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suggestive, her clothes barely decent. Her feet were bare no doubt the reason why he had not
heard her approach. She laughed coarsely. "Are you one of the new girls, dearie? My, my, Hederick
has taken to hiring some ugly women!"
"What is it, Helda?" Another woman shoved aside the curtain. "Are you talking to yourself... Oh,
looky here!"
Tarscenian, for the second time in as many days, found himself speechless before a woman. He
clutched his lance and waited.
"Well, man?" asked a black-haired woman. "Are you one of Hederick's prisoners?"
"Mmmm, not yet," Tarscenian muttered. "Any moment now, though, I suspect."
The women laughed as though he'd said something terribly witty. It occurred to him that they were
just this side of drunk. More of them appeared behind the first two. "Do you work here, ladies?"
Tarscenian asked.
Another chorus of giggles resounded in the humid room. "Ladies! He called us ladies." "Well, ain't
he a sweet one?" "I ain't been, called a lady some twenty years or more." "Are you married, sweet
man?"
At Tarscenian's hesitant nod, they sulked for a bit, then resumed their chatter. The redhead who'd
discovered Tarscenian waved an imaginary fan and curtsied deeply to the black-haired woman. The
rest of them went into gales of mirth, and soon everyone was curtsying and fanning someone else.
Perhaps the Seekers were operating a home for lunatics or dipsomaniacs, Tarscenian decided.
Perhaps he had stumbled into the main dormitory. He had no idea how far he'd traveled in the
discharge tunnels, after all.
He put a hand on the nearest woman's arm. "This is Erolydon, isn't it, my dear?" he whispered. "The
temple?"
Clearly he'd scaled new levels of hilarity with that remark. The women giggled until one of them,
practicing a curtsy in the crowded drying-room, slipped on the damp floor and landed with a yowl.
Then the little redhead was back by his side. "Here, dearie," she said. "My name is Helda. You ain't
going to get far running around the temple in those clothes." She shooed all but one of the women
into the corridor. "He's mine. I saw him first. So back to work, ladies," she said, causing even more
hilarity. Tarscenian could see he'd provided them with entertainment for days to come.
With the help of the black-haired woman, Helda hauled on the handle of another drying rack. This
one held brown robes.
"You'll make a nice-looking priest, even if you are taller than most of them," Helda said,
rummaging through the garments. "So what are you, an escaped prisoner? An assassin? Ah, I do
hope you're an assassin. I'd stick a paring knife in old Hederick's gut myself, except he pays regular.
Not much, but regular. Can't say as I'd mourn long if someone else did him in, though." She didn't
wait for Tarscenian's answer. "How about this one?" she asked, holding up a brown robe.
"It's gonna be too tight across the shoulders," the black-haired woman said.
"If s the biggest one in here. It'll have to do."
"I'm sure it will be fine," Tarscenian said quickly. He grabbed the robe. "Don't the temple guards
patrol down here?"
"Sometimes," Helda said. "When we're baking pastries, they sometimes come to visit. It don't pay
to get 'em mad. We always make enough extra. But they only come down here during baking time,
not cleanup. Which is now."
"Isn't that just like a man?" the black-haired woman said with a sigh. "Show up for the goodies,
but..."
Tarscenian interrupted. "I'd like to try this on."
"So go ahead." Both women stared at him as though he'd suddenly sprouted wings.
"Could you two ladies, ah, that is ... well, give me some privacy?"
Helda and her friend poked each other, giggling. "That's a sure sign of quality, Helda," the black-
haired woman said as they left him alone. "Modesty in spades. Me, I've never had a problem with
modesty. Did I ever tell you about the time I..."
Eventually the voice faded. The black-haired woman must have returned to the kitchen. Tarscenian
pulled the robe down over him. It was tight but dry, and it did have a hood. Tarscenian poked his
head around the curtain.
Helda stood outside, leaning against the wall. She held out a dagger, hilt first. "It's mine," she said
softly. "You never know when the temple guards'll overstep themselves, and I do maintain some
standards." She shook off his thanks. "You'll need it. That lance don't exactly go with a robe, you
know. And I gather you're trying to be sneaky." She accepted Tarscenian1s lance in exchange for the
dagger, slipping it behind a pile of sheets in a nearby closet. "You're sure you're married, now?"
"Absolutely," Tarscenian said, smiling.
"A shame," she rejoined.
"I have no way to pay you for the dagger."
"Do me a favor, then." Helda leaned forward and scooped aside the thin strap that held her blouse in
place. She showed Tarscenian her back, which was crisscrossed with welts, some barely healed
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