Chaya followed Neel out, with a backwards glance at the box on the shelf. The Queen’s pendant brushed her ankle through her hem.
Father.
Had she accidentally put him in danger?
Neel’s unfinished sentence couldn’t have been any clearer to her.
When Chaya awoke the next morning, Father was already gone. Something big had to be going on.
Aunty was sitting by the breakfast table, mending one of Chaya’s skirts. “You must be careful, Chaya,” she said, glancing up over her sewing. “All this running around like a boy. This is the third skirt I’ve had to mend this week. Are you playing with those good-for-nothing boys at the river again?”
“Once in a while, yes. Nothing wrong with them.” Chaya sat down and opened a dish on the table. Steam rose from chunks of freshly boiled sweet potato. She helped herself to one with some grated coconut. “Father’s left early?”
“There’s some trouble brewing right here in Nirissa. Did you hear about the robbery at the palace?”
Chaya nodded, taking a bite of her sweet potato.
“I heard things were pretty bad last night in the next village. The King is furious, and he’s taking it out on the people. As usual.” Aunty pulled her needle out and snapped the thread between her teeth. “Whoever stole those jewels… It’s a death sentence if you ask me.”
The food went floury and heavy in Chaya’s mouth, and she had difficulty swallowing. She stared out of the window. Sunshine dappled the lawn under the neem tree, where a mongoose slunk across the grass. “Who are they looking for? Do they have a, er, description or something?”
“It’s strange, but nobody’s sure.” Aunty crinkled her brow as she folded up the skirt on her lap. “Some people mention a dark, reedy boy. Some say he was plump, and ran with a limp.”
The two boys stealing rice cakes! They’d run away too, and each might have been mistaken as the jewel thief.
“A guard at the palace has even got it into his head that it was a girl,” said Aunty. “Around twelve years old, medium-brown complexion, hair in a long plait, tall.”
“Oh.” Chaya studied her mottled reflection on the panelling of the window. “That could be anyone. Even me, for example.”
Aunty laughed. “True. Nobody believes him, of course. A girl!”
“What’s the trouble they’re expecting today then, Aunty?”
“General Siri and his men have been marching through the surrounding villages trying to … persuade people to give up the thief. This morning it’s our turn, unfortunately.”
Chaya blanched at the sound of General Siri’s persuading. “How long are they going to do that for? If no one confesses they’ll have to give up surely?”
“Give up! The King has enemies who’d be glad to see him toppled. You know how paranoid he is about his position. This is huge, someone getting into the palace like that. He’s not going to let it go.”
Chaya’s mouth suddenly felt parched. She poured out a tumbler of water from the clay pitcher.
“What’s the matter?” said Aunty. “Why aren’t you eating?”
Chaya looked down. The sight of the food made her feel sick. “I’m just not hungry.” She pushed her plate away.
Aunty tutted but said nothing.
“I should get going,” Chaya said.
“Chaya, you’ve hardly eaten. There’s still time before school. Finish your breakfast.”
“I want to go and see Neel first.” She got up and swung her satchel on to her shoulder.
“That boy Neelan, doesn’t he have enough work to do without you always dropping in? My brother spoils you, letting you run around like a wild thing. Other girls of twelve have even stopped going to school by now.”
“See you later, Aunty.” Chaya hurried past before she could say any more, and hotfooted it out of the house.
Something was wrong in Nirissa.
Where was everyone? The lanes were quiet as Chaya made her way to the workshop. No sounds of ekel brooms sweeping out front yards, no metal buckets clanking into wells or the gush of water pouring over bathers.
Shouts echoed in the distance. Chaya ran down the pebbly paths towards them, her satchel slapping against her leg. A dense knot of people blocked the view.
Chaya pushed her way to the front.
The King’s men were here.
They were outside one of the little houses. The front door was open and the family’s possessions had been thrown outside. Chaya recognised the house. It was Bala’s, from school.
A soldier tossed a small sack of rice out of the house, spilling the contents on the ground over a heap of reed mats, pillows, and clothes spotted with lentils. A woman threw herself on the rice, sobbing, and tried to scoop it up with her hands.
No, no, no. This couldn’t be happening.
General Siri was standing by his horse, dressed in his high-shouldered purple jacket, an embossed-leather dagger sheath strung at his side. Father was next to him and they seemed to be arguing, Father jabbing his arm towards Bala’s house. General Siri sighed and turned away.
“You’ll all be next,” he yelled at the silent crowd. “All of you. Unless you give up the thief.”
A whisper passed through the mass of people, and Chaya slipped away. Out of sight of the villagers, and Father, and Bala’s family’s pain. She leaned against a wattle and daub wall, grinding her head into its roughness.
All this suffering in her village. It was her fault.
A boy’s voice screamed. “It wasn’t me! It really wasn’t.”
Chaya squeezed her eyes shut, blocking out the sound of Bala’s screaming. She wiped the sweat off her face. She had to do something.
There was a movement in front of her. A small girl was studying Chaya, thumb in mouth. It was Bala’s little sister.
“I’m sorry,” Chaya whispered. “I’m so sorry. I’ll put it right, I promise.”
The child glanced round, wondering if Chaya was talking to her.
Chaya stumbled away from the noise and the crowds towards the edge of the village. She broke into a run and bolted down the paths, branches scraping at her arms and snagging on her skirt. She couldn’t let this happen. It had to stop.
She flew out of the village and through the paddy fields. Up ahead she could see movement inside the workshop. Neel was there already.
“Neel!” Chaya shouted as she sprinted up. “Neel, I have to give them back.”
She held her aching side and halted at the doorway, doubled up and panting.
Neel was standing very stiffly, glaring at her. There were people in the workshop. Customers.
Neel’s master, Kumar the carpenter, was with them. He turned to Chaya, frowning slightly, before going back to his customers.
They were a finely dressed merchant and a girl around Chaya’s age, probably his daughter. Chaya gawped at their flowing, silken clothes.
“It is perfect,” said the merchant, bending over a small cabinet. He spoke his words slowly, Chaya’s language sounding strange on his tongue.
Chaya turned back to Neel. There were beads of sweat on his forehead. What’s wrong? she mouthed. Neel’s eyes darted to the girl.
“I’ll bring it to you as soon as it’s done,” said the carpenter. “I’m glad you’re satisfied with how it’s going.”
The merchant nodded and smiled. Thankfully, it looked like they were leaving. The girl turned around.
She was carrying something in her hands.
Chaya gasped. She clutched Neel, whose arm was hot and clammy.
“We will take this,” said the girl.
She held up a box. It was carved with a two-headed bird, carrying a snake in its claws.
The box seemed to mock Chaya from the girl’s hands. She felt like snatching it off her right there and then.
The merchant frowned at the two-headed bird on the lid. “That’s an odd-looking carving. Choose something else, Nour.”
Chaya sprang at Nour and gripped the box, her hands tight on the smooth, varnished wo
od. “Your father’s right, this one’s really ugly. Look, there are nicer boxes over there.”
But Nour wouldn’t let go, holding on in spite of Chaya’s efforts. “Sorry,” she said, her voice soft and firm at the same time. “I like this one.”
“Actually, that box is someone else’s,” said Neel. “I’ve already promised it. I have to deliver it later today.”
The carpenter stared at Neel. “You taking orders for me now, boy? Keep your mouth shut.” He swiped his hand to make Neel step away.
“It’s a shame you like this particular one, though,” said Chaya, still holding tight. “It has a, er, defect.”
“That’s true,” said Neel, nodding from where he had retreated to behind a mahogany cabinet. “The little drawer keeps getting stuck.”
“Oh, we don’t want it then,” said the merchant.
“Yes, we do, Father.” Nour tugged at the box. “I like it.”
“Not to worry then,” said Chaya. “It’s easily fixable. Neel will work on it and bring it to you tomorrow.”
“I don’t mind really,” said Nour, taking a hand off to slide the drawer open and shut repeatedly. It looked like it was gliding on oil.
“But I insist,” said Neel. “That’s not accept—”
“Neelan!” said the carpenter. “Enough. What’s the meaning of this? Know your place, boy. Miss Chaya, you’d better leave. And you, boy, another word from you…” He glared at Neel.
Chaya backed out of the workshop, feeling Nour’s eyes boring into her all the way. She hesitated in the doorway.
The merchant’s expression furrowed as he looked from the carpenter to Neel to Chaya. “Nour, why not take something else? Look, this one has a lotus flower. It looks much nicer.”
Chaya nodded to herself. Yes, put your foot down, Nour’s father. What a spoilt monkey that Nour was.
“But this one’s nicer, I like the pattern. And it’s also…” Nour’s eyes darted to Chaya, and there was a faint smirk on her face. “It’s also heavier than the others.” She turned back to the carpenter. “We’ll take it.”
Chaya watched from behind a clump of papaya trees. A breeze whistled through the trees, blowing wisps of hair into her eyes and whipping at her plait. She had retreated from the workshop but watched, hands on head, as her precious jewels were being taken away.
The merchant stepped outside. Nour followed behind, her floaty red gown swishing through the green of the paddy field. They threaded their way along the path, Nour holding the box like a prize in her hands.
She wouldn’t work it out, would she? Neel’s handiwork had to be too clever for her. The thought of the jewels being discovered was too much to bear.
The merchant passed Chaya first, talking to Nour over his shoulder in a foreign tongue. He was quite unlike his daughter, big and broad shouldered, with a swarthy face under his white turban in the style of their people. Nour tripped along after him, leaving a smell of warm sand and jasmine behind her.
At the edge of the fields a carriage waited, and Nour got in, followed by her father. They left by the cartway skirting the village towards the King’s City. Chaya watched them go before sprinting along the river path. It was a shortcut she’d taken many times, through thorny shrubs that ripped her skirt. She’d just have to face Aunty’s wrath later.
Stopping outside the gates into the city, Chaya crept up behind the old war bell. The trundle of wheels followed shortly after, and Nour and her father swept in through the entryway. Chaya followed at a leisurely pace, as she’d seen the carriage stop at the market and Nour get down at a lace stall. The seller measured out and bundled several lengths into fat rounds for Nour. Then she got back in the carriage and they moved on again, taking the little bridge over the lotus-speckled river to the residential part of the city.
This was where all the big villas were, standing in gardens of shady trees thick with frangipani flowers. The carriage turned into a street and stopped at a large house at the end.
So this was where Nour lived. More importantly, this was where the box was going to be.
Not for long, though. Because Chaya was going to get it back.
She smiled from her position behind the wall as Nour took the box inside.
Copyright
First published in the UK in 2021 by Nosy Crow Ltd
The Crow’s Nest, 14 Baden Place
Crosby Row, London SE1 1YW
www.nosycrow.com
ISBN: 978 1 78800 943 0
eISBN: 978 1 78800 944 7
Nosy Crow and associated logos are trademarks and/or registered trademarks of Nosy Crow Ltd
Text copyright © Nizrana Farook, 2021
Cover copyright © David Dean, 2021
The right of Nizrana Farook to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted.
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