'Trouble?'
'They are building a maze. You should summon the Lady of Pain now, while you still can.'
The Amnesian Hero ran his gaze around the alley. 'Then she's near?'
'The Lady is always near,' Jayk replied. 'All you need do is pray to her.'
'Pray?'
'Yes. She always appears to those who pray to her.'
'And then what?'
Jayk's face paled to a pearly gray. 'Then she flays us – alive, yes?'
'No, not us.' The Amnesian Hero did not bother to ask why the Lady would want to flay them. Having explained many times that he had only come to deliver a gift, he was beginning to realize that Sigil's residents did not understand their queen. 'There's no reason for you to be here. I'll pray alone. This armor was forged by Hephaestus himself, and even Apollo's arrows cannot pierce it. I doubt the Lady of Pain's wrath will rend it.'
The shadow returned to Jayk's face, but she made no move to leave. 'It is better to accept our pain here than to be trapped in the mazes forever.'
'Phah! In Arborea, we play mazes for fun.' The Thrasson leaned the amphora against the alley wall. 'And there is no reason for you to stay. This is not your doing.'
Jayk smiled and glanced toward the mouth of the alley, where the dabus had already raised their wall to waist height. She shook her head. 'That is not for you to decide.'
'Perhaps not, but the Lady already intends to imprison me. What do I have to lose by forcing her dabus to release you?'
The Thrasson strode forward and faced the two armed dabus. He gestured at Jayk with his sword. 'She has no part in this. As men – er, beings – of honor, I ask you to release her.'
The dabus held their axes at port arms and watched him carefully, but made no other response. The Amnesian Hero waved Jayk forward. When the expressions of the Lady's servants did not change, he sheathed his sword and turned his back on them.
'Wait for me outside.' The Amnesian Hero leaned close to embrace Jayk, at the same time slipping the golden thread from his purse. He pressed it into her palm and whispered, 'When you hear me praying, hold the end and throw the spool over the wall. It will not be long before I return to help you retrieve your spellbooks.'
'Zoombee!'
Jayk pulled away and tipped her chin back, her lips barely parted. Tempted as he was, the Amnesian Hero did not accept the invitation. The tiefling's eyes were closed, and her mouth was not open far enough to see whether her fangs had descended. He grabbed her by the waist and spun her toward the wall, lifting her over in one swift motion. Without breaking rhythm, one of the dabus builders took her from the Thrasson and set her on the ground.
The Amnesian Hero sighed in relief. Before undertaking a feat so perilous as summoning the Lady of Pain, true men of renown always saw their beautiful maidens to safety. He retrieved the amphora, then went to the center of the alley and kneeled in meditation, trying to think of a proper prayer for Sigil's ruler.
Because he knew so little about her, the task was a difficult one. Beseeching her for mercy was out of the question, of course, as was singing the praises of pain; in his experience, the worst kind of supplication was an insincere one.
By the time he recalled the strange riddles from the Gatehouse and realized what to say, the dabus had raised their wall to chest height. The Amnesian Hero laid the amphora on the ground before him, carefully arranging it so that it lay exactly parallel to the walls, then sat back on his haunches and crossed his arms over his chest.
By the hunger of change and emotion,
By the thirst of unbearable things,
By despair, the twin-born of devotion,
By the pleasure that winces and stings,
The delight that consumes the desire,
The desire that outruns the delight,
By the cruelty deaf as a fire
And blind as the night,
By the ravenous teeth that have smitten
Through the kisses that blossom and bud,
By the lips intertwisted and bitten
Till the foam has a savor of blood,
By the pulse as it rises and falters,
By the hands as they slacken and strain,
I adjure thee, respond from thine altars,
Our Lady of Pain.
The prayer is, I think, the most beautiful ever uttered in Sigil. How it speaks to me! Of reckless yearnings pursued unto misery, of secret lusts that are themselves unbearable torments. Pleasure and pain, they are one;
