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the magical arts. Joe didn't really know all that those Books of Rules contained—except that it was far too much—but surely in them was one of those universal laws: the rich could buy themselves out of almost anything. She raised the point in more delicate terms.
     
    "It was not even an issue," Alvi replied. "There were occasional sorcerers as guests, of course—I told you that my father was friends with many powerful ones. They knew of my condition; it could hardly be hidden from them. I am certain that I was examined, perhaps without my knowledge, on magical levels many times, but nothing was ever done. The few who so much as alluded to it—none of them ever came right out, at least in front of me—suggested that there was some kind of curse, that whatever might be done by magic for me would only make things much, much worse. I never understood it. Many times my father started to tell me— I knew he truly wanted to—but each time something held him back. I was never sure if it was part of thecurse or some promise he made, like to my mother, or what, but he couldn't, not even in these last few months on the run."
     
    "This is beginning to sound very much like a curse," Joe agreed, considering her story so far. "Come, though. Get into the pool and wash off the grime. You'll find the water's warm and clean, and the bottom's basically stones."
     
    In the water Alvi leaned back and enjoyed the warmth and clean feel—and only her neck showed. Joe wasn't very worried; of all the people she'd ever met anywhere, Alvi seemed absolutely drown proof.
     
    "You're not coming in?" Alvi called to her.
     
    "Sorry. My race is very good for showers, even better for being out in the rain, but baths are risky. If I absorb too much water without any sort of drain, I can become heavier than gold. Take your time, though, and enjoy. I've got absolutely nothing else to do and nowhere else to go."
     
    "That's all right. I just feel bad because this is so nice. I finally have a tub that fits me!"
     
    Joe let her enjoy herself for a while, then asked casually, "Just out of curiosity, what race was your mother? Do you know?"
     
    "A mortal human and very pretty," Alvi responded. "What? Now, wait a minute! I saw your dad, and if your mother was human ..."
     
    "That's not exactly the way it seems," the girl told her. "I always knew that he wasn't my real father, but he was the only one I ever knew, and he was very good to me and to my mother. They had been betrothed, lovers since they were very young, but before they could many, something happened. I don't know what. Neither would really talk about it, but my mother went away for a while. After she came back, my father insisted that they marry anyway, and she agreed. He really did love her, and he was her whole life. They tried to have another child, one for both of them, but it didn't work out. The child wasborn dead, and the result ..." It was the first time Joe had really heard any sincere emotion from Alvi about her parents and background. "It—it killed her. Not right off, but she was sick and never really got better. I was four or five years old, but I remember it. I remember all of it."
     
    An interesting picture was emerging in Joe's mind. It might be completely off, but it fit the facts. Young, handsome nobleman is betrothed to the daughter of some wealthy local monarch or one of the landed gentry, the dowry most likely the estate itself. That was how things worked there. Everything set, going normal, when suddenly something happened, something that threatened the marriage, caused her to go away for a bit, and forced everything to be put on hold. What?
     
    Alvi was what. Was it actually an illicit human-faerie affair? Some adolescent caprice that caused her extreme guilt ever after? Or was it perhaps some sort of a rape? Not all the faerie were nymphs and fairies and elves and other cute characters. Those bat-winged creatures who'd come for Alvi and her father, for example.