And, o Shipri and Lord Shalpa, patron of a one-time thief and Hawkmask, even thedead were not safe from Ischade, who might well raise her up to let her go onlike poor Stilcho, like the Stepson-slave Ischade took to her bed and performedgods-knew-what with because he was dead and could not succumb to Ischade'scurse-could not die as every man died who had sex with Ischade-or Stilcho diednightly and Ischade raised him up from hell (though how her living and latestlover, the Stepson Straton, had survived beyond one night she could not guess;or did guess, in lurid imaginings of exotic practices and things that she darednot ask Haught-does he, does Haught, with Her? Would he, could he, has he ever-?with direst jealousy and helpless rage; for Haught was hers). It was all tooconfusing for Moria, once-thief turned lady.

And now the Emperor was dead in Ranke, the world was in upheaval, and back fromthe Wizard Wars the Stepsons came scouring through the streets, all grim intheir armor and on their tall horses; back in Sanctuary again and determined toset things into their own concept of order.

Make the house presentable, Ischade had sent word through Haught; and told herthe house had to host the chiefest of these devils, including Tempus, who was anIlsigi's direst enemy: an Ilsigi hostess had to entertain these awful men,with what end to the business Moria could not foresee.

A door had opened downstairs. It closed again. She lay between terror andanother thought-for Haught came to her now and again. Haught came wherever heliked and sometimes that was to her bed. It was Haught who had made herbeautiful, it was Haught who cared for her and made her imprisoned life worthliving.

It was Haught who had prised a knife from her fingers and prevented her fromsuicide a half a year ago, then kissed those fingers and made gentle love toher. It was Haught who stole a little of the Mistress's magic for her and cast aglamor on her that had never yet gone away. Perhaps the Mistress tacitlyapproved. But the Mistress had never laid eyes on her new self; and that mighthappen tomorrow night-

That would happen. Oh, if there were a way to make herself invisible she woulddo it. If that were Haught-it must be Haught, coming up the stairs so quietly.

A shiver came over her. She remembered the thing which had been in bed with her.She remembered the cold in the air and the steps which used to come and go inthe basement, which might pass a door in the middle of the night and comepadding up the stairs-

The latch of her room gave gently. The hinge creaked softly. She lay with herback to these sounds in that paralysis that a bad dream brings, in which a thingwill not be real until one looks and sees it standing by one's bed-

The step came close and lingered there. There was a water-smell, a river-smell,a beer-smell unlike Haught's perfumed, wine-favoring self. It was wrong, wrong-

She spun over the edge of the bed and came up with the knife she kept there onthe floor, as someone dived across the bed at her. She leaped back with thatknife held with no uptown delicacy: she was a knife-fighter, and she crouched inher be-ribboned lace and satin whipping the tail of her gown up and aside toclear her legs. A ragged shape hulked on its knees amid her bed, silhouette inlight from the hall. It held up its hands, choked for air.

"M-mo-ri-a," it said, wept, bubbled. "Mo-ri-a-"

"0 gods!"

She knew the voice, knew the smell of Downwind, knew the shape and the handssuddenly, and fled for the door and the lamp to borrow light in the hall, herhands atremble and the straw missing the wick a half a dozen times before shelit the lamp and brought it back again in both hands, the knife tucked beneathher arm.

Mor-am her brother huddled like a lump of brown rag amid her satin sheets. Moram stinking of the gutters, Mor-am twisted and scarred by fire and the beggarking's torture, as he was when She withdrew her favor.

"M-moria-M-m-moria?"

He had never seen her like this, never seen the glamor on her. She was an uptownlady. And he-

"0 gods, Mor-am."

He rubbed his eyes with a grimy fist. She-found the lamp burning her hands andset it on a bureau, taking the knife from beneath her arm. "Gods, what happened?Where have you been?" But she needn't ask: there was the reek of Downwind andliquor and the bitter smell of krrf.

"I-been-lost," he said. "I w-went-H-Her business." He waved a hand vaguely away,riverward, toward Downwind or nowhere at all, and squinted at her. The tic thattwisted his face did so with a vengeance. "I c-c-come back. What h-ha-hap-penedt' you, M-m-mo-ria? Y-y-you don't look-"

"Makeup," she said, "it's makeup, uptown ladies have tricks-" She stood andstared in horror at the kind of dirt and the kind of sight she had grown upwith, at the way Downwind twisted a man and bowed the shoulders and puthopelessness in the eyes. "Lost. Where, lost? You could've sent word- you couldhave sent something-" She watched the tic by Mor-am's mouth grow violent: it wasnever that way when Ischade prevented it. Ischade was not preventing it. Forsome reason Ischade had stopped preventing it. "You're in trouble with Her,aren't you?"

"I-t-tr-tried. I tried to do what she w-wanted. Then I-1-lost the m-m-money."

"You mean you drank it! You gambled it, you spent it on drugs, you fool! Oh,damn you, damn you!"

He cringed. Her tall, her once-handsome brother-he cringed down and hisshoulderblades were sharp against the rags, his dirty hands were like clawsclutching his knees as he crouched rocking in the cream-and-lace of her bed. "Igot to have m-m-money, Mo-ri-a. I got to go to Her, I got to make it g-g-good-"

"Damn, all I've got is Her money, you fool! You're going to take Her money andpay Her back with it?"

"You g-g-got to, you g-g-got to, the p-pain, Moria, the pain-"

"Stay here!"

She set the knife down and fled, a flurry of satin and ribbons and bare feetdown the polished, carpeted stairs, down into the hall and back where even inthis night Cook's minions labored over the dinner-the infamous Shiey hadacquired a partner with a monumental girth and a real skill, who co-ruled thekitchen: one-handed Shiey managed the beggar-servants and Kotilis stirred andmixed and sliced with a deft fury that put an awe into the slovens and dullardsthat were the rule in this house. They thought She had witched this cook, andthat the hands that made a knife fly over a radish and carve it into a flowercould do equally well with ears and noses: that was what Shiey told them. Andwork went on this night. Work went on in mad terror; and if anyone thought itwas strange that one more beggar went padding in the front door at night (with akey) and Little Mistress came flying downstairs in her night-gown to rummage the

desk in the hall for the money not one thief in the house dared steal-

No one said a thing. Shiey only stood in the door in her floured apron, andKotilis went on butchering his radishes, while Moria ignored them both, flyingup the stairs again with the copper taste of a bitten lip and stark fear in hermouth.

She loved her brother, gods help a fool. She was bound to him in ways that shecould not untangle; and she stole from Her to pay Her, which was the only thingshe could do. It was damnation she courted. It was the most terrible ruin in theworld.

It was for the arch-fool Mor-am, who was the only blood kin she had, and who hadbled for her and she for him since they were urchins in Jubal's employ. It wasnot Mor-am's fault that he drank too much, that he smoked krrf when the pain andthe despair got to be too much; he had hit her and she forgave him in a brokenhearted torment-all the men she loved had done as much, excepting only Haught,whose blows were never physical but more devastating. It was her lot in life.Even when Ischade clothed her in satin and Haught touched her with stolenglamor. It was her lot that a drunkard brother had to show up wanting money; andadding to the sins that she would carry into Ischade's sight tomorrow. It wasmen's way to be selfish fools, and women's to be faithful fools, and to lovethem too much and too long.