“Could not certain natural forces have produced the same energy effects as your workings?”
“Yes, and they do occur in this vicinity, which is why I chose it as our base—so it may well be that nothing will come of it. Still, I doubt this. My spies in the villages report no unusual activities now. But on the day of his return, riding upon the crest of the storm, some say the thunder chariot passed, hunting through the heavens and across the countryside. This was far from here, but I cannot believe that there was no connection.”
“Yet, it has not returned.”
“Not that we know of. But I fear . . .”
“Then let us depart at once. I respect your forebodings too well. You have more of the power upon you than any other among the Fallen. For me, it is a great strain even to assume a pleasing shape for more than a few minutes . . .”
“What powers I possess,” said Yama, refilling her teacup, “are intact because they were not of the same order as yours.”
He smiled then, showing even rows of long, brilliant teeth. This smile caught at the edge of a scar upon his left cheek and reached up to the comer of his eye. He winked to put a period to it and continued, “Much of my power is in the form of knowledge, which even the Lords of Karma could not have wrested from me. The power of most of the gods, however, is predicated upon a special physiology, which they lose in part when incarnated into a new body. The mind, somehow remembering, after a time alters any body to a certain extent, engendering a new homeostasis, permitting a gradual return of power. Mine does return quickly, though, and it is with me fully now. But even if it were not, I have my knowledge to use as a weapon—and that is a power.”
Ratri sipped her tea. “Whatever its source, if your power says move, then move we must. How soon?”
Yama opened a pouch of tobacco and rolled a cigarette as he spoke. His dark, supple fingers, she noted, always had about then: movement that which was like the movements of one who played upon an instrument of music.
“I should say let us not tarry here more than another week or ten days. We must wean him from this countryside by then.”
She nodded. “Where to then?”
“Some small southern kingdom, perhaps, where we may come and go undisturbed.”
He lit the cigarette, breathed smoke.
“I’ve a better idea,” said she. “Know that under a mortal name am I mistress of the Palace of Kama in Khaipur.”
“The Fornicatorium, madam?”
She frowned. “As such is it often known to the vulgar, and do not call me ‘madam’ in the same breath—it smacks of an ancient jest. It is a place of rest, pleasure, holiness and much of my revenue. There, I feel, would be a good hiding place for our charge while he makes his recovery and we our plans.”
Yama slapped his thigh. “Aye! Aye! Who would think to look for the Buddha in a whorehouse? Good! Excellent! To Khaipur, then, dear goddess—to Khaipur and the Palace of Love!”
She stood and stamped her sandal upon the flagstones. “I will not have you speak that way of my establishment!”
He dropped his eyes, and with pain dropped the grin from his face. He stood then and bowed. “I apologize, dear Ratri, but the revelation came so sudden—” He choked then and looked away. When he looked back, he was full of sobriety and decorum. He continued, “That I was taken aback by the apparent incongruity. Now, though, I do see the wisdom of the thing. It is a most perfect cover-up, and it provides you both with wealth and, what is more important, with a source of privy information among the merchants, warriors and priests. It is an indispensable part of the community. It gives you status and a voice in civil affairs. Being a god is one of the oldest professions in the world. It is only fitting, therefore, that we fallen ones take umbrage within the pale of another venerable tradition. I salute you. I give thanks for your wisdom and forethought. I do not slander the enterprises of a benefactor and coconspirator. In fact, I look forward to the visit.”