. Time to talk later."