Weekend in Tangier
  A Noir fanfic in the Apres Noir series
      by hkmiller
        16 November 2006 - first draft completed
	22 November 2006 - FFML draft after pre-reader feedback

The characters of Noir were created by Ryoe Tsukimura and Yoko
Kikuchi, and are copyrighted by A.D.Vision, Inc. in the USA and
Ryoe Tsukimura / Bee Train / Victor Entertainment in Japan.
No disrespect intended by my unlicensed usage.

This is the fourth story in my "Apres Noir" series.  Aditi, Tati,
Sigi, and Char were introduced in earlier stories.  The previous
stories are archived at:
        http://www.geocities.com/Tokyo/Dojo/5058

Thanks to pre-reader Bastet's Chosen, without whom this fanfic
would not be nearly as good as it is.  (But blame me, not him,
for any shortcomings.)

- - - - - - - - - -
The dull clunk of steel-shod wood striking stone echoed down the
street, causing both Mireille and Kirika to stiffen and turn their
heads.  The setting sun painted the stone facades on the eastern
side of the street shades of burnt orange; the scent of flowers
hung in the air.  Mireille and Kirika sighed simultaneously at a
second noise, the sound of a steel-shod cane striking the pavement
nearby.  The two women had just arrived at the outside door of
their apartment building; now they turned their heads as one to
look in the direction of the sound, knowing what they'd see.

Remy Breffort gave Mireille and Kirika a courtly bow.  "Good
evening, ladies.  Is there any chance I might have a few minutes
of your time?"

Mireille immediately decided that she would agree, but
nevertheless stood staring at Breffort for a few moments longer,
deliberately trying to convey the impression that she was weighing
whether or not to kill him.  At last she pursed her lips and
nodded.  "Please come in."

Upstairs, Kirika went to the kitchen to prepare tea.  Breffort
glanced around, nodding approval at the artwork newly restored to
the walls and running one finger across the not-quite-dry plaster
filling various bullet holes in the walls.  He raised one eyebrow
at the rumpled blankets covering the sofa, up near the bed, which
was in a similar state.  Mireille gestured towards a seat at the
small round table near the window, then took a seat across from
him and waited.

"What do you want?" Mireille asked bluntly once Kirika had served
the tea.

Breffort savored the tea's aroma and took a small, appreciative
sip before he answered.  "The Council wishes you to know that the
orders to sanction the two of you have been withdrawn."

Mireille shrugged.  "We assumed as much.  With Altena dead, what
would be the point?"

"Indeed.  The Council has agreed on an arms-length policy with
respect to the two of you.  Whatever the two of you may know,
you have little or nothing to gain by revealing it, and much to
lose, so the Council feels that you do not pose a security risk.
On the other hand, they may, from time to time, wish to work
together with the two of you on projects of mutual benefit."

Mireille frowned.  "You mean that you may have an occasional job
for us: the disposal of someone who has become inconvenient."

Breffort shrugged.  "As you say.  Any such would, however, be
inconveniences that our own knights cannot handle, probably
significant threats to the world's status quo.  Would you turn
such a job down?"

Mireille pursed her lips and flickered her eyes over to Kirika's.
Kirika did not react at all, but her eyes showed she was listening
intently.  "We would certainly consider any such proposals
carefully," Mireille replied.

"That is all we can fairly ask."  Breffort nodded.  "There is one
additional matter I have been asked to mention.  As I'm sure you
remember, there are many factions among the Soldats, and the
Council does not speak for all.  In particular, the remaining
followers of Altena may have a rather different agenda.  The
Council has heard whispers that one such group, based in Tangier,
Morocco, may have a plan afoot that concerns you."

"Tangier."  Mireille mused.  "That's where Altena was based
before joining the Soldats, isn't it?  The center of her power
back then."

"That is my understanding," Breffort replied, nodding in
acknowledgement.  "You are very well informed.  She arrived there
in her mid-teens, penniless, but within a few short years rose to
lead the largest criminal syndicate in North Africa.  It was that
talent which attracted the Soldats' attention."

"She could have left behind almost anything in the way of assets,
then.  Any organization or individual in the city could have been
working for her."

Breffort nodded, smiling slightly.  "Indeed."  He raised his tea
cup to his lips for another appreciative sip, then put it down
and stood.  "Now, if you will excuse me, ladies, I am afraid I
must be going.  Have a good evening."

After showing Breffort out, Mireille returned to her seat and
tapped her fingers nervously on the tabletop.  "This makes me
nervous.  I think we'd better check this out as soon as we can.
How soon can we leave for Tangier?"

Kirika's eyes widened.  "What about the girls?  Sigourney and
Charlotte are both out of town at their conferences, and then
they're going on vacation for a week.  We're stuck with the girls
for the next two weeks, at least."

Mireille grimaced and drummed her fingers on the table.  "So we
either wait until they're back or take the girls with us to
Tangier in the meantime."

"If we take the girls, we'll have to wait for the weekend anyway,
so they won't miss school.  And how would we explain it to
Sigourney and Charlotte?  They'll both be furious if they think
we've exposed the girls to any danger."

"True, but it's not like Tangier is any more dangerous than
Paris," Mireille replied dismissively.  Kirika nodded, granting
the point as self-evident.  "We'll need a baby-sitter anyway.
You and I will have to have our hands free."

"Mireille, why can't we just wait until they're back?"

Mireille stood and wrapped her arms around herself.  "I'm not
sure we can afford to wait.  Who knows what these people could be
planning?  This tip has to have been the main point of Breffort's
visit, which probably means these people are getting close to a
move.  And I--" Mireille broke off, then came over and stood
behind Kirika, wrapping her arms around her and lowering her nose
into Kirika's hair.  "I don't want to risk losing you, losing what
we have now."

Kirika patted Kirika's arms.  A slow, silly smile spread over her
face.  "Mireille..."

"All we need is a baby-sitter who would be willing to come to
Tangier with us and the girls for the weekend, on short notice,
and who can keep them out of trouble," Mireille said.  "Surely we
know someone like that."

Both women paused momentarily.

"Ewww.  Johnny." Mireille and Kirika said simultaneously,
grimacing in disgust.

- - - - - - - - - -
Two weeks previously, Mireille and Kirika had been over at
Sigourney's and Charlotte's apartment with the girls for an
appointment with a minor staffer from the U.S. embassy, who was
coming to take the girls' statements about the deaths of their
adoptive parents.  Mireille and Kirika had coached the girls
thoroughly, to minimize their own roles; hopefully they would only
have to speak to the precise location.

When the doorbell rang, Sigourney got up to open the door,
returning with their visitor.  The newcomer was a man in his late
twenties, of medium height and build, short blond hair, dressed in
a white shirt, black suit, and dull, striped tie.  His face was
unremarkable; it would blend into a crowd anywhere.

Mireille's and Kirika's eyes widened simultaneously.  Both's
mouths dropped open.

"Wow!  I gotta say, I wasn't expecting this!" the newcomer said,
advancing on Mireille with arms held wide and embracing the
momentarily-paralyzed woman.  "Two of the hottest babes I've
worked with in years, together?  I sure never expected to see you
here, Mireille!  Or you either, Mei Li!  I had no idea you two
even knew each other.  Say, long as you're both in town, what say
we three get together some night for a few drinks?"

Mireille looked like she'd just bit into a lemon.  "Johnny.
Johnny Szczurczyk.  What on Earth are you doing here?"

Kirika looked like an oncoming truck was about to hit her.
"Johnny?" she whispered, her voice thick with dread.

"Well, you know how it goes.  They got me working outta Paris
these days," Johnny replied, shrugging dismissively.  "Same ole',
same ole'.  How you girls been?  Been keepin' busy?"  Johnny
finished giving Mireille a welcome hug, and went on to do the same
to Kirika, who'd starting glancing around for a way to casually
retreat a little too late.  "I've seen nothing in the news."

"Oh, you already know each other?" Sigourney asked curiously.

"Oh, Mireille and I go back a bit; I hired her for a quick job in
London a couple of years ago.  Same with Mei Li here, 'cept it was
in Singapore.  Just part of the job:  finding the right local
contractors for various jobs and hiring them."

"Mei Li?" mouthed Mireille to Kirika in puzzlement.

"I'm going by 'Kirika' now, Johnny," Kirika said, "Kirika Yuumera.
Yu Mei Li was just an alias I was using back then."

"Whatever you say, doll," Johnny grinned and mimed pointing a gun
at Kirika and pulling the trigger.  "And here I thought I didn't
know any hot women in this town.  Life is looking up."

"I thought you were supposed to be a junior commercial attache,"
Sigourney said suspiciously.

Mireille's brow wrinkled.  "Yes, Johnny.  Why IS someone from
your agency here taking a statement on the deaths of a pair of
U.S. permanent residents?  Unless..."

"No names!"  John Szczurczyk held up his hands.  "Let's just say
my bosses are interested and leave it at that, okay?"

Mireille gestured Tati forward, then wrapped her arms around
herself and retreated as far from Johnny as she could get in the
small apartment.  Kirika quickly joined her.

The necessity of taking statements from Tati and Aditi did not,
unfortunately, prevent Szczurczyk from directing frequent
broad winks in their direction, or letting his hands wander
freely when he finally offered his goodbyes.

- - - - - - - - - -
"Mireille, he'll just take this as encouragement," Kirika said
plaintively.  "He's called us almost every night ever since then.
He's shown up at our door unannounced.  He's invited us on weekend
trips to Monaco.  We've turned him down over and over.  And now
you want to invite him on a weekend excursion to Tangier?  You
know how he's going to take this!"

"I know, I know," Mireille replied wearily.  "And just when I
think he was beginning to give up."  Mireille paused a moment,
then continued in a different tone.  "Surely you don't think
Johnny's a Soldat?  That he has an ulterior motive for trying to
get close to us?"

Kirika shook her head.  "No, I think Johnny is exactly what he
seems.  He hasn't changed his approach since I first met him."

Mireille pursed her lips.  "We know some of the higher-ups in his
agency are Soldats, though.  They might have picked him for this
post deliberately.  And the agency employed the girls' parents,
and we still don't know why."

Kirika just looked pained.  "Mireille, Johnny never gave either
of us a moment's thought in the last couple of years.  He chases
every skirt that crosses his path, and always has.  Nobody would
pick him to keep tabs on us."

Mireille ruminated as she rubbed Kirika's shoulders.  "You're
right; I'm just being paranoid.  But I don't see any other way;
we HAVE to investigate Altena's old faction, and the sooner the
better."

"Or we could just wait another week," Kirika said hopefully.

"A weekend with Johnny versus a week's delay."  Mireille cringed.
"If I didn't think this was absolutely urgent...  No, look,
Kirika.  We'll both be there.  And he'll have to be watching the
girls; we'll make that clear up front, so he won't be with us most
of the time.  How bad can it possibly be?"

- - - - - - - - - -
"Two rooms?  Yes, absolutely; the girls are too young, and mustn't
be exposed to us," Johnny remarked, late the next Friday evening
in the lobby of the Hotel El Minzah in Tangier's Ville Nouvelle.
"Much better they be off in another room, where we won't disturb
their sleep."

"NO, Johnny," Mireille said emphatically, turning from the front
desk to glare at him.  "Kirika, the girls, and I are in one room,
and you are in the other, by yourself.  And you needn't think
either of us are planning any nocturnal adventures, either."

"Johnny, you're here to watch the girls," Kirika added firmly.
"Not us.  And they're to sightsee only, understand?  No mischief."

The early evening flight to Tangier had been uneventful, and the
five were now checking in.  The lobby's ceiling fans spun slowly;
past potted palms and pillars were arranged across the lobby.
Rich carpets woven with traditional designs covered the tile
floors.  Most of the guests appeared to be wealthy Europeans.
Aditi and Tati were enjoying themselves immensely, alternating
between examining their alien surroundings with eager eyes and
watching the goings-on between their adult companions with
amusement.

"You're sure?  If we're in adjoining rooms, I may be able to make
my way over across the balconies..."

"'No' means 'NO', Johnny!"  Mireille expostulated, even as a
porter, holding their room keys, gestured for the party to follow
him to the elevators.  "We'll see you at breakfast, and NOT before
then!"

Upstairs, the four ladies had been in their room for not quite
ten minutes when they heard a knock on the door.  Mireille threw
up her hands in disgust, but opened the door anyway.  "Johnny,
what part of 'No' can't you understand?!"

"Hey, just making sure you really mean it, babe," Johnny replied,
standing there leaning against the doorframe with one arm,
dressed only in a bathrobe.  "Nothing ventured, nothing gained."

Mireille stood speechless, fists clenched, trembling with anger.
Kirika came up behind her, worried.  "Johnny, I think you'd
better go.  I've never seen Mireille this angry."

"If you're sure... I mean, I kinda get off on watching two
lesbians get it on, too, you kn-" Johnny got out before he found
Mireille's silenced automatic pointed at the top of his head, a
whiff of smoke emerging from the barrel, and felt his hair had
acquired a sudden part it hadn't previously had.  "Oh.  Right.
Night, ladies.  I'll see you at breakfast."

After the door had been closed and bolted, Kirika took Mireille's
hand and led her back to their bed.  "Mireille, are you all right?
I've never seen you like this."

"That- that- obnoxious, chauvinistic, lecherous, PIG!!" Mireille
stormed.  "If he calls me that even ONE more time..."

"Calls you what?  Oh!"  Kirika's eyes widened.  "Did Johnny call
you that when you first met him?  Is that why?"

Mireille threw herself down on the bed, ignoring the two ten-year-
olds eagerly listening from the other bed.  "I was seventeen, but
passing myself off as older.  Johnny hired me for a job in London,
and hit on me constantly during and after.  When I wouldn't put
out for him, he called me a lesbian; he said there couldn't be
any other reason why I wouldn't go to bed with a 'hot body' like
his.  I thought of myself as perfectly normal at the time, but I
knew I wasn't interested in Johnny at all.  When he called me
that, it hurt.  It really, really hurt.  I haven't been able to
stand the word ever since."

"Oh, Mireille," Kirika murmured, bending down to kiss her forehead
and rubbing her back.  "Just forget about him for tonight.  I'm
here; I'll protect you."

Aditi and Tati murmured agreement, eyes wide.

- - - - - - - - - -
"So you're their apprentices, are you?"  Johnny asked the girls
the next morning, as he led them through the maze of narrow,
winding streets which made up the oldest part of the city, the
medina.  Overhead, the upper stories of the old building leaned
inward, and tin and wooden roofs extended over the streets,
sheltering those within from the sun.  Scantily-clad European
women alternated with locals wearing a variety of clothes,
including a few wearing full chadors in black.  Men earnestly
hawked various wares, including pungeant spices in burlap bags,
open at the top; wood souvenirs, carved for the tourist trade;
household implements; mounds of vegetables or newly-caught
fish; loose cuts of meat on a butcher's block, sprinkled with
flies.

Both girls nodded emphatically.  "That's right!" Aditi added.

"So don't think of us as children!" Tati continued, frowning
sternly at Johnny.  "We're hard-core, experienced adventurers!" 

Johnny pointedly ran his eyes up and down their slim bodies.  "Not
children, hmm?" he stage-whispered to himself, then continued in a
conversational voice, "If you say so.  Then I suppose you're privy
to exactly what my darlings are doing today off by themselves,
dressed in those coveralls?"

Aditi scowled.  "No, they wouldn't tell us," she growled.

Tati, smiling sweetly, elbowed Aditi while continuing, "I'm sure
it's a simple mission and they don't need our help."

"Besides," Aditi said, exchanging a conspiratorial smile with
Tati, "we have a mission of our own."

Johnny raised one eyebrow.

"Well, an errand," Tati explained.  "When the kids at school
heard we were coming here this weekend, they got real excited."

"There was this girl, see, who used to be in our class, but she
had to move back to Morocco," Aditi continued.

"We never met her ourselves; this was months ago, I guess, but
now the other kids want us to find her and say hello.  We have her
name and address here."  Tati waved a small sheet of paper.

"And we're supposed to give her back this CD.  Marcel, who's
real, real dumb, borrowed it from her and forgot to give it back
before she left.  So he asked us to."

"But someone," Tati spoke in a sing-song voice, "left the CD in
our hotel room this morning."

"Hey, if you hadn't interrupted me-" Aditi began, before Johnny
smoothly stepped in and took the slip of paper from Tati.

"Right, right.  Quiet down, and we'll see if we can't find this
address."

- - - - - - - - - -
"That was the last alarm.  We're in," Mireille whispered, easing
open the basement window carefully.  "You go first."

Kirika, dressed like Mireille in workshirt and coveralls, sporting
a toolbelt and battered cap, nodded and slid silently through
the small opening.  Behind her, Mireille carefully peered one last
time through the shrubbery concealing their position before she
followed Kirika through the open window.

Inside the dark basement, the two women padded slowly and
carefully forward, their silenced guns ready.

"Altena's old villa," Mireille murmured.  "Now a convent owned
and inhabited by the so-called 'Little Sisters of Mercy',
supposedly a Catholic order."

At her back, Kirika replied, "I wondered where all those women
came from, the ones who prepared the ceremony at the Manor."

"Exactly.  Of the list of possible targets my contacts found us,
those women put this villa at the top."

The villa in question stood on a substantial expanse of well-
watered lawn, near the peak of The Mountain, the highest part
of the Marshan Plateau, which lies along the coast west of
Tangier.  The Marshan Plateau in general, and particularly The
Mountain, had long been home to second and third homes of wealthy
Europeans, and occasionally Americans, in search of a lifestyle
with fewer restrictions than they typically encountered back
home.

This villa had an exquisite view of the Mediterranean, both
towards the north and the east.  It was built of white stone in a
classical style, with open porticos onto pillared verandas.
Well-tended flower gardens, accompanied by stone benches, were
scattered here and there on the grounds.  A thick, high hedge
bounded the estate.  To the southeast parts of downtown Tangier
were just visible through the haze.

Mireille and Kirika took their time searching the basement
thoroughly.  Once they were satisfied that nobody else was down
there with them, they placed an empty bucket at the top of the
stairs where anyone coming down would stumble over it, making a
noise, and then retreated to one of the rooms towards the front
of the basement, a room half-filled with lumber and dust-covered
furniture.

The two placed a stool upon a table, which Kirika mounted so that
the basement ceiling was only just above her head.  Mireille
handed her a manual drill with a very narrow bit.  Patiently
Kirika went to work drilling a narrow hole through the ceiling,
then fed a sensitive microphone up through the hole.  The two
women listed closely to the output.  There seemed to be several
women in the room above them.  Most of the talk concerned routine
management of the villa, and of several other businesses in the
city apparently owned by the order.  But one sentence did sound
ominous to them, a speaker commenting that "Isabella" would not be
pleased at the Sisters' lack of progress in discovering the
whereabouts of "those two". 

- - - - - - - - - -
The girl they sought, Fatima Hamadi, apparently lived inside
the medina itself, the old part of the city.  The address brought
them, finally, to the door of a townhouse, a narrow, multistory
slice in the middle of a block.  The paint on the door must have
been vivid at one time, but was now faded.

At Aditi's knock, the door was opened by a man in his early
forties, who looked questioningly at Aditi and Tati and frowningly
at Johnny.

"Pardon us," Johnny said quickly in French.  "These girls are
looking for a former classmate of theirs, one Fatima Hamadi?  I
hope we have the right address?"

The man nodded, then turned and called inside.  In short order,
a girl about Aditi's and Tati's age appeared, clad in a floor-
length dress and with a black scarf covering her hair.

"Fatima?  Bonjour!" Aditi began, then began to explain the
situation in barely-passable French.  Finally Fatima nodded, then
turned and asked her father if the girls could come in.

"The two girls may visit until I return from the mosque," Fatima's
father, Mehmed Hamadi, agreed.  "But this man may not enter.  A
girl of your age must never be alone with a man to whom she's not
related."

"Oh, no problem," Johnny agreed hastily.  "I'm sure the girls are
quite bored with an old codger like me.  Girls, I'll just be
sitting in that little teashop down the way whenever you're
finished."  Johnny pointed at a stall a half dozen doors down,
where a couple of tables had been set outside in the street.

"I'll be off now, then."  Mehmed Hamadi paused, then turned to
Fatima and asked, "You don't know where that worthless brother of
yours is, do you?"

Fatima shook her head and her father scowled briefly, but not
looking at her.  "I'll be back in an hour," he announced, and,
after seeing the door closed behind him, Mehmed Hamadi strode off
towards the mosque.

Inside Fatima's home, the floors were covered with carpets which
had, when new, cost quite a bit, but which were now beginning to
show their age.  Fatima escorted Aditi and Tati upstairs to the
roof, where sat several comfortable chairs.  Looking around, the
girls noticed that the rooftops on either side, behind the house,
and across the street were similarly occupied.  Many were level
with the one they were on; the others differed only in being one
story higher or lower.

"Are only women allowed on roofs here?" Tati asked curiously in
her still-imperfect French.

"That's right," Fatima replied.  "It's a place only for women.
A lot of women take their headscarves off up here, and we can
visit with the neighbors on all sides much more easily than we
can in the street.  Some of the neighborhood women's husbands
don't like them loitering on the street outside the house."

The three girls chatted for a while about classmates they had in
common, bringing Fatima up to date.  Finally, at a pause in the
conversation, Aditi looked around again.

"So where is your mother, then?" Aditi asked.

Fatima looked down at her feet, averting her face.

"Stupid!" Tati hissed, elbowing Aditi.  "Don't you remember?"

"My mother died five months ago," Fatima said slowly, her voice
cracking.

Aditi, now remembering what she'd been told, winced in sympathy.

Fatima began to cry.  "I miss her so much.  And Father does, too,
though he won't show it.  He loved Mother so much."

"Is that why you had to move?" Tati asked.

"I think so."  Fatima sniffed.  "Father told me we were moving
back to Morocco almost right after Mother's funeral."

Aditi and Tati looked at each other helplessly.  "We've both lost
our parents too, you know," Tati said tentatively.  Tati guessed,
however, that what Fatima was feeling was closer to what Aditi
and Tati had felt at the death of their beloved grandfather than
at the deaths of their foster parents.

"Right!" Aditi agreed hastily.  "And, ummm, we missed them, of
course, but-"

"...after a while it doesn't hurt so much," Tati finished.  "We-"

"And I'm sure that your mother is happy in heaven right now,"
Aditi interrupted, desperately seeking a way to calm Fatima down.

"Ummm, that's right," Tati continued, "and some day you'll be
reunited with her!"

Fatima sniffled, then looked up at the sky sadly, eyes still
bright with tears.  "May that day come soon!"

Neither Aditi nor Tati knew what to say to that.

- - - - - - - - - -
Ignoring the begging children around him, Johnny Szczurczyk pulled
out a French-language newspaper and sat down at one of the
tea-stall's outdoor tables, sighing with relief at his unexpected
break from the girls' non-stop chatter.  It seemed fundamentally
wrong, somehow, when one had to accompany and patiently listen to
girls too young to even think about trying to lure to bed.  He
only hoped this effort on his part was going to get him someplace
with Mireille and Kirika; chicks dug it when guys showed they'd
be good fathers, Johnny reminded himself firmly.

In short order a steaming cup of tea, stuffed with fresh mint
leaves, was placed before him, together with a dish filled with
sugar cubes.  Placing one cube of sugar in his tea, he slowly
sipped it as he studied the paper, idlely wondering if he could
discern what Mireille and Kirika were doing here from today's
paper.  He suspected that it would be quite obvious in Sunday's,
or perhaps Monday's, edition.

Within five minutes a trio of young men, perhaps twenty years old,
had materialized and seated themselves nearby, attempting to
strike up a conversation with Johnny.  Johnny sighed and put away
his paper, then looked up inquiringly.  He took immediate note of
their clothing:  neat white European cotton shirts, open at the
neck, and pressed black trousers.  Ah, the would-be tour guides
have arrived, he thought.

"Hello," one of them tried, in English.  

"Bonjour," Johnny replied.  "Ca va?"

"Are you here on a holiday?" another asked, switching to French.

"Just down from Paris for the weekend," Johnny replied in the same 
language.  "My nieces are visiting a classmate just up the street,
so I'm stuck here until they're finished."

The three looked slightly disappointed.  "Have you seen the Kasbah 
yet?" one asked hopefully.  "I know it very well.  I could show
it to you and your nieces later."

"Are you looking to buy souvenirs?  My uncle just happens to dig
for an archaeologist.  He has a few items at home, very old items,
which from time to time he sells."

"Do you wish to visit the Roman ruins at Cotta?  My cousin could
drive you there," the third offered.

"Are you looking for, you know, a little fun?  I know where the
best girls in town are," the second added.  "And the best boys,
too."

Smiling tolerantly, Johnny pulled out a rumpled pack of cigarettes
and offered them around to the three, then lit one for himself,
set it down in an ashtray, and ignored it.

"My nieces' classmate just moved here from Paris a few months ago
with her father," he observed.  "A man named Mehmed Hamadi.  We
met just a while ago.  He seems like a very religious man, off to
the mosque on a Saturday."

The three men nodded knowingly.  "We know him."

"He is my uncle," one of the young men added.  "He worked in Paris
for many years and made much money, but moved back to Morocco
when his wife died.  He lives now in the house where he was born."

"May Allah be merciful," another murmured automatically, then
continued, "But he is very stupid!  He was living in Paris, and
he comes back here?"

The first young man shrugged.  "He has enough money; he was a
a civil engineer in France, and also here.  But he did not want to
raise his daughter in a land where the law says she must not cover
her hair in public."

"And I understand there is a brother also?" Johnny asked, his
expression one of polite disinterest.

The second nodded.  "Yes, Jamal.  He and Fatima were born in
Paris.  Jamal wanted to stay in France, but he had no job, so
his father made him return here.  His father did not approve of
the mosque he went to in Paris."

"I have heard that here Jamal goes to the mosque where Aziz
Mouaddin preaches," the third added.

The three nodded knowingly at each other.  "That's right, he
does."

"Aziz Mouaddin?  Is he a well-known shaykh or imam?"  Johnny asked
with studied politeness.

"He is no shaykh; he did not finish his madrassah studies.  But he
has many followers.  Aziz Mouaddin is, you know," one nodded
knowingly, "very radical.  He preaches the need for action:  to
implement sharia, Muslim law; to punish backsliders and
unbelievers, especially those in the government; and to cleanse
Tangier of the temptations of the wicked and decadent Europeans."

"Hey," another broke in excitedly.  "Is it true that, in Europe,
women will sleep with you for free?  And their brothers and
fathers do nothing?"

Johnny shrugged.  "Sometimes, but not as often as men want."

"Aziz cannot do anything, though.  The police watch his mosque
constantly," the first noted.

"The police should have shut his mosque down a year ago.  The
stupid, ignorant people from the mountains will listen to him and
make trouble.  And then tourists will stop coming," said the
second.

"He has too many followers now.  The police are nervous," said the
third.

Nodding in sympathy, Johnny casually passed out another round of
cigarettes.

- - - - - - - - - -
Two hours after Mireille and Kirika had started listening, they
heard the sound of a door opening and a cry of "The Mistress is
back!" came through clearly.

"How did it go?" came a mature-sounding voice.

"Not good," came the brisk reply.  "Still no trace of the
seedlings.  Have some lunch sent up to my office, will you?"

They listened closely, but heard no more they could make out, just
a few murmurs and the sound of footsteps receding.

"I think it'll be worth our while to try to question this
bigshot," Mireille whispered.

Kirika nodded.  "She's headed to an office upstairs, it sounds
like.  Get more aggressive?"

Mireille smiled and nodded.  "Get more aggressive."

The two women withdrew the microphone wire, then crept back
across the basement.  Reaching the heavy wooden stairs headed up,
Kirika crept slowly upwards, taking care to avoid noise.  At the
top of the stairs she listened for a minute, then beckoned
Mireille up.  Once the latter was also at the top of the stairs,
Kirika eased the door open as quietly as possible.

Across the kitchen, two young women wearing the nun costumes
familiar to both women from the shootout at the Manor were
chatting as they prepared lunch.  One was facing away from the
door to the basement, but the other was facing it, and her eyes
widened and she blanched.

Kirika stepped forward, aiming her silenced gun, but the woman
who'd spotted her made no outcry.  Instead, she kneeled down on
the kitched floor.  Her companion, puzzled, began to turn around,
but by then Mireille had arrived behind the woman and shoved a
kitchen rag into her mouth.

"Down into the basement," Mireille whispered to both women, who
hastily nodded.

Ten minutes later, the two women were securely tied and gagged in
the basement, and Mireille and Kirika were back in the kitchen,
wearing the robes of the nuns.

"That woman who spotted us first had a funny reaction," Mireille
whispered.  "Any idea why?"

"I'm not sure," Kirika admitted.  "But it reminded me a little of
the Soldat villagers I stayed with before going on to the Manor.
I told you about them, I think."

"The ones who almost worshipped you?"  Mireille asked.  "I'll
admit, I thought you were exaggerating, but now I'm not so sure."

The two women adjusted their robes and hoods carefully, making
sure their hair was completely concealed.  Each then picked up a
tray of food, holding their gun underneath, and walked out of
the kitchen and into the villa's main hall.  Ignoring a couple of
nuns visible through an archway to the right, they made for the
marble stairs up to the second floor.  Upstairs, and keeping their
faces averted from passersby, they made their way to the
northeast corner, closed to the Mediterranean, and knocked on the
door.

"Ah, good, I'm starved," came a voice, and Mireille and Kirika
walked in.

The office occupied the northeast corner of the villa's second
floor. The north wall consisted of floor-to-ceiling windows, plus
a glass door leading out onto a balcony with a wooden railing,
painted white.  The east wall was all waist-to-ceiling windows,
the south held a bookcase and a file cabinet, the west a sofa
with a coffee table in front of it.  A desk was set close to, and
facing, the east windows.

The woman inside, dressed in the habit of a Little Sister of
Mercy, but with the hood pulled back, sat before a desk, sitting
back, gazing out at the sea with a troubled expression on her
face.  Her right hand, resting on the desk, held a lit cigarette.
The woman had shoulder-length black hair and an olive complexion,
and might have been thirty years of age.

Registering that her visitors hadn't left, she turned her head to
look at them and found two strangers pointing guns at her.  She
blinked, then blinked again as the two strangers pulled their
hoods back from their heads with their left hands.  Now she was
looking at two persons whose faces were well known to her, very
well known indeed.

"No-!" She began involuntarily, only to shut off her exclamation
when Mireille and Kirika both held fingers to their lips.  She
nodded slowly, then, with as much of a courtsey as she could
manage sitting down, whispered, "Noir.  You honor me by your
presence.  How may I and the Order be of assistance?"

- - - - - - - - - -
Jamal Hamadi sat in the outer hall of a second-floor mosque in
the new part of town, hanging out with half-a-dozen other men his
own age.  Inside a set of folding doors, the main prayer hall was
covered in an intricately patterned carpet.  Perhaps fifty feet
square, it was oriented towards the east, in the direction of
Mecca.  Ornamentation was sparse:  the side walls were bare, the
back wall open to the outer hall, the front wall interrupted only
by the mihrab, or niche.  Two rows of narrow pillars marched
across the prayer hall, front to back.  At this time on a Saturday
only a few older men were kneeling in the hall for prayers.

"Our brothers in Algeria have sent the plans we need," a newcomer
murmured as he joined the group.  Appreciative murmurs broke out
within the group, carefully muted.

Jamal put out one hand.  "The materials list?"  After
carefully studying it, he nodded once.  "My father keeps small
amounts of these in his office, locked up, but I know where
he keeps the key."  Looking up at his friends, he caught slowly
caught the eyes of each one.  "We can proceed at any time."

A small group of older men approached.  The young men quickly
stood.  "Shaykh Mouaddin!  I am honored!"

"You are good young men, to honor God as you do," Aziz Mouaddin
proclaimed, "attending this mosque on a Saturday, when so many in
this city are tasting the decadent temptations of the European
colonizers!"

The young men nodded and murmured agreement.

"It is well that your father removed your sister from the
temptations offered in Europe, Jamal," Aziz Mouadden continued
thoughtfully.  "Our virtuous women must not be corrupted.  Why,
even here, in the lands of the Moslems, abominations left by the
French remain: casinos and nightclubs, where wicked women display
their flesh, tempting men to base thoughts, and the temptations of
alcohol eat away at the peoples' willingness to do as God wills!
These evils must be cleansed from our city!"

Jamal Hamadi nodded eagerly.  "It is even as you say, Shaykh."

Aziz Mouaddin nodded benignly, then he and his entourage left.
Once they were out of earshot, one of Jamal's friends murmured,
"We should act soon.  The Egyptian, Zawahiri, wrote of the
necessity to act quickly, once ready, to avoid detection or
betrayal."

Jamal nodded.  "Tomorrow?  The casinos are most crowded on
weekends."

"My sister stands ready to see paradise," another replied, his
face shining.

"Then be ready from midnight on," Jamal concluded.

- - - - - - - - - -
Mireille and Kirika, seated on the sofa in the office of the
mistress of the Little Sisters of Mercy, listened closely.

"'Two' we're looking for?  Oh, you mean the Seedlings."

This time Mireille and Kirika could almost hear the
capitalization.

"The Soldats used to refer to us as the 'Saplings', before the
ceremony," Mireille commented.  "So what would these 'Seedlings'
be?"

"Backup candidates for Noir, considerably younger than
yourselves," Isabella replied.  "Unfortunately, I don't know very
much about them.  Altena was expecting them to be brought to the
Manor during your Anointing, I know that much, but how and from
where I cannot say.  We know they made it to the Pyrenees, but
then they just vanished."

Mireille and Kirika glanced at each other.  Mireille nodded, and
both women relaxed a little, lowering their guns slightly.  "Did
you know Altena well?" Mireille asked.

"Probably as well as any.  My name is Isabella Borges.  I started
working for Altena when I was in my late teens."  The woman
smiled briefly.  "You may not belief it, looking at me now, but
originally she hired me as an exotic dancer and pickpocket.  Later
I became a trusted courier for her organization, and eventually
rose to be one of her most trusted advisors.  How familiar are you
with Altena's background?"

"We know the general story," Mireille replied.  "How she found
herself orphaned in the Balkans by war as a young girl, and made
her way on foot across North Africa to Tangier, where she formed
her organization."

"She wasn't an easy person to get to know when I first met her,"
Isabella said, gesturing with her cigarette.  "She was always
afraid of any intimacy with men, due to some unfortunate events in
her childhood.  So she was quite alone.  Then, at the age of, I
think, twenty, when her organization was already the largest here
in Tangier and extending its reach across North Africa, everything
changed for her.  She met a man, an extraordinary man.  A Soldat."

"He induced her to join the organization?" Mireille prompted.

"Not at first.  Although it was obvious almost from the first that
he had very powerful connections, he said little about them.  He
and Altena became very close.  Little by little, Altena heard
more and more about the Soldats, and the legends of Noir.  It was
these legends which induced her to join, and to induct parts of
her organization as well."

"So almost from the beginning Altena wanted to recreate Noir?"
Kirika asked.

"Yes, indeed," Isabella nodded.  "I know she underwent parts of
the ritual herself, once she ranked high enough within the Soldats
to get a look at the Book.  But she was already too old to fully
become Noir."

"Why did she want to become Noir herself?"  Mireille asked.  "From
what I've heard, she was already very formidable in combat."

Isabella mused.  "She never said why, but I, like everyone else
who knew her, had my theories.  Ever since her late teens, Altena
had found herself a magnet for trouble.  The wicked sought her
out or crossed her path by accident; she stumbled into the middle
of vile deeds and evil plots without trying, and, once there,
disrupted them violently.  According to the Book, Noir is like
this, which interested Altena.  After she began the exercises to
try to become Noir, the frequency of such encounters increased
for her.  Altena became convinced that a True Noir would have
such encounters so often that much of the Soldats' mission would
be realized:  ordinary people would be safe in their homes and
their beds."

Mireille's eyes widened.  "That's ridiculous!  We'd have to be
killing criminals and tyrants twenty-four hours a day!"

Isabella spread her hands.  "I can't be sure, but I really think
she believed something like that.  The Council, on the other hand,
agreed with you.  They thought Noir could have no place in the
modern world, and that Altena's true purpose must have been to
acquire a pair of formidable enforcers to help her ascend the
ranks within the Soldats, perhaps to take over the Council's
authority."

"As if!"  Mireille snorted in disgust.

- - - - - - - - - -
After a couple of hours, Tati nudged Aditi, then told Fatima,
"We'd really better go.  I'm sure you have chores we're keeping
you from.  We'll stop by tomorrow and bring your CD, though."

Fatima rose from her seat, adjusted her veil, and led the way
downstairs.  "If you come tomorrow, you must come early.  My
brother says I must go somewhere at mid-day."

"We will," Tati agreed.

Shortly afterwards, the two girls found themselves back in the
street, where they quickly found Johnny, still passing out
cigarettes and politely listening to gossip.  Johnny rose.  "Ah,
the girls.  Shall we go see the Kasbah now?"

The three spent the next hour walking around the Kasbah, or fort,
situated on top of a cliff in the northwest corner of the medina,
still accompanied by their trio of guides, who duly read off the
posted signs, as well as reciting wild stories and rumors they'd
happened to have heard about the place.

Then Johnny checked his watch and remarked, "I think that's enough
of the historical stuff.  Now," he added to their guides, "you
said something about showing me where to find the best looking
ladies in town?"

One of the young men nodded.  "Tangier has the most beautiful
women in all Morocco!  Many Europeans come here for fun!  It is
said that Tangier used to have the most beautiful and available
boys as well."

A second added, "If you wish to sell these two girls, a cousin
of mine will buy them.  But you will not get a very good price;
their skins are too dark."

Johnny smiled deprecatingly and spread his hands, then grabbed the
back of Aditi's and Tati's collars before they could attack the
speaker.  "No, I'm afraid I really can't part from them.  Certain
ladies of my acquaintance would have my hide for garterbelts."

"We can show you a nice place to see pretty ladies, but they will
not let us in."

Johnny just smiled.  "We'll see."

The guides led the three out of the medina, across the Square
Grand Socco, and into the ville nouvelle.  A few blocks farther
and they found themselves in front of a rather discreet facade,
only a couple of blocks from their hotel, guarded by a pair of
stern-looking doormen.

"You may enter, but these three may not," one said, looking
distainfully at the local guides.

The second doorman looked at the two girls carefully.  "Are these
girls Muslims?  If so, they may not enter either."

"We're Russian Orthodox," Aditi proudly proclaimed.  Tati gave her
a quizzical look, but nodded agreement.

"Gentlemen, these three are friends of mine," Johnny confided
smilingly, sidling close to the doormen.  Both his hands clasped
over, in turn, those of the two doormen, whose attitude changed
markedly.

"Well, if you're sure they're friends of yours..." one said
slowly. 

"And we need a quiet place to discuss business," Johnny continued
knowingly.

"We can make an exception this time, then.  But we must still
search them," the second doorman concluded.  He stood back while
the first did a quick pat-down on all three of the locals.

Johnny led the group inside and to a table large enough for six,
gazing around appreciatively at the waitresses as he did so.
"Four beers and two Coca-Colas, please," Johnny told the
waitresss, placing a small tip into her cleavage.  "Girls," he
added, turning to Aditi and Tati, "think of this as part of your
education."

- - - - - - - - - -
"You took them WHERE?!" Mireille expostulated.  The five were
sitting down to dinner at a place recommended by their hotel's
concierge, part of an upscale nightclub called 'Les Chattes Noir',
glittering with the idle rich and those aspiring to that status.
Through one archway a busy casino could be glimpsed.

"Hey, I have needs," Johnny replied.  "Now if certain persons were
willing to take care of them, I wouldn't have to take underage
girls into these places."

"I didn't know women could do some of those things," Aditi
volunteered enthusiastically.  "We got to go back and chat with
some of the women in their dressing room for a while, too."

Tati added, "Some of the girls were only a few years older than we
are.  And a lot of them say their families don't like them working
there."

"What does it matter?" Kirika asked Mireille.  "We were in places
like that when we were their age."

"I was never in a place like that until I was thirteen!"
Mireille snapped.  "But you're right; it's not like it'll do them
any harm.  I'm just worried about what Sigi and Char will say."

"Do you think they'll object?" Kirika asked quizzically.

"Smart money says 'yes'," Johnny interjected, amused.

Mireille paused to give Johnny a severe frown, then changed the
subject.  "Aditi, Tati, there's a question we never got around to
asking you.  Do you remember when we found the two of you, with
those Basque terrorists in the Pyrenees?"

Aditi and Tati looked at Mireille in disbelief.  "Do we remember?
You gotta be kidding," Aditi said.

"But how did you get to where we found you?" Kirika asked.  "Did
your family come from America on vacation?  Or business?"

"Was it a vacation?" Aditi asked Tati, puzzled.  "Did Dad and Mom
ever say?"

"Not that I heard.  They just came home from work one day and made
Grandfather and us pack.  Then we flew to Paris and then to
Bordeaux.  Father rented a car and we just started driving," Tati
explained.

"We stayed one night in this small hotel in the mountains.  The
next day, we got a flat tire almost right away after we started
driving.  The terrorists stopped to help us, we thought, but they
asked Grandpa his name, and as soon as he gave it they took us
all prisoner."

"So your parents took the two of you and your grandfather to the
Pyrenees on short notice, and didn't explain why?"  Mireille asked
in summary.

"That's right," Aditi nodded.

"Is it important?" asked Tati.

"Not really," replied Mireille, looking away and helping herself
to more couscous.

"Should we tell them more?" Kirika whispered to Mireille, bending
her head to put her mouth close to Mireille's ear.

"Not in front of Johnny," Mireille replied, equally low.  "Maybe
later."

"I do hope I'm not interrupting," said a new voice.  Everyone
looked up to see Isabella Borges, dressed in a floor-length, off-
the-shoulder evening dress, standing just behind Mireille and
Kirika.  She bowed her head to each woman in turn, murmuring
"Salva nos, Noir", at which Johnny raised an eyebrow and pursed
his lips.  As her eyes passed over Aditi and Tati, Isabella's eyes
widened and she dropped her handbag.

Johnny leapt to his feet and retrieved it, bowing low over and
kissing Isabella's outstretched hand before returning her handbag
to her.  "How unforgetable a sight you present, Madame; I feel
myself very unfortunate not to have been properly introduced."

"Mlle. Borges, this is Johnny Szczurczyk.  Johnny, Isabella
Borges, a local acquaintance of ours."  Mireille performed the
introductions.  "What brings you to this restaurant in
particular?" Mireille asked Isabella.

Isabella smiled faintly.  "Tsk-tsk, not doing your homework.
Altena would be ashamed.  Les Chattes Noir is owned by our
organization."

Mireille ground her teeth.  "You're right; I should have checked
that."

"And, of course, given such honored guests, your dinner is on the
house," Isabella declared.  "Might I be introduced to these two
charming young ladies?"

Aditi and Tati preened at the form of address.

Mireille glanced at Kirika, who looked equally worried, but
shrugged slightly. "Certainly," Mireille replied.  "Mlle. Borges,
Aditi and Tati Sarkhovsky, two friends-"

"Apprentices!" Aditi interjected fiercely.

"-of ours, currently under our protection."

"My, my!  Apprentices?" Isabella commented.  "How very...
appropriate.  And I can't imagine a safer place than being under
your joint protection."

Kirika looked over the girls with a faint smile.  "They certainly
have shown some potential.  Who knows what they might grow up to
become?"  She finished up by giving Isabella a significant look.

"Who knows, indeed?" Isabella replied.  "These two seedlings will
surely grow into a pair of sturdy saplings before too long.  But
I must continue to circulate.  Do let me know if anything at all
is not to your liking."

"We will," Mireille replied.  "And thank you very much for
dinner."

- - - - - - - - - -
The four ladies retired early to their hotel room, leaving Johnny
by himself in the casino.  Mireille had won modestly at blackjack;
Kirika at craps, before both tired of their games and dragged the
girls away from the tables.  Once in the room, Mireilla and Kirika
retreated to the bathroom for a conference, making sure the shower
was running.

"We're not going to become Altena," Mireille stated firmly.

"Of course not!" Kirika seemed shocked by the very idea.

"We're not going to assign them tasks which involve killing
people!"

Kirika nodded complete agreement.  "It has to be their decision,
or in self-defense."

"And we're not going to set traps for them, or send them or take
them into danger."

"And we haven't." Kirika nodded again.  "We'll only teach them
basic self-defense skills."

Mireille nodded.  "And basic computer, financial, and social
skills.  Things they'll find useful whatever they choose to do."

"Right."  Kirika nodded.  "So what do we tell them?"

"I don't know.  Do we really want to tell them they were intended
to become junior versions of us?  They'll just keep demanding to
tag along with us."

"I think we ought to tell them why their real parents were killed,
though.  You wanted to know that."

Mireille wrapped her arms around herself.  "Yes, I did.  I wanted
that more than anything."  She paused, considering, then nodded.
"You're right.  We should tell them that much, at least."

"I don't think we should tell them about the Soldats; it's too
dangerous for them.  Should we mention the word 'Noir'?"

"I agree, we won't mention the word 'Soldats'.  As for 'Noir'...
let's wait.  If either of us use the word, even accidentally,
we'll have to tell them never to repeat it, but if we just tell
them now, one of them might let it slip."

Kirika nodded.

They opened the door, only to discover Aditi and Tati lying on
the floor, trying to listen at the crack under the bathroom door. 
"Okay, girls, time for a little chat.  Let's cozy up."  Mireille
and Kirika arranged themselves lying side by side on their bed,
propped up against the headboard, with Aditi and Tati in their
arms.  Mireille began playing with Aditi's hair, combing it with
her fingers; Kirika was content to hold Tati from behind.  The two
girls held hands.

"You two have been calling yourselves our apprentices since we met
you," Mireille began.  "Well, it turns out you're not far off."

"The lady who came to our table at dinner knew a few things about
you," Kirika added.  "Things nobody ever told you, and nobody ever
told us before."

"This is very, very serious, girls," Mireille admonished.  "What
we tell you tonight you can't ever say to anybody.  Not Sigi, not
Char, not Simon, not Johnny.  It would be too dangerous for them,
and they don't need to know."

Aditi and Tati both nodded solemnly, wide-eyed.

"Kirika and I only met a little over a year ago, but during the
year we've been together, we discovered that we shared a destiny.
That destiny was sealed just the day before we met you two."

"The ceremony you told Char about!" Aditi exclaimed.

"That's right, that ceremony.  It was arranged by a woman who's
now dead, named Altena.  She died during the ceremony."

"The woman you met at dinner used to work for Altena," Kirika
explained.  "So she could tell us about some of Altena's plans."

"Did you have to threaten her to get her to talk?" Tati asked,
puzzled.  "She seemed very friendly at dinner."

"No, we didn't, and yes, she is.  It turns out that she and her
people admire Kirika and I a great deal, because of the ceremony,
but we didn't know that when we came.  We thought they might want
revenge on us for Altena's death."

Aditi and Tati nodded understanding.

"Now, Ms. Borges identified you two as a part of Altena's plans
as well," Mireille added.  "You were to be backups if anything
happened to us.  If you survived and we didn't, you two would be
going through the same ceremony in another ten years or so."

"But how did she know about us?" Aditi asked.

Mireille took a deep breath.  Kirika took and squeezed one of her
hands for support.  "Girls, when I was just a little younger than
you, Altena asked my parents to give me up to her, so that I
could receive the kind of dedicated training Kirika received.  My
parents refused, and Altena had them killed for it."

Kirika inhaled suddenly.  Mireille put her free arm around Kirika,
who gratefully leaned her head against Mireille's shoulder.

"What about Kirika's parents?" Tati wanted to know.

"We don't know, except that they must have given Kirika up."

"I have no memory of them at all," Kirika added.  "Altena figures
in my very earliest memories."

"And both of our real parents were killed," Tati ventured, with a
question in her voice, "when we were six."

"Yes," Mireille agreed.  "We now think that Altena's people did
that.  And it's possible that your foster parents, the
Sarkhovskys, were working for Altena all along.  But we don't
know that for sure."

"You think Altena owned the company they worked for?" Tati asked.

Mireille hesitated.  "No, not exactly.  This would have been on
the side, a part-time job.  If it's true at all."

"What about grandfather?" Aditi asked in an anxious tone.

"We have no reason at all to think he had any part in this,"
Mireille reassured the girls, both of whom sighed in relief.

A silence fell.  Tati burrowed deeper into Kirika's and Aditi's
embrace; Aditi relaxed against Mireille, enjoying the warmth and
closeness, one arm around Tati.

"So we really are your apprentices.  You're s'pposed to train us
to become just like you," Aditi concluded some minutes later.

"Nobody's forcing anybody now," Mireille replied.  "You two are
free to choose what you become."

"We don't think anybody should be treated like we were treated
growing up," Kirika added in agreement.  "So we're not going to
treat you like that."

"But we want to grow up to be just like you," Tati replied.
"Nobody's forcing us."

"That's right!" Aditi chimed in.

"Girls, we've had this discussion before."  Mireille sighed.
"We're not people you should admire."

"That Ms. Borges does!  You said so!" Aditi protested.

"Well, okay, but she and her followers should have their heads
examined," Mireille replied tiredly.

"Mireille, we don't need to settle this tonight," Kirika said.
"Let's just all go to bed."

"Can we sleep with you tonight?" Tati asked in a small voice.

Kirika patted her head.  "Of course you can."

"In fact, we're all kind of cozy right now.  Everybody stay right
where you are, and I'll turn off the light," Mireille remarked.

- - - - - - - - - -
"What are you doing?!"

Jamal Hamadi looked up, startled, as his father Mehmed snapped on
the light to his office and walked in.

"Uh, nothing; I was just curious-"

"You've opened my safe!"  Mehmed stepped forward angrily.  "Are
you stealing from me, you worthless son?  Your mother would be so
disappointed-"  Mehmed broke off suddenly as he got close enough
to see the two boxes Jamal was trying to conceal behind him.  He
gasped.  "What are you doing with those?!  No, Jamal, you can't;
God forbids killing the innocent!"

"They're not innocent!" Jamal reacted furiously.  "They humiliate
us in our own country!  They defy our laws, they mock our beliefs
and our practices!"

Mehmed's face grew dark.  "You will give over this foolishness
now!  Who talked you into this?  I will give his name to the
police!  Was it that reckless preacher at that mosque you favor?"

Jamal grew even angrier.  "Nobody talked me into this!  I decided
this on my own!  My friends and I did!  They look up to me as a
leader; me, the son you call worthless!  They will follow me to
paradise!"

Mehmed stepped forward and shoved Jamal roughly.  "Give it up!
This is what comes of not applying yourself, of not having a job!"

Jamal shoved his father right back, harder.  "There ARE no jobs,
here or in France!  Not for us, not for the Muslims!  Jobs are
reserved for the Christians, for the French!"

"You never worked hard enough to land a job, or keep one if you
did," Mehmed roared in fury, fists clenched.  He raised one fist
to strike his son.  "There are jobs for those willing to study
hard and work harder than the Christians!  That's how I got mine!
Did you think I did nothing to get it?  I studied hard for many,
many years, proved myself over and over!"

"France claims to be a land of equality," sneered Jamal, blocking
his father's punch and landing a counter-punch in the pit of his
father's stomach.  "Muslims should not need to work harder than
Christians, or to prove themselves over and over!  All you did was
prove to them you were a tame lapdog!"

"You would strike your own father?!" Mehmed gasped.  "You are more
corrupted by the French than you believe!  But I will call the
police to stop you if I must, even my own son!"

"You can't!" Jamal, desperate, angry, and horrified, struck his
father again.  Mehmed staggered back, then fell.  The back of his
head hit the corner of his desk with a dull thunk.

- - - - - - - - - -
The next morning, Aditi and Tati set out promptly for Fatima's
house, Johnny trailing behind.  This time, they remembered
Fatima's CD.  Johnny stopped at the same tea-stall while Aditi and
Tati proceeded on to Fatima's door and knocked.

Today the door was opened by Fatima's older brother, Jamal, who
opened the door only a crack and looked out cautiously, very
tense.  He relaxed when he saw the two girls.

"We're here to see Fatima," Aditi said confidently.  "We're
classmates of hers from Paris.  We came by yesterday, and have to
return something to her this morning before we leave."

Jamal Hamadi frowned down at the girls, then relaxed and opened
the door to let them inside.  "They're just two little girls," he
muttered to himself, then, to the girls, added, "You can't stay
long; we have an appointment in two hours."

"That's okay, this won't take long," Tati assured him.

As the girls moved inside and up the stairs, Aditi wrinkled her
nose.  "Are you smelling what I'm smelling?" Aditi asked Tati
in their private patois.

"I don't smell anything I didn't smell yesterday," Tati answered.
"What does it smell like?"

"What does it remind me of?" Aditi wrinkled her brow, trying to
remember.

The two girls reached Fatima's room at that moment.  Inside, they
found Fatima wearing a very bulky dull brown burkha (a garment
sometimes known as a "walking tent"), hood down, as if she'd
gained twenty pounds overnight.  A few stray bits of wire lay
scattered around on the floor and on a nearby table.  Her face
was pale.

"Oh, that," said Aditi under her breath.  "The Basques."

Tati's eyes widened.  "Play it cool," she admonished quietly.  "We
have two hours yet."

The two girls smiled at Fatima as they returned her CD, thanked
her for her hospitality the day before, then explained that they
had to leave; adults were waiting on them.

Just before leaving, Aditi took Fatima's hands.  "You seem even
sadder today, Fatima.  Yesterday I was wondering if you'd ever
cheer up, the way you were talking about joining your mother in
heaven.  Have you had bad news?"

Tati bit her lips and glanced at the door, but Fatima's older
brother was nowhere in sight.

"My father passed away last night," Fatima replied, her eyes
downcast.  "My brother and I are alone now.  But not for long;
soon I will be reunited with my Mother."

Aditi nodded sympathetically, then released Fatima's hands as the
two girls took their leave.

"Did you have to be that reckless?" Tati hissed at Aditi as soon
as they were outside.  "If her brother had heard you, he might
have held us there!"

"Hey, it worked," Aditi replied blithely.  "It got us
confirmation, didn't it?"

Johnny was again surrounded by would-be tour guides, a different
trio this morning, but shook them off at Tati's shaken head.  The
three began walking.  Tati looked at their surroundings carefully.
"Umm...vy govo'rite po russki?" she asked Johnny, who chuckled.

"Not enough to converse in," he replied in French.

"Geez, just use English," Aditi murmured, rolling her eyes.

"Guess we have to," Tati agreed grudgingly.  "The girl we visited
is wearing a bomb," she told Johnny.

"A bomb," Johnny replied with a grin, humoring the children.

"TATP," Aditi added.  "I forget what it stands for..."

"Triacetone triperoxide," Johnny replied, his smile suddenly gone.
"A plastic explosive commonly used in human bomb attacks.  Highly
volatile; easily detected in enclosed containers by automated
chemical detection equipment.  I suppose you're going to tell
me you smelled it?  And immediately recognized it?"

"Well, I did," Aditi insisted indignantly.  "It's a very
distinctive smell!"

"To a very small percent of the population, maybe," Johnny
muttered to himself. "Most of whom would have no idea what it
was."

"Her brother says she has an appointment in two hours, and she
told us that she'll see her mother in heaven very soon," Tati
added.

"Her brother probably talked her into it!" Aditi asserted.

"The unemployed brother who hangs out at this radical mosque?"
Johnny sighed, surveying the girls warily.  "Well; it's at least
plausible.  Right.  Guess we'd better take some measures, then.
Any idea what the target is?"

"Oops," Aditi smiled sheepishly.  "I forgot to ask."

"I'll call Mireille and Kirika," Tati said, getting out her cell
phone.

"If we don't know where they're going, we can't arrange for police
coverage of the target," Johnny explained to Aditi.  "We'll have
to follow her.  No, sorry, YOU'll have to follow her; I'd be much
too conspicuous."

- - - - - - - - - -
At the Little Sisters of Mercy's villa, Mireille and Kirika were
again in conference with Isabella.  One of her lieutenants, Cleo
Metaxas, was speaking.

"Among the remaining sisters, I have the greatest familiarity with
the Book.  I was Altena's primary research assistant for several
years."

Mireille and Kirika nodded in understanding.

"According to the book, now that we again have an Anointed Noir
among us, deliberately arranged trials such as Altena devised for
the two of you and Chloe are no longer necessary."

"That sounds like good news," Mireille replied, smiling in relief.

"But..." Kirika looked at Cleo, inviting her to continue.

"This is because, if the Seedlings stay close to the Anointed
Noir, the two of you, the trials will happen by themselves.
Random events will provide the Seedlings with all the training and
tests that they will need to become Noir in their turn, as your
successors."

Kirika looked at Mireille, worry evident on her face.  Mireille,
however, was dismissive.  "Superstition!  We can protect them
better than anybody!"

"Mireille, you said yourself that they shouldn't live with us,
that it's too dangerous," Kirika commented.

"Kirika, do YOU want to separate ourselves from them completely,
just to keep them safe from some ridiculous medieval legend about
destiny?"

At that moment Mireille's cell phone rang.  It was Tati.
"WHAT?!  You're following a suicide bomber to see where she's
going?!" Mireille erupted.  "Slow down.  Who is the bomber?"

Mireille gestured; Kirika placed a pen and paper in her hands.
Mireille wrote:  "Fatima Hamadi; brother Jamal, goes to mosque
where Aziz Mouaddin preaches; vest with TAPT; two hours.  The
address is..."

Isabella took the slip of paper and picked up the phone.  "Chief
Zougam?  How are you today?  Ah, no need to thank me again for
donating to the police retirement fund; you policemen all work
hard to protect us; the least we can do is show our appreciation.
Now, mon petit Nabil, I have had an anonymous tip about a suicide
bomber.  If you can have your men go to the following address
and arrest one Jamal Hamadi, who I understand frequents the mosque
of Aziz Mouaddin..."

Isabella listened closely.  "Well, I know you're doing your best,
Chief," she said with a tinge of disappointment.  "Thank you again!"

After hanging up, she turned to Mireille and Kirika.  "The police
are very reluctant to move against Aziz Mouaddin himself.  They
watch his mosque closely, and have questioned him repeatedly, but
they cannot prove he advocates violence.  They will arrest this
Jamal Hamadi and question his friends, however."

Meanwhile, back at the tea-stall, Johnny Szczrczyk was speaking
on his own cell phone.  "I'm just checking with a guy I met in a
bar in Casablanca a while back.  He might have an idea what to
do," he said in response to Tati's inquiring look.  "You two get
ready to tail the girl.  Send me your whereabouts by text message;
I'll keep Mireille and Kirika informed."

Johnny had a brief conversation, then called Kirika.  "Hey, Best
Babe, here's what my buddy in Rabat says.."

Back at the villa, Kirika nodded and hung up and she and the
others strode out to Isabella's car.  "Johnny's contact in the
King's internal security service says that they will arrest Aziz
Mouaddin as soon as they can 'persuade' Jamal Hamadi to implicate
him, which is just a question of time."

Isabella grimaced.  Mireille shrugged indifferently.

"Well, let's at least get to a location where we might be able to
keep the girls out of trouble," Mireille replied.

- - - - - - - - - -
Aditi and Tati stopped abruptly as two young men stepped out in
front of them, blocking their way.  "Hey; what're you doing?!"
Jamal Hamadi asked in a low, dangerous voice.  "You're following
my sister!"

"They're just two little girls," the other man said.  "You girls
should be ashamed of yourselves, dressing like that in public!
At least cover your hair!"

"Don't try to stop us," Aditi growled.  Tati said nothing, but
both girls subtlely adjusted their stances.

Jamal raised his fists and stepped forward, his friend beside him.
"If you two don't turn around-"  He was interrupted by the ball
of Aditi's foot, intersecting his crotch.  Tati's foot met his
friends family jewels simultaneously.

Both men slowly fell to the ground, bent over.  Aditi and Tati
fumbled at the back of their belts, then stood, Aditi now holding
a half-inch knife; Tati a switchblade.

"Stay put," Aditi advised, as she and Tati began to turn and
continue on their way.

"You little bitch," Jamal gasped, his hand reaching out for
Aditi's ankle and missing.  With great effort, Jamal climbed to
his feet, his voice laboring in pain and anger.  "I don't know if
you girls are lapsed Muslims or outright idolators, but no two
girls are getting the better of me!"

Aditi side-stepped away from Tati.  "This little GIRL just kicked
your balls and made you like it," she taunted.

With Jamal's attention wholly focused on Aditi, Tati slid in low
and drew her knife across the back of Jamal's knee, cutting
through the thin cotton of his trousers and slitting his tendons.
With his next step, he fell to one knee.

Aditi danced back of of his reach.  But when Jamal turned and
made a grab for Tati, she hissed and darted forward, knife
swinging.  "You leave her alone!"

Aditi's knife caught Jamal's swinging hand edge on, cutting
deeply into his little finger.  He screamed and tried to backhand
Aditi, who parried with her knife.  This time, another finger met
the edge.  Jamal collapsed, sobbing, his good left hand clutching
his right, blood trickling down his right arm and spattering on
his white clothes.

"Give up?" Aditi asked, knife poised.

"C'mon, she's almost out of sight!" Tati hissed, as she started
to trot away.  "That guy's not gonna follow us!"

Aditi nodded, then turned and scampered after Tati.

"YOU TWO BITCHES ARE GOING STRAIGHT TO HELL!" Jamal yelled at
their backs.

Two turns later, Tati slowed, waving behind her for Aditi to slow
down also.  The two girls continued to follow Fatima out of
the old town and into the Ville Nouvelle.  Finally Fatima came to
a stop.  Aditi and Tati ducked behind a small parked Fiat to
assess the situation.  To one side of a busy traffic circle with
a statue in the middle, Fatima was standing with two other girls,
dressed very similarly, all three patiently listening to a young
man about Jamal's age, who finished up by handing out a map to
each of the girls.

"Now what?" Aditi whispered hastily to Tati.  "There's three of
them, with three different targets!  What'll we do?"

"They splitting up; no time to call Mireille or Kirika to ask,"
Tati said urgently.  "Quick!  Watch which streets the other two
go down, then we'll circle around and catch up to Fatima.  We'll
pretend we're meeting her again by accident."

After watching for another few seconds, the two girls ducked down
one alley, ran down another, and emerged in front of Fatima,
slowing to a stroll as they came in sight of her.  "You chat her
up, try to get a look at the map," Tati whispered.  I'll try to
figure out how to disarm the bomb."

Aditi nodded.  "This'll be fun," she smirked.  "Hey, Fatima!" she
yelled, raising her hand and waving.  "Where're you going?"

Fatima looked slightly shocked at seeing the two girls again.
"Aditi?  Tati?  But you mustn't be here."

"Well, we only got a few more hours here in Tangier," Aditi said
carelessly.  "So we wanna see as much as we can.  So where are you
off to?  Any place interesting?  Would they let us in?"

To one side, Tati plucked at Fatima's burkha, as if curious.
"This seems kind of hot to be wearing at this time of year," she
murmured.  "Isn't it uncomfortable?"

"Just ignore her," Aditi advised confidingly.  "She's fascinated
by that outfit, you know.  If she still lived where she was born,
she'd have to wear one too," she pronounced confidently.

"Would not," Tati replied sullenly, her fingers still plucking.

"Would too," Aditi said cheekily.  "Oh, is this a map?  I knew you
were going someplace cool!"  Aditi grasped one edge of the map
Fatima still clutched and raised it for a look.

"No!" Fatima exclaimed.  "No, I'm sorry; it- it's for Muslims
only," she apologized.  "And I really have to go now," she added
urgently.  "Goodbye!  Please just go back to your hotels until
your flight; you'll be safer there!"

"Well, if you're sure," Aditi temporized, looking past Fatima at
Tati, who nodded.  "Okay!  Take care, Fatima!"

The two girls waved, then started hurriedly back the way Fatima
had come.  "Fatima's going to the place we were last night,"
Aditi told Tati.  "Les Chattes Noir."

"Right," Tati replied.  "There's one wire running around the top
of the vest, about here," Tati explained, pointing an inch below
her collarbone.  "I'll call Kirika, you call Johnny.  Tell them
where Fatima's going and ask about disarming a bomb vest with a
knife."

- - - - - - - - - -
"You want to do WHAT?!" Johnny shouted into his cell phone.  "No!
Ixnay!  Absolutely not!  You two just go back to trailing the
other two girls, but stay well away from them, you hear me?  At
least fifty meters away, and preferably with a few solid objects
between you and those girls!  But no glass between you!  None"

"Oh, God, my two Best Babes are gonna have my balls if you two
get hurt," Johnny moaned after Tati had hung up, even as he
called another number to pass on the news about Les Chattes Noir.

- - - - - - - - - -
"Well, the middle of the chest or waist is the best place for any
kind of weapon you might need to reach quickly and under possible
partial restraint," Kirika said into her cell phone, puzzled.
"Wire?  What about a wire?  Across the top of what?"

"Ask her why she wants to know," Mireille advised.

Kirika nodded.  "Why do you want to know?" she repeated.  Her eyes
widened at the reply.  "Tati, that's not safe," she began
protesting.  Mireille grabbed the phone out of her hand.

"Tati, now you listen to me," Mireille said urgently.  "You are
NOT to do anything dangerous, do you understand?"

A moment later, Mireille expostulated.  "No, it's STILL dangerous,
even if you think you know how to disarm the bomb!  Disarming
bombs is a job for professionals!"

Mireille paused.  "Of COURSE I could do it!  Or Kirika!  That's
not the point!  You're not us, and you don't need to be us!"

"Probably the old Algerian GIA design," Kirika mused aloud.  "Easy
to assemble.  If so, all you'd have to do is slit the two wires
just below the collarbone, on either side of the breastbone, about
two centimeters apart."

"Kirika, PLEASE stop that," Mireille replied tiredly, raising her
head from the phone.  "Tati might've heard you."

The phone went dead.

"Blast.  I think she did."

- - - - - - - - - -
"Did you get that?" Tati asked Aditi as the two girls raised their
heads from where they'd been huddled together over Tati's phone.

"Sure.  Piece of cake," Aditi smirked.  "Race you!"

Aditi took off running down one side street, following one of the
other two girls.

"No cheating!"  Tati yelled after the retreating Aditi, then sped
up and darted off into her own side-street.

Tati found her quarry first, by virtue of asking every third petty
merchant she passed about 'her friend in the burkha'.  The path
she found herself taking made several extra twists and turns, but
as soon as she had her quarry in sight, Tati checked her watch.
"If all three are supposed to go off together, then there's still
twenty minutes to go," she mused.

Looking up, Tati spotted an opportunity.  She sprinted ahead of
the girl in the burkha to an intersection, then stopped abruptly
as the light turned red.  She dropped her shoulders as if in
dejection, then turned to face the girl in the burkha as the
latter approached.

"She looks younger than I do," Tati noted with one part of her
mind, even as her left hand came up to open the burkha at the
neck.  Her right flashed up, holding the switchblade, even as her
left plucked the two wires in question out.  One quick swipe
and Tati relaxed, then smiled at the girl.  "Sorry; no paradise
for you today."

Tati then glanced at her watch and noted the time before beginning
to trot in the direction of Les Chattes Noir.

- - - - - - - - - -
Aditi found herself retracing her steps again and again as she
belatedly thought to question bystanders about a girl about her
own age in a burkha.  Eventually she found herself panting, even
as she approached the area she'd started from at a dead run.

"Damn it; Tati's gonna beat me at this rate.  Where IS that girl?"

Finally she spotted a short figure in a burkha, speaking to the
doorman beneath a large, glittering sign advertising "Golden
Paradise", completely with tantalizingly-clad houris dancing
around piles of gold coins.

"That must be her target!" Aditi muttered to herself.  Then in
desperation, she shouted, "Hey, wait!  Wait up a moment."

The doorman and the burkha-clad figure turned to look, the
latter puzzled.  Aditi just trotted right up, put one arm around
the girl, and began leading her away.  "Excuse us," she said
brightly to the doorman.  "My friend her is a little..." as she
made a looping gesture at her ear with her free hand.  The doorman
nodded in understanding.

"Now, Jazeel-" Aditi began, "Can I call you Jazeel?  I call all
my friends that," she pattered on.  "And I just knew you're going
to be my special friend, ever since the two of us met on that
snowy night last July in Timbuktu, under the full moon in a
sandstorm, where you were wearing that polka-dotted ballerina
costume, which was SO cute by the way, and I was wearing..."

By this point Aditi had led the only-slightly-resisting girl up to
the entrance to a side alley and into it.  Turning the girl to
face her, Aditi raised both hands to pluck at the neck of the
burkha.  "...an outfit JUST like yours, but all in pink with
purple stripes, but it was SO hot that I had to open up the neck
like this to fan myself, and..."

Exposing the two wires in question, Aditi waved them in front of
the girl's half-hidden eyes, smiling naughtily, "...found two
wires JUST like this in my outfit two, and I didn't have ANY idea
where they'd come from or what they were for, so I borrowed a
nailclipper from you, my good friend, and just cut them.  Like
this."  So saying, Aditi produced her knife and slit both wires,
then pocketed the knife again and hugged the girl.

"And I'm terribly sorry I had to do this to you; I don't know who
died and made you sad and now you're trying to be reunited with
them, but I guess that's not what God had in mind for you today.
Deal."

With that, Aditi released the girl and took off for Les Chattes
Noir.

- - - - - - - - - -
At Les Chattes Noir casino, Mireille, Kirika, and Isabella
arrived at the second-floor, glass-windowed observation room only
to find Fatima already in the middle of the floor, pacing around
a craps table while checking her watch once a minute.  Her
head turned from side to side as if keeping watch.

"What's she waiting for?" Kirika wondered.

"It's probably supposed to be a simultaneous detonation with her
two 'friends'," Mireille guessed.  "That gives us a little time.
If the girls were precise about the 'two hours' when they called
us, that still gives us ten minutes.  Best alert your staff, Ms.
Borges."

Isabella nodded, but paused before turning to instruct her
employees.  "Please do not put yourselves at risk, Most Hallowed
Ones.  As for ourselves, the waters flow into the sea," she added
in a fatalistic tone.

"Oh, please," Mireille muttered to herself, rolling her eyes.

Just then Tati, followed by Aditi, both out of breath, appeared
below in the doorway.

"Damn it, now the girls are in danger," Mireille remarked.  "We'd
better get down there and make sure they don't do anything
stupid."

Mireille and Kirika hurried downstairs, even as Aditi and Tati
caught their breath while trying to scan the crowded casino floor.

"There you are!" Mireille exclaimed as she and Kirika came up to
the girls.  "Now don't go darting off just yet."

"We have to stop Fatima!" Aditi got out before having to take
another deep breath.

"She's here somewhere," Tati added.

"We know; there's only one burkha in the whole place.  She's over
that way, checking her watch.  She seems to be on the alert,
though.  She'll detonate early if she grows suspicious.  And
seeing you two again would certainly make her suspicious."

Aditi and Tati grew solemn.  "Do we have to shoot her, then?  To
save all these people?"

Mireille pursed her lips and looked back at the girls.  "Would you
shoot her, if I gave you a gun?  A girl your own age, with whom
you've become friends?  Do the lives of these high-living tourists
mean so much to you?"

"I- I don't know if I could," Tati confessed, looking ashamed.

"I could!" Aditi tried to assert in a trembling voice.

"But saving all these people is important!" Tati asserted.

"Saving people could make up for the bad things we've done,"
Aditi said in a small voice.

"Mireille..." Kirika ventured.

"It won't bring them back, you know," Mireille told the girls,
"the people you've killed."

"That WE'VE killed," Kirika interjected quietly.

"They'll still be dead," Mireille continued, now looking at
Kirika.

"But maybe they won't have died in vain," Kirika whispered,
looking haunted.

"It all has to mean something," Tati insisted.

"It has to!" Aditi added.

Mireille smiled sadly as she looked the girls and Kirika in the
eyes.  "And saving people will do that?"

"Yes!" Aditi and Tati insisted.

"Okay, then," Mireille replied, almost flippantly.  "Kirika, dear,
I think that's our cue."

"You girls stay here," Kirika said as she darted off to the right.

"We'll handle this," Mireille added as she darted left.

Aditi's and Tati's shoulders slumped with relief as they smiled
at each other.

Kirika moved from down a row of slot machines until she could
see the burkha-clad figure moving.  In her mind, she visualized
the wires' exact placement.  Without seeming to pay attention to
the figure, she moved into a spot about seven meters away, one
aisle over from the craps table Fatima circled.  Beyond Fatima
sat another row of slot machines.

"Hey!  Hey, you!" Mireille's voice rang out across the casino
floor.  Dozens of people saw Mireille jumping up and down and
waving at somebody across the floor.

Fatima Hamadi, like the others around her, stopped her pacing and
turned to her left for a look, sideways-on to Kirika.  In that
moment Kirika drew her silenced gun and fired, then holstered it
again beneath her blouse before it attracted attention.

Two holes appeared in the front of the burkha, just below collar-
bone level.  Directly beyond Fatima, a manic Spaniard began
cursing a blue streak as the slot machine he had been eagerly
working suddenly malfunctioned.  Two seconds passed, and then the
machine began pouring out coins.  The Spaniard jumped for joy.

Fatima, puzzled, looked down at her chest, then began pressing at
the center of her chest with vigor.  After a minute or two of
nothing happening, she slumped to her knees and brought her hands
up to her head.  The sounds of quiet sobbing passed unnoticed by
most of the crowd as they passed by the girl, for now bereft of
hope.

A short distance away, Aditi and Tati joined Mireille and Kirika
to watch.

"She'll be questioned by the police, of course, and they won't be
gentle," Mireille remarked quietly.

"She has no parents now," Aditi said, "with her father dead."

"And an unemployed, crippled older brother," Tati added quietly.

"We can't help everybody," Mireille replied.  "And she wouldn't
accept our help right now."

"She did demonstrate some resourcefulness is bypassing my
doormen," Isabella Borges commented, coming up behind the
foursome.  "And our organization can use some new blood.  With
your permission, Anointed Ones, honored Seedlings, I can offer
her a fair chance at earning a place with us."

"Thank you, Ma'am!" Aditi and Tati chorused.

"And now," Mireille announced, checking her watch, "we have to
collect Johnny-"

"Must we?" Kirika interrupted whimsically.

"-and get to the airport.  You two girls," Mireille said, looking
at Aditi and Tati sternly, "have school tomorrow!"

End.
- - - - - - - - - -
Notes:

For those of you who think you recognize elements of Altena's
background, you're right; I did borrow somewhat modestly here.