similar scattering of weapons from the other three. Amoli turned to the wall and
reached inside her skirts, inside herself, to retrieve the ultimate birth
control device, a sort of diaphragm with a spring-loaded razor attached (no one
would have her without paying in some coin). The hardware glowed dull red
briefly, then cooled.
‘Is Marype at home?’ One-Thumb asked.
‘He was, briefly,’ the older brother said. ‘You came to see Father, though.’ He
turned to lead them up a winding flight of stairs.
Velvet and silk embroidered in arcane patterns. A golden samovar bubbling softly
in the corner; flower-scented tea. A naked girl, barely ofchildbearing age,
sitting cross-legged by the samovar, staring. A bodyguard much larger than the
ones downstairs, but slightly transparent. In the middle of this sat Mizraith,
on a pile of pillows, or maybe of gold, bright eyes in dark hollows, smiling
open-mouthed at something unseeable.
The brother left them there. Magician, guardian, and girl all ignored them.
‘Mizraith?’ One-Thumb said.
The sorcerer slowly brought his eyes to bear on him and Amoli.
‘I’ve been waiting for you, Lastel, or what is your name in the Maze, One-Thumb
… I could grow that back for you, you know.’
‘I get along well enough -‘
‘And you brought me presents! A bottle and a bauble – more my age than this
sweetmeat.’ He made a grotesque face at the naked girl and winked.
‘No, Mizraith, this woman and I, we both believe we’ve been wronged by you.
Cheated and stolen from,’ he said boldly, but his voice shook. ‘The bottle is a