Laldasa (39 page)

“Can you think of any reason I shouldn't go to him and tell him everything I know?”

Ana brought her eyes back to Melantha Sarojin's face. “I know you don't care what happens to me or my father or my world, but I think you love your son. And I think you know what it would do to him if this came out.”

The Rani rose and moved to the door, stretching the moment unbearably.

“It's something for me to think about, I suppose. Perhaps I'll let you know what I decide.” She paused with her hand on the latch, her back still to Ana. “My son won't marry you, you know.”

“That has never been a possibility.”

The Rani's shoulders shifted. “You underestimate yourself—but you must realize that the children of such a union would be ... unacceptable. Pale half-castes. Accursed.”

“Not on Avasa.”

Now the Rani turned, her eyes black and glittering as the jet beads at her tawny throat. “Jaya will never go to Avasa. His place is here—as the head of the Saroj, Nathu Rai of Kasi and One of the Nine, in his time.”

“I know that.”

“As long as we understand each other,” said the Rani. Her departure was silent and sweet-smelling.

Ana closed her eyes and slumped in sudden exhaustion. “I will never understand you,” she whispered.

oOo

THE PARABLE OF THE DEVI'S GARDEN

A bhakta was set by Ji upon the Upward Path to tread it in search of his Beloved. He carried a gift for her near his heart which he would give her when she said to him the hidden Word which only the Lover, the Beloved, and the God of All know.

One day he passed by a garden of great beauty and heard a sweet voice singing strange songs. He entered the garden and found in it a fountain of the most delicious beverage. The color was golden, the scent was of the jambu, the sound it made as it fell into its bowl was the song he had heard.

How the bhakta thirsted for the taste of the drink! How he longed to bathe in the golden liquid! But he had taken a vow not to rest but in the Garden of his Beloved, not to drink until he reached the Fountain of his ultimate desire.

He turned to go, closing his ears to the song of the golden water, and saw the most beautiful of fruits hanging from the most wonderful of asok trees. He realized suddenly how hungry he was.

A voice like a soft rain spoke, saying, “You may have the fruit, O bhakta, and the water also, if you give to me the gift you carry near your heart.”

The bhakta turned and saw a Devi—the Essence of Beauty—standing before him. His heart told him to leave the place, but he sat down in the shade of the asok tree where the golden fruit of non-sorrow hung just before his face and where he could see the fountain and the Devi who sat on its rim. The longer he sat, the more beautiful the garden seemed and the more at home he felt there.

“Perhaps,” he told himself, “this is my Beloved. Perhaps I am supposed to be here. But she has not said she is my Beloved. She has not revealed the hidden Word. How can I know for certain?”

He pondered his dilemma a bit more, then thought, “If I taste the fruit and the water, surely then I will know if this is the right Garden. Surely then she will tell me the Word.”

So the bhakta took the fruit from the asok tree and bit into it. The taste was as wonderful as he had imagined. He went to the fountain and drank—just a sip at first, then he drank his fill. He ate more of the fruit and drank more of the water. Then, sleepy and content, he lay down and slept while the Devi stroked his hair and sang.

When he awoke, the garden was gone, the Devi was gone, and his gift was gone with her. He no longer had it to give to his Beloved. More horrible still, was that the Path was no longer clear, for the sand of the desert had covered it.

He found its traces and stumbled along it, alone and afraid, hoping for a glimpse of the Devi. He journeyed long and, with every step, the taste of the fruit and the memory of the song twisted themselves more deeply into his heart until he found that whatever garden he passed by, he compared it to that first one, and found it lacking. And because he was afraid of finding his Beloved in each one, but had no gift to give her, he never dared to step within.

So he wandered, carrying the memory of the Devi's Garden always in his heart. The taste of that fruit and that water had ruined for him all other refreshment. So, he said, “The fruit I ate was not asok (non-sorrow) but asat (nothing).”

“I regret, Nathu Rai, that I am unable to trust more of my men.”

Mall Gar gazed out the mullioned doors of Jaya Sarojin's private study, his eyes only vaguely registering the vernal glow of growth beyond.

“You can trust mine,” Jaya assured him. “How many will we need?”

“A small group for the inside work. If you can give me seven, maybe eight men, that should suffice. If we need reinforcements they can be called out at the last minute—so that they can give nothing away.”

“I think I can manage that many, including myself.”

Gar turned, appalled at the suggestion. “You, Nathu Rai? You can't take part in this raid. It's unthinkable.”

“It's unthinkable that I not be part of it. I have ... a somewhat personal stake in this. It's a matter of honor and of something more than honor.”

“That being?”

“Friendship.”

“Your other informant?” guessed Gar.

“My other informant. Everything dear to that person is threatened by this in ways I'm only dimly beginning to understand.”

Gar nodded, then glanced at Govi, who sat by the fire, looking more like a well-fed mahesa than a beggar. Or at least, Gar thought, like a mahesa's well-fed pet.

He gestured at the table where he had placed a folio of maps. “Summon your men and we shall begin,” he said, only belatedly realizing he had issued an order to his Nathu Rai.

He glanced at Jaya's face, his mouth open in apology, but saw only amusement there.

“You remind me of my father, Commander,” said Jaya. “He was also a decisive man.”

He rang for the others, who appeared within minutes, and they began, Commander Gar leading the discussion of timing and tactics.

“We have done some reconnoitering,” he said with a nod at Govi, “and have located a vantage point here.” His finger pressed a spot on the detailed map of the Silk District's main avenue. “From a point on the roof of the building facing the Badan-Devaki across the alley, the rear entrance is in plain sight. The guards' activities are clearly visible, as are any visitors to their post.”

“Traffic?” asked Jaya.

“Only service wagons,” said Govi quickly. “Refuse wagon, twice weekly at dawn—Kistna and Mu'ad; linens weekly on Sakya; foodstuffs pretty regular—first, fourth and eighth day of each week, plus special deliveries.” He shrugged and tilted his head. “A busy alley—but on a schedule.”

“Ah,” said Jaya, “but has the schedule changed since you got hustled out of the alley?”

Gar raised an eyebrow. “It should be easy enough to find out about the refuse wagon, but we have no way of knowing who delivers their foodstuffs and linens, short of asking them.”

“Tripura,” said Govi. “Tripura brings the food; Lipyate, the linens. Oh, and there is a couture—Akala House—that delivers clothing and toiletees.”

“That's ‘toiletries,' and you were a very nosy neighbor,” observed Jaya.

“The air wagons were not as I'd call slinkers-in. They made a big old blow where I'd tucked up. So, I had frequent occasion to read them.”

“You read?” asked Gar, surprised.

Govi made a rude gesture at his own head. “Crazy, not ignorant,” he said.

Mall Gar smiled. “Then, thanks to you, we shall know these schedules and determine how best to use them.”

oOo

“This description matches none of the young women the Sarngin brought in last week.”

Ashur Badan made a frustrated noise between his compressed lips and scrolled the data past his eyes again.

“Ah, well, here—this one has dark reddish hair, but dark skin, as well. Not even Avasan ... from some loggertown. These are Avasan, but all the wrong coloring, wrong names ... ”

“She might well have lied about her name,” said Kareen Devaki.

“But not about the color of her skin, eyes, and hair.”

Kareen jingled her bracelets impatiently. “Then perhaps someone else brought her in. Maybe-“

Ashur's eyes met hers on a shared recollection.

“My God, how could I have forgotten?”

“Or I,” said Kareen acidly. “I recall thinking I would sell my pride to spend one night in her Genda skin ... in that House.”

Ashur snorted. “In his bed, you mean. Ah, yes! That must be her, the Sarojin's find. Then we're looking in the wrong place.” He patted at the keyboard. “There she is! Nameless girl, private processing, Jaya Sarojin's personal cree.”

Kareen leaned over his shoulder to peer at the full-face and profile images taken during the quick-processing.

“That's the woman. Damn.”

“Ji, she's exquisite!”

“Don't drool—think! How are we going to get her out of that House?”

“We could buy her back.”

“What reason could we give? She was never ours to begin with. And why should he sell her? He certainly doesn't need whatever money we might offer. Besides which, there's every possibility that he knows who she is. Send for Adivaram.”

“He's already here. He came in about half an hour ago for the private auction. Dare we interrupt his enjoyment?”

“Dare we not?”

The Vadin, when he arrived in Kareen Devaki's office, was already rubbing his hands together, gleefully.
 

“Well? Where is she?”

“In the Sarojin Palace,” said Kareen.

“In the-“ The Vadin's glee was blown to the four winds. His face suffused with violent color. “By the mount of Indra—it-it must be the same woman!”

“The same woman, Vadin?”

Adivaram made a cyclic gesture with one hand. “The one he's been parading around as his ‘Avasan cousin.' A Rani of the House Sadira; some obscure branch of the Saroj. A rare beauty; cherry-colored hair, eyes like the snow clouds. Yes! Damn! I sat at table with her just days ago and had no idea-“ He cut off in mid-sentence, his hands fidgeting with the silk shawl that covered his shoulders. “Ji! If this is the woman ... ! She will testify!” His eyes snapped to the dalal. “Your vicom.”

Kareen Devaki gestured at the device then herded her partner toward the doorway. There, they stopped, hovering. Adivaram was already on the link, using the earpieces for privacy, his face intent on the screen as he spoke.

“Believe me, I do not interrupt you frivolously, so cease glaring at me like a fractious child. Your ‘friend' will want to hear this, too, so have him gather ‘round. The so-called ‘Rani' our Nathu Rai has been embellishing his presence with is a dasa processed by Badan-Devaki.”

The Vadin waited silently while this news elicited a response at the other end of the comlink. Watching, Kareen Devaki smiled, grudgingly admiring how Adivaram played his fish. She did not move to see the face he studied so archly. She suspected whose it might be, but was not permitted to be certain.

“I'm gratified you find the news so titillating,” said Adivaram dryly. “Now let me tell you who this dasa is. Her name is Anala Nadim. You are familiar with that name?”

He sat back in his chair and nodded, fingers laced over his expansive girth. “Yes, I thought so. I would wager she is at the heart of our young Lord's sudden interest in the affairs of those unfortunate enough to wander Kasi without the proper identification. She was, you realize, the ‘clanswoman' who was with him during the attack of the Coalitionists.”

Kareen could hear the vicom audio spike from across the room.

Adivaram winced, then said, “Yes, and she will probably be called to testify in the next day or so before the Inner Circle.”

He pulled the earpieces away suddenly and gave them a baleful glance. “Damn it! You're deafening me!
 
... Yes! Yes, I know, but she is also Rokh Nadim's daughter and, I assure you, that will count for something with the Circle.
 
... No, I would not recommend that. You were lucky once, but I think a repeat would raise suspicions. You don't need Sarojin dead, you need him in your pocket.
 
... It can be done—he's not his father—and I think the woman is the key to all of it. If you have her, you have not only the Nathu Rai Sarojin, but Rokh Nadim, as well. And if you have Nadim, you have the Guild. So now, the question is: How can you have the woman?”

There was a moment of silence, during which the Vadin nodded and made rumbles of agreement. At last he made a dismissive gesture and said, “I'll wait here for your call.”

He removed the earpieces and tugged at his ears.