The Serpent's Shadow

more to teach you than they have. You have so far given me no indication that you have any intention of making an exchange of value for value.'

His indignation was evident in every movement of his body—but he reached into his pocket for his wallet before she stopped him with an abrupt gesture of rejection.

'Money? I think not, Englishman,' she said sharply. 'What need have I of the dross of your money? My Goddess grants anything I need; I need not contaminate myself with your leavings to supply my wants.' She waved her hand around her chamber. 'Look about you! I have no hordes of idiot English hangers-on, and you see how I live. That I choose to dwell here and not in some 'fashionable district' is a matter of my convenience and privacy, and not because I cannot afford to live there. You must offer me something better than your abominable English pounds and pence.'

Clearly he had never found anyone who so forcefully rejected his money before. Shivani wasn't at all surprised at that; the Blat woman's begging habits were a matter of mirth among her dacoits, one or two of whom had penetrated the ranks of her servants before they learned just how empty her promises were. And the Crawly-man regularly milked the largesse of his disciples, though with a little more finesse.

Now the petitioner's mood shifted from indignation to puzzlement. 'Then what do you want?' he asked, so thoroughly discomfited that he had become, had he but known it, as malleable as she could have wished. She leaned forward; he mirrored her action, his ruddy cheeks pale with strain. He wanted what she had, more than wanted it. Under the influence of her manner and the drugs, he craved it. He would not yet do anything to get it, but that would come.

'Nothing small,' she replied in a low voice. 'Only what is proper. For the reward of becoming my disciple, I demand no less than your service, your devotion, and your obedience in all things.'

Over the course of the next hour, they bargained, but it was hopeless on his side of the bargain from the moment that he had asked what she wanted. In the end, she had him. He didn't know she had him, body and soul, but she did. He went away with orders to carry out; only when he had fulfilled them would she teach him anything.

For now his orders were simple things, and so far as he knew, harmless. He was merely to procure a list of addresses from the pension rolls of an importation company—one which imported opium as well as tea, and dealt in jewels which were not always honestly gotten—in which he was a not-so-petty official. When he brought it back to her, she would have a list of men who had worked in one of the many companies that traded in Indian misery, in this case, headquartered in Calcutta. From this, she could choose potential victims.

He protested over her instructions, and blustered, but they both knew it was merely for form's sake. He had not enough imagination to construe what she wanted with the list, and even if he had known, he probably would not have believed she had the means to carry out her plans. He went away knowing that there is always a price for anything that is genuine. That was the first step in what might become an extensive education, if he returned.

She summoned her handmaiden to escort the man to the street. The girl came with one of the dacoits, which was wise of her, in case the English decided to take out his humiliation on his escort. The dacoit was the one who took the man away; the handmaiden remained with her mistress.

'Come,' Shivani said, and returned to her private rooms to take off her ridiculous guise and assume a more comfortable set of garments.

There was, of course, the chance that the man would get his wits about him and not make a second visit; that was the chance she always had to take. You did not capture an ape with shouting and chasing after it. You caught it by careful planning, tempting it in with things it could not resist, and seducing it with pleasures it was loath to do without. Only when the pleasures had become necessities did you close the door of the trap.

If he did not return, there would be others like him. This one was useful in that he had already tried and tested other groups in this place who purported to have some dealings with the Unseen—and he had access to those 'lists.' It would be much easier to choose those who should die first, if she had those lists.

Of course, if all went according to her plans, eventuany there would not be an English soul on this island that was not dead or a slave to the shrine of Kali Durga (or both)—but until that bright day dawned, it would be convenient, so very convenient, to have the lists.

MAYA bound her head with a strip of toweling to absorb the inevitable drops of perspiration from her forehead, then donned an enveloping apron that had been bleached in lye, then boiled. There was no proper sink for the surgeons to wash at in the female operating theater, only a basin and a pitcher of water, but she scrubbed her hands and arms as best she could anyway, using the harshest soap obtainable. The atomizer was full of carbolic acid to disinfect, and she would see to it that before this operation was over, it was empty.

'Maya,' said Doctor O'Reilly, as he dried his scrubbed hands on a scrupulously clean towel, 'thank you. This is not an easy case of mine that you've taken.'