by Amy Raby
“Not tomorrow,” said Mandir. “We have the party at the magistrate’s.”
“Oh.” She wasn’t sure how she felt about that party. As a girl in her farm village, she’d loved parties. Food and wine flowed copiously, people told jokes and stories, and there was often a bonfire. But this was a ruling-class party. She didn’t know the customs. Mandir might feel at home, but she was likely to flounder.
“We have to attend, you know,” said Mandir.
“Yes.”
“It would look bad if we weren’t there,” said Mandir. “And there will be many potential suspects together in one room.”
Taya sighed. “Maybe if we’re lucky, the jackal will show up.”
Chapter 25: Hrappa
The morning dawned clear and bright, promising a hot afternoon. Three days and one night after a storm severe enough to flood the Lioness, Taya could see no sign that the dry, dusty streets of Hrappa had ever been graced by rain. Tonight was the party at the magistrate’s house, but they still had the morning available to them. Since Mandir wouldn’t let her go back to the river to scry, she’d decided to investigate Narat’s death another way: by visiting the family of the lover who was supposedly going to meet her at the river the day she died, but who had never showed up.
The flat brick building in the artisan district looked much like its fellows, but a heady aroma set it apart. The delectable scent of baking bread poured out of its windows. Taya, ravenous despite a substantial breakfast, was drawn to it like a honeybee to a flower.
They knocked on the wooden door, and a woman in a full-bodied white cotton apron appeared. Her welcoming smile faded as her eyes took in the Coalition green and silver. “Have you come to buy bread?”
“Yes,” said Taya. “We also need to ask you some questions.”
The woman looked unhappy but invited them inside. While the house was superficially similar to the others on the street, its construction was different in the rear, where it opened out onto the courtyard. Two large ovens, both actively fired, sat at the back of the house, ventilated by enormous windows. Flatbread loaves lay cooling on racks, some plain, others sprinkled with sesame seeds, and still others filled with raisins, nuts, and chopped dates. A smattering of flour covered a kneading table made of well-seasoned wood.
Taya’s mouth watered at the sight of the cooling loaves.
“Which kind would you like?” asked the baker.
Taya bought one of the nut- and date-filled ones, and Mandir asked for the same. She broke her loaf in half immediately, and delicious smells wafted out. She closed her eyes and inhaled. “What’s your name?”
“Vella,” said the baker.
“Do you live here alone?”
Vella hesitated before replying. “For the time being.”
“Did your son Kamber used to live with you?”
She nodded.
“And where is he now?” asked Taya.
Something flashed in Vella’s eyes—a look of pain, or perhaps anger. “Kamber was rebellious. I do not know where he has gone.”
“He disappeared the same day that Bodhan’s daughter Narat was killed,” said Taya.
Vella gave a tight, unwilling nod.
Taya watched her closely, looking for signs that she might be lying or evading the truth. “He was supposed to meet her at the river. But he never showed up.”
“I told him not to go,” said Vella. “That girl was above his station. He had no hope of marrying her, but he refused to listen.”
Mandir broke in. “How was she above his station? They’re both artisan caste.”
“The family is wealthy,” said Vella. “Bodhan hopes to marry his children into the ruling caste.”
“Do you think Kamber could have been at the river along with Narat and been killed by the jackal’s flood?” asked Taya.
Vella looked away. “It is possible, but I think unlikely. No body was found.”
“Or maybe there was no flood,” said Taya. “Maybe he killed her and then fled Hrappa.”
“He certainly did not,” said Vella, her brow wrinkling in offense.
Mandir said, “You must have some idea of where he is. You are his mother, after all. What if he gets into trouble? What if he needs you?”
Vella shook her head. “What is the use of disobedient children? I may be his mother, but Kamber and I were not in harmony.”
“What was the reason for your disharmony?” asked Taya.
“His desire to wed Narat.” Vella waved a hand toward the kneading table. “And he was clumsy with the bread.”
“You do a fine job with it,” Mandir said, gesturing with the heel of his loaf.
“Thank you,” said Vella. “But I’m afraid I cannot help you.”
“Why?” asked Mandir casually. “Has someone forbidden you to help?”
Vella shook her head, her eyes widening just enough to betray a hint of fear. But her voice was calm and controlled when she answered. “I do not know anything.”
Taya didn’t believe it. There was no way this baker woman did not know the whereabouts of her son. And Taya had a feeling that this woman was far from the only person in Hrappa keeping secrets from the Coalition.
∞
At Mandir’s insistence, Taya rested again through the heat of the afternoon. When evening arrived, she tried on the stunning multicolored sundress he’d given her. The fit wasn’t perfect—she’d have to take it to a tailor later and have some alternations made—but she loved it so much she wore it anyway.
Mandir knocked on her door, and she went out to meet him.
“You look stunning,” he said.
She cast a skeptical eye at him. Did he really mean that, or was he being sarcastic? Those critical eyes of his noticed every fault. Her headdress was a bit of a mess, probably, but she decided she didn’t care.
Mandir was in his green silk. She was glad she wasn’t wearing the same, since that would have made them look like a matched pair. If the men at the party thought she and Mandir were together, she might have a hard time finding a Hrappan lover.
“Goals tonight?” asked Mandir softly.
“Meet people. Look for the witness and the jackal.” Also, find a Hrappan lover, but that was none of Mandir’s business.
They set off through the dusty streets. The sun sat big and red on the horizon, shedding a rosy half-light. They were not alone in making the walk to the magistrate’s personal residence. Several well-dressed couples and family groups were moving in the same direction.
Mandir reached out and took her arm. Her skin shuddered at his unexpected touch, the way Pepper’s did when a fly landed on her shoulder. But the moment of alarm passed, and her thoughts drifted toward more pleasant memories, like Mandir carrying her out of the water, Mandir holding her while he healed her wounds. On the riverbank, he’d been strong and gentle. She’d wanted to nuzzle that muscled chest of his. She shook her head. What was wrong with her? She’d been having the strangest thoughts lately.
The magistrate’s house was similar to the other houses in Hrappa: rectangular in frame and built of mud brick with a flat, tiled roof. But it was far larger, and its front door was wider. Two terracotta bears, each almost the size of a man, flanked the doorway. Taya and Mandir joined the throng passing between the bears and into the house and were ushered straight through it into the courtyard. Like her own courtyard at home, it was bounded by four walls, but in this case they were not the walls of separate homes. They were all parts of the magistrate’s home.
She paused inside the courtyard and looked around. What did people do at ruling-caste parties? Some people sat at tables while others stood beneath trees or perched on benches. A little evening sunlight set the garden aglow, but the light wouldn’t last long. Flaming torches had been mounted on poles around the courtyard. When night fell, she imagined the partygoers would crowd around those torches—unless they wanted a little privacy, in which case they might find some dark corner where others’ eyes wouldn’t find them.
&
nbsp; The partygoers were finely dressed. One young woman, surrounded by half a dozen admiring men, wore a dress laced with gold thread. She shimmered in the evening sun like a living jewel.
You can do this, she told herself. Who cares if they’re ruling caste? They’re people like any others, just with fancier clothes. She had been taught a little caste etiquette at Mohenjo Temple. All she had to do was circulate and be polite and not make a fool out of herself.
Servants moved about the courtyard, carrying plates of food. One whisked past Taya, bearing a plate of candied dates in one hand and a plate of spiced onager in the other. A second servant walked by carrying a jug of wine. Taya looked around and found ceramic wine goblets lined up in neat rows on a table by the door. She plucked one of them and motioned to the wine bearer. He came over and tipped his jug to fill her goblet.
“Where to?” asked Mandir in a low voice.
She considered his question and its implications. Did she want to be tied to Mandir all evening? There would be advantages to having his company. He knew the customs of the ruling caste, and she could follow his example and avoid making a fool of herself. On the other hand, she’d probably be viewed as his adjunct instead of as a separate Coalition representative. And there was no chance at all of her meeting a potential lover if Mandir hovered possessively at her side. “I think we should split up.”
For a moment he looked hurt. Then his brow furrowed, and he stepped closer. “What if you spot the jackal?”
“I’ll come and find you. We worked out the hand signals before.”
“Taya—” he protested, but before he could say anything further, she extracted her arm from his and moved away into the crowd.
She spotted Wasan the tax collector. Not exactly a friend, but at least he was someone she knew. He stood by one of the torches, in a group with another man and two women. Taya waved to Wasan, and he smiled at her. She joined them.
“Coalition,” murmured one of the women.
Apparently Taya was recognized even without her green and silver. The smiles that greeted her were thin, but she ignored that. “My name is Taya, Coalition fire seer. You are...?”
She exchanged small talk with the group for a while, and moved on to another, and then another. When the sunlight faded and the moon rose, the conversations became easier. Ruling-caste people weren’t as intimidating as she had thought. Mostly they were just stuffy. Many of the men were scribes and bureaucrats with jobs that were about inspecting things and keeping records. They sounded boring. As she moved from group to group, she searched surreptitiously for the witness or the jackal, but saw neither.
She was aware of Mandir circulating on the other side of the courtyard. In his green silk, he was impossible not to notice. He stayed apart from her, conversing mostly with the men. Every now and then, she felt his eyes on her back and knew he was taking his job as her protector seriously. He’d been nursing the same wine goblet all evening. Either he didn’t like the wine or he was keeping his wits about him.
She left one group of people and was seeking another—that couple sitting under the tree looked like they didn’t want company—when someone tapped on her shoulder. She turned and saw the magistrate’s son Kalbi.
“My father requests your presence at the high table,” he said. “Will you come?”
She glanced in the direction he was indicating. “Certainly.”
He led her to a round table in the very center of the courtyard, surrounded by four flaming torches. There the magistrate sat, looking as peaked and ill as the day she’d met him.
“How are you feeling?” she asked as she took a seat. Kalbi sat beside her.
“As well as can be expected,” said the magistrate, raising his rheumy eyes to hers. “How proceeds your investigation?”
Taya glanced around the table at the many strangers seated with them. “Extremely well,” she said, deciding it wouldn’t be a good idea to provide details.
“Excellent,” said the magistrate. “Will you drink with us?”
She raised her goblet to indicate that she was already drinking.
“Oh, not that.” The magistrate hid a smile.
Mandir slipped into the seat across from her. “He means gold dust.”
“What’s gold dust?” she asked, wondering why Mandir had suddenly shown up. Had he been invited to the high table as she had been, or was he here because he thought she was in danger? Maybe he was just here because he hated it when other people paid attention to her.
The magistrate laughed. “What is gold dust? Not to be too obvious about it, but it is dust made from gold.” His laugh turned into a strangled cough, and everyone waited politely for him to regain his composure.
Taya kept her expression carefully neutral. It was uncomfortable being around this very sick man, who she feared wouldn’t see the end of the season. And she didn’t like being laughed at. Dust made from gold. Why would anyone drink that? There was a pitcher in the middle of the table, so bright and polished it might have been made of gold itself, and several cups. “What does it taste like?” She peered into the nearest cup. The liquid inside did appear gold, although it was hard to tell.
“Not like much of anything,” said the magistrate. “But it’s a potent aphrodisiac, and for a sick old man like me, this is a good thing.” He tried to laugh, but only coughed again.
She raised her eyes to Mandir. “It’s an aphrodisiac?”
Mandir’s face was tight. “Some people believe that. I do not.”
“Give her some, Kalbi,” said the magistrate. “And some for the Coalition gentleman as well. Or are you not allowed to drink gold?”
“Coalition members may not wear gold,” said Mandir, “but we may handle it and otherwise interact with it.”
Kalbi took the empty cups and filled both of them. He pushed one across the table to Mandir and handed the other to Taya.
She stared suspiciously into the cup. Was this for real, or were these ruling-caste scions mocking her somehow? The liquid glittered. It really appeared to be gold dust, steeped in some kind of liquid. She’d never heard of anyone drinking such a thing. What a waste of good money, when there were farmers starving in Hrappa. And it didn’t look wholesome. If the magistrate drank this on a regular basis, could it be the reason for his illness? “You drink this yourself?” she asked Kalbi.
Kalbi lifted his cup. “From time to time.”
That was reassuring. Unlike the magistrate, Kalbi appeared healthy. Still, she hesitated.
“I’ll show you,” said Kalbi. He poured some liquid from the pitcher into his cup and tipped it back, drinking the cup’s entire contents. He turned it upside down to demonstrate that it was empty and smiled.
“I’m not sure I want to drink an aphrodisiac,” she said.
“It’s not an aphrodisiac,” said Mandir. “People just say that. But you needn’t drink it if you’d rather not.” He lifted his cup and drained its contents.
“You’ve had it before?” she asked him.
Mandir nodded.
If Mandir wasn’t afraid of it, and neither was Kalbi, she saw no reason to refuse. They’d probably think her a hopeless provincial if she did. She swirled the liquid in her cup and sipped it. For some reason, she’d expected the gold dust to be steeped in water, when in fact most of what was in her cup was hard liquor. She blinked, but managed to suppress the cough reflex as it went down. Subsequent swallows were easier since she knew what to expect. The gold seemed to have no taste at all, or was overpowered by the liquor.
“Thank you,” she said to the magistrate, although she wasn’t sure she should be grateful. She believed Mandir that it wasn’t really an aphrodisiac, and she was glad to have had the experience of what appeared to be a ruling-caste custom, but what a foolish custom it was, drinking gold.
Chapter 26: Hrappa
Mandir followed Taya when she left the high table. She seemed not to notice he was behind her. She’d been ignoring him almost since the moment they arrived, and he was ge
tting tired of it. He took her arm to stop her.
She spun around, startled. Then her eyes narrowed. “What?”
“Have you seen anyone yet?” he asked in a low voice.
“It’s a party. I’ve seen lots of people.”
“You know what I mean.”
“No, I haven’t seen either one of them. But I haven’t covered this side of the courtyard yet.” She indicated the direction she’d been walking.
He stepped alongside her. “I’ll go with you.”
“No,” she snapped. Then more gently, “I’m less intimidating alone. I don’t come across as part of a team of meddling Coalition, but as a woman looking for a pleasant time.”
He frowned. What sort of a pleasant time was she talking about? Just drinking and talking to people, or something else?
Taya spoke again. “What’s with the gold dust, really? The magistrate said it was an aphrodisiac. You say it’s not.”
He shrugged. “Drinking gold dust is what rich people do to show off how rich they are. As for its being an aphrodisiac, that’s something old, frustrated men like to tell themselves, but I’ve never known it to be true.”
“I see.” She looked relieved. “Well, I’ll go talk to these people I haven’t seen yet.”
He released her, and she disappeared into the crowd. He folded his arms, feeling testy. He’d managed to conceal his feelings at the high table, but he despised gold dust. His father, Tufan, had drunk it every night. On those occasions when he’d abducted a farmer-caste woman to ravish, he took a double dose. Tufan was impotent. Mandir had known, from the angry shouts and the accompanying screams of the woman, as Tufan’s frustrated sexual urges turned to violence, that gold dust didn’t do what so many men wished it did.
He didn’t feel like mingling anymore. He grabbed a wine goblet from a tray, and a plate of smoked palla with mustard seeds. The sun was down, and a full moon sat bright and yellow on the horizon. He found an unoccupied bench far from the torches, shaded and dark, and sat down to eat in privacy. He glanced around the room in search of that multicolored sundress and located Taya. She was speaking animatedly in a group surrounding one of the torches. He recognized one of the men in the group—Bodhan the cloth merchant—and his muscles tensed. Bodhan was very much a suspect; Mandir ought to be there to watch over her. But she’d made a reasonable point about her being less intimidating on her own than with him, and it was unlikely anyone would attempt to harm her in such a public place. He’d just keep an eye on her.