Corliss woke with a start to the stink of fish, the odor acting like some foul smelling salt. She sat up quickly, straining the wound in her belly. Corliss hissed in pain and laid back down.

She was laying in a "bed" that was little more than a heap of soiled rags. It was uncomfortable, filthy, and placed in the room without any regard for flow or good taste. Corliss wouldn't be caught dead in a bed such as this, but for the moment she was willing to be caught wounded in it.

The rag heap was in a small one-room hut dominated primarily by a cast iron stove. An ancient-looking Cathayan woman was busying herself with a pot atop it, which seemed to be the source of all the individual and distinct fish smells that choked the hut.

The old woman apparently heard Corliss hiss. She turned around to face her guest, a soup bowl in one hand and a ladle in the other.

"You'll live," said the old woman "I know one or two things about the healing arts. You're lucky though. If I hadn't been there you would have died in the ocean. That's not a dignified way to die."

"Who are you?" asked Corliss "Why did you help me?" before remembering to add "Thank you for that, I suppose."

"I saw your fight," said the old lady, ladling a vile fish soup into the bowl "You acted with honor, you opponent did not. You announced yourself and your purpose and she responded by attacking with a coward's weapon."

Corliss decided that this old lady actually made some sense.

"But you fell to a coward wielding a coward's weapon," the old lady continued, pointing her ladel at Corliss "Your shame is double."

She wasn't making sense anymore.

"I was shot," said Corliss, seething "There was nothing I could do about it."

"Your sword is well-made. With such a weapon you should not be vulnerable to pistol fire," the old lady retorted.

"A sword is not stronger than a pistol," Corliss snapped back, exasperated "More elegant? More refined? More worthy? Of course. But even I would have to concede that the gun is the stronger weapon."

"Only in the hands of a weakling," said the old woman "The strength of a sword is dependent of the will of the woman holding it."

"I liked the part where you called Shi a coward," said Corliss "But you're obviously a madwoman. I thank you for your rough and untidy help, whatever little good it did me, but now I shall take my leave of you forever. I have a revenge to plan."

"You're not ready for revenge," said the old lady "Not yet. You've still got something left to lose."

"That's very witty," said Corliss "You should sew pillows."

She made another attempt to stand, and cried out in pain instead.

"Eat your soup," said the old lady, thrusting the monstrous concoction at her.

* * *

Corliss never developed a taste for the fish broth, but she did learn to choke it down without retching. It was all she was fed during the weeks she spent recovering in the old Cathayan woman's hut, hidden somewhere in Thule's lower docks.

As vile as the soup was, it allowed Corliss to regain her strength and then some. Thanks to the healing poultice carefully maintained by the old woman her gun wound healed more quickly and cleanly than Corliss even thought possible.

In the blink of an eye Corliss was healthy again.

"I can't say much for your bedside manner," said Corliss "But your healing skills are first rate. When I return home I'll send a servant to bring you a bag of silver as thanks."

Over the course of her stay her once fine clothes had become tattered and ratty, in addition to taking on the general smell of the hut.

"My skills are not for sale," said the old lady, who had never told Corliss her name, nor had Corliss bothered to ask.

"That would explain the condition of your home," said Corliss "Still, call it a gift then. You've played an indispensable role in my quest for vengeance."

"You'll have no revenge," said the old lady "You have too much to lose. Your attachments weigh you down, rob you of the focus you need for a goal as pure as revenge."

"So you keep saying," said Corliss "If you're so attached to living in squalor, suit yourself. I have much to do."

* * *

The trek up to the 100th floor skygate to the Shrewd Palace-Tower was long and hard, but Corliss didn't know where any of the lower gates were. It took her two days to ascend the stairs, and early in the first day she was beset upon by a gang of stair-bandits. Truth be told, she was happy to have someone to take her frustrations out on and made quick but messy work of them.

Finally she arrived at the skygate, covered in sweat and other people's blood. She stood in front and impatiently waited for the guards to notice and open it for her.

"Do hurry up," said Corliss "As I'm sure you can imagine I'm in no mood to wait."

She made a sweeping gesture to indicate both her clothes and the general state of her.

One of the four guards on Corliss' side of the gate came over to her, and gestured with his rifle.

"Alright yeh slubberdegullion, move along," he said.

"Skubberde-what?" demanded Corliss "What did you just call me? You vile little tumor, what's your name? I'll have your job, and then I'll have your replacement track you down and beat you to death."

The guard made to smash the butt of his rifle into Corliss's stomach, but she spun out of the way and drew her sword in the same movement. She didn't even have a chance to be pleased that she still had her instincts when the other three guards aimed their firearms at her.

"Your move, love," said the first guard. Corliss was in position to kill him, but it would mean the other guards would take her out.

"I wouldn't sully my blade with your blood anyway," she said, sheathing her sword "Do you have any idea who you're talking to, you degenerate harlequins? I am Corliss Shrewd."

"What a coincidence," said the first guard "I'm Oskar Totenkopf!"

"That's strange because I'm Oskar Totenkopf," the second guard laughed.

"Well I'm the Great Patrairch," said a third.

"You'll get it for that," said the second guard.

"I don't see any priestesses here, do you?"

Corliss wasn't going to take any more of this. She would have all the time in the world to have the men slowly tortured to death once she got home. She stalked away, fuming.

* * *

The residence of the Shrewed Palace-Tower had very little reason to go down to the lower levels, and to those of the Shrewd line the 100th floor was very much the lower levels. It took Corliss more than a month to track down someone she knew.

In the meantime Corliss had been forced into a life of stair banditry to sustain herself. She had lost much of the healthy look she had acquired while recovering with the old lady, and her clothes were all but rotting off her.

Auphrey Shrewed came out the 100th floor skygate alone, wearing a conspicuously large black cloak with the hood drawn to hide her identity. She did not, however, think to remove the large gold brooch of her house's insignia from her breast. It was a golden magpie on a field of rubies.

Auphrey had business she hoped to conduct under the nose of her family. She incorrectly surmised that none of her family would be caught dead down here.

"Auphrey!" Corliss virtually screamed "Thank the King in Hell! You have no idea what I've just been through. I need you to get me past the skygate."

Auphrey looked Corliss up and down.

"Who, exactly, are you?" she asked.

"It's me," said Corliss "Your cousin Corliss. Come on, Auphrey, I need your help."

"I don't know what you're talking about," said Auphrey "I am not Auphrey Shrewed, but if she was here she'd tell you that her cousin Corliss would cut your head off if she saw you trying to impersonate her wearing that."

"It's really me, Auphrey," Corliss pleaded.

"Yes," agreed Auphrey "You're you. Not my cousin," then she remembered to add "But I'm not Auphrey."

"I don't know what you're up to, and I don't care," said Corliss "I just need you to get me past the skygate and you can be whoever you like."

"Listen you disgusting collection of street sweepings, I'm not the fool you take me for. I know what my cousin looks like."

Auphrey looked Corliss straight in the eyes.

"You are not Corliss."

Corliss stood there, dumbfounded. Auphrey pulled her cloak further over her face.

"And I am not Auphrey," she added.

* * *

It was raining, the brackish sooty rain that fell in the lower levels of Thule closest to the docks. There was a knock at the door to her hut, and the old lady answered.

Corliss was standing there, soaked to the bone, exactly as the old lady knew she would be.

"I understand now," she said "And I'm ready."

She was, the old lady decided.