id not Thrastus start as a humble shopkeeper, cheating his
customers of a portion of rice? Who would have expected that simple man
to develop into the Red Slayer of Thorndyke Lane? And who could have
imagined that Dr. Louen, son of a dockhand, would one day become the
world's foremost authority on the practical applications of torture?
Perseverance and piety had allowed those men to rise above their natural
handicaps to a pre-eminent position at the right hand of The Black One.
And it proved, Uncle Ingemar said, that Evil was the business of the
poor as well as the rich.

That ended the sermon. Barrent awoke momentarily when the sacred symbols
were brought out and displayed to the reverent congregation--a
red-handled dagger, and a plaster toad. Then he dozed again through the
slow inscribing of the magical pentagon.

At last the ceremony neared its end. The names of the interceding evil
demons were read--Bael, Forcas, Buer, Marchocias, Astaroth, and
Behemoth. A prayer was read to ward off the effects of Good. And Uncle
Ingemar apologized for not having a virgin to sacrifice on the Red
Altar.

"Our funds were not sufficient," he said, "for the purchase of a
government-certified peon virgin. However, I am sure we will be able to
perform the full ceremony next Monday. My assistant will now pass among
you...."

The assistant carried around the black-rimmed collection plate. Like the
other worshipers, Barrent contributed generously. It seemed wise to do
so. Uncle Ingemar was clearly annoyed at not having a virgin to
sacrifice. If he became a little angrier, he might take it into his head
to sacrifice one of the congregation, virgin or not.

Barrent didn't stay for the choir singing or the community dancing. When
the evening worship was finished, he poked his head cautiously out the
door. The temperature had gone up to the seventies, and the frost was
already melted from the ground. Barrent shook hands with the priest and
hurried home.

Chapter Eight

Barrent had had enough of Omega's shocks and surprises. He stayed close
to his store, worked at his business, and kept alert for trouble. He was
beginning to develop the Omegan look: a narrow, suspicious squint, a
hand always near gun butt, feet ready to sprint. Like the older
inhabitants, he was acquiring a sixth sense for danger.

At night, after the doors and windows were barred and the triplex alarm
system had been set, Barrent would lie on his bed and try