positions at regularly spaced intervals in
the procession. The remaining twenty-five stayed behind, ready to
accompany Dionysus himself at the tail of the parade.

Each of the other Gods was represented by a special detachment of ten
Myrmidons, each contingent wearing the distinctive shoulder patch of the
God it served: the thunderbolt of Zeus, the blazing sun of Apollo, the
pipes of Pan, the sword of Mars, the hammer of Vulcan, the poppy of
Morpheus, the winged foot of Mercury, the trident of Neptune, the
cerberus of Pluto, the peacock of Hera, the owl of Athena, the dove of
Venus, the crescent of Diana, and the sprig of wheat that represented
Mother Ceres. The Myrmidons grinned in expectation of the good times
coming; a Dionysian festival was always something special, and
competition for the contingents was always tough.

There were balloons everywhere, as the crowd shoved and pushed into the
line of march. Someone was bawling an old song about the lack of liquor,
and the strident voice carried over the shouts and halloos of the mob:

"_How dry I am--_"

Forrester and Diana, now visible, pushed their way through the crowds. A
man flung his arm around the Goddess with abandon, shouting something
indistinguishable; Diana shook him off gently and went on. Forrester
almost tripped over a small boy sitting on the grass and crying. A
Myrmidon was standing over him, and the child's mother was trying to
lift the boy.

"I wanna go to the orgy," the boy kept saying. "I wanna go to the orgy."

"Next year," the mother told him. "Next year, child, when you're six."

The Myrmidon lifted the child and carried him away. The mother shouted
an address after him, and the Myrmidon nodded, pushed his way through a
gesticulating group of celebrants and disappeared in the direction of
Central Park West. There, other Dionysian Myrmidons were patrolling,
making sure that no non-Dionysian got in except by special invitation.
Any non-Dionysian who wanted to celebrate was supposed to do it on the
streets of the city, and not in Central Park, which was going to be
crowded enough with legitimate revelers.

The shouting and screaming went on, people pushing and shoving, confetti
beginning to drift like a light snow over the worshippers. One man held
five balloons and a cigarette, and he was popping the balloons with the
cigarette tip, one by one. Every time one of the balloons exploded, a
group of women and girls around him shrieked and lau