The Serpent's Shadow

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.

'So, the novice seeks to be Archbishop before he has even made his first vows!' she taunted him in flawless English, which probably startled him the more. 'Either you are a fool, or you take me for one. So which is it, O Lord of the World? Are you the fool, or do you think you can deceive one who can see into your empty head and heart?' She tilted her head mockingly, and waited for his answer.

He gritted his teeth, but did not get up and walk out, nor snap back an immediate insult.

'So, you have some self-control, at least,' she said when he made no reply. 'That is better than your erstwhile friends who follow the Dawn.' He started, and stared at her, the whites showing momentarily about his eyes. Oh yes, I know of them, and of you, and all you have said and done with them; why should this surprise you?' she continued. 'I have what they only pretend to, as you know. Well. You have ordered me about, and you have seen what that brings you. Now what will you do?'

What he did was the unusual but not entirely unexpected step of humbling himself. He bowed his proud head to her, although the stiffness in his neck was due entirely to pride and not to muscle strain.

'I apologize for my poor manners,' he said at last, after taking himself in hand and subduing his temper and his arrogance.

'That is an improvement.' She nodded, indicating that he should go on.

'I—' He gritted his teeth again; she heard them grinding. 'I beg that you should accept me as a disciple.'

'And what will you offer me for the privilege?' she asked, again surprising him. 'What, why should you be astonished? What I have is of value. Every Master is entitled to a fee for taking an Apprentice; the difference between me and those you have sought out in the past is that I am honest about requiring that fee, and I have far