'I'm a virgin,' Cythen interrupted in a far from steady voice. When her mind wasfocused on the fish-eyed murderer other sister, she could manage to ignore theimplications of the plan she had agreed to; but faced with the pragmatic logicof the madam, she began to realize that vengeance and determination might not beenough.

Myrtis nodded, 'I had suspected as much. You would not want your sister'sslayer, then, to be the first -'

'It won't matter. Just tell everyone that I'm being saved for just the rightman. That's often the way of it anyway, isn't it? A special prize for a specialcustomer?'

Myrtis hardened. 'In those places where courtesan and slave are the same thatmay be so. But my women are here because they wish to be here; I do not ownthem. Many leave for other lives after they've grown tired of a life of love andearned a healthy portion of gold. But pleasure is not your talent, Cythen; youwouldn't understand. Men have nothing you desire and you have nothing to givethem in return.'

'I have a talent for deceit, Myrtis, or neither Bekin nor I would have survivedat all. Honour your promise. Give him to me for one night.'

With a gesture of worried resignation, Myrtis consented to the arrangement. Shesummoned Ambutta, who some said was her daughter, and had Cythen led into theprivate sections of the house where, for a night and a day she was fussed overand transformed. Before sundown of the next day she was ensconced in the plushseraglio where Bekin had lived, and died. Her garrison clothes and knife hadbeen hidden in the dark panelled walls and she herself was now draped in lengthsof diaphanous rose-coloured silk - a gift to Bekin from the man who had slainher.

Staring into the mirror as the sun set, Cythen saw a woman she had never knownbefore: the self she might have become if tragedy had not intervened. She wasbeautiful, as Bekin had been, and she preferred the feel of silk to the chafingof the linen and wools she normally wore. Ambutta had skilfully wound beadsthrough Cythen's hair, binding it into a fanciful shape that left Cythen afraidto turn quickly, lest the whole affair come tumbling down into her face.

'There was a message for you earlier,' Ambutta, a disturbingly wise woman noolder than thirteen, said as she daubed a line of kohl under Cythen's eyes.

'What?' Cythen jerked away in anger, her stance becoming that of a fighter,despite the silk.

'You were bathing,' the child-woman explained, twirling the brush in the inkypowder, 'and men do not come upstairs by day.'

'All right, then, give it to me now.' She held out her hand.

'It was spoken only, from your friend Walegrin. He says two more fish-folk havebeen found murdered: Actually it's three -another was found at low tide - butthe message came before that. One of them was a cousin to the Beysa herself. Thegarrison is ordered to produce the culprit, or any culprit, by dawn or theexecutions will begin. They will kill as many each noon as fish-folk who havealready died. Tomorrow they'll kill thirteen - by venom.'

Though the room was warm and draughtless, Cythen felt a chill. 'Was that all?'

'No, Walegrin said Turghurt is horny.'

The chill became a finger of ice along her spine. She did not resist as Ambuttamoved closer to finish applying the kohl. She saw her face in the mirror andrecognized herself as the frightened girl beside the wise Ambutta.

The hours wore on after Ambutta left her. Two knobs had burnt off the hourcandle and none had come to her door. The music and laughter that were thenormal sounds of an evening at the Aphrodisia House grated on her ears as shelistened for the telltale accent that would betray the presence of the fishfolk, whatever common Ilsigi or Rankan name Myrtis gave them.

Couples walked noisily past her closed door; women already settled for thenight. The smells of love-incense grew strong enough to make her head ache. Shestood on a pile of pillows to open the room's only window and to look out on thejumble of the Bazaar stalls and the dark roofs of the Maze beyond them. Absorbedby the panorama of the town, she did not hear the latch lift nor the door open,but she felt someone staring at her.

'They told me that they had given you her room.'

She knew, before she turned, that he had finally come. He spoke the localdialect well, but without any attempt to conceal his heavy accent. Her heart wasfluttering against her ribs as she turned to face him.

He had left his cloak downstairs and stood before her in fish-folk finery,filling the doorway with his bulk. It was no wonder Bekin had adored him - she'dhad a child's delight in colour and shine. His pantaloons were a deep turquoise,embroidered with silver. His tunic was a lighter shade, slashed open to thenavel with sleeves that shone and rippled like the rose silk she wore. His fezwas encrusted with glittery stones; he removed it with a smile; his shaved scalpglistened in the candlelight. Despite herself, Cythen flattened against the walland regarded him with a mixture of fear and awe. His eyes shone as he watchedher without blinking, and after a moment she looked away.

'There is no need to be frightened. Little Flower.'

His arms circled the rose silk and drew her tightly against him. Strong bluntfingers pressed around her neck, digging in behind her ears so she could notresist as he forced her lips apart. She willed herself to numbness when he foundthe knots that bound the silk around her and undid them. Screams of outrageechoed in her mind, but she clung silently, unprotestingly, to his powerfularms.

'You are still frightened?' he asked after a while, running a finger over thecurve other hip as she lay limp on the pillows beside him. He was strong, asWalegrin had said he would be, but she did not quite have the nerve to find outif he was a coward as well.

She shook her head when he asked if she was afraid, but could not stop her handsfrom coming to rest on top of his, stopping his incessant motion. He bent overher, caressing her breast with his lips, tongue and teeth. With a strangledwhimper, she stiffened away from him.

'You will see. There's nothing to be frightened of. Just relax.'

He was staring at her: cold fish-eyes peering into her body and soul. All thewarnings that Myrtis, Walegrin, and even Ambutta had given her chorused out ofher memory and she wished she was Bekin: either dead or willing to love any man.Her confidence went out like a guttered candle. She felt him loosening the heavybelt that bound his pantaloons and knew she could not stifle the next screamsthat would rise from her throat.

There would be no second chance. She would fall, and probably die here in thisroom with her sister's ghost hovering in her thoughts. But she was a master ofdeceit, as she had claimed, which was much more than simple lying or pretending.

'Yes, I'm frightened,' she whispered in a coy, little girl's voice she had justdiscovered, using the truth to buy a few more moments. She shivered and clutchedthe discarded silk against her as he let her slide away from him. 'Do you knowwhat happened to the girl who lived in this room? While she slept, someone let aserpent into here and it bit her. She died horribly. Sometimes I think I hear iton the pillows, but they won't let me have another room.'

There are no snakes in this room. Little Flower.'

In the shadows, she could not be certain of his expression, and his accent madeit difficult to read the sound of his voice. Recklessly, she continued.

'That's what they tell me. The only snakes in Sanctuary which are poisonous arethe Beysa's holy snakes - and those never go far from her in the palace. But shewas killed by snake venom. Someone had to have put it in here. But she was onlya mad girl from the Street of Red Lanterns, so no one will search for herkiller.'