"You don't seem especially interested."

"Consider the mortal's viewpoint. He's been kidnapped. He has a knife across his throat. Somebody supposedly wants to hire him, but he can't find out what for. You haven't said a word about payment. The one thing that does come across is that these would-be employers don't look any more trustworthy or stable than any other gods."

With every word sweet Maggie grew less attractive. I quit before she decided to drop me down a hole and interview elsewhere. "Why not finish telling me about the others?"

I basked in the pale green light of her disapproval. She wasn't used to backtalk. But she took control. Maybe she was desperate.

Doubtless, in the shadows of her heart, she put a tick beside "Garrett" in her book of destruction.

"How about the boss couple? Who are they?"

"Imar and Imara." I didn't have to be told, brother and sister and man and wife. "Lord and Mistress of All, Skystrider and Earth Mother. Sun and Moon, Scatterer of Stars and She Who Calls Forth the Spring."

"And so forth," I muttered. When you have the habit of backmouthing crime bosses and Guard chieftains, it ain't easy to break the circle.

"And so forth. We tend to accumulate titles, of both supplication and accusation."

That fit with what I knew about other gods. The Church, where I was raised, didn't have a full crew of gods like most religions. We had one God, No God But God—and about ten thousand saints who covered the same ground as lesser gods and goddesses. The Church had a whole heavenly bureaucracy, with saints who didn't do anything more strenuous than find lost buttons or keep an eye on the wine grape harvest. The Church's supernatural establishment was so big the whole thing would continue on inertia for ages after its last believer perished.

"All right. Now that I know who you are, I have a vague notion what your problem is. One temple. Two bunches of gods. Whoever loses out loses big time."

"Exactly." She was all business now. As if a beautiful woman can ever be all business, however much she wants to think that. Nature does not care about the clutter in the mind. Decorum is just another obstacle to be surmounted by instinct.

I tried being all business, too.

Instinct could get me dead.

I reminded me that lady spiders eat their mates.

"Listen," Magodor snapped. "You get to hear this once."

Generous. "I'm all ears, Maggie." I tried to wiggle them encouragingly, but I just don't have that talent. What an unfair world. A big goof like Saucerhead Tharpe can wiggle one of his ears, but I am stuck with...

"Garrett."

Whoops. "I'm awake! I'm awake!"

"You may not accept it, but we gods have dealings amongst ourselves. Few of your priests are aware of this."

"Yeah. Mostly they're big on declaring their own gods to be the only gods."

"Partly. Some younger religions are intolerant that way. About rules. There is a set that governs the situation that exists now. Additionally, there are custom and past practice. It's not explicitly forbidden, but past practice is that pantheons don't fight over places on the Street."

"Bad for business, eh?"

"You have no idea. Customarily, a committee of more successful gods oversee a competition. Winner takes all."

"Ah." That was my polished professional ah, my ah of illumination.

"The competitions are unique each time so the contestants cannot rig the results beforehand."

"I'll bet they never even try."

Maggie smiled me a genuine smile. "Indeed."

"So what's the contest? Where do I fit in?"

"The prize temple has been sealed. Neither the Shayir nor we can get in. Somewhere there is a key. Whoever finds it, and recognizes it, can open and take over the temple."

I used my eyebrow trick. "Oh?" She wasn't impressed.

"It's supposed to be ordinary but rendered invisible to immortal eyes. The lock it fits cannot be broken. It will open only to the key. The Board probably expects us to rely on our faithful to do the legwork, but there is no specific prohibition against employing a professional. So we turned to you. And it seems that the Shayir, apparently having gotten wind of our interest, tried to lure you away."

"I see," I said, not sure that I saw anything. "I'm supposed to find this key, scoot to this temple, and let you in before the Shayir find it."

"That's the meat of it."

"Interesting." If I was not caught up inside some bizarre con. That would fit my luck. Time and again I get dragged in where nobody plays me even close to straight.

All part of the business.

I had questions. Were the contesting gods, though discouraged from bushwhacking each other, allowed to make life hard for the opposition's mortals? I have enough troubles.

Maggie looked at me like she meant to glare a hole through.

"It's worth thinking about. My weirdest case yet. Great for my references later." I had to get out without making commitments. I knew I could not get away with a flat no.

"There's a time limit, Garrett. The sands are running already. We have maybe another hundred hours."

Gah. "What happens if nobody finds the key?"

"These southern immigrants could bring more gods than Antitibet."

"Everybody loses?"

"It has happened before."

"Let's talk money, then."

Her face tightened. Prospective clients never want to talk about money.

I told her, "I have a household to support. The usual story stuff—like maybe a night with Star, like a night in Elf Hill, wonderful as that might be—won't put food on the table."

"I have hovered above a thousand battlefields, Garrett. I can tell you where the treasure of a hundred vanquished armies are hidden."

Handy trick. "Excellent. Then clue me about one small one that's close by."

Her green began to rise. But she nodded abruptly. "Very well. The workman is worthy of his hire. And it is necessary that we trust one another. There is no time for anything else." She stalked across the room, bad Magodor becoming luscious Maggie as she walked. My instinctual side was adequately impressed. "Come see, Garrett."

She indicated a hand mirror on the room's small mantelpiece. There was nothing mystical about it. The dwarves produce them by the thousands. Maggie passed a hand over the metal in a circular motion, as though polishing it. A mist formed between her hand and the metal. That faded. The mirror no longer reflected here and now.

Woodland scene with men who rode desperately, low upon the necks of lathered horses. Arrows fell around them. A rider fell. The rest swept on into forest so dense their horses could make little headway. The riders dismounted and fled on foot. One led them to a trail hidden in the growth.

"Amis the Third. In flight from the uprising masterminded by his brother Alis. He failed to make proper sacrifices. We turned our eyes away. We were strong in those times. Here. This is the treasure they were able to carry away. They buried it in a badger's den. It is still there." Her hand made that wiping motion again. The view backed off enough to give me a good idea where to look. Then the view changed.

Now the fugitives were cornered. Their guide had led them into a trap. Their pursuers showed no mercy.

"That's inside the wall now, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"Wonderful. That will do for a retainer if it's still there."

"I wouldn't have chosen something that wasn't. One thing more." She took a cord from around her waist, a cord that had not been visible till she unwound it. It was four feet long. She wrapped one end around her left hand once, let the cord dangle from between thumb and forefinger, drew the thumb and forefinger of her right hand along the length of the cord.