Like diamond-tipped drills, regrets pierced her heart. She had failed the test by refusing the goddess's request. She had wasted this life, sought her reckoning too soon, and now it would end. Diribani would be so disappointed, and Tana's mother... Would Ma Hiral even be surprised that her headstrong daughter had insulted Naghali-ji? Maybe one of the twelve would have pity and send her back as an ox, to walk in endless circles, driving an oil press or sugarcane crusher. At least then she'd be useful to someone and no danger to herself.
Dully, Tana picked up the pitcher. Her mother and Diribani were waiting for the drinking water. She could only hope the goddess's mercy extended to keeping the viper from smiting Tana until after she had said good-bye to her family.
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***
CHAPTER SEVEN Diribani
TRUMPET notes floated in the air. Ta-ra-rah, ta-ra-ra-lay. Like a twig poked into a termite nest, the noise stirred Gurath's merchant quarter into a frenzy. Diribani heard it from her seat on the floor, where she braided flowers into garlands and waited for Tana to return. Up and down the street, shutters banged. Voices called; pushcarts creaked and rattled over packed dirt. She moved closer to the door and tugged at the curtain until she could peek out. She didn't expect anything interesting to happen in the empty courtyard, but it made her feel closer to the activity outside.
"Eyo, Mina Diribani, Mina Tana!" The neighbor boy climbed out of his second-floor window. Agile as a lizard, he hung briefly by his hands, then dropped from the sill to run along their shared wall. "Do you hear the trumpets? Come see, come see!"
Motioning Diribani to keep out of view, her stepmother ventured into the courtyard. "What is it, Indu?"
"Prince Zahid and Governor Alwar, back from the hunt. They're
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coming this way." Indu sighted along an imaginary barrel. "Maybe the prince shot a tiger!"
Ma Hiral made the sign to avert careless words. "By Sister Bhagiya's chariot, let us hope not! Eating animal flesh is indecent enough, but to kill a sacred beast for pride only? Those white-coats will have much to answer for in their next lives."
"But what if the tiger was a man-eater?" Indu straddled the wall facing the street. Mud-brick smudges joined the assortment of stripes and smears that masked the original color of his drawstring pants. His bare feet kicked the bricks. "Wouldn't Bhagiya-ji agree that shooting a man-eater before it killed more people was a worthy deed?"
Ma Hiral snorted. "That's a question for the priests at the temple grove, not for this ignorant woman."
"I'd like to see a tiger. Even a dead one," Indu said, so plaintively that Diribani chuckled.
"Grandson!" Fanning herself with the end of her blue dress wrap, a gray-haired woman leaned out the window through which Indu had exited. "Where'd that boy-- Oh, peace, Hiral-ji." Then, more sternly, "Indu, your mother told you to go upstairs. Did you not hear her?"
Indu folded his hands. "Nama-ji, she said she didn't want to see my face within two floors of the milk fudge, and that I should meditate on the sin of gluttony until Sister Payoja granted her prayers and blessed me with some manners."
"Then why do I find you outside bothering this lady with your squirrel chatter?"
Diribani watched as the boy turned big brown eyes on her stepmother. Ma Hiral came to his rescue, as Diribani had known she would.
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"No bother," she said. "In fact, the boy offered to describe the prince's party for us. Better he watches safely off the street, eh?"
"I'll tell you everything!" Indu promised. He shaded his eyes with his hand. "War elephants at Lotus Gate! Two lines of them, with shiny armor. The men on their backs carry spears."
"Brother Akshath shield us!" his grandmother exclaimed, but Diribani noticed that she had rested a hip on the windowsill and settled in to listen. "On no account are you to leave that spot, except to return to this room. Is that clear, grandson?"
"Yes, Nama-ji." Indu wriggled with excitement. "There are squads of soldiers, the governor's and the prince's both, by the flags. Next are the horsemen, the hunting cheetahs and their minders, pack camels, ranks of riflemen, and more soldiers on foot."
Sitting inside, the garlands forgotten in her lap, Diribani listened as Indu described the procession winding through their neighborhood. She heard the sounds: the tramp of feet, the musical notes of horns and the louder trumpeting of elephants, people cheering, and pushcart vendors shouting their wares.
Dealers in luxury goods like jewels and fine fabrics received customers at the market tents or were invited to call on their patrons with a selection of merchandise. A festive occasion like the return of a royal hunting party would attract a different class of vendor, selling treats or colorful trinkets to the crowd gathered to enjoy the free spectacle. On any other afternoon, Diribani would have been eager to see it for herself. Her stepmother's concern had affected her more than she wanted to admit. It seemed...fitting to wait for Tana. Her sister would help Diribani steer a course between Ma Hiral's warnings and the certainty Diribani felt in her heart that Naghali-ji meant her largesse to be shared.
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And then, mixed with the trumpets and the shouts of "charms for luck" and "fine ripe melons," came the sound of a woman screaming.
The wild shrieks brought Diribani to her feet, fists clenched around a finished garland. Not Tana, please the goddess!
"What happened?" Ma Hiral cried, as if she, too, was remembering that her daughter had not yet returned.
"I can't see." Teetering on the balls of his feet, Indu leaned out over the street.
"Grandson!" his grandmother called.
"Oh. Don't worry. It's only a white-coat, not one of our girls, arguing with a soldier." Indu dropped down to sit on his haunches. "I hope it's Gulrang," he said. "She kicked a lucky frog I was chasing at the well yesterday, when I almost had it! Maybe the soldier will give her a bloody nose."
"Indu," the two older women chorused in scolding voices, but the look they exchanged held relief.
Diribani didn't share their feeling. The cries continued, sharper and more frantic. Even if it was a white-coat who needed help-- especially Gulrang--this seemed a clear test of faith. Thanks to the goddess, Diribani had the means to bribe any man short of Emperor Minaz himself into letting go of an unwilling girl. Did she have the courage to brave the crowd for a person who might despise her?
What if it had been Tana? Or, if their situations were reversed, would Tana sit idle while another girl suffered?
The instant Diribani's mind posed the question, her body answered it. Fingers grabbed a handful of rubies to go with the garland she still held; feet carried her at a run out the door, across the courtyard, and through the gate. Like their house naga after a rat,
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Diribani tracked the scent of fear through the crowded streets. She ducked around pushcarts and between clumps of townsfolk, not caring that Ma Hiral chased her.
With quiet determination, Diribani elbowed her way through a wall of white-coats. Servant-quality coats made of inferior fabric, these were patched and stained and trimmed with colored ribbons. Young women screamed insults, tears of rage streaking their faces. A group of boys had locked arms to keep the girls away from the squad marching past. In the middle of the soldiers, a spitting, howling Gulrang was being passed from hand to hand. Each man in turn smacked a kiss on her lips or took a punch in the face, depending on whether the servant girl had managed to jerk her wrists free. The whole company, even those men she hit, treated her distress as a great jest. Each time her flailing fists connected with flesh, they roared with laughter.
Diribani ducked under a white sleeve and ran to the soldier with the most gold trim on his coat. She sketched a bow and walked beside him, offering the garland to show her goodwill. When he reached out, she dropped the uncut rubies into his palm. Then she gestured at Gulrang and folded her hands respectfully, begging with her eyes that he end the shameful treatment and return the girl to her friends.
Instead,
the man stepped on the garland and scattered the gemstones onto the ground. A heavy hand slapped Diribani's cheek. "Cow," he said loudly. "Flowers and rocks don't buy the emperor's men."
Diribani stifled a cry of pain. Face throbbing, she backed into the crowd. The onlookers were packed so tightly that she couldn't escape. She could only watch as the ranks of soldiers passed. Their interest felt like beetles crawling over her skin.
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Townsfolk who hadn't protested the white-coat girl's treatment by another Believer muttered angrily at the disrespect shown Diribani. Commoners weren't allowed to carry weapons, but dung pats had been known to stain white coats. In the wake of the procession's elephants, horses, and camels, steaming lumps of fresh ammunition littered the road.
Gulrang had stopped fighting. Arms and legs and neck limp, she let herself be passed from man to man. Closed eyes didn't contain the tears that trickled from under her lids.
The last soldier in that row might have tired of the game, or noticed how the mood of the crowd had changed. He shoved the weeping Gulrang at Diribani. "Take her. If she covered her face like a decent woman, she wouldn't be mistaken for a slut."
Diribani kept her mouth closed, though she wanted to answer. How like a white-coat, to blame a woman for his bad behavior.
"Sh, shh." Ma Hiral had found them. One arm held Diribani; the other wrapped around Gulrang's waist and supported her like another daughter.
A soldier in a subsequent row, more observant or just more curious than his fellows, picked up one of the rubies his leader had rejected. His eyes widened. After a sharp sideways glance at Diribani, the man closed his fingers around the prize and marched on, eyes straight ahead.
Many other people had also witnessed the exchange between Diribani and Gold-trim. More than a few knew who she was, and who her father had been. "Javerikh's daughter," one man said to another. "You remember, the gem dealer." Her name was whispered from ear to ear. A hush followed the whispers. The last few rows of soldiers hastened their steps to get through the crowd of too-quiet
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people. Though Tenth Province was far from the restless border, the quality of silence in the merchant quarter had become charged with danger, like the pause between the flash of Grandfather Chelok's lightning lance and the bone-rattling roar of thunder. A large gap opened between the marching men and the oxcarts that followed, laden with spoils of the hunt.
An indigo-stained dyer was the first to run into the empty stretch of street. His blue hands scrabbled in mud packed hard by marching feet. A brawny laborer followed him, and then a white-coat servant girl. Her cry of discovery, quickly muffled, drew other people. Vendors abandoned their pushcarts; porters dropped crates and bales. Beggar children squirmed into the fray, skinny elbows and knees jabbing for position.
The approaching oxcart drivers cracked their whips in warning, but the townsfolk refused to yield the way. None wanted to lose the chance of finding whatever the jeweler's daughter had offered the soldier. Rumors crackled like flame up and down the street. More people came, pushing and shoving, even if they didn't know exactly what they were seeking. As the street filled with struggling bodies, the prince's procession ground to a halt.
Her cheek aching, Diribani held tightly to her stepmother and Gulrang. The three of them were almost trampled before they found shelter between the handles of a pushcart full of yellow melons. The ripe scent filled Diribani's head as she watched the crowd's mood change from hope to something darker.
In the middle of the street, a fat man accused another of stepping on his hand, and was kicked in the knee for his trouble. His two friends, both white-coats, jumped on the kicker, and all three disappeared under a pile of cursing, shouting men.
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By the time the first of the overseers had worked his way from behind the oxcarts to find out what was blocking the procession, the prince's company of soldiers had returned. They waded into the crowd, knocking quarrelers apart with the flats of their swords. Howls of anger turned to cries of pain. The governor's man whistled for reinforcements.
Pinched between two groups of armed men, the townsfolk were herded out of the street and up against the building walls. Like swimmers emerging from deep water, they shook their heads, adjusted torn clothing, complained to their neighbors about the authorities' rough treatment. The drivers' whips cracked again. The oxcarts began to roll.
Diribani shuddered with relief. Next to her, she heard Gulrang's hard, fast breathing.
"We are going home this instant," Ma Hiral said.
Diribani nodded agreement. She draped the free end of her dress wrap over her face to hide the bruise forming. Her skin felt stretched and hot, her insides hollow. Crabwise, she edged out from between the pushcart's handles and helped Ma Hiral to do the same.
"That's her, in the pink dress," a voice shouted. "That's the one you want, the troublemaker who started the riot."
Before the voice finished speaking, Gulrang had ducked under the cart. On hands and knees, the servant girl crawled out of sight. With people pressing all around them, Diribani and Ma Hiral were trapped against the cart's wooden sides. Diribani glanced over her shoulder, but the melons were piled too high for them to climb over the cart and escape.
"This girl?" The closest overseer fingered his coat's yellow ties. Doubtfully, he eyed Diribani down the length of his long nose.
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"She's a respectable merchant's daughter," Ma Hiral shrilled. "Who accuses her?"
"I do." Gold-trim pushed forward, his face flushed with anger. Clumps of mud--and worse, judging from the smell of fresh dung that accompanied him--spotted his coat. Diribani jerked her head back, but she couldn't evade the hand that pushed her makeshift veil aside. "See?" Roughly, the soldier grabbed her chin and turned her head so the governor's man could view her battered face. "Marked the slut myself."
"And I cry justice for it," Ma Hiral quavered, while Diribani bit her tongue so she wouldn't be tempted to answer the soldier's insult. "For shame, striking a girl for the crime of offering flowers."
"You hit her for that?" The governor's man didn't sound happy.
Ma Hiral pressed her advantage. "Her father called on the fort many a time; ask Governor Alwar or his lady wife. There wasn't a more respected merchant in Gurath than Trader Javerikh."
"Javerikh the gem dealer? That Javerikh?" The overseer sounded even less enthusiastic about pursuing the matter. "Listen, fellow," he told Gold-trim, "whatever insult you think was offered, the girl will be wearing that bruise for days. How about we fine her family the cost of laundering your coat, and you drop your claim against her."
"Her father's a jeweler?" Diribani's accuser said. "Well, well. So, Mina, what were those little rocks, then?"
The man's oily politeness frightened Diribani more than his bluster had. Like a flock of crows, all Ma Hiral's warnings had descended on her shoulders to peck at her ears. She steeled herself to lower her eyes modestly and keep her mouth shut.
"Rocks?" the overseer said. "What's he talking about?"
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"I'm sure I don't know, sir," Ma Hiral said.
The soldier grunted. "Doesn't the little cow speak?"
"Careful, man!" the local white-coat warned. "This is Gurath, not Fanjandibad."
"Indeed," a new voice said. Not loudly, but with an unmistakable edge of command.
After an instant of shocked surprise, the people surrounding the pushcart drew back. As one, townsfolk dropped to their knees. A space opened around the disputants so that two men on horseback could approach.
One glance told Diribani that the worst had happened. She, too, knelt in the dirt, tugging Ma Hiral with her. She had seen Governor Alwar once before, at a distance. Up close, the cruel line of his mouth seemed even more pronounced.
His companion was much younger, a man close to Diribani's age, and different in every possible way from Gurath's governor. Lean where the older man was stocky, his expression as curious as Alwar's was disdainful, he wor
e dusty riding clothes in contrast to the governor's immaculate white coat and trousers. No question that this was Prince Zahid. Tousled black hair curled out from under a steel helmet chased with gold. The horse he rode, a dark bay with prancing hooves, was finer even than Jasmine. A cavalry officer's shield, mace, and bow hung from a saddle worked with gold thread. Jewels ornamented the horse's headstall, crowned by a ruby the size of an apricot.
It occurred to Diribani that Tana would have noticed the ruby first. She peeked out from under her lashes, studying the hawklike features of the one man who could save her from Governor Alwar.
"Easy, Dilawar, my brave one." The prince patted his horse's
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neck. "Captain Tashrif. Twenty-four hours in Gurath, and we're slaying the local ladies already?"
"Sire." Gold-trim bowed deeply, his face a mask. "She incited these people to riot."
"How's that?" the governor said sharply. One hand touched the hilt of the long sword that hung from his saddle.
"Your Excellency. Your Highness." Ma Hiral prostrated herself on the ground. "It's all a wretched mistake. We're respectable folk. I am a widow and this girl is the support of my old age. Please don't punish her."
"No one shall be judged without a fair hearing," the prince reassured the older woman. "Speak, maiden, in the emperor's name. How do you respond to Captain Tashrif's accusation?"
At the familiar formula, approval rumbled through the crowd. Expectant faces turned toward them as people made themselves comfortable. The emperor's justice could be dispensed anywhere, from his Hall of Public Audience in Lomkha to the deck of a ship at sea. Today, apparently, it pleased his younger son and representative to hear petitioners in the middle of the street.
As before, when Diribani had heard Gulrang screaming, not knowing who it was but certain of the task demanded of her, her body responded before her mind caught up with its intent. She laced her hands open in her lap and raised her chin so the prince could see her face clearly. When she met his inquiring gaze, a thrill chased along her spine. Her back straightened.
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