A Harvest of Ripe Figs

by Shira Glassman

  "This nation was built on the work of farmers," Shulamit said in a flat voice. This was going nowhere. As badly as she wanted to ream him out and defend her people to this popinjay, she had a job to do, or else her crown—her father's crown, really, which she never wore and which sat on her bedside table instead—meant nothing. "Did you leave the room at all during dinner?"

  "You know, Majesty, I've just figured out what your dress reminds me of—a papaya! It's exactly the color of a ripe papaya. Not really pink, but not orange, either—"

  "You will respect the queen's questions and stop driveling." Rivka had stepped out from behind the throne and was now standing, muscular arms folded over her chest, directly before the marquis. At five foot eleven, she stood three inches taller than he and broader too—plus, she came with a reputation and several pieces of steel.

  "My apologies, Majesty," blurted the marquis hurriedly. "Wh-what was the question?"

  "Did you leave the room at all?" Shulamit repeated, shooting a look of thanks to Rivka as the warrior took her place behind the throne once more.

  "I—no—I—"

  "There was a lot of drinking going on, from what I heard. You really never left?"

  "Well, yes, Majesty, but you don't expect me to mention something so delicate to you?"

  "I've got a baby," said Shulamit with a knowing smirk. "All of that is old news at this point."

  The marquis eventually admitted that he had left the room a few times to relieve himself, but during none of those times did he enter the courtyard. He said he was sure Esther and Eli had both gotten up at one point or another, and that he knew the instrument seller had gone to urinate as well because he had asked him where to go on his way out.

  Soon, Shulamit was rid of him, and she breathed a sigh of relief when he and his bald spot had disappeared beyond the door. "How does Liora put up with him?"

  "Ask her—she's on her way in."

  Liora was tall, and slender, and striking. Shulamit had only seen her from a distance in the past—onstage and, most recently, last night at the performance. This was her first look at the celebrated local up close. Liora's dark hair was clasped back with an ornament and fell in untidy waterfalls down her back, and though her clothing was only a simple dress of filmy dark purple linen, somehow she looked like a goddess in it. It wasn't really a matter of beauty—her face was a bit asymmetrical, perhaps even lopsided. Her carriage, her poise, her confidence—this was what commanded attention. And possibly the hair.

  Shulamit felt vaguely uncomfortable, the way she always did when she was attracted to someone who wasn't Aviva, and she stifled a childish impulse to put everything on hold and rush to the kitchen-house.

  Well, anyway. The world was full of women and some of them were interesting. "Thank you for coming in this morning," Shulamit began. "I want to ask you some questions about last night."

  "Yes, of course," said Liora, blinking several times. "My maid told me—the servants are already gossiping about it. When I first heard the news I was so upset I couldn't eat breakfast. I just kept thinking about what it must be like for her—and what I'd feel like if it happened to me. Poor Esther! She's outside in that room there where we were all waiting, sitting in a corner with that accessory male of hers petting her hair."

  Shulamit repressed a snicker at "accessory male," and wondered if that was because Liora saw Eli as far more insignificant than her own marquis—or if it was exactly how she felt about her own marquis. "Had you ever met Esther before last night?"

  "No, I hadn't—wonderful playing, don't you think?"

  "I do," said the queen. "The chatter around town is that you two have a healthy rivalry."

  "It's just chatter." Liora dismissed the idea with a casual toss of her head. "Musicians should collaborate, not compete. I'd love to do some duets with her—when she gets her fiddle back, obviously."

  "Does it bother you that people say that?"

  "I shouldn't let it—bad publicity is still publicity, the marquis always says." But Liora wasn't smiling. "I just don't care for the comparisons of our personalities, which usually follow. I always come out sounding like the evil stepmother in a fairytale. Why can't they just talk about our playing?"

  "Because we're women, and our looks and personalities are always under scrutiny." Shulamit realized, when Liora had dropped the word "stepmother," that Liora was significantly older than Esther—not old enough to be her mother, but perhaps by ten years. She wondered what kind of a role that played in the way the public saw the two women.

  "True at that, Majesty."

  "Tell me about last night."

  "The innkeeper saw us at the concert and asked if we're like to come to the private reception for his honored guest," Liora explained. "It was fairly relaxed; there weren't even real courses, just servants bringing communal dishes in and out as they were ready."

  "Did you leave the room at all during dinner?"

  "No."

  "Even to go relieve yourself?"

  "I held it," said Liora, pressing her lips together in a mischievous smile. "I didn't want anyone to say anything interesting I might miss!"

  You didn't want to miss any opportunity for a compliment? Shulamit wondered, then quickly chastised herself for falling into the trap of reputation. "And did anyone say anything interesting?"

  "Oh, it was a pleasant evening. I liked everyone there."

  "I understand Tzuriel ben Kofi went back with you to the marquis' manor afterward."

  "Oh, yes," said Liora. "Years ago, the marquis won a violin in a—gambling, I don't remember where or what he was playing. But I already have my violin, and I didn't like the new one. Too shrill. I think the—" Here she launched into a lengthy technical hypothesis about the violin's structure.

  Shulamit, ever the intellectual, wanted to understand, but she knew she needed a foundation first. She made a mental note to read up on violin acoustics. "So you wanted to sell it to him?"

  "Yes, it's not for me, but it's an expensive instrument. I didn't want to just donate it to the music academy. If we sell it, the money can be used to buy several cheaper ones for the students."

  "Did he decide to buy it?"

  Liora sighed heavily. "It didn't work out. Too expensive for what he can unload easily. He carries nice, serviceable, middle-class stock. This ridiculous little box, tinny as it is, seems to be somewhat valuable just because of its age."

  "You could have taken less money."

  "It's not just up to me."

  "Did Tzuriel go back to his room at all before coming home with you?"

  "I don't remember, really. I know he left once during dinner." Liora paused dramatically. "I keep thinking this has to be some kind of mistake. That violin was just too valuable to steal."

  "How's that again?"

  "Well, think about it—even the person in the best position to fence something like that—Mr. Ben Kofi, sweet as he seems—even he'd have to leave the country to be able to sell it without being found out."

  "That's true, at this point."

  "That's why I keep thinking it must all be a mistake—someone took it without realizing how valuable it was—one of the servants at the inn, or someone else who snuck in somehow."

  "Unless the motive wasn't about money."

  "What do you mean?"

  "I'll let you know if I have more questions," Shulamit said, serenely dismissing her. "Can you please ask Esther to come in next?"

  Chapter 6: The Legendary Captain Riv

  "Please tell me you've got ideas," Esther begged, the fingertips of both hands lightly touching her lips. "When I woke up this morning, I couldn't remember why I was sad... and then it all came back."

  "I'm working on it," said Shulamit. "Let's start at the beginning. Tell me about coming back from the concert."

  "Eli and I walked back together, and I left the violin beside the bed, next to the cat-shaped knothole. I rested for a few minutes, and then walked out to the lounge to meet everyone else."

 
; "Do you remember who was in the courtyard when you left your room?"

  "Two ladies and an old man."

  "Any servants?"

  "They were all at the far end, where the kitchen is. They weren't really in the courtyard."

  "Did you leave the lounge yourself during dinner?"

  "Yes, Eli got me a new scarf in the marketplace yesterday, a gorgeous blue hand-painted silk... I realized I wasn't wearing it, so I went to go get it and show it off."

  "You didn't want to wear it during the concert?"

  "I can't; it's... my neck..." Her hands fussed in the air near her shoulders.

  "I understand. The violin was exactly where you'd left it when you went back for the scarf?"

  Esther nodded. "Everything was fine."

  "Can you think of anyone who might want to hurt you?"

  Blankness suffused Esther's face and she shook it slowly. "People seem to like me," she said in a tiny voice.

  "No... obsessed fans following you from city to city?"

  "Nothing like that, not yet!" Esther looked embarrassed at the idea.

  Shulamit was beginning to understand why her people liked to paint Esther and Liora as innocent and vamp. "What about the others at the party? Did anyone seem especially interested in your instrument? The other violinist, the instrument seller..."

  "Oh, of course they all asked me about it, and wanted to see it, but somehow we never quite got to that part. Every time the conversation went there, it seemed to drift away just as quickly. I was relieved, really—I know Liora or even Tzuriel have been around instruments their whole lives and aren't going to break it if they pick it up for thirty seconds to see what it's like, but... there's a protectiveness that goes beyond what my head tells me."

  Reminds me of how I feel about Naomi, Shulamit realized. "You can go, for now. Let me know immediately if you hear anything, like a ransom note, or if it turns up again. Or if anything else goes missing."

  Eli was the last person Shulamit called in for questioning that morning, and he didn't have much to add to the data, only confirming that, yes, he remembered Esther going back to her room once or twice for feminine reasons like her new scarf, and that he couldn't really remember what anyone else was doing. "I'm glad I'm here to hold her up," he commented. "Any suggestions for somewhere I can take her to get her mind off it? I think it would do her some good to get out and relax and just try to be alive for a few hours."

  "Quiet Lake has a nice walking path all around it," Shulamit commented. "You can get directions from one of the guards outside. But be careful—if someone's done this to harass Esther, they may still be watching her."

  "Don't worry, Majesty, she'll be safe with me." Eli beamed and even stood up a little straighter. "I'll look after her!"

  Shulamit sent him away, and the guard outside the room shut the door once again. "Well, that's all of them."

  "Lunchtime?" Rivka asked, stretching out her beefy arms. The lizard who was her husband ran down the length of one of them and hopped off her hand, transforming in midair so that he was human before landing on the ground. "Show-off."

  "I must continue to impress you, Mighty One, as you impress me."

  "Me? What did I do?"

  "Stood there looking imposing, making sure our little queen can get through a morning of questioning witnesses without being challenged."

  "Definitely a long morning," Shulamit agreed, standing up to stretch. "And we'll have to go over it all again between us. I just have to meet with those Imbrian traders about the cotton labor ethics thing first."

  "Don't forget to take a ten minute break to clear your head," Rivka suggested.

  "Fine, the first ten minutes of lunch, we talk about something else. Please tell the traders I'm ready for them."

  ***

  When Shulamit and Rivka got to the kitchen-house, Aviva was waiting with a platter of stuffed grape leaves. "This looks delicious!" Shulamit exclaimed and tore eagerly into her first bite.

  Naomi played happily on the floor on the colorful cotton mat Aviva's father Benjamin had woven; cordoned in by a little wooden fence, she wasn't going anywhere and would be perfectly safe as long as the adults in the room kept an eye on her.

  "How did it go in there?" Aviva asked.

  "Lots of information that I need time to sort out," Shulamit told her. "Don't worry, you're about to hear plenty. I just need a few moments to take a break first."

  "And then it'll all come erupting out from my brilliant volcano," said Aviva, a little starry-eyed. "I know how you work. I just wish I could watch you in there. I can't hide myself in your hair like Isaac can."

  "Being a lizard has its..." Isaac paused, his hooded eyes narrowing and a sneaky smile oozing across his face. "...amusing side. Sometimes I hear the most interesting stories about Rivka, or, 'Captain Riv,' if you want to be accurate."

  "Nu?" Rivka pushed an entire grape leaf roll into her mouth, and beneath the cloth mask they could see her face contorting wildly to chew it in one bite.

  "They talk about your reputation."

  "What of it? They don't doubt me, do they?"

  "No, it's not that." He paused to drink. "The stories of valor in battle, I hear those all the time. Sometimes they get the details wrong—"

  "I bet that frustrates you!" She grinned and he grimaced.

  "It seems that a popular game in the taverns of Home City is to share outlandish superlatives about our own Mighty Riv."

  "Outlandish superlatives?" Shulamit inquired.

  "As one such legend goes, he wears the cloth mask not to protect his face from the hot Perachi sun, but to protect the sun from his face."

  Aviva burst into giggles.

  "There is another one that will make you laugh even harder," Isaac continued with a glint in his eye, "although I didn't like it. They say that Captain Riv is so tough that at only eight days old, he performed his own bris."

  "Why, Isaac, whatever's wrong with that one?" said Aviva saucily.

  "Ow," came the wizard's pointed reply.

  Shulamit covered her face with both hands. "People must be really bored."

  "I think they're creative!" Aviva was still grinning. "I want to play! Mmmm..." She bit her lower lip and stared into space dreamily.

  "Apparently on Chanukah, Captain Riv doesn't need a shamash to light the other eight candles; they just burst into flame for fear of him," Isaac continued. "And on Passover, they say, 'If Captain Riv had been there, there would have been only one plague—himself.'"

  "Terrific! Such confidence in me, they have," Rivka remarked.

  "When he goes to temple on Yom Kippur to atone, the temple atones instead."

  "What does that even mean?" Rivka held up her hands in exasperation, but she was smiling broadly enough that they could all see it even through the cloth mask.

  "There's one that I have to remember to tell Riv later when you two aren't around." Isaac looked over at his wife slyly, and everybody watched her face grow red.

  "I'll have to ask my regular farmers at the market if they know any." Aviva went back to the counter and retrieved a small dish of cooked mashed yam. After putting it on the table, she fetched Naomi from her makeshift playpen and sat down again with the baby on her lap.

  "Hmm... how about, Captain Riv is so tough that he can't go near diamonds because he'll scratch them?" Shulamit took another grape leaf roll from the platter.

  "I like it, but it only works if you know about diamonds being too hard for anything to scratch but another diamond," Isaac pointed out.

  "Doesn't everybody know that?"

  "Jewelers know that, but not everybody reads encyclopedias for fun," Rivka reminded her.

  "Another one I heard," said Isaac, "is that 'his' temper is so fierce that, when he needs to shave, he just uses his sharp tongue."

  "We should have a contest," Shulamit commented.

  "No, we shouldn't," Rivka barked.

  Shulamit giggled. "And point illustrated."

  "Aww, Naomi wants to be
just like Captain Riv." Aviva bounced the little girl, who grinned and flailed both arms at her family. "Look at her little mask!"

  For indeed, the baby was now wearing the yam across the entirety of her lower face, just like the piece of cloth that hid Rivka's nose and mouth.

  "About this case," Shulamit remarked. "As far as I can see it, there could be a number of motives for the theft—not just for money."

  "I agree," said Isaac, nodding.

  "I mean, resale of the violin is the obvious motive, but Liora's right—it wouldn't exactly be easy, now that everyone knows it's been taken."

  "There are some people who still wouldn't care," Rivka pointed out, "if they really wanted something."

  "They'd still have to be among the very wealthy," said Shulamit.

  "Like the marquis."

  "You just want it to be him because he's annoying."

  "I should live long enough to see him shut up," Rivka grumbled.

  "Anyway," Shulamit continued, "I also thought of Liora maybe taking it, or getting someone else to take it, to knock Esther out of the running as her competition. She says they're not competing, but maybe she was just talking."

  "What about that other violin she's trying to sell?" asked Isaac.

  "I noticed that. What if she wants Esther to buy that expensive violin the marquis won for her that she doesn't like?"

  "If Esther were a different kind of person, I'd wonder if she'd hidden it away somewhere for publicity," said Isaac.

  "I don't think anyone can fake the amount of distress she seems to be in," said Shulamit. "But I'm open to anything."

  "What's your next move?" asked Rivka.