Then the current caught it, and she was floating on down the stream. Her cloak formed into a saucer-shape; it made a decent if somewhat clumsy boat. She wasn't sure why it didn't collapse in on her, but she wasn't sure about much else in this region, either. She took hold of her distaff before it could spin out of her lap, and played out the lifeline of thread.

  The stream carried her by a floating tree, which now seemed more like an island, and on through the starry sky. Perhaps it was a reflection in the water—except that the only water was the stream that the path had become.

  Then the islands became big puffs of nondescript matter, which fell apart into lesser blobs that in turn sundered, until she was in a great cloud of pebbles, and then motes, and then smoke. The smoke dissolved, and she found herself drifting in nothingness.

  She glanced at her distaff, and discovered that her thread had almost run out. But the stream had not yet run its course; it was carrying her somewhere, which meant that she had not yet gotten where she was going. She couldn't stop now, but if she didn't, she would leave her thread behind, and she was pretty certain that would not be expedient. She had to have more thread!

  She considered a moment, then dipped her hand over the side and scooped up a handful of substance. It was like thin jelly or thick water. She stretched it between her hands, and it thinned into a taffylike strand. Could she fashion a thread of this? Why not; it was part of the stuff of the Void. It might not be pure, but it might do for this temporary purpose.

  It was awkward doing it barehanded; she really needed a spinning wheel. Most yarn or thread was spun into fibers, ranging from the half-inch long cotton to the infinitely long silk; each type required its own special technique. The object was to render the fibers into a continuous thread that could then be worked into whatever fabric was required. The essential process in this conversion was spinning—which, very simply, was the winding of fibers together so that they became the thread. It could be done by hand, and she knew how to do it. She was, after all, a woman.

  She had her distaff and spindle, but nothing to card or comb out the fibers. But this stuff of the Void didn't seem to be fiber; it was more akin to taffy. Presumably she could stretch it out into whatever diameter and length she wanted, and fix it in that form by spinning.

  She experimented. She stretched some out between her hands, then used the distaff to take up a crude skein. When she had what she wanted, she used the spindle to twist the line, and she wound it fairly tightly on the spindle. The trick was to stretch and twist and coil in just the right manner to produce an even, strong, and fine thread. This stuff was unlike any she had worked before, but Niobe had excellent coordination and experience. If anyone could do it, she could.

  Indeed she could. Her body looked and felt exactly like the mortal one she had left behind, but she was Clotho now, and had magic. Under her will and guidance the stuff of the void spun into crude thread, and this she spun onto the end of the thread she had brought with her, extending it. Now she could safely continue.

  At last the cloak drifted to a halt. At least, so she judged; she had no external reference points, but she no longer had to play out the thread. This, evidently, was the heart of the Void, where she had to collect her month's supply of soul substance.

  She had no container, so she used her skill again. She took a handful of the stuff she floated in, and processed it in the way she had the river. This was almost intangible, so she seemed to be going through the motions, spinning in a vacuum. But she felt a slight resistance and had faith she was succeeding. Soon she had some crude substance on her distaff: her skein of soul. She didn't know how much she needed, but knew she could come back for more when she ran out. This had not been as bad as it might have been.

  Now she had to get back. She had drifted to this region, as it was the natural direction; things always drifted toward entropy. Now she had to go against the current— and how was she to do that?

  First she tried the obvious—and it worked. She hauled on her lifeline thread. She and her makeshift boat moved readily forward as she hauled; she seemed to have no inertia, no resistance. And she realized now that in the Void inertia was as baseless as matter; the rules of matter were unformed, here. Her thread was now her only connection to the material frame—if it was fair to call Purgatory that—so she was actually hauling herself in to her anchor. She hadn't needed the thread for finding her way, but for making her way.

  The floating blobs reappeared, and the river became more evident; it was a run of from organized matter, flowing from the organized to the disorganized. She had had to get beyond it, because the river was polluted by some aspects of organization. For new souls, the substance had to be as pure as she could make it; Lachesis had stressed that.

  She reached the mucky portion of the stream, and finally had to get out and slough to the solid path. She was reentering contemporary reality.

  "Hi, babe."

  Niobe jumped. Someone was there, standing in the path, where no person could be!

  "I see you are surprised, sweets," the figure said. He was hazy in outline, but seemed familiar.

  "No one—can be here," she faltered. "Except Mars, or Gaea, or—"

  "Or Satan," the figure concluded. "Where God can go, so can His Nemesis."

  Her whole body stiffened. This was the Prince of Evil— the one who had arranged for her death! The one she intended to punish—somehow. "I hate you!" she exclaimed.

  The figure laughed. "Of course, you phenomenally lovely creature! I am the Incarnation of all Evil, and hate is far from the least of evils! Did you realize they have issued a postage stamp in My name? It says HATE-HATE-HATE-HATE-HATE! Already you are coming into My bailiwick!"

  This gave her pause. It was true; when she indulged herself in hate, she drew closer to Satan, even though it was Satan she hated. A treacherous situation indeed! She really couldn't afford to hate him.

  She realized ruefully that Satan had scored against her at the outset. It was his advantage. "What are you doing here?"

  "I need to clarify certain matters, sugar, as we shall doubtless be interacting henceforth."

  She couldn't help herself. "Why don't you clarify why you killed my husband!"

  "That is precisely why I have come here, luscious plum," Satan said. "It is known to Me that you have some misunderstanding about that matter, and it is not meet for confusion to exist between Incarnations."

  "I have no misunderstanding! You interfered in my life!"

  "Not so, sweet rose! I specialize in evil; I understand its workings better than any other entity does. Evil is everywhere, to greater or lesser degree, except perhaps in God, who is, frankly, naive in this matter. Let me show you the evil that is in the other Incarnations."

  Niobe hurried along the path, poking her distaff forward to move Satan out of the way, but he floated back without moving his legs. He was simply fixed in place in relation to her, like a mirage. She could not escape his attention. "I—won't listen to this!" she exclaimed. "The other Incarnations aren't evil!"

  "Evil is as evil does, love," Satan said. "From your contaminated thread on, evil lurks in every mortal creature, and it is not necessarily expunged by Incarnation."

  "Contaminated thread!" Niobe exclaimed. "I just fetched it from the purest essence of the Void!"

  "Purity does not exist in the Void, delicious thing," Satan said. "Only chaos. What you have is virtually pure entropy—that is, complete disorder. When you spin it, you are imposing order—your brand of order—on the purest chaos you can obtain. That is because you want to define its order completely, with no contamination by order from any other source. But because chaos is complete, it excludes nothing, not even a smidgeon of order. You are necessarily working with imperfect substance, O heart's desire; in fact it is that contamination of order that enables you to spin it. Without that, you would not be able to get a grip on it. But that is only part of it. That substance is a mixture of good, neutral, and evil, and it is impossible to tell which will prevail in the end. Therefore we run it through the ultimate test for its bias: animated free will."

  Niobe was trying not to listen, but not succeeding. The voice of Evil was insidiously compelling. "I'm making this thread for life!"

  "Exactly, darling. Animated free will—otherwise known as life. By the time each modicum of this soul substance runs its course, the nature of its individual balance between good and evil is known, and final order can be achieved. Eventually the last of the Void will have been processed, and the entropy of the universe will have been reduced to zero. All good will be in Heaven, and all evil in Hell. The job will done, and the system will be shut down."

  Niobe was appalled. "All—life—just a—a laboratory to classify the substance of the Void?"

  "Indeed. Beautiful, isn't it? Just like you, cutie. On that day of final reckoning we shall at last know which is dominant: God or Satan. The score will tell."

  "Then what am I doing here?" she demanded, feeling dizzy.

  "You are initiating the sequence, honey," Satan said. "You are taking another spoonful of chaos out of the Void. It is a good and necessary task. But evil is in your thread of life; were it not so, we would not need life at all."

  "Well, the Incarnations aren't evil!" she said stoutly. "You said yourself that this task I'm doing is good."

  "The task is good, to be sure, doll. But the Incarnations are human—which is to say, imperfect. They have human ambitions, weaknesses, and lusts."

  "Lusts!" she exclaimed indignantly. "What are you talking about?"

  "I'm so glad you asked, precious." They were passing through the pinwheel now, the Incarnation of Evil still drifting before her like a specter, unavoidable. He was becoming clearer, and more eerily familiar. "Indeed the Incarnations do have lusts! They indulge them on occasion with mortals, but this is problematical. You see, ravishing one, the Incarnations do not age, physically—but mortals do. It is difficult for an Incarnation to maintain a relationship with one who constantly ages, particularly a romantic connection. So it is better to do it with another of his kind."

  It had not occurred to Niobe that that sort of thing existed in Purgatory. Still, Lachesis had mentioned the possible use of the body; perhaps that was not merely an extreme occasion. She herself retained her grief for Cedric and her anger at Satan for his connivance in that. She knew from her personal experience already that much of what Satan told her was true: Incarnations did retain human passions.

  "Unfortunately, scrumptious," Satan continued relentlessly, "there are relatively few Incarnations, and most are male."

  "Chronos, Thanatos, and Mars," Niobe said shortly. "And you."

  "Those are the major ones. Some would consider God to be male too, though that really doesn't matter. God is indifferent to mortal passions other than power."

  "The major Incarnations? There are others?" She was still trying to ignore him, but he kept intriguing her curiosity.

  "Didn't you know, sweet-buns? There's Hypnos, who is in charge of sleep, and Eros, in charge of—"

  "Never mind. What's your point?"

  "My point, fair creature, is that there is a severe scarcity of Incarnate young flesh. Gaea can of course assume any form she wishes, and she can be a lusty wench indeed, but she lacks one quality that most males prize in a female."

  He paused, as if inviting her query—and Niobe was hooked. She had to ask. "What quality is that?"

  "Innocence," he replied succinctly.

  Niobe mulled that over. She could think of only one relatively innocent female in Purgatory: the newest one. Herself. "Surely you don't mean—"

  "Consider Chronos, beautiful," Satan said. "He lives backward. He remembers the future, and doesn't know the past. Association with a mortal woman is, if you will excuse the expression, hellish for him. They just don't understand."

  "But he can change time to coincide—"

  "For short periods, cutie. Not for long-term. Which means that if he wishes to have a liaison once a week without a hassle, he must find a woman who understands his situation and is willing to accommodate him. That means another Incarnation. Gaea, or—" Again he paused, artfully.

  "Are you implying that I—?" she demanded indignantly. Again she remembered how solicitous Chronos had been, and how understanding the other Incarnations had been during her first visit. And how closemouthed. That gave her an abiding disquiet.

  "Chronos surely remembers," Satan said. "What is to be, has been, for him."

  She was becoming outraged. "And you claim he—I— we—that I'm here because Chronos wants—"

  "And the other Incamative males," Satan agreed. "Fate is known as an accommodating woman. But of course those males prefer her youngest and firmest Aspect, as perhaps your better two-thirds have already explained to you."

  Niobe could not answer. She had been told. Now that notion was becoming much less theoretical.

  "You see, honeypot," Satan continued inexorably, "we Incarnations have to get along with each other. We are too small a group, and our duties overlap; if we do not cooperate, the world will revert to chaos and all will be lost. We are not antagonists; we are the several Aspects of the job. Fate cannot operate without Time—so it behooves her to keep him satisfied, and she has one exceedingly potent mechanism therefor."

  "I can't believe that!" she cried, beginning to believe. "You may verify it very simply, roundheels. Ask Chronos. He remembers."

  "No!" she said. "I love Cedric! I will never—" But she had already agreed when she assumed the office. What had she thoughtlessly gotten herself into?

  "Ah, yes, Cedric. Your sacrificial husband, the boy wonder. Allow me to clarify the story on that."

  "No!" she said, turning her face away. But she continued to listen.

  "The Incarnations—and not just Chronos—wanted a new face and body and innocence in Purgatory," he said. "I mean, even the sexiest and most accommodating young woman—and Daphne was certainly that!—palls after a few years or decades, especially when her body doesn't change at all. Especially when her mind gets too knowing. She's a good one to visit—don't I know!—but not to stay with. The novelty is gone, and novelty is chronically in short supply in Purgatory. So when Clotho found a compatible situation among the mortals, she took it. She was bored out of her gourd, as the saying will one day go, and—"

  "How can you know what a future saying will be?"

  "Chronos uses expressions he remembers from the future, and some of them are apt. At any rate, trixie, the Incarnations did an informal survey of mortal flesh, and you were the prettiest innocence they found, and your ability with loom and distaff made it even better. The perfect unliberated, docile sex object! So they arranged to bring you in. That meant eliminating your man."

  This was appalling. She had to deny it—yet could not. Satan might be the personification of evil, but he was making sense. Still, she tried to fight, weakly. "But it was me they—you tried to kill, not Cedric."

  "So they told you, cheesecake. But that was a ruse, to shift the blame to Me. After all, they could hardly have found a better surrogate for blame! So that you would agree to join. It does, in that limited sense, have to be voluntary; you have to think you want it. They have to remove the one you love, to leave you no further reason to remain mortal. They conveyed to your innocent bonnie boy that you were the target, thus very cleverly tricking him into doing exactly what they wanted—"

  "No!" Niobe cried like a drowning woman.

  "And it worked perfectly, as you know, trophy-piece. Now the most desirable and innocent morsel of a young woman on Earth is in Purgatory and available for duty. The Incarnations are already champing at the nether bit. I could hardly have done it better Myself—but of course such evil is Mine anyway, by definition. I suggest you relax and enjoy it, toots."

  "Relax, hell!" she screamed.

  Satan smiled. "Exactly."

  She peered at him more closely. His image had been slowly clarifying as they progressed, and now at the verge of the forest he was at last recognizable. He had assumed Cedric's form.

  "You utter cad!" she screamed, trying to push him into a tree. "You have no right to—to—"

  He caught her hand. "Shall I kiss you, sweetlips?" he asked in Cedric's voice. "I, too, find you desirable, and I can make you forget—"

  She struck at him with the distaff she had been rewinding. He ducked, and the thread sprang out and settled about him in a tangle. "Get out! Get out!" she screamed.

  Satan resumed his normal form, and sighed. "Another time, perhaps, when you have been suitably broken in." He faded away, leaving her with the tangle.

  Niobe stood and cried in rage and grief for some time. Damn Satan! He had changed her promising new existence into a torment of savage emotion.

  But after a while she reasserted such cynicism as she could muster. She detached the tangled mass of threads, as they were from the borrowed section of the river, spun the ends together, and resumed her walk. She was not a plaything of Fate; she had free will, and she could leave this position if she wanted to. They had explained that each Incarnation, except perhaps Chronos, had a trial period in office, after which he or she was granted indefinite tenure if suitable. She would simply declare herself to be unsuitable and return to mortality. Certainly she would not serve in the—the capacity they wanted!

  She wended her way through the trees, her tears drying on her face. What a monstrous conspiracy she had fallen into! To think that Cedric had died in order to make her available for—

  She was still furious as the forest retreated and thinned, and the path straightened and became a road. She was back in structured reality, now—and not one bit pleased.

  What's the matter, Clotho?

  They were back! "You should know, you hypocrites!" she flared.

  She was met by a thought of amazement. Why do you say that?