"Why don't you hand me that ratter?" the older woman suggested. "Hiral-ji and I will get him settled with a clean new home and some fresh water. And perhaps a cup of tea for these dusty throats, eh? If Mina Tana agrees, you may help with her other snake."
Ma Hiral frowned. "You'd let the child handle a grass viper?"
"His father made sure Indu got some training from the priests at the temple grove." Their white-haired neighbor took the house naga from Tana. "He'll be careful, and keep a safe distance. Won't you, grandson?"
"Oh, yes," Indu said.
"If you're sure." Still shaking her head, Tana's mother left with Indu's grandmother.
Tana watched closely as the boy readied his forked stick. In a series of practiced motions, he lifted the silver pitcher, trapped the snake's triangular head between the stick's two arms, and manipulated the hissing creature into his basket. "There." He tied the basket's lid with a string and hoisted it on the stick. "He'll be happier out of the street, I'll bet."
Tana smiled her thanks. Then she picked up the empty mud-rimmed pitcher and walked after Indu, toward Lotus Gate. Once again, they needed drinking water, and she was the only one left to fetch it from the well.
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CHAPTER NINE Diribani
A stout door and walls muffled the discussion taking place outside the carpet storeroom, but Diribani heard enough to know they were talking about her. The deeper voice sounded familiar. Hastily, she set a final stitch, knotted the pink thread, and tucked the needle back into the basket where shed found it. She stood and shook out the creases in the long strip of fabric. Pleating the dress wrap around her waist, she threw the free end over her shoulder so it fell properly over her blouse. The thread's color wasn't a perfect match, but it was the best she'd found in the basket of sewing tools. And she'd rather wear a mended dress wrap than one that split along the ripped place and fell off her body.
She felt insignificant enough already, after spending a long night alone in the small room. Did her imprisonment show what the prince's promises were worth? As the hours wore on, she couldn't help wondering whether she had misplaced her trust.
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With so much else to consider, sleep had eluded her. She had thought about making a pouch to carry the jewels. But, unlike the governor, she didn't wish to hoard Naghali-ji's bounty. Instead, she had decided to wait for the goddess to make her purpose clear. Meanwhile, she wove the flowers into a garland and draped it around her neck. Remembering how Tana was always sweeping and dusting, Diribani had tucked jewels into the sewing basket and rugs. Wouldn't the next maid who aired them get a surprise!
"That was yesterday" Prince Zahid was saying. "You mean she's been there all night? And this morning?"
"Absent other instructions," a woman's voice answered. "Surely you didn't intend me to house a criminal with the gentle-born ladies?"
"A criminal? Who told you that?" His indignation eased Diribani's worst fears.
"The governor's servants spouted some wild tales. A magician, we heard. She threw jewels or frogs or something, and started a riot. And"--more austerely--"they said you held court in the street. Was that wise, Zahid? Strictly speaking, Tenth Province reports to the crown in Lomkha, not Fanjandibad. Our elder brother will no doubt add this episode to his grievances against you."
"Let him. Besides, when you meet the girl, you'll understand why I couldn't leave her."
"There's always a reason," Diribani thought she heard, but the woman's words were covered by the scrape of knuckles against the door.
She stood as proudly as she could in a tiny closet stacked with carpets. Diribani hoped the smell of jasmine disguised her sweat.
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The room was very warm, and a servant had only let her out to visit the latrine, not to bathe or eat. "Enter," she said. A lotus fell to the ground.
The door opened. Bright light streamed into her prison, haloing the two white-coated figures in the corridor.
"A thousand apologies, Mina Diribani," the prince said. "I fear my sister and I have given you a poor impression of our hospitality. It won't happen again."
Diribani pressed her hands together. "Good morning, Your Highness. My lady." Petals tickled her lips. When she read the chagrin written on the prince's face, Diribani's remaining uncertainty dispersed like fog. The promised trip to Fanjandibad hadn't just been a trick to get her off the street without fuss. If the most spiteful thing the governor's staff dared do was make her spend the night in a storeroom, she needn't worry. The prince had said it again: She was going with them. What was an uncomfortable few hours against the royal promise?
The woman clapped slim, dark hands. "Most impressive." She stooped and picked up several bell-shaped flowers with pink-and-white-striped petals. "Where did you get the tulips? I've only seen them in the mountains north of Lomkha."
"I wouldn't know, my lady," Diribani said. "That flower is new to me."
"God in heaven." The princess took a step back as small chunks of tigereye and lapis struck the rolled carpets.
"Their goddess doesn't abide by the usual rules." Mischief played around Zahid's mouth. "It's not a conjurer's trick, Ruqayya--it's a miracle."
The young woman's expression tightened with mistrust. As
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Diribani's eyes adjusted to the light, she decided that the two of them weren't much older than she and Tana. Princess Ruqayya had the same aquiline nose and high cheekbones as her brother, but a more delicate chin. Like his, her dark hair curled over her temples; fine dark wisps escaped from the braided loops at her neck. She wore a flared coat of white brocade over tight-fitting trousers, a rope of pearls that hung to her knees, and wide jeweled cuffs on either wrist. A white scarf draped her shoulders; embroidered slippers graced high-arched feet.
"A miracle?" Ruqayya repeated. "What heresy is this, Zahid?"
"No heresy, to allow other faiths their mysteries." The prince's expression reminded Diribani of little Indu, the neighbor boy. He'd always been able to cajole older women--and younger ones, too--into seeing his point of view.
Ruqayya seemed less susceptible. "Don't quote Father at me," she snapped. "Even tolerance can be carried too far." When her brother just smiled at her, she put her fists on her hips. "Very well. I agree that you couldn't leave her in Alwar's hands. Or dear Brother Jauhar's. So she comes with us to Fanjandibad. What do they eat, Gurath saints?"
"I'm neither saint nor witch, my lady. Neither is my sister, Tana." Diribani's tone matched the princess's for sharpness. Ruqayya frowned; the prince looked amused. "I beg your pardon," Diribani continued more gently, over the peppery scent of marigolds. "I don't know much about your religion. But in our tradition, the gods grant miracles for their delight and our instruction. Naghali-ji gave me these jewels and flowers; Tana speaks lucky frogs and snakes. We don't yet know why. Utsav the crow god once blessed a king with donkey's ears, the better to hear his subjects' weeping."
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"Snakes and donkey ears? Then I suppose I should be grateful for a tulip girl." The princess shot a look at her brother. "The other one stays in Gurath?"
"Tana will live by the sacred well," Diribani informed her. "His Highness suggested it."
"Good," the princess said.
"So you're ready to go?" Zahid asked Ruqayya, as if resuming the thread of an unfinished conversation.
"Yes. The First Camp wagons left early; they should be ready for our arrival." As if she couldn't help herself, Ruqayya scooped up a handful of the rough gems and flowers at Diribani's feet. She shook her head. "Five ratis, this diamond. Word of God."
"Of the goddess, my lady," Diribani said demurely.
The prince coughed.
Ruqayya's gaze fixed at a point above Diribani's head. "Guards," she mused aloud. "Two at least. They'll have to be women, and a maid. A locking box, a ledger, two clerks..."
"When she doesn't laugh at your jokes, you sometimes have to repeat them," the prince confided to Diribani. He grinned
at his sister. Busy reassigning her staff, she didn't seem to notice. Diribani did, and her heart softened. How often, she wondered, did the prince let people see this playful aspect? In the street the day before, dispensing the emperor's justice, he had seemed far more serious.
"I heard it. Not funny." Ruqayya crooked her finger at Diribani. "Come along, flower girl. You can't ride in that pink thing."
"Er, ride, my lady?" Diribani followed the princess down the corridor. The prince fell in beside her, matching her steps easily. "Ride a horse?"
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"It's not against your religion, is it?" Ruqayya said. "Our horses are treated very well, I assure you."
"No, it's just that I never learned."
The princess swept forward, shoulders back and spine straight. "Then we'll find you a place with the older ladies in an elephant howdah." She consulted her mental list, reminding Diribani of Tana. Neither was beautiful, but intelligence and humor animated their features and made mere prettiness dull. "You'll want a wash, and food?"
"Yes, thank you, my lady." Both were thoughtful of others, too. Practical, swift to action--how Tana would laugh if Diribani told her sister how much she had in common with a princess.
Ruqayya paused to wrap the white scarf around her hair and face until only her eyes showed. Privately, Diribani thought that if the princess didn't want to be recognized she should have tucked the pearl necklace into her coat. Or walked more slowly, less like the goddess Baghiya driving her tiger chariot across the sky.
The corridor led to a much grander one, with carved wooden doors opening at intervals on either side. Diribani recognized the garden courtyard at the end of it. The filigree gate beyond led to the fort's ladies' quarter. After the invading army had captured Gurath, the white-coats had walled off this part of the fort, bricking up all the exits but one. Now, according to Believer custom, the only men allowed past that gate were the governor and his sons.
The more public part of the fort was busy with servants, secretaries, and other officials. Folding tables had been set up in the garden, and a number of local merchants invited to display their goods for the visiting ladies. Diribani searched for Trader Nikhat's
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family, but didn't see Hima or Ma Bansari among the vendors. Fountains splashed musically; the air smelled of flowers and ferns.
Unlike his sister, the prince had no veil to hide his expression. His stern look was back. Between the two of them, Diribani felt small and shabby in her mended dress wrap. Then she glanced over her shoulder at the striped flowers--tulips--dotting the corridor they had left. The usual rules, indeed. She lifted her chin.
"My lady." A veiled woman bowed to Ruqayya. "Lady Yisha's compliments, and might she inquire about the order of travel this afternoon?"
"Sire." A soldier snapped to attention at the prince's elbow.
As her companions were drawn into conversation, Diribani composed herself to wait without fidgeting. She listened to the fountains and admired the tall vases and artistic plantings. She wondered whether the fort baths were as grand as rumored, and what it might be like to travel by elephant-back. Her father had always hired oxcarts. He'd never taken her as far as the northern capital of Lomkha in Third Province, or Fanjandibad's border stronghold in the southeast, but Diribani had attended several of Horse Month's livestock fairs in the years when they'd been held within a day's journey of Gurath. And she had traveled up the river San to many of the small towns that studded its banks. Delicious mangoes that one artisan village had, where the gem-cutters lived. What was its name? Piplia? Triplia? Something like that. The memory of the succulent orange fruit made her mouth water. Now that she wasn't so concerned about being left to Governor Alwar's dubious mercy, her hunger was becoming more insistent.
A line had formed of women waiting to talk to the princess. Ruqayya dealt with them quickly. A word--flick! A nod--flick!
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They bowed and retreated. Diribani realized that princesses must learn the knack of it early; there would always be people wanting their attention. Like that man in the corner, hands clenched at his side, eyeing them intently. His lean features were vaguely familiar, hard dark eyes and a thin neck like a stork's poking out of his white coat. But, as with the mango village, his name dangled just out of Diribani's reach.
"We'll leave you here, Zahid," the princess said. "Come, flower girl."
"Yes, my lady." A carnation brushed her lips as Diribani turned, aware that Ruqayya had caught her gaping about like a country maid visiting the market for the first time.
"Her name's Diribani," the prince reminded his sister.
"Yes, yes." Flick, flick. "Oh, and I have a commission for Steward Ghiyas, after he's sorted out the baggage."
"Very well." With a salute, the prince left them.
Diribani swallowed a sigh. Zahid must be very busy. She should be grateful he had remembered to search her out. Of course his sister would take charge of her; Believers had rules that kept women sequestered. But already Diribani missed the prince's company, especially the undercurrent of humor in his manner. Ruqayya seemed kind, in her way, but... brisk. The princess was like a master weaver. Her competent hands kept the threads of court activity meshing smoothly, the little lives running over and under one another. Running... Diribani turned her head.
The thin man was running toward them. Ignoring the gravel paths, he jumped over a shrub and kicked a pot of roses out of his way. The earthenware cracked, spilling dirt and roots on the ground.
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Ruqayya followed the direction of Diribani's gaze, and then events unfolded with stunning speed. A shrill whistle cut through the murmur of fountains and conversation. The two guards at the ladies'-quarter gate started down the stairs, drawing swords as they came. Ruqayya shoved Diribani hard, pushing her to her knees behind a fountain. With lethal grace, the princess spun on one foot. Her hand whipped a dagger from the sheath hidden beneath her flared coat.
Gravel bit Diribani's knees through the thin pink fabric of her dress wrap. Steel flashed in the running man's hand; emotion distorted his features. But he wasn't aiming his blade at Ruqayya, who seemed to expect it. He ran around the other side of the fountain, toward Diribani.
She raised her hands--prayer or protest, she couldn't have said. The unnatural situation caught her completely off balance.
He came close enough for her to smell the reek of palm liquor on his breath and see the straw dotting his white coat. Just before he reached her, the man screamed in agony. Slowly, he crumpled to the ground.
Diribani recoiled in horror. Ruqayya's dagger had flown to his throat, and another's sword pierced her attacker's chest. Diribani would be seeing that wicked glint and the blood--oh, Mother Gaari, so much blood---in her nightmares. She huddled against the fountain. Water dripped cold into her hair. As if from a great distance, she heard more screaming, and, closer, a peculiar rattling sound.
That noise stopped first. Later, she would realize that she had heard the life departing from a man who had wanted to kill her. But why?
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CHAPTER TEN Tana
INDU !" Ma Hiral shrieked out the window. "Bring your basket."
Tana didn't dare speak. When the neighbor boy came running, snake basket and forked stick in hand, she pointed mutely at the black-and-white-striped snake coiled in the corner of the room.
"It's a krait?" Tana's mother quavered.
Indu inspected it from a safe distance. "No, wolf snake," he decided. "Harmless, even though they copy a krait's coloring to fool hunters. Wolf snakes are half as long, and the white bands are clearest at the head. Be careful, if you're not sure which kind you've got," he lectured Tana, capturing the snake and dropping it into his basket. "The priests say kraits' venom is much stronger than a cobra's. One bite will kill you dead."
"Wolf snake, krait--take it away," Tana's mother begged, and Indu obliged.
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Tana folded the last dress wrap and put it into the sac
k with the rest. She looked around for any items she might have forgotten to pack.
Clang!
"That woman could have the decency to wait one day for us to remove our things before she breaks down the door." Ma Hiral straightened from Tana's bedding, which she was tying into a roll.
Tana shrugged. The room held nothing but sunlight and dust. If Ba Javerikh's cousins were so eager to take possession, they could sweep the floor.
Clang, clang! The gate bell pealed again.
"Hanging on the bell won't move these old bones any faster," Ma Hiral grumbled.
Tana slung the bedding over her shoulder and picked up the bag containing her few possessions. Odd, when she had so little, to know that, thanks to the gems Diribani had left behind, Tana and her mother were probably richer than anyone on their street. When Trader Nikhat had come the previous night for his sapphires and Tana's report, he'd agreed to keep the jewels safe for them. Tana had explained that she and her mother had become homeless, at least temporarily. Upon Diribani's departure from Gurath with the prince's caravan, her father's cousin would lose no time claiming the property.
Indu had already helped carry Ma Hiral's possessions, including the silver pitcher, next door. Tana's mother would stay with his family until the promised house had been built by the stepwell. A temple priestess had helped arrange it, when she visited at first light to hear Tana's account. She had also collected the jewels from the
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offering dish and invited Tana to stay in the guest quarters at the temple grove south of Horse Gate, outside the city wall.
Tana had accepted with relief. As long as Ma Hiral was comfortable, Tana had no reason to fight with Diribani's relatives about the house. She couldn't linger in Gurath, not after the prince had ordered her to leave.
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