not believing. I should know. It's the cornerstone ofmy profession.' She did not look much reassured. 'Ifanyone recognises us,' he told her, Til simply tell themtheir eyes are playing tricks.'

She smiled at this, and he kissed her. She returned thekiss with unquestionable fervour.

'Miraculous,' he said, when their mouths parted.'Shall we go before the tigers gossip?'

He led her across the stage. The cleaners had not yetgot about their business, and there, lying on the boards,was a litter of rose-buds. Some had been trampled, a fewhad not. Swann took his hand from hers, and walkedacross to where the flowers lay.

She watched him stoop to pluck a rose from theground, enchanted by the gesture, but before he couldstand upright again something in the air above himcaught her eye. She looked up and her gaze met a sliceof silver that was even now plunging towards him. Shemade to warn him, but the sword was quicker than hertongue. At the last possible moment he seemed to sensethe danger he was in and looked round, the bud in hishand, as the point met his back. The sword's momentumcarried it through his body to the hilt. Blood fled fromhis chest, and splashed the floor. He made no sound, butfell forward, forcing two-thirds of the sword's length outof his body again as he hit the stage.

She would have screamed, but that her attentionwas claimed by a sound from the clutter of magicalapparatus arrayed in the wings behind her, a mutteredgrowl which was indisputably the voice of the tiger. Shefroze. There were probably instructions on how best tostare down rogue tigers, but as a Manhattanite bornand bred they were techniques she wasn't acquaintedwith.

'Swann?' she said, hoping this yet might be somebaroque illusion staged purely for her benefit. 'Swann.Please get up.'

But the magician only lay where he had fallen, thepool spreading from beneath him.