The Serpent's Shadow

acceptable—but only acceptable. It proved your intent, but not your will. If you wish to move the Goddess to help you, you must show Her the level of your devotion. The man you intended to give to Her was no fit offering. He was damaged and he was of no interest to Her. Bring Her something She values, not some fool you wished to be revenged upon. Bring Her one who is— or was—Her enemy. That is the meat and drink She craves, not your leavings.'

Parkening's high color faded, and his cheek paled. He fingered his lapel nervously. Shivani smiled. She knew that the way to keep this fool was to continue to challenge him to prove himself. While he focused on proving himself, he would not see the ropes binding him tighter and tighter. One day he would awaken and find it was no longer possible to escape, even into death. 'I don't know—' he muttered.

'Then you are not fit to serve Her and be rewarded,' Shivani replied contemptuously. 'Every one of Her followers here has brought Her sacrifice after sacrifice with his own hands. If you truly desire Her blessings, you cannot do less.' She made a dismissive motion with one tiny hand, on which gem-heavy rings sparkled in the dim light. Parkening gazed on that sparkle hungrily. He was well-off, but he craved riches, immense riches—among many other things.

As do all fools, jackdaws, and magpies who seek only pretty baubles to play with. Children! Shivani thought contemptuously.

'I'll see what I can do,' he temporized.

'Do, or do not,' she scoffed. 'Make no half-promises you are too weak to keep and can renounce if you fail. The Goddess is not moved by promises, but by deeds. Make Her a gift, or seek elsewhere for what you desire.'

This time she nodded to the dacoits who stood on either side of the door behind Parkening. They pulled the door open and waited impassively. There was no mistaking her intent. He was dismissed.

With ill grace, he bowed to her, turned on his heel, and left. The dacoits followed him, closing the door behind them, to make certain that he left the building.

Once they were gone, Shivani relaxed. She reclined in the cushions of her alcove, and carefully contemplated the person of Simon Parkening.

He was weak, but strong enough to be useful, and ruthless enough so long as he himself was in no physical danger. He had brought the Goddess a sacrifice, in fact, one that Shivani was going to make use of in another hour or so, when the stars were right. He'd been clever enough to understand what it was that Kali Durga fed on. Last night he had gone out into the streets and obtained a girl, a child-whore, being careful to pay highly enough for her services that her 'protector' focused on the money and not on the customer, and he saw that her panderer did not get a good look at his face nor inquire where he was going other than the cheap boarding house from which there were many exits. He'd brought the child here, unconscious from a light blow to the head. Kali Durga cared nothing for virginity, only for potential fecundity. In fact, the Goddess on occasion preferred a sacrifice that had been polluted. This child, her virginity plundered and potentially able to produce a dozen more enemies of the Goddess out of her body, was indeed a fitting sacrifice.

But this was only a sacrifice valuable enough to buy Parkening a small favor, and that favor had been sranted. Parkenine's servant had offended him. He set his dogs on the man, hoping to kill him, and fool as he was, had not made certain of the rest of his servants before he had given in to his impulse. They had rescued the man and had taken him to the very hospital where the uncle ruled. Parkening had again proved his lack of wit by not arranging the disposal of his servant immediately and personally. Instead, he had left it to others. By the time he realized that the servant was not going to favor him by dying and had moved to act, it was too late.

And there, yet again, he proved how foolish he was. At this point, Shivani would have washed her hands of the situation. The man could not possibly obtain another place in London, so if he lived, he would have to make his way elsewhere. The place he got would of necessity be obscure. He could do Parkening no harm. What point was there in pursuit, or in trying to punish those who had aided him?

None, of course, but Parkening was a creature of emotion and rash impulse rather than thought.

Shivani dismissed him from her mind. He was as yet only potentially of great use. She would not permit him to cost her any care.

There were, however, areas of potential trouble that she could not leave unwatched. As her own strength grew, she had become aware of certain strongholds of magic in this city. Some of those were of the sort Parkening had consorted with, commanded by those who walked the shadowed paths, and whose power, like Shivani's, was drawn from the wells of the suffering of others. But some—and these were stronger— were not.

Those who captained these strongholds took their strength from the elements of nature itself, and their magic was an alien thing to Shivani. She was wary of them in consequence; she could not reason out their aims or their attitudes. Yet—they were English. Thus, they were the Enemy. She must neutralize them if she could not vet rid herself of them altogether To that end, among others, tonight's sacrifice. She would use the power she gained to throw confusion among them. If she could not penetrate the shining walls of their strongholds, she could make it so that they were loath to venture beyond. She would strew their path with dissension, with reluctance, with doubt. There would be no direct attack upon them, only the subtle and ever-burgeoning poison of mistrust; no mighty blows to shatter defenses, only the acid of hesitation to eat at their foundations. For her purposes, that was as good as attacking them directly. She only needed for them to hold their own hands while they bickered among themselves for as long as it took her to become as firmly entrenched as they. Then if they could not agree to unite, she could defeat them singly.

The knives were ready, the restraints in place upon Kali Durga's altar. The little whore would be long in dying, for the Death of a Thousand Cuts was designed for this very purpose: to keep the victim alive as long as