"The Fornicatorium, madam?"

She frowned. "As such is it often known to the vulgar, and do not call me 'madam' in the same breath—it smacks of an ancient jest. It is a place of rest, pleasure, holiness and much of my revenue. There, I feel, would be a good hiding place for our charge while he makes his recovery and we our plans."

Yama slapped his thigh. "Aye! Aye! Who would think to look for the Buddha in a whorehouse? Good! Excellent! To Khaipur, then, dear goddess—to Khaipur and the Palace of Love!"

She stood and stamped her sandal upon the flagstones. "I will not have you speak that way of my establishment!"

He dropped his eyes, and with pain dropped the grin from his face. He stood then and bowed. "I apologize, dear Ratri, but the revelation came so sudden—" He choked then and looked away. When he looked back, he was full of sobriety and decorum. He continued, "That I was taken aback by the apparent incongruity. Now, though, I do see the wisdom of the thing. It is a most perfect cover-up, and it provides you both with wealth and, what is more important, with a source of privy information among the merchants, warriors and priests. It is an indispensable part of the community. It gives you status and a voice in civil affairs. Being a god is one of the oldest professions in the world. It is only fitting, therefore, that we fallen ones take umbrage within the pale of another venerable tradition. I salute you. I give thanks for your wisdom and forethought. I do not slander the enterprises of a benefactor and coconspirator. In fact, I look forward to the visit."

She smiled and seated herself once more. "I accept your well-oiled apology, oh son of the serpent. In any event, it is too difficult to remain angry with you. Pour me some more tea, please."

They reclined, Ratri sipping her tea, Yama smoking. In the distance, a storm front drew a curtain across half the prospect. The sun still shone upon them, however, and a cool breeze visited the porch.