City of a Thousand Dolls

by Miriam Forster

  Nisha’s thoughts rebelled, and she spoke too quickly. “But what about Atiy?”

  At her feet, Jerrit hissed. Nisha!

  Nisha stopped and felt herself turning red again. What was wrong with her? She needed to be more careful than this. Anxiety twitched her fingers, and she laced them together. “Forgive me, House Mistress.”

  Camini crossed her arms. “I know what you’re thinking, Nisha. But Atiy did not jump off that roof.”

  “I’m sorry,” Nisha said. “I didn’t mean to offend.”

  “I know you didn’t.” Camini rubbed her hands over her face, leaving a streak of ash behind. “I can see why you think Atiy could be unhappy. But you didn’t know her. You didn’t know what being selected as a secret mistress meant to her.”

  She stared into the flames of the clay oven. “I called her my little rock dove. And she was: beautiful, soft, and so timid that she fled at the sound of any stranger. Atiy became tongue-tied when asked to speak to people she didn’t know well, and she was only truly comfortable with me and her teachers. Even the other girls frightened her.”

  Nisha fought the urge to look into the fire. She didn’t want to see the charred remains of a timid girl who had only wanted to be alone. A girl who had been content with her life.

  “I choose my girls very carefully for their positions,” Camini went on. “To be tucked away in a private world, to be cared for and provided for and to never have to talk to strangers, not everyone is made for such a life. But Atiy should have been happy. She was happy.”

  The pain and conviction in Camini’s voice touched Nisha in a way no words could. As far as Camini knew, Atiy had been happy.

  Then why was she dead? “So being a secret mistress was an honor....”

  The House Mistress shook her head. “It’s not about honor or dishonor, Nisha. It’s about fitting the girl to the position. Most of my novices are performers by nature, bold and outgoing. None of them would have wanted to be in Atiy’s place.”

  Camini turned back to the fire, and a tear slipped silently down her face.

  The hot, smoky air pressed in on Nisha, suffocating her. She looked at Jerrit, and by common consent they walked away, leaving the House Mistress to keep faith with the dead.

  As soon as they were out of the smoke of the cremation field, Nisha scrubbed at her upper lip, trying to get the bitter smell of Camini’s salve off. Her eyes stung from the smoke. Behind her Jerrit scraped his nose against the grass.

  “I don’t like this,” Nisha said. “What was Atiy doing on the roof? Was she meeting someone there?”

  Jerrit sent, But who? If she was so shy, she wouldn’t be sneaking away to meet someone. It doesn’t make sense....

  The cat trailed off, his ears pricking up.

  “What is it?” Nisha asked.

  Jerrit started running. I don’t know. It’s Esmer … something’s happened.

  Nisha ran after him.

  20

  SOMEONE HAD BEEN in Nisha’s bedroom.

  When Nisha and Jerrit burst through the door, Esmer was sitting in the center of the room on the worn rug. A red-brown pool spread over the floor. The near wall was streaked with the same dark stain. Two painted words stood out clearly:

  STAY AWAY

  Nisha forced words past her throat. “Is that blood?”

  Esmer wrinkled her nose, and her gray fur, standing on end, seemed to shudder. I don’t think so, she sent. Whoever did this had a pocketful of clovermint. I can’t smell Jerrit right now, not that I’d want to.

  I’d smell like clovermint, Jerrit sent. Just like everything else in this room. He sniffed the pool; then, with a quick flick of his pink tongue, he tasted it.

  Blech. He sat back. It’s ink.

  “Ink, not blood.” But Nisha couldn’t stop staring at the red-brown words. STAY AWAY.

  Fear wrapped cold fingers around her heart. Jina’s and Atiy’s deaths hadn’t been accidents or suicides or any of the explanations Nisha had been secretly hoping for. Someone was afraid of Nisha’s investigations. Someone wanted to scare her off.

  The two cats circled the room, sniffing for more clues as Nisha sank down on her bedroll. Without thinking, she put her hand under her pillow, where she’d hidden the red silk scarf the Shadow Mistress had given her. Her questing fingers met nothing but her bedroll.

  The scarf wasn’t under the pillow. It wasn’t under the bedroll or in the clothes chest. Nisha even lifted the rug, careful not to disturb the seeping ink, but the tiger scarf was nowhere to be found.

  What’s wrong? Jerrit sent.

  “The scarf is gone,” Nisha said. “The scarf the Shadow Mistress gave me.” Her voice came out flat and dull, like old paper.

  Oh, Nisha …, Esmer sent, nuzzling her foot. I’m sorry.

  “I didn’t even know what it meant,” Nisha said, hugging herself against the pain of the words. “I didn’t know what it meant, and now it’s gone. Why would the killer steal it? It didn’t mean anything to anyone else.”

  The cats said nothing. There was nothing to say.

  Nisha was suddenly tired all the way down to her bones. She wanted nothing more than to sleep, to make it all go away: her friends changing, the murders, the Council, and the stolen scarf, the only link she’d had to her parents and her past. Not caring that she still had chores to do, she crawled onto her bedroll and closed her eyes.

  Stay with her, Jerrit, Esmer sent. I’m going to talk to the tribe. Giving Nisha another nuzzle, she padded out of the small quarters.

  Nisha crawled off her bedroll to reach into the clothes chest. She pulled an old carving of a spotted cat out of the bottom and ran her fingers over the smooth wood. It was the last thing her father had given her. She held it tightly and curled into a ball.

  Jerrit was pacing, double-checking every corner of the room. Nisha, this is getting too dangerous. If someone’s scared enough to leave you a warning … I don’t think you should keep poking into these deaths.

  Nisha fingered the toy cat, taking comfort in its familiar shape. “I don’t have much of a choice,” she said. “I know I can’t stay here as things are. If the Council decides to sell me, I won’t even get to the Redeeming. But I’ll be careful, Jerrit, I promise.”

  Careful may not be enough, Jerrit sent. His tail lashed. If the killer can get into your bedroom, whoever it is can get to you anywhere. It isn’t safe.

  “I haven’t been safe since Akash decided to get rid of me,” Nisha said, sitting up. “I don’t like this any more than you do, but I have to find out the truth. And not just for me—for Atiy and Jina. They didn’t deserve to die.”

  Swear to me that you won’t go anywhere alone, Jerrit sent, anxiety in every line of his lithe but muscular body. I know you. You go off on your own too much. Promise you won’t do that. Swear it by the Long-Tailed Cat.

  Nisha hesitated, but the pleading note in Jerrit’s voice undid her. He sounded so worried. “All right, I swear,” she said. “By the Long-Tailed Cat. I won’t go anywhere alone.”

  Jerrit relaxed. Thank you. If anything happened to you, Nisha, I don’t know what I’d do.

  He leaped onto the bed. Nisha put the wooden cat down and clung to Jerrit as if he were the only solid thing in the world.

  “Don’t leave me,” she whispered.

  Never, Jerrit replied. I promise.

  Nisha stared at the dark ink spattering her wall. Despite his promise, Jerrit’s voice seemed thin and far away, and she felt more alone than ever.

  Something was tickling Nisha’s nose, pulling her out of sleep. She rubbed her face and forced her eyes open.

  Jerrit was standing over her. Wake up, Nisha. Wake up. Something’s wrong.

  “Wrong?” Nisha’s mouth was dry and sour. “What’s wrong? How long did I sleep?”

  Jerrit jumped to the floor. It’s just after first light. And your yellow Music asar is missing. I’ve checked three times. It’s gone.

  Nisha frowned, her mind still fuzzy from sleep. “You’re not
supposed to be in the clothes chest,” she said.

  You left it open, Jerrit pointed out. I just wanted a look. Your asars are so soft … That’s not the point. One is missing.

  Nisha came fully awake as the meaning of Jerrit’s words hit her like the flat of a sword.

  “The killer has a Music asar now,” she said. She looked at Jerrit, who bristled with understanding. There were so many girls taking lessons in the House of Music, it would be easy for someone to sneak in.

  Nisha flung her feet out of bed. “Come on. We have to do something.”

  The House of Music was quiet in the early-morning light. Only a few notes from a long flute drifted from an open window.

  No one here smells any tenser than usual, Jerrit sent, pacing beside Nisha.

  “That just means nothing has happened yet,” Nisha murmured, quickening her steps. “Keep your eyes open.”

  And my nose, Jerrit agreed. What are you going to tell Vinian? So many girls from Beauty and Flowers are taking lessons here now. She won’t turn girls away so close to the Redeeming, and there’s no way to watch everyone.

  “Don’t remind me,” Nisha said. “I’ll think of something.”

  They found Vinian in the kitchen, eating a breakfast of wild apples and baked rice cake. The spicy scent of her morning chai filled the room, and the sleepy chatter of the Music girls floated through the door that connected the kitchen to the dining room.

  “Nisha!” Vinian said, blinking with surprise as Nisha burst in the back door. “What are you doing here so early?”

  Nisha tried to sound casual and not as though she’d run all the way from the Council House. “I’m sorry, Vinian, I do know it’s early. But I need your help.”

  “About the Redeeming?” Vinian asked, setting down her chai with a clink. “Have you not been able to find anyone else to endorse you?”

  I wish that was my only problem, Nisha thought. She sat down and pulled Jerrit into her lap. “Nothing so drastic. It’s just that someone broke into my room. Now my Music asar is missing.”

  “Goodness,” Vinian said. “Have you reported it? And why would anyone steal a Music asar?”

  Nisha chose her words carefully. “I thought it might be a prank. Maybe someone was dared to do it. I don’t want to get anyone into trouble.”

  “Well, I can get you a new asar by tomorrow. But I don’t like the idea of a prankster running around my House.” Vinian picked up a slice of apple and chewed it thoughtfully. “I’ll talk to the older girls. Each of them has a ‘little sister’ who she’s tutoring, and they could be the ones to notice if any new novices showed up.” Vinian set her food down. “Nisha, is there any chance it might be Zann?”

  Guilt twisted in Nisha’s stomach like spoiled milk. “I don’t know,” she managed, holding Jerrit tighter.

  “I know it’s not a pleasant subject,” Vinian said. “But Zann was a novice—”

  “Before I made her rebel,” Nisha finished.

  “No!” Vinian hit the table with her open hand, making Nisha jump. “You were a child; there was no way you could have known.”

  Nisha stared at the table. “If I hadn’t agreed to help her, none of it would have happened,” she said, voicing her shame. “You must be angry with me for depriving you of your most gifted student.”

  “I was angry with myself for a long time,” Vinian said. “I should have fought harder to keep her, despite the bad example. I should have found a way.”

  “What do you think happened to her?” Nisha asked, her shame receding enough so she could look at Vinian again. “I couldn’t understand why she took everything out on what she loved....”

  Vinian sighed. “Zann came to me in tears, wanting to know if she really had to marry an old man. I tried to explain, to tell her that he was a respected and honorable widower who loved music as much as she did. All he wanted was a companion, someone who could play for him.”

  She shook her head. “If she had listened, I could have calmed her down. She was scheduled to start the next phase of her training soon. We would have hired an older man as a special teacher and built him up as a mentor until she relied on him for approval and security.”

  Nisha pressed her lips together and leaned back, folding her arms. She hated this part: the manipulation, the deceit.

  “You don’t understand,” Vinian said, looking closely at Nisha. “You’ve never been formally trained, so you see us only from the outside. We work for specific results: contentment, happiness, girls who can contribute to society wherever they’re placed. That’s why we kept Zann’s Spoken a secret. Zann’s only true passion was music; she loved it more than anything else. She would have been redeemed as a fully trained musician. Her emotional attachment would have transferred easily from her teacher to the man who redeemed her. She would have had as much time to devote to music as she could ever have wished.

  “But she hated the idea that we would ask her to be anything but a professional musician, hated the thought of marrying a man old enough to be her father. She screamed at me and ran out, then ran to the practice rooms and began to destroy instruments. You know the rest.”

  Nisha could not imagine the girl who Zann had been—the passionate, dedicated musician—destroying the very things she loved.

  “She destroyed a third of the House instruments before we stopped her,” Vinian said, her slender hands tightening around her cup. “Including all her personal instruments. The destruction was incredible. Sitt-harps with their strings sliced, tab drums with huge holes in them, bells dented and twisted. We couldn’t save anything.”

  The Music Mistress spread her hands. “I tried to plead for her. She was so young. And I did convince them to keep her on here so she wouldn’t starve. But the Council insisted on making her into a bond slave until she earned back the cost of the things she broke. She never forgave us.”

  Or me, Nisha thought. Somewhere along the way, Zann had decided that her disgrace was all Nisha’s fault. As if Nisha didn’t already blame herself enough.

  Vinian reached over and touched her hand. “It wasn’t your fault, Nisha. You were only a child, and we should have explained everything to you properly. But we never thought—” She pressed her lips together. “What’s done is done,” she said in a gentle tone. “You cannot change it.”

  People keep telling me that, Nisha sent to Jerrit.

  Perhaps you should listen, the cat sent back.

  Nisha’s smile felt thin and brittle. “Thank you, Vinian. I’ll come back tomorrow and pick up a new asar.”

  “Do that,” Vinian said, picking up her chai again. “I’ll let you know if anyone shows up in your old one.”

  See, she didn’t blame you, Jerrit sent as they left the House of Music.

  Nisha shook her head. She felt empty and a little nauseous. “I still blame me,” she said. “If I hadn’t done what Zann wanted, everything might have been different.”

  If you figure out a way to fold back time and change the past, let me know, Jerrit sent with rare sarcasm. I have some hunts I’d like to try again. In the meantime, instead of wallowing, you should race me to the main gate.

  He took off, a golden-brown streak against the grass.

  “Dirty cheater,” Nisha muttered, then pounded after him.

  Jerrit followed the outside curve of the hedge maze, and Nisha ran hard to catch up with him. Her feet felt light. As long as she had the cats and she could run, things couldn’t be that bad.

  She put on a burst of speed and slammed into a figure coming out of the maze.

  Something hard and rough struck her in the chest, and she fell. Her flailing hands met loose fabric as she hit the ground with her shoulder. Something jabbed into her hip. She heard Jerrit yowl with pain. Then a heavy weight landed on top of her. An elbow pushed into her windpipe, cutting off her air.

  Fear gave Nisha strength, and she struck out blindly. Her closed fist hit skin and bone with a satisfying crack, and the weight rolled off her.

  Gasping, she
tried to sit up and brace herself for another attack, only to realize she’d barreled into Zann.

  21

  ZANN WAS ON the ground, surrounded by the wood she must have been carrying. Blood poured from her nose. Her face was streaked with dirt and sap. She stared at Nisha with blank, uncomprehending eyes.

  “Zann,” Nisha said, stretching out a hand. “I’m sorry, I thought—”

  Zann tried to wipe the blood from her face, but all it did was smear. She looked down at her bloody hand and gave a low moan.

  Then, before Nisha could stand, Zann struggled to her feet and ran off, still bleeding.

  “Zann!” Nisha called after her. “Wait!”

  She tried to lever herself up, but a stab of pain in her left hand stopped her. She was lying on several pieces of wood and had scraped her hand on one of them when she fell. Angry red scratches punctuated with dark slivers of wood crisscrossed her palm. Blood oozed from the scratches and down her wrist.

  Nisha! Esmer ran out of the maze. What happened? I heard Jerrit yell … Look at you! She climbed into Nisha’s lap and licked her forehead with a rough tongue.

  “I ran into Zann,” Nisha said. Her head hurt, and her shoulder and hand throbbed. “I think I punched her in the nose.”

  Esmer hissed, kneading her claws into Nisha’s thighs. I don’t blame you.

  Nisha thought of Zann’s face, covered in blood.

  “I didn’t mean to,” she said, feeling the utter uselessness of her defense. “It was an accident. I thought I was being attacked.”

  Esmer went back to licking Nisha as if Nisha were a dirty kitten. Of course you did, she sent. All this running around after murderers has got all of us worked up. And it shouldn’t even be necessary. She shook her head.

  “Is Jerrit all right?” Nisha asked. “I think he got stepped on.”

  He ran off, Esmer said. It’s just a flight instinct. He’ll be fine, if a bit embarrassed. She sniffed at a patch of bloody grass. That’s odd.

  “What is it?” Nisha asked. “What do you smell?”