«Open the door,» Rivi commanded the wights. «And don't let the breathers escape.»

The wights bowed to her, their eyes blazing.

Twelve wights stood against us, with the Fox also stationed at the ready, his hands fluttering in mystic gestures – probably preparing a fireball in case any of us tried to escape the control room when the door opened. Not even Kiripao made the attempt; we were hopelessly outnumbered. As soon as Petrov staggered out of the room, the wights closed the door again and barred it shut with the heavy wood beam they'd used before.

«Well, darlings, that was fun,» Rivi said, as the still-flaming Petrov dragged himself to her side. «However, all good things must come to an end…»

«What are you going to do with us?» Hezekiah demanded.

«I haven't decided,» she answered. «I don't know any of you… except for Judge DeVail, of course, whose mother was a helpful dear to keep such a detailed diary. No doubt, you all have your wee talents or you wouldn't have got this far. Perhaps I'll let you live and work for my noble cause… after a wee adjustment in your attitudes, of course.»

«What is your noble cause?» Oonah asked. Trust a Guvner to seek as much information as possible.

«My noble cause,» Rivi repeated. "My noble wee cause. Well, darlings, let me tell you a story of a regal family: rulers of all they surveyed on a lovely Prime world planet… not a backwater either, because they had a stable wee portal to Sigil, which let them keep in touch with multiversal affairs.

«The royal family,» she continued, «had three daughters, all charming wee girls. It was the tradition to teach such princesses useful arts – skills that would help them become wise and magnanimous rulers when they ascended the throne. Daughter One, whom we'll call Fatuous Smug Pig…» Rivi paused and gave us a coquettish smile «…was educated in the arts of white wizardry. Daughter Two, who'll be known as Loathsomely Drippy Cow…» another smile, "was raised as high priestess of an appallingly goody-goody power whose name can only be pronounced by his faithful. I usually called him Bunghole the Simpleton, but that's not what he wrote on his smarmy wee tabernacles.

"Anyway, Pig became a wizard and Cow a priestess. That only left the third and youngest daughter, whom we'll call Fabulously Beautiful and Shrewd Beyond Her Years… or Rivi, for short. When it came to Rivi's education, the king and queen chose the path of the mind, arranging for the ravishing princess to study under the greatest psionic masters of Sigil and the Outer Planes. It was hard work for the poor wee girl, but she devoted herself to it with a passion; because she dreamed of the day when she could tear her sisters' minds to confetti. When she could force them to draggle their tails in the filthiest streets of the Hive. When she could seize their pure wee brains and turn their thoughts into cesspools.

«And why was Princess Rivi so angry with Pig and Cow? Because they were generous to her. Because they were nauseatingly kind. Because they wanted to protect their poor wee sister who was all white like a maggot. Can you imagine? They pitied me. They actually pitied me! Pig would come into my room at night to amuse me with vapid tricks of sorcery, like making my dolls stand up and say, 'Rivi, Rivi, we wuv you!' And Cow was forever dragging me along on her holy rounds, curing the sick, comforting the wretched, bringing the word of Bunghole into filthy peasant huts… all in the hope of rallying my spirits to cope with my 'condition'. My condition! My pale wee condition… as if I were some repugnant cripple and soft in the head.»

She stopped to glare venomously at each of us, daring us to speak. No one rose to the challenge. We all knew Rivi's big problem wasn't being an albino; it was being a total barmy. The lilting speech patterns, the fierce glitter of her eyes, the rationalizations for hating her sisters… the woman was mad as May-butter, and howling at the moon.

«Well,» she continued, "despite what Pig and Cow thought, I wasn't soft in the head – I was very, very hard, and I made myself harder by the day. It took me almost no time to outgrow the limp-wristed berks hired to teach me the Will and the Way. Without my parents' knowledge, I arranged for more suitable tutelage: a renegade Dustman mind-flayer. He taught me interesting wee secrets about raising the undead, but more importantly, he nurtured the full power of my mind. Sorcery and priestly magic were feeble things, sucking on the multiverse's dugs for a few drops of power. With psionics, the energy comes from within; from your soul, from your hate.

«So… when I learned about these darling wee grinders, I just had to have them. If I could bury a city – Sigil, for instance – in the white anti-magic dust, wizards and priests would be helpless: as they gather their power around them, it sets the dust on fire. Psionics, on the other hand… it's a completely different form of energy. Internal – it doesn't react with the dust. These grinders let me shut down spellcasters of every type, without the slightest effect on my own power. Delightful! I only wish I'd had them with me when I finally took on Pig and Cow…»

Her voice trailed off, but a dreamy smile remained on her face. I could imagine what happened to Rivi's poor sisters… or perhaps I couldn't. Some things go beyond a sane man's imagination.

«Well,» said Rivi, suddenly snapping out of her reverie, "that's all bodies under the bridge now. You wanted me to explain my noble wee cause, and I believe I've done so. I want to make every wizard and priest in the multiverse suffer the torments of the damned… and then become my slave. Whoosh, I hit a victim with the white dust so she can't protect herself. Zap, I spend a few hours raking through her mind, until she loves me with eternal devotion. Whoosh again, I use the brown dust to give my new ally back her magic; but now she casts her spells in my service.

«I already have a list of targets in Sigil – deputies in all the major factions. Not people at the very top, but ones with influential positions: clever wee dears who can arrange for me to have private interviews with folks higher up the ladder. Once I've had time alone with a few factols…»

She laughed. From anyone else, the laugh might have been charming: totally open and honest. It chilled me to the bone.

«Let me get this straight,» Hezekiah said. «You're doing all this – killing all those people at the courts, manufacturing wights, torching poor Petrov here – all because you didn't like your sisters?»

«Oh, darling,» Rivi answered, «I don't like any spellcasters. Sorcerers and priests are all annoying sods…»

«I know I am,» the Fox piped up cheerfully.

«So,» Rivi continued, «consider it a public service when I serve the wee darlings their own entrails in a bowl.» She took a deep breath. «Starting with the magic-users in your wee group. I intend to rip out your brains and stuff in thoughts of my own. By tomorrow, you'll kill your own mothers for the privilege of kissing my toenail.»

«I know I would,» the Fox piped up again.

«Watch them,» Rivi commanded the old barmy. «I have to set up a suitable place to work – somewhere I won't have distractions. Somewhere soundproof, somewhere with clamps. I've been meaning to redecorate one of the lounges anyway. Give me an hour.»

«But what if these berks get boisterous?» the Fox asked. «Can I burn them… please?»

«No, darling, they'll be more useful to us in one piece. But just in case…» She handed him the white grinder. «Take this. It's just barely possible they might scrape away their dust and try something foolish. If so, give them another blast.»

«Yay!»

Cackling with delight, the Fox spun the crank of the grinder, loosing a flurry of white that sifted down over Rivi herself. Where it touched her skin, it was almost invisible; but her gown's black silk was completely frosted over, making her white from head to toe.