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towards the head of the aluminium mesh ramp.
    Jasmine ran after him.
    The wind had stopped and the humidity hit her like a warm shower. She blinked sweat from her eyes and tripped at the foot of the ramp. The stones slammed into her soles, then her knees and hands. She found herself looking at a pair of sleek brown feet. Gold hoops encircled each blood-flecked toe. More clasped the ankles and thighs. Smaller loops even hung from her-
    Mother of God! Jasmine winced and looked away. Slowly, she stood and faced the priestess.
    The crowd fell silent. "I am Lady Wisdom-at-Night," said the girl in perfect Modern Western. "Priestess of the Dancing Earth Fish. Are you Gods or Magicians?" Her lips didn’t really move in sync with her words. It was like watching a poorly dubbed foreign movie — a Saumurian one, given that the speaker was a naked girl. More of Lowenstein’s Anomaly?
    Jasmine glanced down the pyramid. Airship 01 was properly secured to the statues lining the temple's great stair. Moorings fastened, the six mailed Northmen climbed back up the steep steps between lines of gawping Tolmec warriors.
    There was plenty that was extraordinary, but none of it obviously magical.
    Lady Wisdom-at-Night, however… even her eyes spoke of dark secrets. Half-faded tattoos of sea creatures zigzagged over her cheekbones and she wore her bloody nudity like a uniform.
    Jasmine made herself check for threats. The Tolmec audience on the lower tiers of the pyramid showed no signs of interfering. However, most of them hefted volcanic-glass-headed axes, reminding her of how South Sea natives hacked up Captain Whitehaven for masquerading as a god. She coughed, then raised her voice. "We are magicians travelling foreign lands. We bring you gifts of fine fabrics and outlandish garments."
    Wisdom-at-Night’s eyes twinkled.
    "Be that as it may," said an older man, mounting the platform. "You have violated the Temple of the Dancing Earth Fish."
    Wisdom-at-Night’s dark eyes fixed on Jasmine. "Lord Obsidian-Death has a point."
    The newcomer touched his throat. It was decked out with finger bones, strung together with what looked like braided human hair.
    Where’s Tom when we need him? thought Jasmine. He’d know what to do, and he wouldn’t be quite so distracted by the young priestess. His best Integration anecdotes revolved around palming off improvised gifts on ignorant natives. Jasmine did a mental inventory of Airship 01’s cargo. "We bring a gift for the God – a magic box that plays strange music. It must be delivered direct to this temple, hence our choice of anchorage."
    It took only a few minutes to bring out the gramophone and set it up. Jasmine cranked the handle and Oakbottom Brown’s piano boogie woogie shrilled out across the blood splattered pyramid summit.
    Wisdom-at-Night put a hand to her throat – a gesture of assent? "Dancing Earth Fish, Patron of Travellers, welcomes these visiting magicians who bring Her such a gift."
    "It is for the Priestess of the Dancing Earth Fish to pronounce on the fate of travellers." Lord Obsidian-Death inclined his head, making his feather headdress sway. "But since you are also warriors, it is for the War God to offer you hospitality. Leave your weapons – my people’s trust stretches only so far."
    Sir Ranulph appeared beside her. He ducked to murmur in her ear. "Is this wise?"
    Jasmine shrugged. "You want your magic. We both need fuel." Then she added, "But for God's sake secure our retreat."
    "Strangely, I had a similar thought." Sir Ranulph drew himself up so that he towered over the Tolmecs. "My thanks," he said. "I am Sir Ranulph Dacre, an earl of the realm of Westerland." He bowed. "Your offer does us great worship. However, your pardon if I leave ten men with the vessel." His eyes twinkled. "It gets lonely."
    Lord Obsidian Death put a hand to his throat. "As you wish. Food and drink will be brought." Again, the lips and voice did not match. Jasmine glanced at Sir Ranulph. Did he