the
Delphian Rites. Barrent turned away from her and almost ran into a
monstrously fat woman who pulled open her blouse to reveal eight
shrunken breasts. He ducked around her, moving quickly past four linked
Siamese quadruplets who stared at him with huge mournful eyes.

Barrent turned a corner and stopped. A tall, ragged old man with a cane
was blocking his way. The man was half-blind; the skin had grown smooth
and hairless over the socket where his left eye should have been. But
his right eye was sharp and fierce under a white eyebrow.

"You wish the services of a genuine skrenner?" the old man asked.

Barrent nodded.

"Follow me," the mutant said. He turned into an alley, and Barrent came
after him, gripping the butt of his needlebeam tightly. Mutants were
forbidden by law to carry arms; but like this old man, most of them had
heavy, iron-headed walking sticks. At close quarters, no one could ask
for a better weapon.

The old man opened a door and motioned Barrent inside. Barrent paused,
thinking about the stories he had heard of gullible citizens falling
into mutant hands. Then he half-drew his needlebeam and went inside.

At the end of a long passageway, the old man opened a door and led
Barrent into a small, dimly lighted room. As his eyes became accustomed
to the dark, Barrent could make out the shapes of two women sitting in
front of a plain wooden table. There was a pan of water on the table,
and in the pan was a fist-sized piece of glass cut into many facets.

One of the women was very old and completely hairless. The other was
young and beautiful. As Barrent moved closer to the table, he saw, with
a sense of shock, that her legs were joined below the knee by a membrane
of scaly skin, and her feet were of a rudimentary fish-tail shape.

"What do you wish us to skren for you, Citizen Barrent?" the young woman
asked.

"How did you know my name?" Barrent asked. When he got no answer, he
said, "All right. I want to find out about a murder I committed on
Earth."

"Why do you want to find out about it?" the young woman asked. "Won't
the authorities credit it to your record?"

"They credit it. But I want to find out why I did it. Maybe there were
extenuating circumstances. Maybe I did it in self-defense."

"Is it really important?" the young woman asked.

"I think so," Barrent said. He hesitated a moment, then took the plunge.
"The fact of the matter is, I have a neurotic prejudice against murder.
I