"After we rest a little, I'd like to go back to the inn and look at the building some more in the daylight," answered the queen after taking another drink from her cup. "Then I'd like to go to market. I still have Zev and Gershom to worry about—those jewelers. I want to see what state their businesses are in—how much foot traffic, how often people are actually buying things. I also want to see Tzuriel ben Kofi's stall. I don't even know what I'm looking for, but if I see it, I'll know."
***
After lunch, while Aviva was cleaning up the kitchen and Shulamit was in her bedroom nursing the baby and resting during a brief rain shower, Rivka pulled her husband aside privately. "What was the rumor you didn't want to tell me in front of other people?" she asked in their own language, the guttural tones of the north.
"When there are no children around, people start telling stories."
Rivka furrowed her brow. "And you mean...?" she asked deliberately.
"You seem to have impressed them with your courage," he said evasively. She could tell he was teasing her, drawing it out.
"Yes, but you already said—"
"They've imagined us together."
"What?" A low growl, as if she were the dragon, came from somewhere in the back of her throat.
Isaac said calmly, "The short version is that someone or other started the rumor that one proof of your supreme bravery is that apparently I take you into my mouth while I'm a dragon."
"That's basically true, because your tongue is longer—" It took Rivka's mind a minute to catch on. There was a pause. "Oh."
Isaac nodded.
"Oh," his wife repeated.
"Usually when this one comes up, every man in the room is wincing, picturing an imaginary pair of dragon jaws dangerously close to his sensitive areas. They're quite impressed with you, Mighty One!"
"I hate this story."
"Would you trust me with that, if it were true?"
"What?"
"If you had one, would you trust me not to bite it off?"
"Yes, but—oy, the things they come up with."
He smiled at her, his eyes half-closed and speaking volumes.
Chapter 7: Everyone's Got His Quirks
When the usual brief afternoon rain-gust had exhausted itself, Shulamit strapped her baby to her chest with swaths of cloth that matched her papaya-colored dress and set out for the inn. She went on foot—the idea of trying to ride on a dragon while holding her baby terrified her, especially since her father's death had involved a fall from an elephant's back. Rivka and Isaac accompanied her as usual.
The shower had been heavy, but the sun was hot; puddles were already fading away as they crossed the city. By the time they reached the inn, the heat had driven Shulamit to buy a coconut from a street vendor. She drank it as quickly as she could so it wouldn't be in the way, and then stepped inside.
"Welcome back, Your Majesty," said the innkeeper. He looked uneasy. "Have you arrested anybody yet?"
"I want to look over the layout of the building, now that it's daylight."
"Of course. Please, take your liberty."
Shulamit walked straight through the lounge in front and into the open-air courtyard in the center of the building. Beyond the coconut palms and other greenery growing inside the inner garden, she could see two doors on each side opening up into the four inside rooms of the inn. One belonged to the traveling rabbi; the one next to him was where the old woman was staying on her way to the spa. They had accounted for each other's alibis. Esther's room was on the other side, next to the innkeeper's own quarters.
Skipping all of these for now, Shulamit walked through the courtyard to the kitchen at the far end. She peered nervously inside to make sure the room wasn't covered in gusts of flour. Not only would it not do to get herself sick in the middle of an investigation, but she still hadn't determined whether or not Naomi had inherited her digestive problems.
"All clear, Malkeleh," said Rivka, who had obviously perceived her timidity.
"Majesty!" exclaimed the head cook of the inn when the party made their entrance. The other workers bowed from the neck but continued busily peeling potatoes and shucking cloves of garlic.
"Peace, everyone," said Shulamit, grinning and looking as usual as though she was grimacing. "I wanted to look at the kitchen to see if there's a way anyone could have gotten into the courtyard through here last night."
"Not really," said the head cook, shaking her head. "See that grate?" She pointed with one finger, the rest of her hand wrapped around a zucchini. There was a large window, low to the ground, at the back of the room—but it was covered by iron bars that left no opening bigger than a melon. "That's how we toss out our garbage."
"Why is it like that?" Shulamit scrutinized the iron bars, holding her breath because of the smell of the pile of kitchen refuse outside.
The head cook rolled her eyes. "The owner was concerned it was a security risk. Lot of good it did him, in the end."
"So there really is no way anyone could have gotten in this way?"
The head cook shook her head again.
"What about that street kid—Micah?"
"Even he can't fit through those bars. Good thing too—the owner doesn't like him," said the cook. "I tried to get him to let me hire him to wash dishes or run trash out to the burn pile, but he's just—you know—prejudiced or something. Expects anyone who's living on the street like that to be trouble."
"Someone can be trouble because they're in trouble themselves," Shulamit mumbled absently, looking around.
The head cook nodded sagely.
"When you said, 'run trash out,' you don't mean the owner makes you take crates of trash out the long way, do you?" asked the queen.
"Unfortunately, yes," said the head cook. "We do the best we can with the window, but when you're talking about the skeleton of an entire lamb, or even just old crates themselves, with nothing in them—what the potatoes came in, or these zucchini—yes. We carry them out the front, and aroooound the building... It's okay. It's mostly a good job. Everyone's got his quirks."
The queen and her guards said good-bye to the inn staff and headed next for the marketplace. Zev's jewelry stall was deep within the thicket of merchants, and Shulamit sensed both of her fierce northerners slip into a state of heightened awareness as they tightened their orbit around her. Not that anybody expected her or her baby to be attacked, but they were there to keep her safe, and it was habit.
Zev was negotiating with a stylish-looking woman when they reached his shop. He and his customer paused their conversation to bow to Shulamit as people usually did when she entered a shop, then resumed their discourse. The woman was holding a rope of large beads that looked as though they might be lapis, turning it this way and that to catch different angles of light. Zev's face was a poignant study in eagerness trying to disguise itself as patience.
"I just don't know," said the woman. "I actually already have a lapis necklace... my husband brought it back for me when he was traveling to sell his cheeses."
"But perhaps it's a different style," Zev pointed out.
"Yee-es, it is that," she admitted. "If only I had my blue dress on, I could see if it works with the neckline."
"Try the clasp," said Zev, picking up another necklace that was in front of him. With deft fingers he showed her how easy it was to manipulate. Once it was closed, he tugged on it. "Strong, but easy to open and close."
"Oh, just like the one at Gershom's! Yes, I've seen that."
Zev gritted his teeth and bit his lip, his salesman's smile looking obviously forced. Shulamit grimaced unintentionally, her heart going out to him.
"I'm sure I've seen a necklace just like that among the queen's adornments," piped up a deep voice near Shulamit. "Lovely piece of work. Don't you think it suits her?"
Shulamit pursed her lips, suppressing a giggle. Isaac knew full well that she preferred more delicate jewelry and hadn't a thing in her closet that was dark blue, her least favorite color to wear. She s
uspected he was merely having a private joke with himself.
It was working. The woman, holding the necklace to her own throat, stole a look at the queen as she reconsidered. "Oh, Majesty, you have one just like—? You think I should—?"
"I think it looks very nice on you," Shulamit reassured her, speaking truth where Isaac had certainly not.
"Well," said the woman, a mischievous look of satisfaction creeping onto her face as if she were taking an extra cookie, "I'll take it. Maybe this means I should buy another blue dress, with a lower neckline to make room for it!"
While she and Zev briefly discussed the price, Shulamit turned to Isaac and murmured in his native language, "Why?"
"If Gershom wronged him, I want to help make up for it."
"Do we know that?"
"No," Isaac replied, his eyes twinkling and the edges of his mouth turned up slightly in an impish smirk. So she was right; sometimes he just liked to see if he could influence people's actions. Isaac, for all she loved him, was definitely someone to be thankful to be within his inner circle.
"Thank you, Your Majesty," said Zev when the happy customer had departed. He clasped his hands. "I have more lapis, if you want to see!"
"No thanks! Isaac's going to have to wear it himself, if he likes it so much." With that, she finally released the grin she'd been holding back for the past few minutes. That made Rivka laugh too. "So, how's business?"
Zev sighed. "Honestly, I don't even care if they're buying his necklaces at this point. I just can't deal with everyone coming in here and mentioning him. That clasp—my wife—she really had a mind for mechanics."
"May her memory be blessed."
"Thank you, Majesty."
"But the customers are still coming?"
"Yes, business is all right. I suppose. I don't know." He ran his hands through his hair. "Majesty, you believe me, don't you? I mean—"
Two young women rushed into the shop, panting and nearly crashing into each other. "Zev!" one shouted breathlessly.
"Yes?"
"We need tiaras. Cheap ones."
"Both of us. Maybe just something with wire?"
"We're going to a party."
"She was supposed to pick them up this morning."
"I thought she was!"
Zev's face creased into the first genuine smile Shulamit had seen on his face that day. "Relax! I can help you both, and it won't take long."
"We've still got to get to the hair-braiding lady!"
"I'll get out of your way," said Shulamit, heading back toward the entrance of the stall.
"Oh! Oops! The queen!"
"Your Majesty!"
The girls bowed and looked at each other with embarrassed expressions.
"Peace!" Shulamit waved and led her guards out into the sunlight.
"He's still got a healthy stream of customers," Isaac observed.
"Right. I was going to say," said Shulamit, "if we'd been in there for ten minutes and seen nobody, I'd almost wonder if he'd cooked this whole thing up just to get a leg up on Gershom again."
Chapter 8: Inside and Outside the Music Shop
Rivka, ever vigilant as the queen's personal bodyguard, was the first to spot a familiar figure several stalls down from Zev's, on the other side of the path. "Queenling—" She gestured to her left. "Tzuriel's stall, the man with the instruments. Isn't that him over there?"
"Oh! Well, that's lucky."
Rivka followed her across the street toward the makeshift music shop with Isaac close behind.
Tzuriel had his back to the road talking to somebody, but between his girth and the noticeably foreign locks of his hair, he was unmistakable. "Bye!" he called out, waving, as the other man left the stall holding a toy drum. "Come back and let me know how she likes it! Or even bring her by and let me see!"
Rivka automatically scanned the area for weapons. There was a dizzying array of musical instruments, many of which she'd never seen before and couldn't identify, but while the clutter allowed for several spaces where a blade could be hidden, nothing jumped out at her as an immediate danger. Tzuriel himself wore no blade; he was a large man but seemed generally mild and unthreatening.
"Peace," said Shulamit.
Tzuriel turned at her voice, and bowed when he realized who it was. "Majesty! And little miss Highness."
Shulamit, whose arms were already around Naomi in her sling, hugged her tightly and kissed her forehead. "We'd just like to have a look at your stock."
"Of course!"
Tzuriel's expression was a friendly one, but Rivka could still tell that it was twisted with stress. She knew Shulamit would play it cool—if he was innocent, there was no reason to risk the reputation of a merchant so new to her city. Shulamit prided herself on being a welcoming and hospitable ruler.
"I love to shop, so it's always fun to see who's new in the marketplace." Shulamit shot a look at Rivka, hoping she'd understand. Rivka acknowledged her strategy with a subtle nod. They were pretending to shop, to help Tzuriel save face.
He looked incredibly grateful.
Shulamit, her face deceptively placid, began to pore over the stock.
"Thank you," Tzuriel murmured as the two northerners followed her lead.
Rivka went straight to a stack of cases in the back. She knew the missing violin had been in one with strangely painted designs, and several of these were vividly decorated. However, none of them had butterflies, and most of them were the wrong size to be violins, anyway. One of them opened to reveal a trumpet within, and she thought of her days as a wandering mercenary on the battlefield of foreign kings.
From the other side of the store, she heard her husband's deep voice. "What's this one?" When she looked, she saw him gesturing at something that looked like a round metal basin upside down. It was attached to a long wooden pole by a single piece of string.
"You can play bass notes with that," Tzuriel explained. "Here, I'll show you." He put his right foot up on the basin and held the top of the pole with his left. "This is how you change the pitch." His left hand moved up and down the pole, holding the string. With a vigorous pluck of his right hand, he sounded a loud, resonating twang. "You want to try?"
"No, thank you, that's fine." Isaac smiled faintly and moved on to another instrument.
Rivka knew he wouldn't have been able to pluck the string without magic, as twenty years ago in battle, his right hand had been sliced open from palm to forearm, and the haphazard healing and resulting scar had left him unable to close any of the fingers. She didn't know what he was feeling just then, but it suited her to blurt out, "He needs no instrument. His voice is superior."
"Oh yes?" Tzuriel smiled and turned to Isaac curiously. "I mean, I can tell from the way he sounds when he talks, but you can carry a tune too?"
Isaac shot Rivka a look of impish affection crossed with mock humility. She grinned back at him; even though her mask covered her lower face she knew he would see the twinkling of her eyes. Then he rattled off a few bars of a meaningless drinking song.
Stirred though she was, as usual, by the way his voice carved caverns from the earth, she was a royal guard first. She compartmentalized her arousal and concentrated on searching through the instruments.
At the end of the row of cases there were some round metal pans she couldn't identify. They were as tall as her hand and as long as her forearm in diameter. Inside was a circle of shallow dents. The first thing that popped into her mind was shield, but the metal seemed too delicate and far too reflective for the battlefield—unless that reflectivity was to be used to deliberately blind the enemy with sunlight.
Tzuriel noticed her studying the object. "It's a steel drum. They come from the Sugar Coast, like me. Let me show you." He picked up one of the pans and hooked a strap around the handles on either side, then placed the strap over his neck. From a pile of mallets near what Rivka had recognized as ordinary animal-hide drums, he selected two and played a scale all the way around the circle of dents.
The soun
d was overly sweet, but it was loud and ringing and that appealed to her. "That doesn't seem hard at all!" exclaimed Rivka. She reached out with eager hands. Tzuriel quickly jumped in to assist her, perhaps out of fear she'd damage something in her wake.
The weight of the metal pan felt comfortingly solid around her neck. With a mallet in each hand, she tried the divots. "I like this!"
"Try to move your wrists rather than your whole arm," Tzuriel commented. "Like this. Fine-tuning. Also, try not to hit so hard."
"Riv? Hit less hard?" she heard Isaac quip to Shulamit across the room.
"I'm taking this with me," Rivka announced, fishing in a pouch for coins.
They finished searching the shop, but, thorough as they were, found no trace of the violin case painted with glittering butterflies. Shulamit, who had spoken with Esther personally and had a more specific idea of what the violin itself looked like, looked in all the violin cases they did find, but none of them suited her as their quarry.
Rivka found a way to use leather straps to tie her new steel drum to her back like a backpack, leaving her hands free as usual. Tucking the mallets into one trouser pocket, she followed Isaac and Shulamit back outside.
"Oh!" said Shulamit with surprise.
"Majesty," said Eli, whom she had found in the street.
Rivka looked him over. It was strange seeing him on his own; usually he was at Esther's side being solicitous and devoted.
"I was looking for Esther," said Eli, fitting neatly into Rivka's thoughts. "I thought she might be in the shop. Have you seen her?"
Shulamit shook her head. "We were just in there. She's not here."
Eli wrinkled his mouth. "She's really upset."
"I know," said the queen sincerely. "We're really trying. We're doing everything we can. We're just working methodically."
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—"
"No, it's fine."
"We were at Quiet Lake, walking, but she flared up at me. I was just trying to help her deal with what's going on. I was hoping she came back here so I could find her and talk to her."
A Harvest of Ripe Figs Page 5
