older 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 inky
powder, ‘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 have
been found murdered: Actually it’s three -another was found at low tide – but
the message came before that. One of them was a cousin to the Beysa herself. The
garrison is ordered to produce the culprit, or any culprit, by dawn or the
executions will begin. They will kill as many each noon as fish-folk who have
already 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 Ambutta
moved closer to finish applying the kohl. She saw her face in the mirror and
recognized herself as the frightened girl beside the wise Ambutta.
The hours wore on after Ambutta left her. Two knobs had burnt off the hour
candle and none had come to her door. The music and laughter that were the
normal sounds of an evening at the Aphrodisia House grated on her ears as she
listened for the telltale accent that would betray the presence of the fish
folk, whatever common Ilsigi or Rankan name Myrtis gave them.
Couples walked noisily past her closed door; women already settled for the