“Of course it is. Good for you too.”
“Well, yes. No security worries. No Javen though. I feel terrible. I ruin your weekend and now I won’t even see you.”
“Hey, it’s only a couple of days. I’m going with you to the festival next weekend and Lalit promised me faithfully your sweet little arse is all mine the weekend after. So be ready because I will be very, very desperate by then.”
He chuckled. “We’ll be tearing each other’s clothes off. Just you and me? No one else for three whole days?”
“Four, and yes. No managers, no phones, no interviews.”
He sighed. “Sounds like bliss. Malu, I have to go.”
“‘Malu’?”
“Ask Shardul-ji.”
“Such a brat. Have a good time, sweetheart.”
“I won’t. You won’t be there. But I’ll do my best.” He blew a kiss down the line to me. “I’ll call you as soon as we’re back.”
Ditched again. I messaged Shardul. “What does ‘malu’ mean?”
“Lost your new dictionary?”
“Want definition from dictionary of Shardul-ji.”
“Very well. ‘Malu’—insipid, sickly, trite endearment used by rogues to tempt women into bed. Assume worst of anyone using it.”
Bastard. He knew very well who’d used it. “Want to have lunch?”
“Thought you had plans.”
“T invited to perform for rich man up north.”
“How sad. Don’t feel like being replacement entertainment. Dirty weekend not happening?”
“In two weeks. Ursemin promised on life of his mother I can take T away then.”
“U expanding into pandering. How exciting.”
“You are very rude.”
“Yes. Also very busy. Find another playmate.”
Not an unexpected response, but I hadn’t seen him as a replacement. I hadn’t had a chance to have lunch with him in a couple of weeks, and prickly sod though he was, he was also one of my dearest friends. I hoped he’d eventually accept what was happening with Tushar because losing Shardul from my life would hurt very badly. Though I wouldn’t give up Tushar to keep Shardul happy. No one had the right to ask that of me.
I didn’t see Tushar for three days. At least, not in the flesh. Every time I read a news page or watched a media feed, either I’d see his face, an interview with him, or hear a reference to him. Kind of how my relationship with my father worked these days, which wasn’t a precedent I wanted to follow.
His caravan swept into Hegal after a triumphant and much-reported stint at the estate of the filthy rich owner of Denge Consortium, Kaushik Denge, but I only had time to meet him at the air transport hub and give him a hug and a kiss—to the delight of the waiting reporters—before Ursemin dragged him away for a guest appearance on one of the media channels. “See you tonight?” I asked.
He looked at Ursemin, who shook his head. “Another party booking down on the coast. Two nights. I’m sorry, Javen.”
“Oh well. I hope you’re banking some of the money and not spending it on loose men and drink.”
“I never drink,” Tushar protested.
“But the loose men?”
He smacked me on the shoulder then rubbed up against me. “I’m only loose for you,” he whispered, which had a regrettable effect on my libido, but fortunately wasn’t overheard by any of the reporters.
“When you come back, your cute little arse is mine.”
“Always yours!” he called before twirling for the benefit of the cameras and giving the waiting press a big smile.
I went back to work, grumpy and horny. Madan and the kids kept clear of me, though Madan did offer the opinion that my Tushar cranky face was nearly as frightening as my Shardul cranky face. I asked him if he wanted to see my Madan cranky face and he decided he had business outside the office for the next hour.
If I hadn’t known better, I’d have sworn Ursemin was trying to keep us apart, because as soon as Tushar returned from the coast, Ursemin had him booked solid for shows and interviews and promotions. All I could hope for was the night before he was due to perform at the midyear festival in Arni, because he had to sing at sunrise, and so we were all staying in a local hotel the night before. That, Ursemin wouldn’t be able to cancel. The invitation to perform was of profound religious significance for Tushar, as well as an extraordinary honour for one so young.
At least there were no more attacks, bomb threats, or even nasty letters. The constant police presence probably had something to do with that, and since Mitul hadn’t been located, we were no closer to discovering who had fired the shots at Ursemin’s house or knifed Tushar. The bomb threat had been made from a street station and could have been a prank, except for the fact it had come direct to Ursemin’s phone number. A number which was relatively easy to locate, but the theatre’s was even easier to find. Lieutenant Mahre was of the opinion any further attempt to hurt Tushar would come at the festival.
“I’ll be with him there and back,” I told him, “and I’ll handle the driving. But while he’s on stage, I can’t cover him.”
“The force will handle that. I don’t suppose you could persuade him to wear body armour on stage?”
“Not a chance. I think it’d be sacrilegious or something.”
Mahre sighed. “Then we’ll have to rely on observing the crowd. It’s usually good-natured and peaceful, so anyone acting suspiciously will stick out. But I want you to get him away from the venue as soon as the performance finishes.”
“I think he might fight me on that, but I’ll explain.”
“Good. If he had to pick one of us as a lover, at least he chose a decent bodyguard. Not sure how much longer I can justify full-time protection though. If we don’t catch the perp soon, and there’s no further active threat, I think the chief will say the cost will have to be borne by Tushar’s management.”
“Can’t argue with that—though, on the other hand, what will the chief say if Tushar’s killed on your watch?”
Mahre winced. “Don’t. I’d probably leave the country to get away from the angry mobs. Just don’t let him be killed on your watch, sergeant.”
“I have a personal stake in that not happening, lieutenant.” I grinned to myself when he flushed.
I drove to Ursemin’s house, and Tushar threw himself at me the moment I stepped through the door. “Missed you, Javen! Oh you taste good. Let’s make love!”
“Er, sweetheart, Lalit—”
“Oh never mind him. We’ve got an hour, he said. Lalit? We’ll be back.”
He dragged me into his flat to make sure I understood just how much I’d been missed. He threw off his clothes, managing to look desperate and elegant at the same time, then grabbed my hands and planted them firmly on his perfect little butt. “Fuck me, Javen. Please.”
“Sweetheart, we’ve got a long trip ahead of us. Wouldn't it be better to wait until we get to the hotel?”
“Uh uh. Want to feel you all the way until we get there.”
Well, what could a man say to that?
After I cleaned up my lover and smeared some soothing ointment on his bottom—he had a way of making me get a little carried away—we found Ursemin in the living room, deeply immersed in his reader, dealing with messages.
“All ready?” he asked distractedly. “Is it time to go already?”
“More than time. Have you arranged the supper basket?”
“Kitchen.” He roused himself. “But you’re driving. When will you eat?”
“I’ll grab something now, have more when we arrive. Time to get moving, kids.”
The traffic into Arni was the worst I’d ever seen on roads in the region, even though most of the indigenous visitors would be coming in by train and shuttle. Fortunately, we picked up a police escort half an hour outside the town, which eased us relatively quickly straight to the hotel’s carpark.
Tushar’s aubade meant we had to set the alarm for a completely uncivilized three in the morning. While I stumbled around
using the bathroom and trying to wake up, Tushar sat on the floor completely still, meditating. Some ritual he needed to do, apparently.
The police drove him and his manager to the site. I followed a little later on the one of the buses that had been laid on for worshippers staying in the town. By the time I arrived, the site was packed, but oddly silent. Most of the Nihan sat on the ground in the predawn, meditating and praying by candlelight, the people setting up the stage working quietly, respecting the ceremony to come. I found a spot at the back, and hoped it all wouldn’t take too long, though I also looked forward to seeing what this festival involved. All my indigenous friends anticipated it as a time of exchanging news and small gifts, and communing with nature.
A bit of nature tried to crawl up under the cuff of my salwar, and I swatted it. Now I wished I’d brought a cushion and a rug. The ground was bloody hard and cold.
Just when my butt had turned to stone, and I had started to give serious thought to going back to the hotel, a deep, pure bell rang three times, the note ringing out to the hills in the distance where sun rays were just barely visible over the range.
As the last note died away, people got to their feet, still in total silence, and I obeyed, if only to give my arse some relief. A low murmuring followed—some kind of group prayer, I supposed.
And then Tushar’s voice. I hadn’t even seen him come onto the stage. He stood there alone. No dancers, no musicians. Just him and a modest amount of amplification. A song I hadn’t heard before, alien but beautiful, in his clear, unearthly voice. A song of praise of the Great Spirit, he’d said. Could have been about the price of tus eggs for all I knew or cared. Didn’t change the exquisite sounds or the harmonics that plugged straight into my spine.
People began to join in, but not along with him—in response. Another prayer, then, with set phrases and answers, all sung. The faces of the audience in the slowly brightening light held peace, even ecstasy, and for the first time, despite the huge crowd around me, my empathy didn’t make me feel like I’d been bludgeoned with a thousand dead fish.
The whole thing lasted about ten minutes, and ended with a startling and slightly weird round of applause—for Tushar? But he was clapping too. The sun for bothering to get out of bed? No idea.
That was apparently it for the serious part of this festival. Now for breakfast, served at dozens of tables over to the right. In an hour or two, there’d be a short concert, with Tushar performing again, and after that, I would take him home.
I queued up and received a heaped plate of idli and sambhar, along with a mug of spicy chai, then wedged in behind a cheerful family of six to tuck into the free food. None of the Nihan were bothered about my scrounging or my mingling with them, though most Kelon visitors had set up their own picnics around the edge of the site. Of course, a lot of the Nihan probably assumed I was mixed race, which I was, in a way. I smiled at people and was smiled at in return. No suspicion, no hostility. I felt welcome, and wondered why it couldn’t always be like this.
The police keeping a close eye on things were a reminder that it couldn’t, though there were a dozen benign reasons for their presence, and Mahre had said they very rarely had any crowd trouble at such events. But today, at least some of the cops were there to make sure no one took a shot at Tushar or any other indigenous performer.
I kept an eye for people I knew. Shardul was here, somewhere, as were Jyoti and Chandana. The Hegal indigenous population would be holding their own local celebrations today, and this event here in Arni ran for two days. Many from the city would come out tomorrow to join in the fun. I was kind of sorry not to stick around, but there was always next year, when worrying about someone trying to kill my lover hopefully wouldn’t be a problem.
Damn, the food was good. Almost worth being awake at this ridiculous time of the morning, and I had to admit, the cool air and clear light did make everything look very pretty. When I was a cop, if I’d been up this early, it either meant being at the scene of some personal tragedy, at the hospital waiting to talk to a witness, or being stuck at my desk holding the fort until shift change. Being here, I almost got the appeal of camping, but my numb arse told me that was just crazy thinking.
I headed back to return my plate and mug, but just as I deposited them, my phone went. “Good morning, Shardul. Enjoying things?”
“Yes, but that’s not why I’m calling. I just spotted your boyfriend’s ex. Mitul.”
All my senses went into overdrive as I scanned the peaceful crowd. “Where? And where are you? I’m by the dish collection.”
“About a hundred metres behind you and to your left, facing the stage. He’s about ten metres from me. Turn on tracking. I’ll keep him under surveillance.”
“No, go to one of the police.”
“Javen, I don’t want the police involved, not until I’ve spoken to him.”
Damn him. He didn’t trust the cops for good reason, but if Mitul had a weapon and the intention to use it, I didn’t want Shardul anywhere near him—or Mitul anywhere near the stage. “Don’t get any closer to him.”
“I won’t. Hurry.”
Shardul had sent me the code to allow me to track him by GPS. I followed the directions on my phone, and in less than thirty seconds, spotted him just as he spotted me. He signalled discreetly, and nodded to his right. I looked around, and saw our quarry. I called Shardul. “You really should tell the police. He might be carrying.”
“He might be, but he won’t use it here. Trust me.”
“Shardul, he’s violent and dangerous.”
“Trust me, Javen.”
I hissed in annoyance, but I couldn’t argue with his request. I made my way to his side as quickly as I could, and then we moved in. Shardul took Mitul’s arm as I got in his face. “Mitul? Want a word with you.”
He tried to shake Shardul loose. “Who are you? Let me go.”
“Talk to us or talk to the police.”
“The police? What the hell for?”
He said something in Nihani to Shardul, who answered before turning to me. “He says he has no idea what we’re on about.”
“Of course he doesn’t.” But strangely, my empathy backed up his claim. “Look, Mitul, we just want to talk to you. It might be a misunderstanding but it needs clearing up.”
Shardul said something else in Nihani and the kid nodded. Shardul led him away from the crowd over past the mobile toilet facilities. “Okay, what’s this about?” Mitul said, glaring at me, dripping suspicion and fear.
“Tushar. Someone’s been trying to kill him. Surely you heard,” I said.
“I did but...you think it’s me? Why?”
“You broke up with him in a bit of a rage,” Shardul said. “Gives you a motive.”
“That’s stupid! I came to Hegal to try and talk him into coming back with me, but when I saw how successful he was, I knew I couldn’t compete with that.”
“So you tried to scare him into coming home.”
“No! I love him. I’d never hurt him.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “You gave him a black eye.”
“Because he punched me in the kidneys. We had a fight, sure, but it wasn’t just me. Is he saying I did this? I’d never...a knife, a gun? That’s insane.”
Shardul looked at me. Reluctantly, I had to admit, “He’s telling the truth. But the police still want to talk to him.”
“I’m going back home tomorrow. Can’t you just let me go?”
The ex-cop in me said no, the empath said yes. “Where are you staying in Hegal? Can anyone give you an alibi for the attacks?”
“I think so. I didn’t even arrive in Hegal until after he was hurt. That’s the reason I came to the city.”
“Why didn’t you try and contact him?”
“He blocked my number and I didn’t have his address. And...well, I knew it was hopeless.” He was as downcast as he looked. He wasn’t our man.
“Okay. This is what you do. Shardul and I will take you over to the police so
you can make a statement. If you’re telling the truth and have an alibi, that’s the end of it. So long as they know where you are and can contact you, and you act as innocent as you claim to be, then you won’t have a problem.”
“I’m innocent,” Mitul said. “And I’m here with friends.”
“I can act as your legal representative,” Shardul said, “unless you have someone else.”
“The police can take your details and arrange for you to come in for an interview later,” I told him. “Going to them now will show good faith. Okay?”
“Okay.” I didn’t blame him for being scared, but we couldn't just let him go on his way either.
The officers on duty dealt with the matter as I’d predicted, helped by Shardul’s presence and my reassurances. Mitul would be subject to some unwanted surveillance until he left the festival, which was unfortunate, but at least he could enjoy the rest of it unmolested.
As he walked off, I muttered, “Bugger.”
“Back to mysterious racists as the most likely suspects.”
“You don’t sound convinced.”
Shardul frowned. “Walk with me. Away from—” He jerked his head at the crowd.
The sun was up completely now, but the air was still cool, though scented with delicious cooking smells. “I’d come back just for the food,” I joked.
“There are many paths to the Spirit,” Shardul said deadpan. “Javen, these attacks. Does nothing about them strike you as odd?”
“Just about everything. The lack of threats, the lack of obvious suspects, the lack of follow up—”
“The lack of any serious intent to harm too. Almost as if someone wanted to make it look like Tushar was in danger, without putting him in any.”
I stopped and stared at him. “What are you trying to say?”
“What do you think?”
“Are you saying Tushar arranged to have himself painfully cut up by a mad knifeman? That’s ridiculous. I saw him. He wasn’t faking how frightened he was, or in how much pain.”
He pursed his lips. “Then I won’t say any more. I value your friendship too much to fight over this, and this festival too much to spoil it.”
“Thanks a lot. I’m sure Tushar will be grateful you care so much too.”
Different Senses Page 36
