City of a Thousand Dolls

by Miriam Forster

  She was the thinnest woman Nisha had ever seen. The House Mistress’s hair was cropped close to her head, and her eyes were so dark brown they looked black.

  “What do you want at the House of Shadows?” the woman asked in her cold, soft voice. Her hollow eyes, and the sticklike thinness of the woman’s arms and legs, gave Nisha the uneasy impression that she was talking to a skeleton. “How did you find us? Why have you come?” Her long, thin fingers twirled, the flash of knives glittering in her hands.

  Esmer wound herself between Nisha’s ankles. Pick me up, she sent.

  Why? Nisha sent.

  Trust me, Nisha. Pick me up.

  Without taking her eyes off the motionless woman, Nisha bent down and gathered the spotted cat into her arms.

  As she straightened up, she caught a flash of recognition in the Shadow Mistress’s eyes. But all the woman said was “Follow me.”

  Nisha put Esmer down and followed the Shadow Mistress across the clearing and through the heavy front door, the spotted cat trailing behind. The House Mistress wore a tunic and trousers of mottled brown and gray, like the flickering shadows in the forest. In the dark, narrow hallway, she almost disappeared.

  The Shadow Mistress directed Nisha to a tiny side study, empty but for two chairs and a wall of cabinets made from the same dark wood as the front door. Nisha sat on a hard chair and forced herself not to look all around her.

  The Shadow Mistress stared at her for a long time, and Nisha felt as if the woman’s eyes were taking in every detail. “Nisha Arvi,” she said finally. “You’ve grown since I last saw you.”

  Nisha gaped at her. “How do you know me?” she asked.

  “You don’t remember?” The Shadow Mistress studied Nisha’s face as if looking for something she’d lost. “I was the one who brought you into the City.”

  What? Nisha looked down at Esmer, who stared back impassively. Nisha closed her eyes, thinking back to the memory she’d played a thousand times. The hard stone against her back, watching her father walk into the woods, and then…

  And then—like a scroll unrolling—the memory stretched a little further. Nisha remembered a lean woman with wiry muscles and short black hair coming out of the gate. A hand held out, a voice tinged with pity but underlined with steel.

  Come inside, Nisha.

  Nisha opened her eyes. “You’ve changed,” she said.

  For a moment, she was afraid the Shadow Mistress would be offended, but the woman gave a barely discernable shrug. “My profession is not an easy one. And ten years is a long time.”

  “How did you know I’d been left there?” Nisha asked.

  The Shadow Mistress turned away. “That is not what you came here to ask. There is another question in the set of your mouth, one important enough to brave my woods and my novices. State it, and be on your way.”

  All of Nisha’s half-formed plans dissolved like smoke on a hot day. The Shadow Mistress’s eyes stared through her, and Nisha knew—without knowing how—that those eyes had seen more lies than any one person could tell in a lifetime. This woman would accept only the complete and utter truth.

  Esmer jumped up into Nisha’s lap.

  She took a deep breath and told the Shadow Mistress about the two deaths and everything that had happened since she had come upon Atiy’s dead body two days before. When she was finished, the woman sat unmoving for a long time.

  “You suspect my daughters?” The ice in her voice was so thick and hard that Nisha felt bruised by it. She hesitated, opened her mouth—

  “Do not think to engage me in a dance of words, girl,” the Shadow Mistress said. “I have played the game of intrigue for longer than you have been alive, and I tire of it. Answer me true. Do you suspect my daughters killed these girls?”

  “No!” Nisha almost shouted, louder than she’d intended. Quieter, she said, frustrated, “I mean, that wasn’t the only reason I came. I hadn’t thought that far yet.” She swallowed and hugged Esmer closer. “But they could have. I mean … you do train assassins, don’t you?”

  To her amazement, the Shadow Mistress let out a barking laugh.

  “The Black Lotus is more than an assassins’ guild,” she said. “It is a way of life that requires focus and stern discipline. All day yesterday I had my daughters in meditation and balance exercises. They were all in the same room with me from Firstlight to Darkfall. We did not even stop to eat. While I cannot say where they were this morning or two days ago, I can tell you none of them were gone yesterday.”

  The Shadow Mistress’s voice turned as flat and cold as a frosted pane of glass. “I tell you the truth, Nisha, I ordered no such killing. If one of my daughters ever took a life without permission, I would deal with it.”

  Nisha remembered the novice’s blood trickling over her cheek and shuddered. The Shadow Mistress’s way of dealing with disobedience would no doubt be very painful and very final.

  But Nisha still had to ask the question she’d come here to ask. “This House is a secret,” she said. “One that Jina had somehow uncovered. Who would kill to protect that secret?”

  Something very close to a smile crossed the Shadow Mistress’s face, and she rose. “There is more than one kind of secret, Nisha.”

  Crossing with soundless steps to the cabinets, she opened a cupboard door. “There is the secret that no one may know, the kind one kills to protect. And then there is the secret that everyone may know, but no one will admit to knowing. This House is the second kind of secret.”

  The woman pulled out a red silk scarf, thinner than paper but so richly red and vivid that it lit the room as if it were made of fire. “Then there is the secret that everyone knows, except the person the secret is about.”

  Turning, she put the scarf into Nisha’s hands. “Think about this, Nisha. There are more secrets in the City than you can possibly know. Which ones do you really care about?”

  Esmer hissed, a sharp sound that made Nisha jump. The Shadow Mistress raised one eyebrow.

  “It is time,” she said. For a moment, Nisha wasn’t sure if the Shadow Mistress was addressing her or the cat. “I have debts to pay, and so do you. And now I must take my leave.”

  The Shadow Mistress turned to Nisha, who sat with her mouth open and the unexpected gift held gingerly in her hands. “I trust you can find your way out? You should not be harmed, but if I were you, I would not linger. My daughters will practice their archery soon, and their arrows are tipped with steel.”

  With that she left, and the door creaked slowly shut.

  Nisha stared down at the scarf. The embroidered silk caressed her hands. The pattern was familiar, and her gut gave a visceral lurch. Her fingers crept to the collar of her tunic, touching the tiger mark under her collarbone, a tiger identical to the ones woven into the scarf.

  “Esmer—” She looked up in time to see Esmer’s tail vanish through the closing door. Nisha was alone in the room with just the faint brush of vines against the windows, and the mysterious scarf.

  Nisha stumbled out of the House of Shadows into the dim light of the woods. Her fingers played with the scarf, the thin, soft fabric, the slight stiffness of gold threads. The lines of the embroidered tigers burned under her fingers.

  Long-forgotten memories—so foggy they felt like they couldn’t be hers, bits and pieces of a life that had belonged to someone else so long ago—assaulted her.

  A mother’s gentle hands. Her father’s beard, rough, scratchy, and scented with sandalwood.

  A cart creaking, the smells of spices and dried meat and drink, the laughter of other children.

  Her father haggling with someone while her mother watched the cart, one hand on her belt knife.

  Were her parents merchants? No. Merchants didn’t give marks like hers to their children. And they weren’t nobles, either. Once, Nisha had pretended that her parents were wealthy and powerful people who had been forced to hide her from enemies. They would one day come to claim her and sweep her away to a life of ease, free from worr
y. But noble children were marked at birth with the Flower tattoo, not strange animals. Nisha had soon given up that dream.

  The thin silk weighed down Nisha’s hand like a stone, and the Shadow Mistress’s voice followed her as she tried to trace her steps through the forest.

  There are more secrets in the City than you can possibly know.

  There is the secret that everyone knows, except the person the secret is about.

  Now that she knew where the trail was, Nisha made it through the woods easily. By habit, she soon found herself in the hedge maze. Each dead end she turned down seemed to mock her, like the scarf in her hand. She wandered for what felt like hours, always turning around when she approached the fountain, until it was dark and she was so tired she couldn’t walk or think anymore.

  She went back to her favorite corner and lay down, pulling her cloak around her. It was a little cold to be outdoors, but the open air made Nisha feel calmer, and she couldn’t go inside yet.

  She put the scarf against her cheek, and a big, dizzying hope swirled up in her chest. Maybe she didn’t need to put herself in danger to chase clues about a killer she couldn’t stop, just for the Council to approve of her. Maybe she didn’t need to ask Devan to speak for her when she wasn’t ready yet. Maybe she didn’t need Matron’s protection.

  If the scarf was a link to her parents, maybe she could find them and find out who she was. And if she did that, she wouldn’t need the City anymore at all.

  She’d have a family again.

  19

  A SOFT TOUCH on her nose pulled Nisha out of the weightless drift of sleep. She grunted in protest.

  Nisha, came Jerrit’s voice. Nisha, wake up.

  The ground was hard and soaking wet. Nisha cracked her eyes open to see Jerrit’s face inches from hers.

  Get up, Nisha. You’ve been out all night. You need to get up and get warm or you’ll sicken.

  “Don’t be such a mother hen,” Nisha muttered. “I’m fine … Ouch!” She sat up as sharp claws dug into her arm. Thick pale mist flowed over and around her. Nisha glared at Jerrit, who glared right back.

  “That’s cheating,” she said. “Claws aren’t allowed.”

  Neither is sleeping outside after the White Mist starts, Jerrit sent. You know Esmer’s rules. If she catches you, you’ll get worse than a scratch.

  The cold hit Nisha for the first time, and she shivered. Maybe a warm bath would be a good idea. “Fine. I’ll go to the bathhouse. Happy?”

  Jerrit sauntered in a circle around her. Nisha stood up and shook the scarf at him. “Did you know about this?” she asked, the words coming out wounded and small.

  Jerrit held his head low and his ears down.

  Yes.

  “How could you?” Nisha said, hurt burning in her chest. “What does this symbol mean, Jerrit? Tell me what’s going on.”

  He can’t tell you anything, Esmer sent, slipping through a thick hedge to stand between Nisha and Jerrit. Don’t be angry with him, Nisha. It’s not his fault. We were sworn to secrecy long ago. We swore it by the Long-Tailed Cat.

  “The Long-Tailed Cat?” Nisha asked. “I’ve heard you say that name before....”

  Esmer shook her head as if shaking off a fly. The Long-Tailed Cat is sacred to the cat tribes. Her tail encircles all of time, and the present rests between her paws. Those who break the oath of the Long-Tailed Cat are rejected by all the spotted cat tribes, doomed to wander, homeless and honorless.

  Nisha gathered Jerrit into her arms. She buried her face in his fur and tried to breathe deeply. Jerrit licked her chin. His silent sympathy helped more than any words could.

  “I just don’t understand how you could keep this from me.”

  Esmer let out her breath in a long sigh. It wasn’t supposed to be this way, she sent. You were supposed to go to the Redeeming and evaluate all the options, and then we were to tell you everything before you made a choice. You were going to have a choice....

  Nisha understood. Things were different now. Had it really only been a few days ago that she was making her own plans for the Redeeming? Back when her only worries had been how to ask Devan to speak for her, and not belonging to anyone in the City but herself and the cats? The deaths and fear of the last days seemed like an awful dream.

  Esmer crept closer and touched Nisha’s foot with her paw. I’m sorry, Nisha. I wish there was more I could say right now.

  Nisha wanted to tell her it was all right, but it wasn’t. Everywhere she turned, there were secrets and lies.

  I know.

  Nisha set Jerrit down and started walking toward the bathhouse, through the maze. The maze was always quiet in the morning, and she didn’t feel like talking to anyone. Jerritt followed her silently.

  I’m not mad at you, Nisha sent at last. The hem of her asar was soaked from the mist, and she shivered again as icy water dripped onto her sandaled feet.

  Doesn’t matter, Jerrit sent. You’re unhappy, and so I’m unhappy. You know that we wouldn’t keep something this important from you if we didn’t have to.

  Nisha wasn’t sure if she knew that. She didn’t feel it. I just—I hate feeling like this, like there’s so much I don’t know. It’s like I’m putting together a mosaic and missing half the tiles.

  They approached the fountain, which Nisha had been avoiding when she was alone. She sat on the rim and clutched her knees. “Tanaya’s snapping. Sashi’s starting to act more like a master healer than a friend, and Matron is worried and not telling me anything. It’s like everything is falling apart.”

  So what do we do next? Jerrit sent.

  Nisha dragged her hand across the fountain’s textured stone. What she wanted to do was to go back to Matron and Esmer and shake them until they told her the truth about who she was.

  But her past wouldn’t matter if she couldn’t save her future.

  “I need to go to the House of Pleasure and talk to Camini,” she said finally. “If the Shadow Mistress is telling the truth, Jina’s death doesn’t have anything to do with the House of Shadows. But maybe it is connected with Atiy’s.” Nisha winced as the words left her mouth. She knew she’d been avoiding the idea all along. And if the deaths were connected, then her situation was more serious than she had thought. And much more dangerous.

  She was running out of choices and running out of time. “Jina knew something. If I can figure out how Atiy died, it could be the most important clue we could possibly have about who killed Jina.”

  I’ve been smelling hints of ash and smoke all morning, Jerrit sent. I think Camini’s attending to Atiy’s cremation.

  Nisha shuddered. She hated the ovens and the cremation fields. “That could take all day. I don’t like the idea of interrupting her … but we can’t wait.”

  Jerrit growled, and Nisha laughed. “After I change into a dry asar first, of course,” she said.

  And warm up, Jerrit said.

  Nisha picked up the cat, running her fingers through his sleek fur. “Of course,” she agreed.

  After a hot bath, Nisha walked through the too-still fields to the cremation fires. Only the nobles of the Flower caste were allowed to keep their bodies in death. Everyone else was burned, their ashes scattered. The builders of the City had set apart a small, swampy area in this far corner of the estate to absorb the ashes.

  Nisha looked up at the gnarled gray branches as she passed underneath the frost flame trees that surrounded the swamp. All the leaves had fallen, a sign of the coming Earthsleep, and the bent branches looked old and tired. But once the frost came, they would bloom with fiery orange-and-red flowers, bright spots in a cold, white world.

  The cremation oven itself was guarded by tall arjin trees, whose needles stayed green all year long. The spiny trees hid the fires and the smoke from the girls and caretakers who lived in the City.

  Camini, a lone figure in red, stood staring at the flames. The huge clay oven rose in the middle of a large circle of flat stones, ringed with statues of the Ancestors. Smoke rose into t
he air in a black, swirling pillar. The smell was indescribable, like burned deer, only worse. Nisha forced herself close enough to call out to Camini.

  “May I talk to you?” she asked, waving her hands.

  Camini didn’t try to shout over the roar of the fire, only beckoned Nisha over.

  Nisha’s stomach demanded that she not take another step into that horrific smell, but she pinched her nose shut and forced her feet to move. Jerrit made a pained mewling sound. Up close, Nisha could see something dark and slimy smeared across Camini’s upper lip. Turning back to the roaring oven, the House Mistress passed Nisha a clay pot with a brown salve inside.

  The salve had a pungent, bitter smell. Nisha sagged in relief when it overpowered the odor of burning bone. She bent down and wiped some on Jerrit’s nose.

  Camini continued to stare at the oven. Despite its heat and the protection of her heavy brocade asar, the House Mistress stood with her arms wrapped around her body as if she were cold. She wore no kohl around her red-rimmed eyes, and there were traces of tears on her cheeks.

  “Mistress, I ask you to forgive me,” Nisha said, feeling a sudden stab of guilt. She turned to go, but Camini held out a hand.

  “No, stay. It is not always good to be alone, even if it’s what you think you want.” She smiled and looked Nisha up and down.

  “You’ve turned into a woman, haven’t you? And a lovely one too. With the Redeeming so soon, you might want a lesson or two at my House.”

  Nisha felt herself turning a dark red, and Camini gave her a gentler smile. “I’m only teasing you, Nisha,” she said. “I know that what the House of Pleasure teaches isn’t for everyone.”

  Nisha took her courage in both hands and tried to steer the conversation toward Atiy. “Don’t you ever have to train unwilling girls?” she asked.

  The House Mistress gave an emphatic shake of her head. “Never. A truly unhappy or unwilling girl is no use to me. I cannot force, I can only train and guide.”