The Serpent's Shadow

her small army of followers multiplied. At some point, she would have even English servants under her control. Granted, she would not trust them if they were not utterly under her power, but once she had them, she could loose them and let them do her hunting for her, in circles where her thugee could not go.

And that reminded her; she had an appointment.

With a grimace, she rose from her throne in a rustle of silk and a rasping of gold embroideries. It was time to dress; the idiot sahibs expected yards of white silk gauze and flowers, or black gauze and heavy gold jewelry, depending on whether she was feigning to be the dispenser of light or shadow. In either case, they would only have been confused by her embroidered red sari. They liked their symbols clear and simple to read.

She put herself into the hands of her waiting-woman, indicating with a nod of her head that she would be the mysterious 'Lady of Night' for this meeting and not the innocent 'Lady of the Moon.' When she emerged from the secret passage that connected the apartments she used for the cult and the tiny flat she used for her English assignations, she was swathed in a cloud of darkness that merely hinted at the trim body beneath, and veiled with black silk as well. She found it easier to be in the same room as the English when she wore a veil; they were mesmerized by the thing, unable to read her eyes, and she didn't feel as if she was forced to breathe their tainted exhalations.

This was as much a staged setting as the temple, but here she was the focus of the room. A deep-pile, figured carpet laid over a padding of more carpets so worn as to be worthless created a floor that didn't even squeak when she walked over it. In this room, all the walls were swathed in dark maroon fabric that was gathered together at the midpoint of the ceiling, like a tent. From that point depended a pierced-metal lantern fitted with colored glass panels. This was the sole source of light in the room, and the colored light, red and blue, served to confuse more than it revealed. At the back, she had made use of a little alcove, pulling aside the fabric and creating a canopy above it. Creating a platform within the alcove and piling it with pillows gave her a kind of dais on which she sat. Petitioners standing before her were at her eye level. If they chose to sit, they had to do so on one of the several flat cushions placed in front of her, and so would be much below her. On either side of the platform were incense holders.

Shivani arranged herself in full lotus position on her platform, and gestured to the servant who had followed her to light the incense burners on either side of it. The drugs she had inhaled earlier had worn off, leaving her mind clear, making everything sharp-edged. She made a pattern in the air, whispered a few words as the smoke from the braziers rose about her. There was more hashish mixed in with the strong incense; not enough to bother her, bolstered as she now was against its effects by the subtle spell, but enough to fuddle her visitors.

She used every weapon she could get against the English sahibs, especially when she had one in her view that could prove more than merely useful.

Such a one was this, who stepped into the room with all the arrogant confidence of one who felt he had the right to anything that met his eye.

This man was not the sort—outwardly—to be expected in this place. His type was of the sort that figured in advertisements and tales of 'manly men.' Tall, with hair of short-cropped, new-minted gold, the body of a warrior of sorts, with ruddy cheeks, a small mustache, and a perfectly pressed suit, he was the very epitome of everything Shivani hated.

He was used to his steps sounding firmly on the floor, and was slightly nonplussed when they made not a whisper on the soft carpets. He was accustomed to having someone meeting him when he entered a room. It took him aback to be forced to scan a darkened chamber for the person he had come to see, and then have the disadvantage that she could see him clearly, but he could not see very much of her. He didn't even notice the drug taking hold of him, making him a little more clumsy (and self- conscious) when he stood before her and had to decide between the indignity of facing her on his feet, like a child about to be chastised, or sitting uncomfortably on the ground.

He finally chose the ground, and she was much amused, watching him folding his long legs as he tried to find something like a position he could hold for any length of time.

All this time, she had not said a word to him. Only when he was seated did she acknowledge his presence.

'Speak,' she said. Nothing more. No questions, no greetings, only the barest of beginnings. And an order—not a request, nor the expected query of 'How may I serve you?' He was here as the petitioner; it was she who would be served, and she would drive that home to him with even the tiniest of gestures.

Nothing loath—and aided, no doubt, by the drugs in his brain—he carried on for some time. He began with his importance (largely existing only in his own eyes, although the one claim to status he had, he did not mention), his occult prowess (minimal), his knowledge (surface), and ended in a demand that she add to his enlightenment (as she had expected).

But this man was not quite such a fool as others of his sort had been, and Shivani gave him a different answer than she had the rest. He had seen through to the heart of the group headed by one called 'Crawly' (or something like it), and had found it rotten. He had gone to the woman Blat-sky and discovered that the only things she had to offer were stolen and discarded bits of true wisdom, overlaid with a tinsel-dross of half-truth, flattery, and lies to make it pretty and palatable. He did have enough native talent in the occult to see that she had real power. So instead of giving him half- truth herself, and implying she could grant him things she had no intention of granting, she gave him a less embroidered version than the one she had caught her mirror-servant with.

But first, she laughed scornfully.