Barthim the Beast lounged on the Lioness's porch in an elaborate wicker chair with a steaming pot of seretto tea at one elbow, clad in one of the half-dozen tailored suits that had caused Medderith such consternation. Resplendent in eye-watering shades of yellow, green, and magenta highlights, his outfit was even more brilliant than his tattoos. This, Barthim averred, was appropriate attire for a Siraneshi entrepreneur, which he was now that he owned the Lioness.

Ammas had turned down the opportunity for a stake in the business. Barthim had offered it in thanks for Ammas fronting him the funds needed for both the property and to buy out the Lioness girls' contracts from Madame Laurette. Ammas found looking after his own finances bewildering enough now that he was actually running a legal business after so many years on the gray market. Still, Barthim insisted Ammas and Casimir both eat for free, and that was something Ammas wasn't too proud to decline. The new sign creaked rustily in the afternoon breeze. The freshly painted Namarri lioness, far more modestly clad than her predecessor, bore a distinct resemblance to Lena. But only Ammas, Barthim, and Casimir recognized that memorial for what it was.

"Ammas!" Barthim called delightedly, rising from his seat. "You are late! You are just missing the Doge, he supped here with an entire party of officials and lickspittles, which is which I am not knowing. He was looking most put out not to find you here. I told him I did not think you were avoiding him, but I think I may be lying."

"I'm sure it was an innocent lie," Ammas said. Barthim chuckled appreciatively. "Besides, he's just scrounging for votes. Rumor has it he's being tossed out on his ear come the election, though I can't imagine who they'd replace him with."

"Tossing him out because he kept his good Master Cursewright away from an infestation of werewolves? Yes, this is being the right thing to do. This was being an unforgivable error in judgment. In Siranesh he would be stripped to the skin and thrown into the Sharpwater Stray, where the razortooths would eat him alive."

Casimir pulled a disgusted face. "That's a little much, don't you think?" Ammas said politely.

Barthim shrugged. "A man is not playing at king unless his neck can bear a crown."

"What if Ammas votes for him?" Casimir suggested.

Barthim scowled. The official measurement of the plot of land on which Ammas's temple sat included the catacombs beneath, while the Prideful Lioness's measurements did not include its cellar. The upshot of this state of affairs was that although they were both landowners now and thus granted the right to vote for the Doge, Ammas held five votes to Barthim's three. This was a fact of which Barthim hated to be reminded and which Ammas took every opportunity to mention, but most frequently when Barthim won at Whistling Jack, or insulted Ammas's nonexistent skill at chess.

"It will make no difference, I am thinking, whoever Ammas votes for. The Doge will either save his hide or he won't. It is an endorsement he is sniffing after -- he wants to be seen chatting with you, let the Argent Council think you are his right hand."

"How very disappointed he'll be when he finds out cursewrights don't involve themselves in politics."

This cheered Barthim immensely. "And to think I was telling him I liked you better when you were a criminal."

"Respectability is overrated."

"But profitable." Barthim swept one arm in a grandiose gesture toward the Prideful Lioness behind him. The workmen had gone home for the day, but the construction on the new floor was clearly visible, raw wooden beams jutting upward from the roof.

The Lioness's transition from brothel to inn had gone more smoothly than Ammas ever would have thought, and even with most of the girls staying on as barmaids or cooks Barthim had needed to admonish only a few of them for still attempting to ply their former trade. Selene, who had proved to be nearly as good a cook as Barthim himself, took it on herself to make sure there was no more prostitution under the Lioness's roof, and she had developed a fearsome reputation among the former clientele. Certainly she knew how to use a razor, as she had proved when a pimp from Adder's Hill had slouched in late one night to poach some of the girls.

Barthim had been in Vilais, having accompanied Ammas when the cursewright had, after a terse missive to Varallo Thray, gone to treat the infected witch-finder still in the Madrenites' care. That incident, which ended with the pimp fleeing into the night shy several fingers and most of an ear, had led to a small gang from Adder's Hill showing up in front of the Lioness about a week later. By then Barthim had returned, and upon seeing Barthim, Ammas, Casimir, and three Argent Brand Sergeants playing a game of Knight's Bluff on the cheerily lit porch, they had dissolved into the alleys like muck swirling down a storm drain.

"So when is your new apprentice arriving?" Barthim asked as Ammas helped himself to a cup of tea, and Casimir to a plate of cinnamon cakes.

"If the carriage hasn't been slowed up by the weather, it's supposed to reach Peddlers' Gate by dusk today."

"Ah, so this is why you are dressed so finely."

"I thought we should make the right impression."

"Then you should not be playing chess."

"I'll leave that to the two of you."

"You grow wiser by the day. If it is to your liking, I could be bringing over a few slices of mince pie for the three of you to enjoy."

"If you want to get a good look at my new apprentice, just ask."

Barthim shook his head. "Ammas, if you think every man and woman who works and dines at the Lioness will not be gawping at a new cursewright from the moment the carriage comes rolling down the Old Godsway, then you are not knowing this city at all."