It was during the performance of one such ritual candle lighting, that there came a heavy knocking on Shishupal’s door. It was a public holiday and Shishupal tried to pretend he was not home. But just then the matchstick in his hand flamed into life, betraying his presence. Grudgingly, he rose and opened the door, only to be informed the Emperor required his presence urgently at Lady Rasha’s mansion in Lion’s Tooth. Shishupal cast a look of betrayal at the idol of Xath beside his bed, then grabbing his cloak, rushed off like a cyclone to answer the imperial summons.

Lion’s Tooth was an incredibly choice part of Rajgrih, high above the River Ganga, away from its all-encompassing stench. The residents of Lion’s Tooth came from old money, which usually meant vast lands, honour and glory, but little coin. These old families all had Ksharjan blood, having earned their holdings and power through robbing, looting and such, till people stopped questioning their title deeds. It was whispered that old money was better than new, the coin now amassed by the Drachmas, though Shishupal had never possessed enough of either to appreciate the distinction.

He rubbed his half-sleeved city guard armour in an attempt to polish it as he hurried to the rendezvous point. He needed to look proper. People in Lion’s Tooth were so snobbish they did not even use the city-run garbage collection or scribe services for fear of their Resht or Drachma pedigree. Even with the onslaught of the Emperor’s new faith, that preached equality amongst castes, the Lion’s Tooth held out in arrogant defiance.

Lady Rasha’s house was not difficult to find. Shishupal had passed the ageing façade of her towering mansion many times in the course of his official duties. She was the widow of Lord Gardhon Visht. Shishupal had never met her personally for the rumours of witchcraft had kept him at bay. He reckoned he would have liked to know her considering both of them had their lives destroyed by the same person. So, rumours of witchcraft notwithstanding, Shishupal hoped that when her door opened to his knock, he could set things right and make a new friend. He surely needed one in his corner if the Emperor was inside, waiting for him.

Taking a deep breath, clearing his throat, brushing a sleeve over the helmet he held, he knocked. He thought he heard something or someone howling at the back of the house. The door finally opened. An olive-skinned apparition loomed over him. Over legs draped in gladiator strips, the apparition wore a knee-length red-rimmed white skirt that doubled as a drape over one shoulder leaving the other bare. The entire mess was held fast by a red cloak.