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of
All, Skystrider and Earth Mother. Sun and Moon, Scatterer of Stars
and She Who Calls Forth the Spring.”
    “And so forth,” I muttered. When you have the habit
of backmouthing crime bosses and Guard chieftains, it ain’t
easy to break the circle.
    “And so forth. We tend to accumulate titles, of both
supplication and accusation.”
    That fit with what I knew about other gods. The Church, where I
was raised, didn’t have a full crew of gods like most
religions. We had one God, No God But God—and about ten
thousand saints who covered the same ground as lesser gods and
goddesses. The Church had a whole heavenly bureaucracy, with saints
who didn’t do anything more strenuous than find lost buttons
or keep an eye on the wine grape harvest. The Church’s
supernatural establishment was so big the whole thing would
continue on inertia for ages after its last believer perished.
    “All right. Now that I know who you are, I have a vague
notion what your problem is. One temple. Two bunches of gods.
Whoever loses out loses big time.”
    “Exactly.” She was all business now. As if a
beautiful woman can ever be all business, however much she wants to
think that. Nature does not care about the clutter in the mind.
Decorum is just another obstacle to be surmounted by instinct.
    I tried being all business, too.
    Instinct could get me dead.
    I reminded me that lady spiders eat their mates.
----

9
    “Listen,” Magodor snapped. “You get to hear
this once.”
    Generous. “I’m all ears, Maggie.” I tried to
wiggle them encouragingly, but I just don’t have that talent.
What an unfair world. A big goof like Saucerhead Tharpe can wiggle
one of his ears, but I am stuck with . . . 
    “Garrett.”
    Whoops. “I’m awake! I’m awake!”
    “You may not accept it, but we gods have dealings amongst
ourselves. Few of your priests are aware of this.”
    “Yeah. Mostly they’re big on declaring their own
gods to be the only gods.”
    “Partly. Some younger religions are intolerant that way.
About rules. There is a set that governs the situation that exists
now. Additionally, there are custom and past practice. It’s
not explicitly forbidden, but past practice is that pantheons
don’t fight over places on the Street.”
    “Bad for business, eh?”
    “You have no idea. Customarily, a committee of more
successful gods oversee a competition. Winner takes all.”
    “Ah.” That was my polished professional ah, my ah of
illumination.
    “The competitions are unique each time so the contestants
cannot rig the results beforehand.”
    “I’ll bet they never even try.”
    Maggie smiled me a genuine smile. “Indeed.”
    “So what’s the contest? Where do I fit
in?”
    “The prize temple has been sealed. Neither the Shayir nor
we can get in. Somewhere there is a key. Whoever finds it, and
recognizes it, can open and take over the temple.”
    I used my eyebrow trick. “Oh?” She wasn’t
impressed.
    “It’s supposed to be ordinary but rendered invisible
to immortal eyes. The lock it fits cannot be broken. It will open
only to the key. The Board probably expects us to rely on our
faithful to do the legwork, but there is no specific prohibition
against employing a professional. So we turned to you. And it seems
that the Shayir, apparently having gotten wind of our interest,
tried to lure you away.”
    “I see,” I said, not sure that I saw anything.
“I’m supposed to find this key, scoot to this temple,
and let you in before the Shayir find it.”
    “That’s the meat of it.”
    “Interesting.” If I was not caught up inside some
bizarre con. That would fit my luck. Time and again I get dragged
in where nobody plays me even close to straight.
    All part of the business.
    I had questions. Were the contesting gods, though discouraged
from bushwhacking each other, allowed to make life hard for the
opposition’s mortals? I have enough troubles.
    Maggie looked at me like she meant to glare a hole through.
    “It’s