So did St. Cyr--in another direction, screaming with sudden terror. For, after all, he was only a medievalist. The feudal man is far more civilized than the so-called man of Mammoth-Slayer's primordially direct era, and as a man recoils from a small but murderous wildcat, so St. Cyr fled in sudden civilized horror from an attacker who was, literally, afraid of nothing. He sprang through the window and, shrieking, vanished into the night. Martin was taken by surprise. When Mammoth-Slayer leaped at an enemy, the enemy leaped at him too, and so Martin's head slammed against the wall with disconcerting force. Dimly he heard diminishing, terrified cries. Laboriously he crawled to his feet and set back against the wall, snarling, quite ready.... "Nick!" Erika's voice called. "Nick, it's me! Stop it! _Stop it!_ DeeDee--" "Ugh?" Martin said thickly, shaking his head. "Kill." He growled softly, blinking through red-rimmed little eyes at the scene around him. It swam back slowly into focus. Erika was struggling with DeeDee near the window. "You let me go," DeeDee cried. "Where Raoul goes, I go." "DeeDee!" pleaded a new voice. Martin glanced aside to see Tolliver Watt crumpled in a corner, a crushed lamp-shade half obscuring his face. With a violent effort Martin straightened up. Walking upright seemed unnatural, somehow, but it helped submerge Mammoth-Slayer's worst instincts. Besides, with St. Cyr gone, stresses were slowly subsiding, so that Mammoth-Slayer's dominant trait was receding from the active foreground. Martin tested his tongue cautiously, relieved to find he was still capable of human speech. "Uh," he said. "Arrgh ... ah. Watt." Watt blinked at him anxiously through the lamp-shade. "Urgh ... Ur--release," Martin said, with a violent effort. "Contract release. Gimme." Watt had courage. He crawled to his feet, removing the lamp-shade. "Contract release!" he snapped. "You madman! Don't you realize what you've done? DeeDee's walking out on me. DeeDee, don't go. We will bring Raoul back--" "Raoul told me to quit if he quit," DeeDee said stubbornly. "You don't have to do what St. Cyr tells you," Erika said, hanging onto the struggling star. "Don't I?" DeeDee asked, astonished. "Yes, I do. I always have." "DeeDee," Watt said frantically, "I'll give you the finest contract on earth--a ten-year contract--look, here it is." He tore out a well-creased document. "All you have to do is sign, and you can have anything you want. Wouldn't you like that?" "Oh, yes," DeeDee said. "But Raoul wouldn't like it." She broke free from Erika. "Martin!" Watt told the playwright frantically, "Get St. Cyr back. Apologize to him. I don't care how, but get him back! If you don't, I--I'll never give you your release." Martin was observed to slump slightly--perhaps with hopelessness. Then, again, perhaps not. "I'm sorry," DeeDee said. "I liked working for you, Tolliver. But I have to do what Raoul says, of course." And she moved toward the window.