and Moria knew all too much about the Harka Bey and their dreadful snakes and
their way of dealing with people who brought harm to one of their own. She
feared jars, jugs, and closets of late; she feared packages and baskets
brought in from market (on those days market functioned): she was
sure that some viper might lurk there, some Beysib horror come to find
Ischade’s helpless agent in some moment that Ischade was elsewhere occupied-the
Mistress would take a terrible vengeance for such an attack: Moria believed
that implicitly; but it was also possible that Moria would be dead and unable
to appreciate it.
And, o Shipri and Lord Shalpa, patron of a one-time thief and Hawkmask, even the
dead were not safe from Ischade, who might well raise her up to let her go on
like poor Stilcho, like the Stepson-slave Ischade took to her bed and performed
gods-knew-what with because he was dead and could not succumb to Ischade’s
curse-could not die as every man died who had sex with Ischade-or Stilcho died
nightly and Ischade raised him up from hell (though how her living and latest
lover, the Stepson Straton, had survived beyond one night she could not guess;
or did guess, in lurid imaginings of exotic practices and things that she dared
not ask Haught-does he, does Haught, with Her? Would he, could he, has he ever-?
with direst jealousy and helpless rage; for Haught was hers). It was all too
confusing for Moria, once-thief turned lady.
And now the Emperor was dead in Ranke, the world was in upheaval, and back from