Grinling bore a curse because the All-Father failed to give the Aelen Kofer everything they demanded in payment. The ring always betrayed anyone who wore it. Including Gedanke himself when the All-Father sent the Choosers of the Slain to reclaim Grinling. Arlensul fell in love with Gedanke, bore him a son, and, thus, sealed all their dooms. "If you are Grinling, ring, I don't want you near me."

Grinling's full tale was dark and cruel. It included rape, murder, incest, and a deadly squabble between the Old Gods and the even older gods who came before. Gods so grim they terrified the current Instrumentalities of the Night.

Character by character Else deciphered each word etched into the ring. Careful angle shifts betrayed additional characters etched in almost the same places as others already revealed. Then he discovered more inscriptions on the inside. He recorded everything painstakingly. And sighed with relief after his fabulation of the Grinling myth.

None of the inscriptions were in the northern heathen stick characters.

He did not understand what he transcribed. The writing on the outside could be preclassical Brothen. The interior inscription was in a different language and alphabet, in characters so tiny Else could not imagine them having been etched by hand. Many were too worn to record accurately.

He wished he could escape to the Deve quarter. Gledius Stewpo would know somebody who could tell him what the ring was all about.

THE CHIARO BATHS RESEMBLED SOMETHING FROM THE FANtasies of wicked eastern potentates. Wine and females were plentiful – though the girls were not there for sport, apparently. Else did not see any of that. He did see wrinkled old Principatйs being slithered over by litters of hairless, well-oiled youngsters.

A naked youth approached, "I'm Gleu, sir." Gleu had a strong accent "I'll help with your clothing."

"This is my first visit, Gleu. How does it work?"

"There aren't many rules, sir. You go to the hot baths – or to the cold, if that's your preference – and choose the girls you want to bathe you. Or the boys, if that's your preference. You don't touch. Unless you're invited. If you do you'll be fined. Second time, they'll fine you again and bar you for two weeks. After the third time you'll be banned forever. Your behavior can even bring you under the lash. So says the Holy Father."

"So there was a time when other rules existed."

"Yes, sir."

Service in the baths was a form of social welfare for orphans and abandoned children. Attractive children, of course. They received food and shelter. Their service needed be no more demeaning than they desired. Clearly, though, if their standards were relaxed their tips would be larger.

“Them that save carefully can be well off when they leave." Those who did not earn good tips or take care often graduated to service in the lowest class of brothel. "You will want girls, won't you?"

"Yes."

Gleu took Else to a room where several score girls, from seven to eighteen, of varied race, waited to help the princes of the Church and their associates bathe and relax. Else hesitated.

Gleu whispered, "Would you rather have boys help you?"

"No."

"Then pick two. Which two doesn't matter."

Else indulged. He indicated two older girls, neither a type he recognized. One was a tall, muscular blonde with large, sharply pointed breasts and eyes of ice a thousand years old. The second, also tall, was a flawless mahogany. She had breasts that reminded him of gourds. The blonde's hair was long but braided. The second girl's curly black hair was barely an inch in length. She seemed pleased to have been chosen. Each girl took an arm and led him to the heated main pool. They sat him down and let him do nothing but absorb the warmth. "Don't talk. Close your eyes. Relax."

The girls snuggled up, one to each side.

He let the warmth in, as they said. And as it filled up, his mind emptied of cares.

A girl rested her head on each of his shoulders. He drowsed.

In time, they led him from the main bath to a cleansing pool. They used soaps and scrubs on every inch of him. The cold blonde did not seem particularly interested in winning a large tip.

The dark girl chuckled. She pointed out his physical response. "More impressive than what these sad old men usually show us." Thereafter, she paid it no special notice.

The erection had not yet subsided when the girls decided he was ready to leave the pool.

Almost immediately he found himself face-to-face with an unclad Osa Stile. Osa said, "Oh, my my," and continued shepherding a bony old man toward a cleansing pool. The dark girl laughed throatily. "You've made a conquest."

Else did not respond. Why was Osa Stile here? How had he become a bath attendant? Did Johannes Blackboots have a Principatй on his payroll?

Of course he did. Several, probably.

The girls took him into a small, fragrant room. They toweled him dry. The blonde told him, "Lie down on the couch. Face down."

She had an accent that was slight but definite. Firaldian was not her native tongue. The dark girl, though, might have been born in Brothe.

Else lay down on the leather couch. The girls began to massage him and rub him with oils.

His worries drifted away once more.

He was almost too loose to roll over when told to do so.

The girls chuckled over the continued proud glory of his manhood.

After more massaging and oiling, the girls slithered onto the couch beside him. Well oiled, their smooth skin moving on his felt better than the massage had. They slowed down gradually and snuggled up.

He dozed off.

PINKUS GHORT WAS WAITING IN ELSE'S QUARTERS WHEN HE returned. "Sorry I'm late."

"It's good to be one of the wheels, eh?"

"What?"

"I've heard about those baths."

"Doubtless exaggerations that turned a lot worse once they had an opportunity to slither around inside your head.”

"Sure." Ghort charged that one word with a hundredweight of cynical disbelief. "What did you need?"

"Need?"

"You sent for me, brother. I didn't just drop in."

"Oh. Yes. Sure. I need an adjutant. For the city regiment. You want the job?”

After a stunned silence, Ghort erupted. "Shit, yeah! Aaron's fuzzy balls, Pipe! Why'd you even ask? Hey! Wait a minute. What's the fucking catch?"

"The catch is, you have to leave Principatй Doneto so you can take on more work than you've ever done in your whole damned life."

"Shit I knew it. Work. Do I get to hang out in the baths?"

"No."

"Worse and worse. Now you're going to ask me to work for free, too, for the experience."

"I'm going to feed you. What more could you want?"

"Give me a minute, Pipe. I'll think of something. Hell. Here's an idea. How about a whole fucking bunch more money than I'm getting from Principate Doneto? Where, I might point out, I'm not having to do much of anything that even vaguely resembles work? For damned good pay."

"Darn. I figured on keeping your salary for myself."

"So bring me up to date. What're we doing? What do we still have to do?"

"Everything. I'm just getting started. Hacking my way through the politics. The people underwriting the city regiment behave like they're five years old. You're only the second man I've hired myself. They're making me take on dozens of complete idiots without ever consulting me. These Brothens don't understand what you're talking about if you mention merit or competence. A rock can be a general if it knows the right people. So I'm trying to sneak a few men that are predictable and competent under pressure."

"I was second choice, huh? Who did you need more than me?"

"A nineteen-year-old miracle-working Deve accountant who knows how to get the most out of the money I'm given. He also finds thieves who try to rake off some of it for themselves."