“Where?”

“In Kashfa.”

“Where’s that?”

“An interesting little shadow kingdom, a bit over the edge of the Golden Circle of those with which Amber has commerce. Shabby barbaric splendor and all that. It’s kind of a cultural backwater.”

“How is it you know it at all, then?”

She paused a moment in stirring something in a bowl.

“Oh, I used to keep company with a Kashfan nobleman I’d met in a wood one day. He was out hawking and I happened to have twisted my ankle —”

“Uh,” I interjected, lest we be diverted by details. “And Jasra?”

“She was consort to the old king Menillan. Had him wrapped around her finger.”

“What have you got against her?”

“She stole Jasrick while I was out of town.”

“Jasrick?”

“My nobleman. Earl of Kronklef.”

“What did His Highness Menillan think of these goings-on?”

“He never knew. He was on his deathbed at the time. Succumbed shortly thereafter. In fact, that’s why she really wanted Jasrick. He was chief of the palace guard and his brother was a general. She used them to pull off a coup when Menillan expired. Last I heard, she was queen in Kashfa and she’d ditched Jasrick. Served him proper, I’d say. I think he had his eye on the throne, but she didn’t care to share it. She had him and his brother executed for treason of one sort or another. He was really a handsome fellow… Not too bright, though.”

“Do the people of Kashfa have any — uh — unusual physical endowments?” I asked.

She smiled. “Well, Jasrick was one hell of a fellow. But I wouldn’t use the word unusual’ to —”

“No, no,” I interrupted. “What I meant was some sort of anomaly of the mouth — retractable fangs or a sting or something of that sort.”

“Un-uh,” she said, and I could not tell whether her heightened coloring came from the heat of the stove. “Nothing like that. They’re built along standard lines. Why do you ask?”