Are you scared to see what lies beneath?

Behind these artificial teeth?

-- Aviators, Masks

In his time as ruling prince Ilaran had met all sorts of loathsome people. Monsters like Haliran were few and far between. Much more common were ordinary immortals who never did anything truly reprehensible, whose only thought was of bettering themselves or their family, but who were thoroughly disgusting specimens anyway. Money-grabbers and social-climbers were among the most unpleasant. Especially those who used their children as pawns for their own advancement.

Many people back in Tananerl threw themselves or their daughters at him in hopes he would marry one of them -- or at least bed them and then have to pay their parents to prevent a scandal. When he refused all of them they changed tactics and started throwing their sons at him. All of those attempts failed too. He had stated repeatedly he had no interest in men or women, but they never listened. One of his more petty motives for this trip was to have a break from social-climbers and their incessant attempts to trap him into marriage.

It was just his luck that he stumbled upon one here too. Kumolnea honestly seemed disappointed that he was offering Irímé a job and not taking him as a lover. She even had the audacity to make thinly-veiled suggestions that was his real intention. Any decent parent who harboured such suspicions would have questioned him to within an inch of his life, likely challenged him to a duel, probably would call the police, and certainly would never have let Irímé go anywhere with him. Kumolnea's main concern seemed to be if she would get something out of it, with only the most token comment about Irímé's safety and honour.

A little voice at the back of his head -- which sounded oddly like Kivoduin giving him a disappointed look and starting one of her lectures -- reminded him that throwing something at her head would not look good when the newspapers got wind of it.

Very rarely had Ilaran been so glad to get away from someone in his life. He felt rather as if he'd spent the last half-hour in a snake's coils and had only just managed to escape. No, wait; that was insulting to snakes everywhere. She was more like a shark.

I'm not surprised Irímé's so eager to leave that horrible woman, he thought.

Now he just had to find Irímé and sign the contract before Kumolnea got it into her head to demand more money.

"Let me be sure I understand you." Kitri was almost certain she'd interpreted everything correctly this time. Even so the memory of her humiliating mistake earlier made her wary of accepting anything without making sure her interpretation was right. "You're going to work for Ilaran as an archivist."

Irímé nodded.

"And you are not breaking off your betrothal to Abihira."

"Of course not. Why would I?"

Kitri could think of a few very good reasons. They included walking corpses, necromancy, experiments of dubious morality, necromancy, a blatant disregard for other people's wishes, necromancy, an inability to accept good advice, and did she mention necromancy?

"And I most certainly am not going to marry Ilaran," Irímé added in a tone somewhere between emphatic and sarcastic.

It looked like she'd never be allowed to live that down. All right, so it was a stupid mistake. Alcohol tended to cause those. And it wasn't as if Irímé hadn't made some equally embarrassing mistakes in the past. Kitri didn't know what precisely his mistakes might have been, but they were bound to have happened. Everyone misunderstood something at some point in their lives.

"All right, then. Wait here while I go and get a sheet of paper and my vashad[1]."

While they were talking Kiriyuki had gradually awakened. She blinked owlishly at them during this conversation. Irímé sat down opposite her as Kitri turned to leave. She had just taken a few steps away from the table when she heard Kiriyuki say, "What's this about you marrying Ilaran? You're engaged to my sister."

Kitri didn't have to look round to know Irímé was glaring at her. The burning sensation in her back was all the proof she needed of how fierce his glare was. She fled from the hotel's restaurant as if a horde of demons -- or Abi's creations -- were after her.

In spite of what certain people thought -- and for "certain people" read "everyone who had the misfortunate to meet her in one of her stubborn moods" -- Abi was capable of having second thoughts about something. And third thoughts, and even fourth thoughts. The mere idea of going home and facing the music was something she was currently having eighth thoughts about.

Logically she knew she couldn't hide in the crypt forever. She would have to listen to her parents' lecture at some point. That didn't make the thought of it any more appealing.

She started towards the house. Then she changed her mind and turned back towards the crypt. She'd only taken a few steps before she changed her mind once again and set off for the house. Over and over again she did this. Not once did she get very far towards either the house or the crypt.

During the ninth repetition of this strange back-and-forth march she heard something that mercifully took her mind off her indecision. Voices. Two voices, to be exact. And she recognised both of them.

Abi looked round just in time to see Kitri and Irímé appear around the corner. Kitri was carrying what appeared to be a portable desk and a sheaf of papers. Irímé clutched a small wooden box to his chest as if it was the most priceless thing he'd ever held. Both of them stopped when they saw her. Kitri looked over her shoulder with the air of one who was seriously contemplating making a run for it.

"What are you doing?" Abi asked, stared at their odd paraphernalia. The only purpose she could think of for those things was writing a letter. A lengthy letter, judging by the amount of paper. But who would drag their writing equipment around with them when they could just sit down at home and write in peace?

"I'm getting a job," Irímé said.

"Good for you. But what has that got to do with," she waved at the things they were carrying, "all this?"

Kitri sighed and adjusted her grip on the writing table -- if that was what it was. "Irímé's going to work for Ilaran. I'm going to draw up the contract. What are you doing?"

She looked around suspiciously, as if she expected a horde of undead monsters to burst out of the hedge beside the pavement. Never mind that everyone knew the crypt was behind them and not on the other side of the hedge.

"Ilaran lives in Tananerl," Abi said, bemused. "How can you work for him when you live--" The obvious solution struck her as she spoke. "Oh. I hope you like life in Tananerl. At least you'll be far away from your mother."

Irímé smiled. "I'll like living there precisely because of that."

"Can we hurry up?" Kitri asked. "This box is heavy, you know."

Abi eyed the box curiously. "What's in that?"

"Ink, blotting paper, pens, writing paper. And these," she tried to gesture to the papers she was holding. Unfortunately all she succeeded in doing was almost dropping them all over the ground. "These are templates of different employment contracts so I'll know what to write. Irímé's carrying my vashad and wax."

What a lot of stuff to carry around, Abi thought. "Doesn't Ilaran have ink and paper of his own?"

Kitri rolled her eyes and counted to ten in a stage whisper. Abi felt mildly insulted. What an overreaction to a perfectly good question!

"The law requires specific sorts of ink and paper," Kitri said. "No, it doesn't make sense. No, I don't know why someone made that law. If you've nothing better to do than stand around asking questions, why don't you take some of these papers for me?"

Ilaran's rooms were all in darkness when the three of them arrived. Faint voices inside told them someone was at home, even though none of the lights were on. The sitting room window had been hastily boarded up. A workman was hammering the last few nails into place as they approached.

"What happened there?" Abi asked, staring at the board.

Irímé grimaced. "An assassin tried to kill someone. I think Shizuki and Koyuki killed him. They bit him, anyway."

Kitri stared at him in horror. "Biting an assassin? What are these friends of Ilaran's -- vampires?"

"No, just snake spirits."

Kitri did not look reassured by this. She looked even less reassured when Irímé knocked the door and it swung open by itself. The faint but immediately distinctive smell of kitowo[2] drifted out. Irímé craned his neck to see around the door.

"Hello, Shizuki," he said. "Is Ilaran back yet?"

A small boy appeared from behind the door. He shook his head. "Dad's gone too. Koyuki's making sweets." He peered up at Abi. His nose wrinkled as if he'd smelt something unpleasant. "You smell of death."

Kitri turned and gave Abi the most disgusted glare that could be managed by a woman whose face was almost completely hidden behind the box in her arms. "Are you still meddling with corpses? Even after everything?"

"I'm going to leave them alone for a while," Abi said. At the time she truly believed it. Her already-awakened corpse wouldn't cause any trouble. Best not run the risk of performing necromancy when the memory of her promise was still fresh in her grandmother's mind.

A gust of cold wind swept past them, carrying with it a few drops of rain. Judging by the grey clouds overheard there would be a downpour soon.

Shizuki looked at Abi as if she was a dangerous animal about to pounce. "Why didn't you listen to my letter?"

Abi blinked. "What letter?"

"The one I--" He broke off, staring at something behind them. "Dad's back. Ilaran too."

Abi, Kitri and Irímé looked round to see Siarvin and Ilaran walking towards them. They were deep in conversation about something. So deep, in fact, that they didn't even notice their visitors until they were right in front of them.

"I understand now why you want to escape your mother," Ilaran said to Irímé by way of greeting. At the mention of Kumolnea he made a face that suggested speaking about her left a bad taste in his mouth. He gave Abi a disapproving look. "Congratulations on making yourself the subject of the city's gossip."

Abi winced. No one liked being reminded of their failures in public. Not even -- or perhaps especially -- when they themselves knew perfectly well how badly they'd made a mess of things.

Siarvin glared at her. That was odd. She couldn't think of anything she'd done to offend him specifically. Even stranger, he looked almost frightened. He swept past her without a word. Abi was left to scratch her head and wonder if she owed him an apology for something.

Haliran's friends and associates included many assassins. Most of them were vaguely aware of each other but did not want anything to do with the others. People who killed for a living were generally not the trusting or friendly sort. That had a tendency to work against them when they were planning something without consulting each other first. At least ten different people were actively forming plans to assassinate either Ilaran or Siarvin. More than ten others were preparing to attack them without bothering to make an actual plan. Two more were planning to assassinate them both, along with Abihira if possible. It was never a good idea to let a powerful and possibly hostile magician wander around freely. Especially if they were dabbling in dark magic.

News of the first assassin's failure and unceremonious death by snake-bite hadn't yet filtered through to the general population. None of the other would-be assassins knew what had happened.

One of them set out to kill Ilaran less than ten minutes after the doctors pronounced her luckless predecessor dead. Unlike him she was dressed in unremarkable clothes. No one who saw her would think there was anything noteworthy about her. But at her side, hidden under her coat, she carried a poisoned knife.