Different Senses

by Ann Somerville

  “No. And you can’t tell him. He does a lot of good things for my people. He respects our culture. Just in this one area, he has...a blind spot.”

  “Uh huh. Well, I’ll think about it. You’ll know what he’s offering. I’ll let you try and match it. And I’ll pass on your wishes to my cousin for her consideration. Can’t do more than that.”

  His shoulders sagged. “Thank you. Are you offering the items to anyone else here?”

  “I’ve been in touch with Tanmay Kly.”

  He stiffened. “He won’t want to pay as much as Sri Duadi. You’d be wasting your time.”

  “Maybe.”

  He grabbed my sleeve. “Please. We must have those objects back. Everything, however unappealing.”

  I shook him off. “I said I’d let you bid. Now we’re done, I think. I’ll make my own way out. Good day, Sri Vishva.”

  I called Shardul as soon as I left the building. “Scratch Duadi off the list. He didn’t even twitch at the bait, and he’s got a lieutenant actively trying to block him from acquiring anything culturally sensitive. Guy called Vishva. Know him?”

  “Yes. He’s from a good family, very devoted to udawa. He would never reveal secrets to a chuma.”

  “I figured that. So onto the next.”

  “I’ve sent you the contact details for my cousin. She does genealogical research as a part-time business. Sees the occasional chuma client, so you won’t excite any curiosity if you turn up. She charges nearly as much as you do,” he added sweetly.

  “Hey, I’m worth every dolar. How many cousins do you have?”

  “Enough for my needs. Report when you have news.”

  When I checked my messages, Shardul’s was right above one from Tanmay Kly, inviting me to come to his house at ten the next morning, with all the information about the artefacts on offer. Looked like having high-quality banis artefacts was one sure entrée into the company of the rich and powerful on Uterden. I sent a message to Shardul’s cousin, asking when she might have time to see me, and another to Kly, accepting the invitation. Now for more wait and see.

  The investigating business was still slow, apart from this one case, so I had plenty of leisure before heading back to the house, to drink chai and play with my family tree. I had no images, mental or physical, of any of these people past my grandparents’ parents, and I knew nothing of their lives. My grandfather had come from Kelon, as had my other grandparents. Grandma was the only link to Uterden. Had she been a Scientific Rationalist? Or a Reformed Deist like the early colonists? Religion had played a big part in the first colonists’ lives, and even in some of the second-comers. I couldn’t imagine an existence dominated by rituals and superstition, yet it was how the banis—udawathei—lived their lives. Not that I knew anything about their beliefs beyond what Shardul and his aunt had told me, and a little picked up here and there from watching kids at school, before Yashi and I were sent to the exclusive academy intended to groom us for careers in business and politics. No indigenous scholars there, but we still managed to disappoint our Dad by rejecting his wishes, and going our own way.

  I read the bare details of my great-great-great-great-grandparents, Udy and Mallika. Their parents had all come over from Kelon, so they were the first in their line to marry on Uterden soil. They’d raised twin girls, Sudha and Birati. Sudha had married and given birth to my great-great-grandfather. Birati never married or had children. I wondered why, since fertility and marriage were highly valued by early colonists, and indeed still were.

  But then I looked at the birth date of the twins—seven years before Udy and Mallika had married. Odd. Births outside marriage weren’t unknown but why wait seven years? And why did they stop having kids? Medical problems? Separation? I desperately wanted to know, which surprised me. I loved my immediate, living family, but I’d never been interested in their history, or history as a subject. I’d studied what I’d needed to matriculate, and then I concentrated on forensics and policing methods in my university studies. The pasts of the criminals I pursued as a cop never interested me either. I figured their sad, sad lives were for the justice system to consider. I just hauled them in and charged them.

  But Udy and Mallika, Sudha and Birati intrigued me enough to raise it over dinner with the family. “Why would someone not marry the mother of his children for seven years?” I asked. The kids had gone to bed and we ate our adult meal in peace.

  “Because she was married to someone else?” Tara suggested.

  “Or he was,” Yashi said. “Maybe the kids were adopted?”

  “Hmmm, nothing on the records about that. Would have been a bit of a scandal though, if they did have kids while married to other people. Can’t see that going down well in that kind of society.”

  “People have messy lives,” Tara said. “Look how many Kelon men went off with banis women, even though it was frowned on.”

  “I wonder what the attraction was,” Yashi said. “I know every colony ship that left Kelon in those days was balanced for the sexes, so it wasn’t a shortage of women.”

  “Yeah, but some of the women might have not have wanted to marry, or maybe the indigenous religion appealed more to the men. Reformed Deists were pretty strict back then. Lots of rules.”

  “The banis religion has rules, doesn’t it?” Tara asked.

  “I suppose. Don’t know for sure. Maybe the men just thought the women were prettier. Exotic.”

  “More willing,” Tara said. I gave her a look. “What? Everyone says they are.”

  They did say that. “Maybe more willing than highly religious colonist women anyway.”

  “They didn’t care about being married either.”

  “What makes you think that?”

  “I learned that in school,” she said, in a tone suggesting I should have known that. “There were no marriages among the indigenous people until the Kelon arrived.”

  “No, they were married but the Kelon government refused to register them. Even if one of the partners was Kelon. Wouldn’t register the births either. The banis weren’t very happy about that.”

  She stared at me. “Why wouldn’t they register the marriages?”

  “At a guess, because they weren’t carried out under a Kelon religion. Or maybe because of concern about racial purity. Did you really not know that?”

  “No.” Her mouth snapped shut, and she picked up our plates with jerky, irritated movements to match what I sensed from her. But then she turned to me. “Are you sure?”

  “Absolutely sure. Our people even denied the automatic right of indigenous and biracial children to inherit from their parents if they weren’t married under Kelon law—even though Kelon law made that impossible.”

  “I didn’t know,” she murmured. “There must have been a reason, though.”

  “Prejudice doesn’t need a reason,” Yashi pointed out, and I was glad he did since it was better coming from him than me. “So maybe their women aren’t as slutty as you think.”

  “Don’t use words like that, Yashi.” She went into the kitchen. My twin just shrugged at me.

  I didn’t know if I was grateful for this case opening up my eyes to what I should have already known. But now they were open, I had to learn more.

  ~~~~~~~~

  As I drove to my appointment with Tanmay Kly, a message came through from Shardul’s cousin saying a cancellation had opened a slot for me at twelve if I could make it so soon. I figured I should be done with Kly by then, and accepted.

  Everyone knew where Tanmay Kly lived. His house was on easily the biggest estate in Hegal, and the regular venue for glittering parties for this and that product launch or charity fundraiser. Parts of it were even open to the public on certain days of the year, when his impressive art collection was on display. I’d never been inside. Now I’d see what I’d been missing.

  It seemed to take nearly as long to drive from the heavily guarded gate to the front of the house as it had to get to the place from Yashi’s. I guessed Sri Kly didn’t h
ave to trot down to his own mailbox to pick up his post, but if he did, he’d need a packed lunch.

  All the staff at the gate and now at the house were banis. Didn’t surprise me after Duadi, but it didn’t strike me as a very ‘pro-indigenous’ act to employ them exclusively as domestic servants. That could be my prejudices talking though. I’d always disliked the idea of other people doing what I could do perfectly well myself. For all I knew, the banis working here were happy with their lot. I’d detected nothing to make me think otherwise. Not yet, anyway.

  The house was an architectural masterpiece, discussed as such in media spreads even as far as Kelon, which had little interest in colonial affairs. Like all Kelon buildings in Medele, it strongly featured windows, terraces and balconies to catch as much sun as possible. Unusually, it was half hidden by colourful climbing plants, so it blended into the landscape. Most Kelon houses made a virtue of their separateness from the terrain, as if quarantining themselves from a foreign land. The effect of this house was rather restful on the eye.

  But I had little time to admire it, for a dark-suited banis woman came to greet me, and led me without delay into a spacious, open-to-the-sky living area. Sri Kly, instantly recognisable, was there already. Another man sat beside him. I didn’t know his face.

  “Sri Ythen, welcome. Please do take a seat. Tell me, how is Rajan? I haven’t seen him since last year at the governors’ end of session dinner.”

  “He’s well, sir.” Of course Kly would know my father, and all the other regional governors.

  “I must ask him and your beautiful mother over for dinner soon. But it’s another relative I hear you’re acting for this time. Tell me about it.”

  I recited the now easily told lie while I discreetly examined Kly. He was in his mid-sixties, but looked older, and in poor health, though his straight-backed bearing tended to disguise it. I wondered just how sick he was.

  The other man was younger. He listened to all that was said with an avid, almost manic gleam in his eyes, radiating an unfocused excitement and protectiveness towards Kly, which I thought a bit odd. As with the assistant who’d remained standing near the door, no one introduced him.

  Kly listened patiently to my fabricated yarn, and then politely asked to see the artefact images. His assistant rushed up silently with a holoplayer, set it up, and just as quietly and quickly returned to her position near the door.

  Kly was far less impressed by my collection than Duadi had been, flicking swiftly through the images without any excited commentary. The other man leaned forward to look too, but didn’t comment, though Kly glanced at him from time to time as if to confirm they were in agreement.

  “Very nice, but nothing that I haven’t already seen. She had some excellent advice, I must say. Unusual for a collection on Kelon to be so well planned. A shame she won’t be continuing with it. However, I can’t really say I’m moved to bid for it. I’m sorry.”

  “That’s all right. I’ve had some interest from Sri Duadi.” Kly smiled politely at the name, but I sensed the sneer behind it. From the stranger, much greater hostility, well concealed behind a benign expression. “There was one thing I wondered if you could shed some light on. My cousin says there’s a shirt with a rather odd label.”

  I gave him the guff I’d given Duadi—with very different results. This time the intense interest of all three was piqued, though Kly did his best to hide it. “You know what it could be?” The stranger was bug-eyed with excitement. Who was this guy?

  “It sounds like the shirt is claimed to be one of the three gatha,” Kly said. “But I regret to say it must be a fake. They turn up from time to time. No one outside the indigenous community would ever have seen or had access to such an item.”

  “‘Gatha’?”

  The stranger answered. “Three sacred relics—a shirt, a cup and a pouch. Probably the most valuable and revered items in the udawa religion.”

  Kly smiled, but he wasn’t pleased at the interruption. “Ah, excuse my manners. Sri Gagan is my one of my advisors on my collection.”

  Gagan gave a little bow. “Kly-ji is my superior in knowledge. I add a little expertise here and there. You have no idea where this shirt was obtained?”

  “No idea. You think it could be real then?”

  He looked at Kly who shook his head slowly. “It’s certainly a fake. I don’t suppose your cousin sent you an image?” Kly was an actor of some skill, but he couldn’t stop his hands shaking in excitement. They were both lying. They wanted the shirt, and badly.

  “Yes, she did, last night when I told her I would be meeting you.” I adjusted the player display. “Sorry it’s not clearer. I think she was in a hurry.”

  Kly began to cough, his face turning alarmingly red. His assistant moved over smoothly and poured him a glass of water, and handed him a pill. “Excuse me. I have to take this medication at strict times. Most tiresome.” His breathing eased, but the avarice did not. “Yes, the shirt is very obviously a fake.”

  “How can you be sure if no Kelon has seen it?”

  “Well...it’s too modern. See that detail there? That’s almost second-wave. Little more than a tourist item, in fact.”

  “Ah. I’ll have my cousin dispose of it then.”

  A spike of alarm from both men, but Kly said smoothly, “Yes, probably wise. But actually, I have a friend at the university who’s making a study of such material, would you believe? Fakes aimed at the unsuspecting Kelon collector. There’s an exhibition of such fraudulent items to be held at the museum later this year. I don’t suppose your cousin would care to donate it for study? I’d pay the costs, of course.”

  I pretended dubiousness. “I suppose I could ask her. She might not be too happy for the family to be associated with something like this.”

  “It’s entirely respectable. I could ask my friend to write to her.”

  “Okay,” I said, exuding a polite lack of interest in the whole matter. “No harm in that.”

  “I tell you what. As a gesture of goodwill, and to compensate your cousin for her trouble, I could put a bid in on the rest of the collection—sight unseen—and guarantee to offer ten percent more than the best price she’s been quoted. The artefacts would make a handsome donation to the museum, though I don’t want them myself. Good for tax purposes, and it would be a mere pittance to me.”

  “That’s very generous. I’ll certainly put that to her. I was wondering though—the real gatha. Would they be valuable?”

  Kly was suddenly wary, though his smile never altered. “Yes and no. The rarity would make them desirable. But I collect for beauty and by all accounts, the three gatha are extremely plain, even rather ugly pieces. I’d acquire them if I thought they were genuine, but then I’d offer them back to the Nihan anyway. I don’t believe we should plunder such intimate items from a culture.”

  “It’s a wonder no one’s tried to steal them, if they’re so valuable.”

  “I’m sure they have, but the udawathei guard their treasures very well.”

  A blast of pure loathing came from the woman at the door, at odds with the smugness I sensed from him and Gagan both. What did that mean? “Well, I wouldn’t want to encourage anyone to steal from the banis,” I said. “I’ll ask my cousin about the shirt, and your offer.”

  “Yes, do. Thank you for your time, and please, mention me to your father. Tell him I’ll be in touch soon.”

  “Certainly. Thanks for seeing me, Sri Kly. Good day, Sri Gagan.”

  His assistant came to see me out to the front of the house. After her reaction indoors, I expected another plea not to sell more of her heritage, but she simply signalled to another servant to bring my auto around, and left me there without another word.

  What to make of it? Kly wanted the gatha, no doubt about it. Did that mean he’d stolen the monuwel? Did his assistant know the truth, or was she simply reacting to her boss’s hypocrisy? And who was this Gagan? I sent a message to Shardul, asking him to call me after my meeting with his cousin. I
also sent my own cousin a note to prepare her for some signs of interest, and possible attempts to seize the non-existent shirt. I needed her to be guarded but not to reject overtures outright. If Kly turned out to be honest, I’d have to come up with some artefacts and a fake shirt, or a damn good excuse as to why he couldn’t have them.

  Shardul’s cousin, Rupa Ela Nirav, lived in a semi-rural district on the other side of Hegal where many banis owned small farms producing meat, eggs and vegetables for sale within their community. I couldn’t recall ever going there on duty. It was as crime-free an area as a cop could dream of.

  Her house was on a vegetable farm, though I heard the squeals of kolija as I parked up. A slender, heavily pregnant young woman answered the door. I assumed this was Rupa’s daughter. “Javen Ythen for Sushri Rupa?”

  “Come in, Sri Ythen, I’ve been expecting you.”

  “You’re Rupa?”

  “Yes. Is that a problem?”

  “No. I just thought a genealogist would be...older.”

  She laughed. “I will be one day. Come through to my office.”

  There were other people in the building, but I saw no one else as she led me through to a large, open room spread with charts and pictures. “Now, did Shardul tell you what I charge?”

  “A lot.”

  She grinned. “Yes, sadly. A hundred an hour, two hundred minimum up front. So here are my details, if you would like to transfer the funds?”

  Fortunately I’d prepared for this, and the transaction was completed in a couple of minutes. “Excellent,” she said. “So, tell me your story, and let me know what you have.”

  She listened intently to my tale of how I’d learned of my heritage, and the family reaction, then examined the family tree I’d put together. She homed in immediately on the anomalous birthdates of my great-great-great-great-great-grandparents’ twin daughters. “That could be a sign of a previous intermarriage with our people.”

  “On her side or his?”

  “Definitely his. There are no records at all of any indigenous men marrying Kelon women from the first colonisation. Several stories of our men being killed or beaten for the presumption of loving them, though.”