Then, after only a brief respite — not even long enough for a cup of tea and a sit down — they were back with the dirty linen. Raspu must be out again with his account book to check that the dirty linen numbers and quantities matched the clean numbers and quantities he'd dispatched yesterday, and if they didn't, then everything must be dumped into piles and carefully sorted out under his supervision to find the missing pillowcase, and if the numbers still refused to tally, then Raspu must needs conduct a room by room search of the upstairs corridors, seeking under every bed and in every dirty clothes hamper for the pillowcase.

And when he'd wasted four hours in that fruitless search, and was nigh tearing out his hair in almost unbearable frustration (and determined to tear the offending pillowcase to shreds, together with the maid who'd lost it, when it was finally found), Raspu sat down to a late and very cold lunch with his account book only to find that he'd miscounted the number of pillowcases on yesterday's tally, and that in fact this morning's count had been correct. He'd wasted an entire morning — and let his lunch grow cool and congealed — over a simple error that if he'd not bothered with the cursed accounting and tallying in the first instance would not have bothered him!

Raspu threw the account book across the room, his plate of disgustingly congealed lunch close after it, and the cook lowered her head and grinned into the pots atop the stove, and the footmen by the door raised their eyes to the ceiling and smirked inwardly.

Things were going well.

The challenge was falling into place.

The days spun by.

"Who is that little girl you sent off with the red-headed birdman?" Qeteb asked conversationally. He could sense Raspu's dilemma, and it made him rabid with fury.

But not incensed enough to lose his vision of overall destiny.

Nothing he said could have dismayed DragonStar more.

"What little girl?" he said. Behind him the Alaunt shifted, and one or two growled softly.

Qeteb smirked in satisfaction. The tone of DragonStar's voice was enough, in itself, to make the probable loss of Raspu bearable.

"No-one," he said. "I had grown bored and merely invented a question to while away the time."

DragonStar closed his eyes and cleared his mind, hoping that SpikeFeather and Azhure were safe enough in the waterways.

As far as he knew the Demons had never ventured down there ... but was that assumption correct enough to assure of Katie's continued safety?

One lunchtime Raspu entered the kitchen to find one of the footmen leaning against a maid with his hand nestled inside her open blouse.

As the footman saw Raspu, he leaned away from the girl, slowly pulling out his hand.

The girl's round, firm breast was exposed to Raspu's gaze before she pulled the material of her blouse closed.

Raspu, tired by a morning of chasing after a small and almost empty jar of boot black — only to find it on the shelf where it was supposed to be anyway — merely ignored both servants and sat down at the table.

The cook almost dropped his plate of tripe before him, and milk sauce splattered over the table.

Raspu opened his mouth to say something, then closed it again.

He was too tired, and far too hungry, to be bothered. Later, perhaps.

And then, later, the girl who'd let the footman grope her in the kitchen accosted Raspu in a dimly lit corridor as the Demon was walking slowly, tiredly, towards his room for bed.

"I should explain meself," the girl mumbled, standing before the Demon.

Raspu sighed. "This can wait until morning," he said, and tried to push past her.

But she clung to his arm, and he stumbled to a halt.

He noticed her mouth, and remembered the maid who'd pouted so seductively at him. Was this the same girl?

He felt a stirring of interest.

One should never be intimate with those to whom you must issue orders and directions. That was the forty-eighth rule (in a total of seventy-two) of the "Butler's Code of Conduct" which sat neat and trim and orderly in a workmanlike frame above his pillow.

Raspu had read it assiduously when he'd first embarked upon this ridiculous challenge. But now, as the girl pressed her warm and curiously pliable flesh against him, and pouted her mouth just so, Raspu wondered if perhaps he'd passed the test a long time ago.

Surely he'd done enough? Proved himself beyond doubt?

"He's not important to me," the girl murmured, and Raspu gave a start of shock — and desire — as he realised that one of her hands had crept down between his legs.

"Who?" he managed.

"The footman. Pete."

"Oh." The girl's hand was very bold, and Raspu supposed he should say or do something about it, but...

"It's only you I care about," the girl whispered, and now somehow her blouse had fallen open, and Raspu found that one of his hands was kneading at her breast.

"You're so strong," she whispered, "and so powerful. You've given everyone such a scare."

She thrust her breast more firmly against his hand and Raspu groaned.

"I do like a man with authority," she said, and shivered enticingly as she tilted her head back and closed her eyes.

That was enough for Raspu. Tearing away his butler's stiff black coat and grey-striped trousers, he threw her to the floor and took her there and then.

If she wanted authority, then who was he to deny it to her?

Deep in her watchful seclusion, Gwendylyr grinned. He was almost lost. There remained only one more small test.

"Y'see," the footman said, "there's no reason why we shouldn't do it, is there?"

His voice was very persuasive, and Raspu looked about at the rest of the staff gathered together in the kitchen.

The maid he'd enjoyed — several times — the previous night, ran a tip of pink tongue over her lower lip, and one of her hands crept caressingly over her belly.

"It's only a packet or two here and there," the footman continued. "The mistress'll never miss it."

"And it's not like we don't deserve it," another footman said.

"What with the wages we get, and all," said the cook.

"I know you don't get paid much —" a small, red-haired maid to one side began, and Raspu stared at her. He'd never thought about how much he got paid. Was it not good enough for him?

"— and yet we all know how hard you work," she continued.

Raspu nodded. Yes, he did work hard, didn't he?