"Rich musicians." Bennie pushed a new set of glasses up his nose.

Jon stroked the keys on his synthesizer. Exulted chords broke out in the dark hall. Sullen Tews chased the notes with a tune from his flute. Something wild seemed to rush across the stage after the music.

"Don't laugh about gods, Orfi," Tews looked very serious. – "They prefer to be the last to laugh."

"Ladies and gentlemen," the microphone touched Orfi's lips. – "Today's concert will be unusual, indeed. Today, for the very first time, we'll perform my symphony "Euredice". Silence please!"

Jon took his place before his organ, and only then understood that the hall was filled with women. There were old and young, pretty and ugly, thin and fat females; a smell of cosmetics hung in the air, there was a glitter of jewellery, and a rustle of clothes.. The air was charged with a sense of hysteria.

He put his hands on the keyboard and took a deep breath. The organ's indicator panel showed Jon's physical parameters: pulse, blood pressure, temperature, biochemistry. The organ was tuning itself up. Similar statistics blinked on the panels of the other band members, all of the instruments even measuring the audience's condition. Silence ceased and turned sound as the first notes escaped his fingers. The chords rose to penetrate every rift, every fissure in the hall, filling the emptiness with sound. When his solo reached its climax, the pulses of percussions and the rhythms of the guitars joined in. There was a silver ringing as of icicles whistling in the autumn wind, a sound of a lonely pedestrian's steps in the dead of night, children's laughter and pain, the tender whispers of lovers, and the howling of falling bombs – a sad melody of eternal wanderers. This music had it all.

Only Tews' flute kept silent for some reason. The rhythm changed. A troubled note joined into the heavenly pulse, and abruptly it was as if some kind of sickness had infected the symphony. Jon heard a cry behind him, and turned to see Bennie, pale as a sheet. His hands were raised, a look of horror on his face. It took a moment for Orfi to understand what was happening: there were percussion without anyone playing the drums. Bennie's hands were off the panels, but the rhythm didn't disappear. Moreover it grew more powerful. The audience stirred uncomfortably. Shrill voices from the gallery began to moan. The tension in the Hall rose several notches. Charlie seemed one with his guitar. His eyes were closed, spittle flecking his lips, as the strings he plucked growled. Fletcher looked even worse ashis bass howled at the crowed to start moving, dancing.

The women, with their glittering rings and painted faces, scarlet nails, rushed forward in ecstasy. Jon stood up, and listened, enthralled, to his symphony being played out by the Dionysus machines. When the outburst reached its climax, and the furious flock was ready to charge the stage, David Tews ran up to the proscenium and put his old flute to his lips. Human breath and notes rose up to clash with Dionysus's frenzied music, sounding like a frantic swimmer, trying to catch his breath, break the surface of water, and reach life.

Jon broke free from his enthrallment, and rushed towards a grand-piano standing in the wings. He prayed to the heavens that he may join with Tews' flute, before the berserk women could reach them, and tear them apart.

And in the gallery, sitting quietly with his legs crossed, was a curly-haired youth in a tabby pelt, smiling as he watched the chaos unfold.