Janx’s cigar burned orange, then faded. “Can’t say I do. And I don’t suppose I can stop you tellin’ it.”

“King Rusic Vorys VII was a vain, gluttonous madman who nearly broke the Treasury by building monuments to himself—all pulled down now, thank the gods; my father helped tear one down himself. Broke his wrist doing it. Well, one day Rusic developed an infatuation with Lady Lostrina Gorliss, the daughter of one of the senators. This was back in the days when there was still a senate, not that it did much but carry out the king’s paperwork and various decrees. Rusic demanded Lostrina be given to him as a bed slave. Bear in mind that even back then Ghenisa tolerated no slavery … except on the part of the king, who had many, and all for his private amusement.

“Senator Gorliss refused. In retaliation, Rusic burned his mansion down and had all his servants and family butchered as they fled the pyre. Rusic’s soldiers caught both Lostrina and the senator, but instead of killing them immediately, Rusic forced Lostrina’s father to watch as he, the king, raped her right there in the still-smoking rubble, surrounded by her dead family members, then had his soldiers take turns on her.

“At last she begged for a blade to kill herself with, and the king threw her a fork he found lying in the rubble. She plunged it into her own throat and died while her father watched on. King Rusic had the senator blinded so that his daughter’s rape and suicide would be the last thing he ever saw in life, then let loose, the only member of his family to survive. He was made a beggar and pariah, but his example made the impression Rusic had intended, and when next he asked for the daughter of one of his senators to be made his bed slave, the girl was presented to him that very night along with her young brother, just so the senator could be certain to prove his loyalty.” Avery paused. “That is who I gave Ani to, Janx.”

“Bullshit, Doc.”

“Excuse me?”

“You gave Ani to Idris, not Rusic. Listen, I know yer pa fought in the Revolution, and you hate the Drakes even though you married one—no no, listen—but that time’s all passed now, Doc. Idris is a different man.”

“Is he, though? He’s planning a coup, or it certainly sounds like it. He’s planning to undo the democracy my father helped build, that Prime Minister Denaris is even now finally making flower.”

“That’s as may be. We’ll deal with that when we have to. But that just goes to show that in his mind Idris is still a king. That old fire is still there. It’s pride, Doc, that’s all, and Ani will pick up on that. It doesn’t make him one of the mad ones. Tell me, did you see anything like that in him when you met him? Did he seem a madder to you?”

Avery considered. He let out a breath. “No. No, he didn’t.”

“Of course he didn’t. You wouldn’t have given Ani to him if he had. No, she’s where she needs to be, Doc. And, godsdamnit, we’re where we do, like it or not. I just hope we can get this done with quick and get back home. What do you say, Doc? Is it time to go back inside? I think whatever’s movin’ in the water is growing agitated, an’ it looks bigger than anything I’d like to tangle with at the moment. And the mosquitoes are fierce.”

Reluctantly, Avery let Janx lead him back indoors and out of the sultry night. Janx was right. Ani was fine. It was himself that wasn’t. And by the state of the city, it didn’t look like things were going to be improved anytime soon. He slept fitfully that night under a mosquito net, and the next morning he and the others rejoined General Vursk in his office. “The men are gathering now,” Vursk said. “They’ll take you to Losg Coleel’s residence, although I can’t promise the man himself will still be there.”

“We understand,” Layanna said.

“I just wanna know what swallowed up that first team,” Hildra said. “Just what are we walkin’ into?”

“I wish I knew,” Vursk said. “If I knew that—”

A woman’s terrified shriek cut him off. At once the group was at the door and rushing down the hall, side by side with a score of soldiers. They bounded down a grand, ruined staircase and into a large open room that had likely once been some sort of lounge. The Sisters had apparently tried to recreate it, having dragged in several couches and urns smoldering with incense, but the marble floor was still cracked, and unwholesome vegetation curled along the ornate cream-colored columns.

A stocky woman in her fifties and wearing the elaborate blue dress of someone who must be high in the order, and with the golden baubles in her hair to prove it, was standing to receive a party of figures dressed in dark robes with the cowls pulled low over their faces, throwing their features into shadow. Only one of them wore no robe, and this man loitered in the back of their group looking nervous, yet eager. They were clearly not of the Sisterhood, and their presence seemed somehow unnatural, though Avery could not have said how.

He wasn’t the only one who seemed to feel that way; one of the Sisters present (several grouped around and behind their matron) had seen something in the newcomers that had made her scream, and as Avery and the others reached the bottom of the staircase another Sister was comforting her with an arm around her shoulders and reassuring words in her ear.

“What’s the meaning of this, High Priestess?” General Vursk asked the senior woman, and Lisam, who had come with them, translated for Avery and the others.

The High Priestess, if it was she, did not reply to him but to the robed figure who had taken the lead of its party. “Welcome to our inner sanctum. Forgive the hysterics,” she said, with a sharp glance at the girl who had screamed. “Some of us are easily excited. Won’t you sit down?”

The leader of the robed party made a gesture, which seemed to be a reply in the negative, but he—and Avery could tell that it was a he, if only by his frame—did not speak.

“Very well,” said the High Priestess. “Then let us proceed.” Finally, to General Vursk (who was waiting with surprising patience; evidently he respected the woman greatly), she said, “The Order of the Restoration sent us an envoy, asking to see me in person, and I’ve granted their Father and some of his people an audience.”

The general nodded, but his frown deepened.

“Order of the Restoration,” Hildra muttered. “What’s that all about?”

“A new cult,” whispered Lisam. “I know little about them. Some say that they can raise the dead.”

The lead figure—the Father—pulled something from within his robes, and Avery saw it was an old-fashioned scroll of paper. The man wore gloves, and Avery realized that he had yet to see any bit of exposed skin on any of the robed party. With something of a flourish, the Father passed the scroll to a junior member of his group, and this robed man passed the scroll to a junior priestess, who recoiled somewhat at receiving it, or at least recoiled at being so near the creature who had given it to her, then passed it on to the High Priestess, who read aloud:

“‘We beg your indulgence, revered mother, in allowing us a display of our power. We know you must have heard of our ability to restore the departed to life once more. Let us show that to you firsthand. Then you can make a decision regarding our alliance in the light of full knowledge.’”

“Alliance?” Vursk said. “What does he mean?”

“The Order wants permission to address the congregation of the Sisterhood,” the High Priestess said. “To beg for converts and to spread the word of their faith. Naturally I said no.” The corner of her lip twisted. “They can be very persistent, though.”

“So it seems.”

The robed figures still said nothing, and Avery had to wonder if they had taken vows of silence. The man in the rear of their group who wore no robes had closed his eyes and seemed to be praying silently, as if before some great act.

“When they asked permission to display their abilities to me in private for the twentieth time, I finally said yes,” the High Priestess went on, after an uncomfortable moment. The silence of the people of the Order seemed to set her ill at ease, as did speaking of them as if they weren’t before her. Still, since they didn’t speak for themselves, except for their scroll, she spoke for them. “I was curious. The dead, come back to life? I had to see it for myself.”

“But you don’t really mean to let them, what, become an adjunct to the Sisterhood, do you?” said a woman who seemed more senior than most of the others, and the High Priestess did not rebuke her or look surprised at the outburst. “Gan and Nishi and the other lords and ladies of the Wood would not approve.” In a lower voice, she said, “They’re not right. Just smell them.”

Avery could smell it, too, now, a sort of musty, rotting odor drifting from the direction of the robed company. Did they lather themselves in dead flesh? Avery could think of no other answer.

“Let’s just get on with it,” the High Priestess said. To the Father, she said, “I can’t guarantee any sort of joining with your Order, even if your display impresses me. It’s not the arts of illusion or even some alchemical process that will sway the worshippers of Nos Li.” When the robed figure remained silent, she sighed. “Very well. Proceed. But make this quick. Your presence is not … becoming.”

Avery was tempted to tell the others in his group that it was time to leave, but the truth was that he wanted to see this, too. Besides, the attention of General Vursk was held rapt, and they needed the general’s help before they could get on with things.

The Father gestured, and the man who wore no robes stepped forward. He was dressed in silken breeches and a tunic of a high quality, what might be some local version of a suit or a man’s formal dress, and he was a genial-looking black fellow with a pot belly and a full, wiry beard with abstract shapes carved into it. He gripped a dagger in his right hand. When the Sisters saw that, they gasped and drew back, all save the High Priestess, who stiffened but stayed where she was.

General Vursk ripped his pistol from its holster and pointed it at the man, and several of his troops lifted their rifles. The man made no move against any of the Sisters, however, and in fact pressed the knife to his own flesh, shoving its point just below his ribcage so that it drew a bead of red.

“I do this to join those who have stared past the Veil and returned,” he intoned, closing his eyes again. “I do this to learn the mysteries of the Beyond.”

Before anyone could stop him, he plunged the knife into himself, deep, thrusting it under his ribcage and into his heart. He shuddered, still standing, then collapsed to the ground. Blood pooled around him. Avery rushed to him, knelt, and felt for a pulse at his neck.

“He’s gone.” Avery could hardly believe it.

The Father stepped forward, as did the others in his group, and Avery could smell their rotten stink more strongly now. He opened his mouth to say something, to demand they account for this suicide or be held accountable for it, but something stopped him. Seeing the Father this close up, and from this angle, he could just dimly perceive the flesh of the man’s face, and what he saw killed the tirade before it started. Something moved beneath the Father’s flesh. Something like little worms wriggled under the skin beneath his staring, dry eyes and cracked lips. Even as Avery watched, one of the things squirming under his skin disappeared under the eyeball, which then bulged outward, before settling back into place.

Avery rose and stumbled backward. Janx righted him, a look of concern on his face.

“What is it, Doc?”

Avery couldn’t answer. He knew he had just seen what caused the woman to scream. He mentally applauded her ability to do so. His own throat had closed up.

The robed figures converged in a circle over the body.

“What is the meaning of this?” the High Priestess said, just recovering. “I agreed to see your arts, not your … whatever this is.”

The robed figures, not seeming to listen, knelt over the body, removing the gloves from their left hands, then their rights, as they did so, in a synchronized fashion that appeared to be ritualistic. Avery had no doubt that had this been at their own temple or chapel, or whatever the Order of the Restoration used, there would be drums playing or some other sign of building tension and excitement. Something seemed to move along their hands, but Avery could see little of it, as the hands were quickly thrust against the corpse, finding exposed skin or else exposing it first, then clapping hold.

The dead man remained inert for a long moment, then shuddered. Avery sucked in a breath. The corpse kicked a leg. An arm trembled. The robed figures bent lower, seeming to redouble their efforts.

“What the hell?” said Hildra. She had half-raised her hook.