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even hear the same words?
    Sir Ranulph nodded to Thorolf who gave the order to Sigurd. The blond warrior told off a guard detail while Thorolf had the remainder leave their axes, swords, shields and rune-etched mail on the airship.
    "I perceive that you still carry your daggers," said Lord Obsidian-Death.
    "That is truth," said Sir Ranulph. "But such trifles mean nothing between friends." He grinned wolfishly. "Lead on, Sir Priest."
    The Tolmec priest stared up at the mountainous knight, then turned on his sandalled heel and set off down the steps into the shade of the vast airship.
    "Wait!" Lady Wisdom-at-Night put a hand on Jasmine’s bare wrist. "This one is a woman. You would not desecrate the Place of the Warriors for her sake? It falls to me to entertain her."
    Jasmine shuddered.
    Sir Ranulph shot her an enquiring glance.
    "I’ll be fine," she lied. She leaned closer and hissed, "Just in case — the fuel we're after is called 'Firewater'. We'll need barrels of the stuff. You'll recognise it if you drink it."
    Sir Ranulph nodded. "Be careful."
    "You too, Big Guy." Jasmine kissed his cheek then hurried off after the naked priestess.

 
    CHAPTER SIX
     
    In the lamplit interior of the pyramid’s sanctuary, Jasmine curled her fingers and tried not to fidget.
    The flames danced. Lady Wisdom-at-Night's body jewellery twinkled like the constellation of an ancient goddess. With perfect deportment, the priestess knelt on the flagstones, not a quiver in her bare flesh.
    Jasmine uncurled her fingers. She wanted to reach out and touch. Instead she sat quietly and watched in the manner she imagined an ambassador should.
    Wisdom-at-Night's eyes flickered to Jasmine. She smiled coyly. "My gift to you."
    Jasmine made herself smile back. It was easy as long as she didn’t think about how far from home she was, how, just beyond the portal, flies feasted on the blood of sacrificial victims.
    A slave girl stepped forward… only it wasn’t a girl. Jasmine flinched but could not look away from the scar tissue.
    The eunuch set down an earthenware pot before Wisdom-at-Night’s knees. Jasmine noted that his long fingernails were each cut to a sharp point.
    The long-skulled priestess fished inside and produced a length of barbed wire. Despite herself, Jasmine lent forward. Not barbed wire: thick cord with thorns pushed through it at regular intervals.
    Wisdom-at-Night met Jasmine’s eyes. She extended her tongue and pinched it. A dark welt marred the centre of the pink expanse. She squeezed and the edges of the welt gaped to reveal a hole. The girl shuddered, setting her body-jewellery jangling.
    Jasmine’s mouth went dry. A dark excitement welled up in the pit of her stomach. Wisdom-at-Night was a monster, and yet…
    The priestess laced the cord through the hole in her tongue, then drew the end back down into the pot. Her gold-ringed fingers worked in little jerking motions, again and again drawing through a barbed length. Blood glistened on the tip of each thorn. The ruby drops spattered her naked thighs and plopped rhythmically into the pot.
    Ears pounding, Jasmine looked on, horrified… aroused… starting at each splat of blood as if it had been the first… and never breaking eye contact with the pierced priestess.
    An age later, Lady Wisdom-at-Night pulled the end of the cord free. She took a taper from a slave and plunged it into the pot. Flame gouted to the low stone ceiling, then a column of oily smoke. The smoke coiled… writhed… and Dancing Earth Fish opened her wickedly fanged mouth.
    Jasmine sprang to her feet. "Fuck! I’ve got heatstroke. This isn't real."
    The goddess just writhed. Her Voice vibrated in Jasmine’s chest: I TASTE YOUR SOUL, MORTAL.
    Giddily, Jasmine edged around the apparition. It was pretty solid for an hallucination. But if that was supposed to be a fish, it was the kind you threw back and tried not to ever think about again. Too many eyes, for a start. And the flippers looked more like