“I know, but the only nice thing about being out of the force is that I don’t have to care about the rules so much. I swear by my honour no crime’s been concealed, and you’d learn nothing important.”
“Don’t have much choice but to believe you. All right. I’ll note the file, and close it.”
“One thing though. Sapna’s family have made it hard for her husband with all they’ve been saying about him. It’d be kind if you spread the word she really did kill herself. Put a stop to the nastier rumours.”
He grunted. “I suppose I can do that. Poor man doesn’t deserve what’s been said. Yes, that’s reasonable. Now I suggest you leave before I think better of letting you off the hook over interfering with evidence, Sri Ythen.”
“Good day, constable. And thank you.”
He waved me off, half-irritated, half-pleased. A nastier man would have made my life suck for what I’d just pulled. But I’d counted on his good nature, and been right to do so.
And then finally to Doctor Nihar, because he could do some good in restoring Nikhil’s reputation too. He listened to my edited tale of finding the note in silence, and stroked his chin thoughtfully when I finished. “Always thought it was possible someone found her before her husband did.”
I hadn’t even hinted at the possibility of that. “I don’t think it’s helpful to speculate.”
“Oh, I know that, young man, and I know very well why you’re not telling me everything. Someone’s involved and knowing their name would hurt good people.”
“If there was someone else...they didn’t do any harm.”
“No doubt.” He sighed. “You know, I think I might drop over and speak to Nikhil. Should have done that before now.”
“That’d be kind, doctor. He’s shaken up.”
“Yes, I’m sure. You’ve done a fair bit of shaking up all over the place, one way or another, haven’t you?”
“Guess so. But now it’s over.”
“For you, maybe. Not for the family. But that’s my job, looking after them. Mine and the rest of us. I’ll see that we do.”
“Thanks. Oh, I read that paper you gave me. Interesting stuff.”
“It is. Pity more of you don’t learn a bit more about the history of the planet, but from what I see, your people are a pretty incurious bunch, at least about my people.”
“Maybe we are. But I’m glad I read it. Thanks.”
“Any time. Now you’d better be off doing whatever it is you do, and I’d better get back to work. Nice job, Javen. Not every case will be this tidy.”
“Wish this one could have a happy ending, but that was never going to happen.”
“No. Well, good day and good luck, young man. Drop in if you’re ever out this way again.”
I smiled and agreed, but somehow doubted I ever would be. The Flats weren’t the kind of place or the kind of people who needed investigators. I wasn’t sorry about that.
~~~~~~~~
I arrived home next day just in time for lunch. I walked in, went to the twins and hugged them until they squealed with laughter. While Tara was still chiding me for that, I hugged her, and then my brother when he came over to see what the hell was going on.
“I love all of you more than anything or anyone in the world.”
“That’s nice, brother, but could you let us go so we can breathe?”
Tara patted my cheek. “You look worn out. Want to talk about it?”
“No. Not yet anyway. Any food left for me?”
“You can have mine, Uncle Javen,” Harshul said, shoving his plate at me.
“Harshul Ythen, sit down and eat your food,” Tara said. “You won’t grow big and strong if you don’t eat properly.”
“Don’t want to be big and strong. Don’t like vegetables.”
I laughed and ruffled his hair. “Vegetables before sweets, and you love sweets, right?”
“Why can’t I have them instead?”
I smiled at Tara. “Well?”
“Because I said you can’t, and that’s the end of that. Thank you, Uncle Javen.”
“Any time, sister.”
She made a face and served me some of her delicious kari, while Yashi warmed chapatis. Harshul’s twin, Madhu, ate quietly, smirking as his brother poked his unwanted food, forking a piece now and then into his sulky mouth. Yashi grinned at all of us, and I grinned at him. Some days, my family drove me crazy. Today...even as an atheist, I felt blessed, and very, very lucky to have them.
When the promised sweets finally arrived, I lifted my mug of chai to everyone. “To good food, and good company.”
“And me,” Harshul insisted.
Yashi grinned. “Of course to you, you noisy brat. To all of us, especially my beloved brother, for whom I’m always grateful.”
“And to you, brother. To all of you.”
His eyes met mine, and I knew he understood. That was the nice thing about being a twin. Some things I’d never need to explain.
Javen and the Seeker’s Gift
On a hundred old Earth-colonised planets, among twenty human races, there’s one constant—never, ever come between a cop and his morning cup of plant-based stimulant. I wasn’t a cop any more, and I was trying to cut down on the caffeine intake for the good of my blood pressure, but that didn’t stop me scowling at the banis man who slid into the booth across from me and smiled far too brightly for this time of the morning.
“Sri Ythen?”
“Whatever you’re selling, I don’t want any, and I’m not looking for an employee. Try some other chuma, beto.”
I’d pissed him off, which didn’t bother me half as much as the fact he hadn’t taken the hint. “I am not looking for a job, Sri Ythen. Rather, I am looking to employ you. You are a detective, yes? Private investigations, with discretion?”
I sat up, now more curious than annoyed. I’d had a couple of banis clients, by accident more than anything else. Most couldn’t afford my fees, not that I held it against them. My visitor might be able to, though. Sharp Kelon-style kurta pajama, clean-shaven face, bright auburn hair worn in hundreds of tiny braids in the usual banis fashion, but without any flashy beads, face paint or ear tails. “Your name?”
“Harinakshi Tapti Sohan, but I will not be your client. Is there somewhere we could talk discreetly?”
“Right here, Sri Sohan.”
The chai house was half-empty and no one ever paid me any attention, except to take my order. It was why I kept coming back. Privacy, network access, drinkable chai—all I asked for anywhere. I shut down the media report I’d been reading on the booth screen. “But you realise my fee starts at five hundred a day, on top of expenses, and I charge a finder’s fee if I’m looking for an object or a person.”
Sohan bowed his head. “Expense is no problem. Discretion is. And forgive me, this is too sensitive to discuss where we can be overhead.”
“We could go for a walk, but that might get you more attention than you want.”
“You don’t have an office?”
“Not as such, and if you knew to look for me here, you already knew that. So cut the crap and tell me what you want.” I hadn’t had a client in nearly a month, but I wasn’t hurting for money. This guy had already crossed two lines with me. A third and he wasn’t hiring me if he offered me majority shares in Pledeke Corp itself.
He was still pissed off, but I sensed desperation too. He didn’t want to fail. Weird, because I wasn’t the only detective in Hegal by a long way. “Talk, Sri Sohan. The first half hour is free, and then there’s a hundred dolar fee per hour.”
“Money is very important to you, isn’t it?”
I rolled my eyes at him. “It’s my job. If you want someone to listen to you for free, you need a priest, not me. Now tell me about the client.”
He was on the verge of walking, which wouldn’t make me cry, but the fact he sat there, still seething, intrigued me. “Is it true you are matos? You say, ‘empath’?”
“A little louder, the cook might n
ot have heard you. I’m not allowed to advertise any ‘special’ talents in gaining employment.”
“But I asked you.”
“Why does it matter?”
“I can’t answer that.”
“Then same goes for me. What’s the job? Surveillance? Retrieval?”
“Retrieval. Of a very precious and very sensitive kind.”
“They’re all precious and sensitive, Sri Sohan, which is why I can charge what I do. If your interest in whether I’m matos is to find out if I mind taking on an indigenous client, you don’t need to worry. I don’t have a problem with your people.”
“I already know that, Sri Ythen. You acted for my fojor a few months ago. She was satisfied with your professionalism, though she didn’t mention your....”
“Charm? What’s a fojor?”
“Sorry. You would say my father’s step-sister’s niece.”
I shook my head. The banis had words for things the Kelons didn’t even know needed one. “Sushri Hiranya? Jyoti Hiranya?”
“Yes. She said you were discreet and efficient, and different from other chuma. Now, do you want the job or not?”
I held up my hands. “What job? Look, I need more information. I don’t work blind, and I don’t accept cases I don’t think I have a reasonable chance of cracking. It’s not fair on the client.”
The annoyance rolled off him. “I can’t tell you about it unless you agree to work for us.”
“And I’m agreeing to nothing before you tell me. So maybe you need another detective, Sri Sohan.” I picked up my mug, and glanced pointedly at the door. “Good day.”
He stood up, pissed as fury, and stalked over to the door, wrenching it open so hard I felt the wall move.
I shrugged. I was sorry not to know what was so flaming important, but I had chai to drink and reports to read. Clients came and went, and the Nihan weren’t my target demographic. Not enough money to throw around.
“We will pay twice your usual fee, two days in advance, if you will take on the task.”
When the hell had Sohan come back in? I blinked up at his irritated face. “Two thousand in advance? You don’t look like you have that kind of money.”
He pulled out his wallet, extracted a paycard, and inserted it into the booth reader, logging in without asking my permission. He jabbed his finger at the screen. “I have ten thousand dolar available right now. Ten days’ hire. You can have it all now, if you come.”
“No. Seriously no. Are you crazy? I don’t care what you’ve lost, that kind of money smells illegal, and I don’t do that, beto. I’m an ex-cop because of injury, not because I broke the law. Scram.”
He leaned on the table, his black eyes boring into me. “Please. For the sake of justice. There is no illegality, I swear by the Spirit.”
It was a toss-up which I felt more—crankiness or curiosity. Curiosity won by a hair. “Okay. I’ll talk. I don’t need the money, and if I don’t like what I hear, I walk. No contract up front, no obligation. Take it or leave it. No arguing.”
“I take it. Please come now.” He actually plucked at my jacket sleeve.
“Hold your damn horses. I’m coming.”
“Horses?”
“Kolija.”
“But I own no kolija.”
This was going to be a very long meeting.
~~~~~~~~
We took a taxi instead of my own vehicle, since taking a private auto into the banis neighbourhood of old Hegal would be like walking in banging drums and playing sirens. Being Kelon was conspicuous enough, even though there were plenty of mixed-race people around who looked Kelon. Until I found out what was so damn urgent about this case, attention was the last thing I wanted.
A lot of Kelons referred to Nihani housing as burrows, which wasn’t polite but not completely inaccurate either. The long rows of houses interconnected at various point, allowing extended families a free run down half a dozen homes without ever needing to come onto the street. Most banis flat out refused to live in individual Kelon houses, even when provided free. Too isolated, they said. Privacy wasn’t much valued in banis society, so far as I could tell.
I’d lived in Hegal all my life, spent ten years as a cop walking the streets and enforcing the law, and yet I had never been down this road. I knew I wouldn’t be welcome there. Kelon cops tended to steer clear of old Hegal unless they were on a call, leaving community relations to the indigenous cops. There weren’t that many mixed-race officers on the force. The ones who were, were inevitably stuck doing liaison work.
We were in the jewellery making district, one of the few lucrative indigenous industries. Banis craftsmen lived above their workshops, and I wasn’t surprised when the taxi pulled up outside a large, moderately prosperous-looking business selling enamelwork and glassware. Sohan paid the driver, and led me to the entrance to the upstairs residences. We met no one, but I sensed other people hidden away behind the dark wooden walls. The corridor was rather gloomy, so I blinked when he opened a door and led me into an airy, sunlit room.
Then I blinked again, this time from the impact of distinctly different emotions coming from two individuals. Hostility verging on hate, stabbing into my head like a skewer, and intense relief and...curiosity. While I tried to orientate myself, Sohan went down on one knee. “Muor, I have brought the man you wished to speak to.”
I shielded my eyes and found myself looking at a short, elderly woman dressed in flowing purple and umber, holding her hand out to me. I felt the tingle in my skull that told me I was in the presence of another empath. “Hello, Shrimati...sorry, I don’t know your name.”
“I am Roshni Deela Yatin,” she said in a lilting voice. I accepted her hand, but then jerked a little in shock as I noticed her eyes. Banis eyes are usually blue or green, though those of mixed-race people were often hazel or even brown. Hers were completely milky white. “Yes, I’m blind, Sri Ythen. And matos, as you are. Please sit. Let me introduce one of my nephews, my legal advisor, Shardul Hema Rishabh.”
The source of the hostility—and someone I’d heard of. Someone to avoid, I’d been told. An indigenous lawyer with a fierce reputation and fiercer hatred of Kelons.
“Sri Rishabh,” I said politely. Arsehole, I thought. He knew what he was doing to me, projecting those emotions. But he was pretty enough, with hundreds of fiery braids spilling around his elegant features, framing his intense eyes.
“Sri Jav,” he replied. I didn’t correct him about my name. An odd mistake for him to make.
“Please, everyone. Sit. Harinakshi, there is chai in the kitchen. Sri Ythen, you’ll drink our chai?”
“Yes, ma’am. But I’d rather hear what you want me to do so desperately.”
Rishabh made a faintly disgusted noise. Someone wasn’t thrilled to see me, for sure.
Shrimati Yatin ignored him. “A week ago, my workshop below was broken into. I lost a number of valuable commissioned pieces, but insurance will cover that, or most of it. Unfortunately, the thieves also took a strong box, no doubt thinking it contained something valuable. Its contents, no insurance can replace.”
“And was it valuable, ma’am?”
“Not to anyone but the udawathei. The intrinsic value, barely a dolar. To our people, all the money in the universe will not compensate us.”
“A cultural artefact then. You reported it to the police?”
Rishabh snorted. “Of course. And of course they said they would investigate. Which, for the chuma, means poking around, disturbing evidence, asking inane questions, and putting the case at the bottom of their list of things to do. It would be a waste of time to try and explain the monuwel’s importance.”
“The monuwel—that’s the artefact? What is it, and are you sure no one but a banis would want it?”
“It’s a wooden cup, Sri Ythen,” Shrimati Yatin said. “Simply painted, very plain. Not even particularly attractive.”
“Then the thieves either tossed it when they realised they’d picked up something useless, or they migh
t be smart enough to realise it was in a strong box for a reason, and try and sell it to a collector.” I shrugged. “Either way, I can’t see why you need me, or any detective. All you need to do is search. I don’t do trash collections, and you’d know more about banis artefact collectors than me. If it’s valuable to your people, it’s almost certainly still with them. The thieves were probably indigenous.”
“I told you the guko would take that attitude,” Rishabh spat.
She held up her hand. “Patience, Shardul. Sri Ythen, no one in our community would steal from me.”
I raised my eyebrows, though she couldn’t see them. She’d sense my scepticism, though. “I don’t mean to be rude—”
“Then refrain.”
Shrimati Yatin sighed at her nephew. “Shardul, please. Continue,” she said to me.
“I was a cop for ten years, ma’am. No one has any special immunity from theft. Honour among thieves is a myth.”
“Not in this case. You’ll have to take my word on that. The thieves are not udawatha. We could, as you say, initiate a search, but the need for discretion is paramount. We didn’t tell the police of the monuwel’s theft, and apart from us in this room, no one knows it’s missing.”
“Then how do you expect the police to look for something they don’t know is stolen, Shrimati Yatin?”
“I don’t. I hoped they would find the other material and identify the thieves so we could ask them about the artefact, but nothing has happened.”
“Of course not,” Rishabh said with a dismissive wave.
I turned to him. “If you’re so clever, Sri Rishabh, why aren’t you looking for it? Oh, that’s right, you need a chuma for it. Except you haven’t told me why, and damned if I can work out why I should sit here while you make snide remarks about my people.”
“Oh, so sorry. Am I oppressing you, Sri Jav?”
“You’re being an arsehole. Excuse my language, ma’am.”
Sohan set a cup of chai in front of me, radiating anger. “You are very disrespectful, Sri Ythen.”
“Maybe you should tell your pet legal eagle to take a hike.”
The ‘eagle’ bristled. “You won’t be speaking to my aunt without my presence, Sri Jav, and that’s final.”
Different Senses Page 11
