She nodded. "Where to then?"
"Some small southern kingdom, perhaps, where we
may come and go undisturbed."
He lit the cigarette, breathed smoke.
"I've a better idea," said she. "Know that under a
mortal name am I mistress of the Palace of Kama in
Khaipur."
"The Fomicatorium, madam?"
She frowned. "As such is it often known to the
vulgar, and do not call me 'madam' in the same breathў
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 goddessўto Khaipur
and the Palace of Love!"
She stood and stamped her sandal upon the flag-
stones. "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 suddenў" 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 dvil 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
