“Ushnarema,” Lashantu said peevishly, “I had thought you were a better judge of character than this. Do you simply recruit any bumpkin who becomes available, and make him privy to my affairs? Look at the ridiculous face the boy is pulling. Where did you find him, the South Gate Market?”

“No, as I recall he was guarding the fields at the time,” Ushna said, unperturbed. “I did hope he would be more open-minded about these matters; I’ve been grooming him for the better part of half a bloom. But yes, to be fair, tonight was indeed intended as something of a test of character, though perhaps not so extreme.”

“In which case, it would appear he has failed it.” Again he turned to Ram. “I take it you do not approve of my work here?”

Was there any point in trying to hide it? “My father was hearthless.”

“Oh, was he? Then you are a very lucky man, to have come even so far. Doubly lucky, to have survived the campaign. Perhaps you should be thankful.”

Thankful? “What, because I’m not laid out on a table downstairs with my guts pulled out and my head cut open?”

“A kinder and quicker death than many hearthless meet, and far less pointless,” Lashantu noted. “Ushna, do explain to your protege sometime, in detail, how it is that shabti are made. But as for you, Rammash, you are … how old? Fifteen? Yes, I think so. Fifteen, if that. You would not be the first boy to duck past the rules for an opportunity; if so, I applaud you. It’s best to think of laws and regulations as, oh, a kind of incentive, in my experience. Or possibly a test. But not a barrier—not for the quick, the ready, the adaptable. Never a barrier.”

His face was benevolent once more, an indulgent patriarch sharing the benefits of his experience with a child gone slightly astray. Ram knew there was nothing he could bear to say that would not get him in deeper trouble.

“How much has this boy made from you so far, Ushna?”

“I am pleased to report that he has earned three gold, and quite fairly.”

Lashantu’s eyebrows rose. “Indeed! Rammash, how many men your age, with your background, have made that kind of money? Initiative—that is how one stays ahead. And if you keep the initiative, there is nothing to prevent you from finding yourself a strong and prosperous man, in your own way.”

Ram looked around the room, so he would not have to look at its owner; it was magnificent. Mosaics lined the walls, a long procession of well-dressed men and women holding hands as they marched towards the shining window on the far wall. Their faces were varied enough that Ram guessed they were all pictures of real people. “Your family?” he asked.

“You are perceptive. Yes. My father’s lineage starting at my right, my mother’s at my left. Derived from older portraits. Not all of them were of very proud origin, mind you; that lady there, my great-grandmother, began as a bondswoman with a knack for shrewd counsel, while my great-great-grandfather on the other side was a mere shopkeeper, at first.”

And Kamenrag was a worthless by-blow who got to swagger around kicking the little people because his mother was a good lay, Ram thought. That was what was on offer here; if he wagged his tail and licked like a good dog, he could get plenty of treats and belly-rubs. Ushna’s cravat was a kind of collar.

“They left out all the dead bodies underfoot,” Ram heard himself say. And he couldn’t feel sorry that he’d said it.

“For aesthetic reasons. The artist also omitted their bowel movements. My question for you, Rammash, is whether you would rather be included in that sort of picture, or left out.”

Ram could not forget that Mother and Father were counting on him. But he also couldn’t forget that Mother had consciously chosen, at his own age, to be left out of that picture. And nothing Father had done had ever earned him a place in it. He compromised with a cold look.

Lashantu didn’t look all that upset. “Very well. You know the appropriate response, Ushna. Clean up your mess.” He pushed himself up out of his chair, and made to leave the room. “I am disappointed. You have ruined a good dinner to very little purpose.”

Ram had been bewildered by much of the conversation, but he was afraid he understood this part all too well. He began edging carefully away from Ushna, who was frowning.

“I do have a significant financial stake in the boy, to be honest,” he said. “To say nothing of a still more substantial business commitment.”

Lashantu stopped as he was passing Ushna in the doorway. “Oh? What kind of commitment? This seems like a story worth hearing, assuming it is not simply a tasteless joke.”

“Not at all. I am, however, bound to confidentiality at the moment. I’m not certain that I should even have told you of the arrangement. Certainly he doesn’t need to know the details of it himself. And yet … “ Ushna raised his hands helplessly.

Ram stared. “What the hell are you talking about, Ushna?”

“If he was so important, you should not have staked him so freely,” Lashantu retorted, ignoring Ram. “Your lack of prudence is not my concern. His is.”

“Stop talking about me like I’m a bug on the wall, you shits!”

“Case in point,” observed Lashantu. “No prudence whatever. Nor any sound perspective; he evidently entertains the naive moral pretensions of a handmaiden on holiday. If you wish to maintain our relationship—including the deal we so recently concluded—I must insist you dispose of him.”

Talking would do no further good, Ram decided. He drew his truncheon, then pulled the carving knife free from the roast with his other hand. Lashantu, unarmed though he was, only gave Ram a condescending look, and did not move. Ushna had his sickle-sword, but instead of drawing it he held up a hand.

“Let us not hurry into precipitous, irreversible, and potentially quite regrettable action, eh? Sir, I believe we can make this work, if you’ll indulge me a moment. Bringing this young man’s somewhat sheltered sensibilities into alignment with ours is, I admit, something of a tall order. But if he could be induced to keep them to himself for the time being?”

“A taller order still,” Lashantu grumbled. “I won’t have your simpleton cousin endangering my life’s work with a moral panic.”

“It’s only a matter of leverage. You see, his family maintains a known residence, and seems unlikely to move from it for the—“

“Bastard!” Ram covered all the distance he’d been putting between them in one rush, raising the knife high. Ushna stepped forward to intercept—easily dodging the blow—drove a knee into Ram’s stomach, bashed him on the temple, and finally shoved him contemptuously back onto the table. Somewhere in the process, the knife wound up on the floor; Ushna picked it up and stuck it in his belt.

“Rammash, you’re making this situation very difficult for me,” he remarked. “I’m trying to resolve this situation to the satisfaction of all concerned. I’d rather not have to kill you, you know.”

“All for … the family, huh?” Ram wheezed, pushing himself up from a heap of broken and dirty plates. “Hypocrite.”

“A man of affairs must inevitably balance multiple competing concerns.” He turned to Lashantu. “I think we’ve established that this is a matter to some importance to Rammash. Do you have any agents at Urapu hearth?”

“Possibly,” Lashantu granted. “More likely an intermittent contact. I could arrange more. Even so, I would hesitate to trust anyone so young, and of such a proven volatile character. What is to stop him from spreading anonymous rumors?”

“Just explain that they aren’t important corpses,” Ram offered, clutching at his temple. “It’ll blow right over. You’re a public-spirited citizen, after all.”

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Lashantu looked him over. “Ushna, I would like to make a counter-offer, if I may. I am a curious man, and not unintelligent, and I cannot for the life of me fathom how this boy would be worth the trouble of keeping at all, let alone for enough money to secure your services. I will indulge your fancy, and run the hazard of public defamation, if you will tell me who hired you for this folly, and why. I might even pay somewhat for the privilege.”

“I thought you might be inclined to make such an offer, sir, and I would be delighted to take you up on it, if my other client did not insist on the strictest secrecy. He was both explicit and firm on that point.”

“Even if that is your only way of getting your cousin out of this house alive?”

“Even so,” he agreed. “Loss of the subject would be highly undesirable, but tolerable. I would rather accept a loss than offend this particular client. Here I am concerned for my own safety, mind you—and possibly yours.”

“Indeed.” Lashantu smiled thinly. “You are very nearly offending me.” Ushna gave only an apologetic grimace in reply. “Very well, then. End it, and we will speak no more of this, for the time at least. But perhaps you can ask your client if an exception might be made? With compensation for their loss of capital.”

“Unlikely,” Ushna sighed, and drew his sword. Ram already had a heavy ceramic bowl in his hand; it struck his cousin dead in the face. Then he rolled backwards off the table, yanked the silver serving-dish out from under the roast for a shield, and bolted for the door under the window at the far end of the hall while Ushna cursed and clutched at his bloody nose. If it was a kitchen, there would be knives, roasting spits—

An old lady stood in the doorway, blocking his path. A serving-woman, he gathered, in the same fine colors as Tessheru. She was at least sixty blooms old, a short, thin, delicate-looking creature, but didn’t appear to be remotely afraid of him. He raised his club to drive her off; she flicked a glance at it, and with a loud crack the far end of the shaft fell in splinters at his feet. “This is not the path for you, Rammash im-Belemel,” she said.

He didn’t have time to wonder what had just happened to his only weapon; he could hear Ushna stomping closer behind him, and now he was unarmed. He turned to see his cousin ten paces off, bloody-faced and looking mean with his Moonchild’s sword in his hand. Ram had a broken stick and a serving-tray. He was getting ready to throw the tray at his head and run for the other door when Ushna abruptly stopped in his tracks and fell over onto the floor. The sword slipped from his grip, making little noise as it bounced across the carpet.

For a long moment, Ram could only stare at his cousin. Then he looked at Lashantu, across the room—but the old man appeared equally mystified. The steward Tessheru had been waiting placidly in the hallway the whole time; he craned his neck around his master to stare, then fell over himself. Lashantu didn’t appear to notice. Ushna remained where he had fallen.

At last, Ram thought to turn around and look at the old serving-woman. She was standing exactly as before. He looked her in the eye, and she smiled softly. “You needn’t worry,” she said. “He won’t be getting back up.”

Inside Ram’s brain, a vague plan was forming to ask her what on earth was going on. Lashantu beat him to it. “Shennai,” he said plaintively from his place by the door, “what is this?” It wasn’t a demand; the old man sounded as lost and perplexed as Ram. The old lady gave Ram a somewhat larger smile, motioned for him to stay where he was, and stepped around him.

She walked past Ushna, stopping in the precise middle of the room. “I don’t know how to explain it to you, sir,” she told him. Ram could not hear a smile in her voice now. “I might call it divine judgment, but frankly I don’t think you’d understand. Perhaps it would be better if I used your terms. This, Master Lashantu, is what you call penalty for breach of contract.”

Lashantu looked still more bewildered than before. He was just opening his mouth to ask a question when a lance of golden fire shot down from the space over the old woman’s head, striking the old man with an eye-searing flash and an impact Ram could feel in his shoes from across the room. When his vision cleared, there was no sign of Lashantu, but the whole center section of the table had vanished, and most of the rest was burning. Several tiles had already fallen from the lovely mosaics nearest the door, and more joined them as Ram gawked, popping loose with little crackling noises. High overhead, the roof beams were smoldering ominously.

The old lady turned back to him, looking satisfied. “Did anyone else know you were coming here tonight?”

“Wha?” was the best he could offer by way of reply.

“I see,” she said, and pursed her lips. “Rammash, my name is Shennai. I do not intend to hurt you. I work for, shall we say, your former employer’s former employer. Both Ushnarema and Tessheru are dead—the human brain shuts down from even a very brief and mild increase in temperature. The technique leaves no trace. Lashantu has, as you see, entirely ceased to exist. The next few days could get very exciting, but will not be our problem as long as no living person knows you were involved. Is there anyone else?”

“Wha?” Ram repeated.

She snapped her fingers at him. “Focus, please! Did you meet anyone other than Tessheru in this house, before he brought you here?”

“No.”

“Did anyone on the street clearly see you enter the house?”

“No.”

“Did you tell any of your friends in the militia that you would be serving a warrant at this house, or with Ushna?”

“No,” Ram said, stirring himself slightly now that he was on familiar ground, “you don’t do that. If one of them leaks, the suspect could—“

“Nobody knows,” she said. “Good. Unless one of the other Damadzus came along?”

“There’s Bal,” Ram said. “He didn’t come in, I guess he’s still watching the door.” This fact bothered him far less than it might have fifteen minutes earlier, before he met a homicidal handmaiden.

“The mute one, isn’t he? He will not be a problem. The Damadzus as a whole likely have some notion, but we can’t help that. Come along.” And she swept past him, back into the kitchen, where she stepped delicately around the prone forms of Lashantu’s four dinner companions. One of them was covered in the wine he’d been drinking when he fell; another had a bunch of grapes in his hand. Ram spared an anxious glance for the two servers slumped against the counter, but said nothing, and followed close behind her.

Shennai paused at the kitchen’s far exit, through which Ram could see a set of stairs leading down. Her eyes flickered about the room; a jar of cooking oil exploded in flames over an adjacent stack of wood for the stove. For good measure, the rafters caught fire as well. “We’ll want to hurry now,” she said calmly, and nudged him toward the stairs.

Ram reflected, though not in so many words, that he knew nothing about this woman except that she could kill him instantly, and probably wouldn’t hesitate to, but hadn’t done so yet. That by itself seemed like an excellent reason to obey her instructions, but he was still curious. “Who are you, ma’am?” he asked her as she herded him down the steps.

“Shennai the bondswoman, of course. Not to be confused with Shunnar the handmaiden, who died two blooms ago. That is a matter of public record, and it would be ridiculous to suppose that there were any connection between us.” Now they were walking down a long hallway, lined with beautiful antique hangings which burst into flame, two by two, as soon as they had passed by. “I have no special talents to speak of, beyond giving remarkably good massages to sore muscles, and I’ve done nothing else for the past two blooms. Off the carpet here, please.” Ram complied, and it too went up in flames.

“So, uh, how … “ He wasn’t sure which of his many questions to ask, let alone how to put it into words.

“Tonight, as your kinsman told you, was a test.” She glanced out the window, and it lit up her face with several bright yellow flashes. “But not for you alone. You passed; he did not. Take a left, and go down the hall back to the parlor.” Shouts came from upstairs. “And do hurry, we don’t need to meet any of the house’s other residents.”

Ram broke into a jog, and soon found himself back in the elegant sitting room. He knew the way from there, and called over his shoulder, “Where next?”

“The Temple. Oh, one second.” She pulled off her fine robes and threw them on one of the chairs, then set both on fire, following up with the rest of the room’s furniture and rafters. Underneath, she was wearing a drab sort of smock. “That’s the problem with these private kitchens—fire hazard. This place was frankly overdue for a blaze. Out with you, now.”

“And who—“

She held up a hand, and he shut his mouth at once. “It’s really not for me to tell you everything. I’m only Shennai the bondswoman, after all. I’ve been stuck in this house for two whole blooms, watching my poor master’s new acquisitions inexplicably die every time he tried to learn something from them. What could I know of these important matters? To the Temple, young man. Walk fast, don’t run. The sooner we get out of this area, the easier I’ll breathe.”

They were just turning the corner at the end of the street when Lashantu’s kitchen ceiling fell in with a resounding crash.