“The brother. Zashkalim isu Ikkarum. He had custody of his sister,” said Rasik.
“He’s a farmer,” said Taya, pleased. Finally she would be in her own element. She looked at the sun, which was high in the sky. “Will he be available to see us?” During the growing season, most farmers spent the day outside the city walls, working in the fields, and would not receive visitors until sundown.
“This one might be,” said Rasik. “He’s rich, has people working for him. Lives outside Hrappa.”
Taya’s curiosity was piqued. She was aware there were some farmers who’d overcome the limitations of their caste to become wealthy, although she’d never known any personally. The caste system didn’t consign farmers to be poor so much as it limited what they could do with their lives. Only those in the ruling caste could hold positions of governance, only those in the artisan caste were eligible to learn trades, and only those in the farmer caste could lay claim to lands outside the city walls and work them. Some farmers didn’t actually grow food, but mined the land for ore or harvested trees for timber. She was curious how this Zashkalim isu Ikkarum had managed to enrich himself off the land. It wasn’t commonly done.
They cantered their horses through the floodplains, splashing through the standing water the rain and river had left behind. Few farmers were out—little work could be done in these conditions—and they were nearly alone in a great expanse of mud and flooded farmland. Except for the city of Hrappa itself, and the river, if you were on high enough ground to see it, there were no landmarks. Taya was aware of how easy it would be to get lost out here, especially if one lost sight of the city. It amazed her that Rasik seemed to unerringly find his way.
Rasik was leading them to higher ground. Zashkalim’s lands were not in the floodplains, as it turned out, but on high ground away from the river. The first sign they’d left the area of the inundation was the appearance of a muddy road. It became a trail, marked by a stone cairn, that wound through brush and stubby trees up a gently sloping hill.
The hill began to level off. Taya’s black mare leapt up an outcropping of rock, and before them, in a great clearing, sprawled a house. Unlike the flat rectangles of well-planned Hrappa, it appeared to have grown organically over generations, some parts old and some parts new, rather like a wasp’s nest. Several enormous date palms stood sentry about the edges of the house, their feathery fronds casting the place in shade. Though it was a finer house than Taya had grown up in, the date palms and the house’s makeshift appearance reminded her of home, and something twisted inside her at the memories.
“That house looks like...” Mandir fished for words. “Like something exploded.”
“I love it,” Taya gushed.
Mandir looked at her askance.
Someone in peasant clothes trotted up to them from the back of the house. Taya wondered if this might be Zashkalim, but Rasik called to him, “Fetch your master,” and the man trotted away.
They waited a long time. Wilting in the midmorning heat and the humidity from last night’s rain, they dismounted from their horses and led the animals into the shade of one of the date palms. After a while, a man came walking up a path from behind the house, his strides long and easy. He gave them a friendly wave as he drew near.
“That’s him,” Rasik informed them in a low voice.
“Coalition?” called the farmer as he entered the shade of the date palm. “I heard you were in town.”
“Zashkalim isu Ikkarum?” said Taya.
“Call me Zash,” he said. They made introductions, and he touched fingers with Mandir and Rasik. He came to Taya last, and his eyes lingered on her as he completed the gesture. “Nice headdress.”
“Thank you,” said Taya, glancing at Mandir as if to share the compliment with him. He didn’t look pleased. This farmer appeared to be within a year or two of her own age, and Taya felt an instant sense of kinship with him. Before her Gift had developed, she and the other village girls had gossiped endlessly about the local men, making lists of which ones they most hoped to marry, although they knew full well that some of them would be contracted not to bright-eyed young men but to crusty old widowers. Still, they’d hoped and dreamed, and Taya could see, looking at Zash, that this man would be at the top of any list.
He wasn’t as tall as Mandir or as heavily built, but he was strong in a wiry sort of way, and he moved with the ease one would expect of someone who was physical on a daily basis and felt comfortable in his own skin. His eyes were dark and perceptive, his smile easy and confident, and he had the sort of ageless face that would stay handsome for decades.
“I’m so pleased to meet you,” said Taya, wondering if he was married yet. “But I’m afraid we’re here on unhappy business. We’ve come to investigate the murder of your sister.”
“Of course,” Zash said soberly. “Before we begin, may I inquire as to yourselves? Are you hungry, thirsty, in need of anything?”
“We’re fine,” grunted Mandir.
“But it’s kind of you to ask,” said Taya.
Zash smiled. “Anything for a lady. You seem young for Coalition work. Have you been qualified long?”
“Actually, this is—”
“Long enough,” interrupted Mandir, folding his arms.
“I’m sorry, I meant no offense,” said Zash. “I’m not familiar with how Coalition teams work. Are the two of you husband and wife?”
“Oh, no,” said Taya with a laugh. “We’re just work partners. I’m a fire seer, and he’s a quradum—part of the Coalition’s enforcement arm.”
“I’m the one who burns people to death if they cause trouble,” said Mandir.
Taya frowned at him.
“Right,” said Zash, eyeing him warily. “Do you want to see the crime scene first?”
“Please,” said Taya.
“We’ve a walk ahead of us, then. I can’t allow the horses in my banana fields; their hooves compact the soil. I’ll tell you about Amalia—that’s my sister—along the way.”
They tied the horses to a post in the shade, leaving Rasik to tend them, and followed Zash down a trail behind the house.
“It’s not far,” said Zash, urging them along with a tireless stride. “Amalia was my younger sister. Five years ago—you may have heard this in Hrappa—the white fever swept through this area. It devastated my household. We were all afflicted, and we all survived, but only I came out of it unscathed. My parents were so severely weakened that they lived less than a year past their recovery, and Amalia...well, the fever left her touched in the head.”
“Touched in the head? What do you mean?” asked Taya.
“She went mad,” said Zash. “She became a danger to herself and to others. I had to lock her up.”
“You locked up your sister?” said Mandir.
“I had no choice, sir.”
“Tell me about the rest of your family,” said Taya. “Are you married? Do you have any children, any other siblings?”
“None,” said Zash. “I’m sorry to say I am all that remains of my family.”
The path made a slight turn and angled downward, and they entered a valley full of banana plants. Taya walked ahead, breathing in the sweet fragrance. Though Mandir was wrong and she did not hail, in fact, from a family of banana farmers, she was familiar with banana cultivation, as were nearly all peasant farmers from her village. Nearly every family kept one or two banana plants to supplement their diet, just as nearly every family kept a pig. She’d always loved the plants. They looked like trees, but were not trees. They were enormous plants with leaves broad enough to be used as umbrellas. A field of banana plants was a cool, tropical-scented jungle.
“I imagine this is like home for Taya,” said Mandir from behind her. “Her parents were banana farmers.”
“Were they really?” said Zash.
“No,” said Taya. “My partner is mistaken about me, as usual.”
“What are you talking about?” said Mandir.
“My parents were d
ate farmers,” said Taya. “I do love a banana plantation, though.” However, something felt off about this banana field. She didn’t see many banana bunches on the trees, and the leaves were limp and ragged. “Have you had blight?”
“You’ve a good eye,” said Zash. “The entire plantation is blighted.”
Taya moved to the nearest tree for a look. Yes, there was no doubt about it. There were the telltale brown spots on the undersides of the leaves. Blighted plants would produce little if anything in the way of fruit. It was a devastating disease because even if one cut down and burned the affected plants right away, the blight tended to spread rapidly.
“Have you had the Coalition up here?”
“Once,” said Zash. “They cured my plants, but unfortunately the bananas in the city of Hrappa are blighted too. Those plants were not cured, and my own plants blighted again within the year. The first treatment was expensive, and I could not afford a second.”
Taya hadn’t seen any banana plants in Hrappa, but then she hadn’t been looking for them. “It’s a long way between here and there. Pretty far for blight to spread.”
“Nevertheless, it did,” said Zash.
Taya frowned. It seemed unfair that the Coalition had charged Zash a lot of money for a treatment that hadn’t lasted long enough to be worth the price. But that was the way it worked. Afflictions like blight often recurred. “How long have your plants been blighted?”
“Years,” said Zash. “We eke out a harvest, but I’m losing money.”
As they followed the trail through the field, Taya saw that this was, indeed, a working banana plantation—a well-managed one, if one could ignore the blight. The plants were at various stages of growth, the mature ones higher than her head, with great, waxy canopies. Now and again she spotted a worker through the trees, pruning dead leaves, placing protective netting around immature banana bunches, and chopping suckers off the mother plants. The ground beneath them was littered with dead banana leaves, but she couldn’t find a weed anywhere.
She found herself liking Zash. She knew well the sufferings of farmers whose fortunes depended on a host of factors over which they had no control. Zash understood banana farming, and he was doing everything right. This affliction was not his fault.
“How is it you are able to raise bananas here at all?” said Taya. “You’ve no access to the river for irrigation. Isn’t the weather too dry during the seasons of Lalan and Isatis?”
Zash smiled. “You may have noticed, we do irrigate.” He pointed at a dry canal that ran down one of the alleyways of plants.
“So you do.” Taya’s brow furrowed. “But whence comes the water?”
“There lies a story,” said Zash. “I’ll show you.”
“Perhaps we should get on with our business,” said Mandir.
“No, I want to see this,” said Taya. Bananas couldn’t be grown in waterlogged soils, yet they needed regular watering. Hrappa’s floodplains and seasonal monsoons were unsuitable for banana farming, yet here were the plants.
Zash changed direction, leading them down a new alleyway. “You’ll notice this valley has unique geography. That hill over there, and that one, shelter us from the prevailing winds during the monsoons, very important since banana plants are delicate. A strong wind will knock them over. A lesser wind may shred their leaves.”
“Yes, but the water?”
“You’ll see in a moment. We’re following the canal.”
Taya saw that they were, indeed, following the irrigation canal and heading uphill to what must be its source.
“My ancestors,” said Zash, “were of independent minds. While all the other farmers in Hrappa staked out territory in the floodplains and grew grain, my ancestors found this valley and put it to a different use. When all your neighbors are planting wheat and barley, wheat and barley have little value. And when you’re the only person growing bananas, bananas are worth a great deal, do you understand?”
“I understand,” said Taya.
“Here we are,” said Zash.
Ahead of them was a stone wall, not much higher than Taya’s knee. It enclosed a great pool of water, dug deep into the ground.
“You have stored water?” said Taya.
“It’s a reservoir,” said Zash. “This is one of three. They’re flush right now, so soon after the monsoons and last night’s storm, but they’ll run low during the season of Isatis. I use them sparingly, so I cannot demonstrate their use for you, but if I pull this lever...see here.” He ran his hand along to a lever almost as long as Taya was tall. “It opens a gap and water flows into the channel and through the irrigation system.”
“How in the name of the Mothers did you build such a thing?” demanded Mandir, stepping closer to Zash and directly into Taya’s field of vision.
“I didn’t build it,” said Zash. “My parents’ parents’ parents did, and each generation after has expanded on it and improved it. I’ve had to make repairs and shore up places that have weakened. But it’s worth the trouble. Or it would be, if the trees weren’t blighted.”
“I think it’s tremendously clever,” said Taya.
“Aren’t we here to scry a crime scene?” said Mandir.
“Of course,” said Zash. “I’ll take you there now.”
Chapter XIII
Hrappa
IN THE MIDDLE OF THE banana field sat a stone hut, thoroughly burned out, its roof missing and its walls scored black from char.
“This is where Amalia died,” said Zash.
“What is this building?” asked Taya. “What was she doing here?”
“She lived here.”
“She lived here? Not in the main house?” Taya glanced at Mandir, wondering what he thought of this. He was silent, his face unreadable.
“We built this place for her, away from the household, away from the servants, and kept her under guard where she could do no one harm,” said Zash.
Taya shifted on her feet. “That seems...an odd thing to do.”
“I realize it must seem odd to you, who never knew her,” said Zash. “But most of the servants and farm workers live in the main house, and they were frightened of her. She was loud and violent. Some of the servants threatened to leave. In the end, I had no choice but to isolate her.”
“I’d like to look around the ruin,” said Taya. When Zash moved to follow her, she said, “Stay where you are, please.” Mandir accompanied her, and as soon as they were out of earshot of Zash, she told him, “I can’t scry here.”
He frowned. “Are you sure?”
“Quite sure. There are too many trees nearby. I can’t risk burning his plantation.”
Mandir kicked over a charred rock with his foot. “There’s been fire here already.”
“I know. But that doesn’t mean I can expose him to the risk again. Scry-fires are enormous.”
“I don’t like it,” said Mandir, glancing back at Zash.
“Neither do I,” said Taya.
Mandir, looking disgusted, wandered about the burned house to search for clues. Taya did the same, although she doubted she’d find anything of interest. It did appear to be a magical fire, in that she could see no remnants of any kind of fuel, and the fire had been strong. The remains of a bed, at one end of the house, were barely identifiable. The brick roof had collapsed, strewing the ruins with rubble and making it difficult to navigate or even see much of the ruin.
“Taya,” called Mandir.
She picked her way through the site. Mandir had been lifting bricks off the remains of the bed and stacking them in a haphazard pile. With his foot, he indicated a bit of blackened metal on the floor.
Taya leaned down to peer at the item and realized, with a wrench in her gut, that it was a pair of manacles. She spoke in a low voice. “He chained his sister to the bed?”
“Looks that way,” said Mandir.
“Maybe he had to,” she said. “If Amalia was violent.” But she felt unsettled.
A thorough search of the ruins was not
worth their time. It would take days to remove all the bricks, and they had better leads. She would have to get the answers she needed by questioning Zash or possibly his employees. She and Mandir headed back to where Zash awaited them.
“How and when did the fire happen?” asked Taya.
“But a few weeks ago,” said Zash. “Amalia’s night guard ran to the main house and awakened us. Apparently the place had gone up all at once. We came directly, but there was nothing we could do. Flames were pouring out the windows. We threw water on the surrounding trees, to keep the fire from spreading, but we could not extinguish the fire within.”
“What was sustaining the fire?” said Taya. “It couldn’t have had much fuel.”
“I assume the jackal sustained it magically,” said Zash. “But though we searched the surrounding area, we never saw him.”
“How long did it burn?” said Taya.
“Until dawn, when the roof collapsed.”
“Did you recover Amalia’s body?” asked Mandir.
“There wasn’t much left,” said Zash, shifting on his feet. “But we recovered what we could.”
“Why do you suppose Amalia didn’t flee the house when it caught fire?” asked Mandir.
“It went up so quickly, I’m not sure that would have been possible.” Zash lowered his head. “And besides, we kept her restrained.”
“Did Amalia ever have visitors? Did she have any friends? Perhaps a lover?”
“I’m afraid not,” said Zash. “Her condition did not make such relationships likely.”
“Did she know either of the other victims?” said Mandir. “The magistrate’s son Hunabi, or Bodhan’s daughter Narat?”
“No, I don’t believe she did.”
“But somebody killed her,” said Taya. “And they had to have a reason for doing it. Can you think of anyone who might have borne a grudge against her, or had any reason to want her dead?”
“I honestly can’t think of anyone,” said Zash.
“Could someone have killed her because they had a grudge against you?” said Mandir.
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