The Temple Dancer (31 page)

"But it is my business ... you seek not just the girl, but our silence
also."

Again the beardless gray-haired head wobbled. "Silence would be included in my price," the rasping voice replied. "Name a figure."

Victorio frowned. Beneath his sagging eyebrows his little eyes moved to
and fro. Mouse looked up at him with worry, for he seemed unable to speak.

"Ten lakh hun." Da Gama said. Then he blinked and looked around as
if someone else had spoken.

All eyes stared at him. Whisper grew even paler. Victorio's mouth
worked but no sound came. Mouse seemed about to burst.

"Ten lakh?" Whisper turned to Victorio. "For a simple nautch girl?
This is your price? Does your partner speak for you?" Victorio raised his
hands helplessly, his voice gone. Whisper glared at Da Gama and then
moved his unblinking eyes to Victorio. "Seven lakh hun. No more. That is
my final offer."

"Done!" Victorio managed to croak.

"In gold," Da Gama said.

Without a look, the Khaswajara rose gracefully to his feet. His bones
were as fragile as a bird's. "When I have her, you shall have your gold." His
rasping voice seemed more raw than ever.

"She's in Belgaum," Victorio said as Mouse helped him rise. "I'll send
for her at once."

"Send him." Whisper's lizard eyes did not leave Da Gama's face. "Send
him to fetch her. And not a word, farang. Not to Wall Khan, not to anyone.
Is that clear?"

"Of course, of course!"

"Also, I may send one of my brothers with you. To look after the
nautch girl's comfort. Of course you may refuse me this favor." A quiet fell
on the room. Whisper did not move, but he held the floor. He had something to say. "There must be no mistakes. Forgive my rudeness if I emphasize this point, but we speak different languages and we come from
different worlds. We must finally understand one another." Victorio lifted
his hands as if to acknowledge the wisdom of Whisper's concern. "Do not
mistake me. No word of this shall be said, not ever. Silence means silence.
It means the silence of the dead."

Victorio seemed not to notice the threat beneath Whisper's words, but
Da Gama's eyes narrowed as he listened.

The eunuch's voice got softer than ever. "I may even put it about that she
has died. Of course it will only be a story. Of course she will not have died.
But that might be the story that I tell." Whisper turned from Victorio and his
eyes bored into Da Gama's. "You will say nothing, however. Nothing."

"Or we'd forfeit the price, I know." Victorio forced a chuckle.

"Oh, you would forfeit more than that," the rasping voice replied.
"Bring her soon. Keep me advised of your travel plans. Mouse, see me to
my palanquin."

With Mouse holding Whisper's arm, the Khaswajara disappeared
amidst the shadows of the factor.

As the bearers rose to help the men into their palanquins, Mouse drew
close to Da Gama. "He will speak with you."

"Who will?"

"The Khaswajara." Mouse's face squeezed into an tight ball. "It's
arranged." Glaring, he nodded to Da Gama's bearers, and stalked off, leaving Da Gama to stare after him bewildered. At last he climbed into his
palki, and with grunts, the bearers hoisted him up.

Not far from the factor, the other palkis went straight on, but Da
Gama's peeled away north. Da Gama worried a little, and checked his pistolas, wondering about what Mouse had said. "It's arranged."

Through the curtains he saw a huge white building, fifty feet high at
the corners, and over all, a colossal dome. A temple or palace of some sort,
Da Gama guessed. The bearers stopped near the arched entranceway and
the fragile form of Whisper emerged at the door. The eunuch tilted his head
for Da Gama to come. As Da Gama mounted the steps of the building's
plinth, the clatter of his boots echoed from the towering walls.

When he reached the door, Whisper frowned until Da Gama understood, and pulled off his boots. "What do you think of this rauza?" Whisper asked; but Da Gama, hopping on one foot while he tugged the heel of
his boot, could not answer. "It is the Gol Gumbaz, the great tomb of our
late, dear sultan Adil Shah. The largest dome in the world, they tell me,
greater than any the Moguls have built, or the farangs, or even the Turks.
So grand, so immense, and yet this is not the greatest of the sultan's follies.
Still it makes a perfect place for us to speak, don't you agree, farang? Come
in and I will show you."

In his stocking feet, Da Gama followed Whisper. He was unprepared
for the dreary letdown of the tomb's interior. The enormous vault of the
dome could hardly be seen in the darkness-only shadows marked its loftiness, only echoes revealed its magnitude. The air, stale and still as in any
sepulchre, pressed down upon them.

Even the sultan's casket seemed insignificant, pitiful. Dwarfed by the
oppressive emptiness around them, it rested on a low plinth under a humble wooden pavilion. "Is the sultan buried there?" Da Gama asked.

Whisper frowned. "Are you really so ill-informed, or do you simply
enjoy annoying me?" Da Gama did not know what to answer. "This is his
cenotaph, of course. The real tomb is beneath our feet. None but the sultana goes there." Again his clawlike hand took Da Gama's arm and he led
him further, to a dark, narrow staircase whose basalt steps could just be
made out in the thin light of the hanging lamps. They climbed many flights, and the risers were high, so that by the end Da Gama was puffing.
But Whisper seemed to float up the steps, looking back at him from time to
time and shaking his head.

At the top they came to a narrow gallery at the edge of the round
dome. "They call this the Whisper Gallery," the eunuch said. The sibilant
echo of his words raced around the dome, as though spoken by a hidden
army of eunuchs. Whisper flashed his eyebrows at Da Gama. "I must say I
find the name amusing. Don't you?"

But he did not give Da Gama a chance to answer, though the question
echoed a dozen times.

Instead he led Da Gama to an outside door. They stepped out to a
crenellated wall a dizzying height above the ground, in the tiny space at the
corner of the roof. Like the walls and dome, the roof and floor were painted
white, reflecting the sun so Da Gama had to squint. A constant breeze
whipped past the enormous dome beside them. The air was hot and clear,
and Da Gama could see the whole city shimmering in the sunlight. Below,
one of the bearers stepped out from the shadow of a tree, caught sight of
them, and waved.

Whisper looked up at the dome and pursed his lips in disgust. "What
an ill-favored design. Is it not a monstrosity? That dome. That dome. He
must have that dome! It's just too big, you see? A smaller would have been
so much more graceful. Yes, so much more poignant."

Da Gama turned to consider this, but suddenly Whisper was beside
him, close to his ear. "This is the most private place in Bijapur. No one can
hear us." Da Gama shivered as Whisper's hand slid gently along his back.
"Your partner is a fool," the Khaswajara continued, his lips so close they
brushed the hairs of Da Gama's big ears. "You, it appears, are not. I don't
mind. I enjoy the company of so many fools, I'm pleased to deal with an
exception."

Da Gama turned to speak, but Whisper hissed in his ear like a snake.
"Be still," the eunuch said. "Already too many men have fallen to their
deaths from here. Now look at me." Da Gama faced Whisper, surprised by
his implied threat. In the sun the eunuch's skin looked bloodless, thin as
parchment; even his eyes were pale. "So ... you knew the value of that
whore. Well, good for you. If you had not been there, I might have had her
for less, but you win this hand. If she is who we think, if she has what we
think, then what's seven lakh hun more or less?"

"Who are `we,' sir?"

Whisper scowled at him. "Please don't bore me. I shall die too soon to
waste time in foolishness. You know who we are." But Da Gama's face was
blank. "One of our Brotherhood has been searching for that girl for years.
He found her at last. Obviously you already knew this, or you guessed."

Da Gama's face betrayed nothing. Slipper, he thought. But the whys
and hows of the situation eluded him.

Whisper shook his head. "That's good. Remind me not to gamble with
you, Deoga. For a farang your face reveals little. I pray you, stop trifling
with me. You'll get your gold, but I must have her intact, you understand?
Complete and unmolested. Both her and her effects-entire. Do you understand my words?"

Da Gama nodded, and the eunuch's lipless mouth spread to show his
long, stained teeth. The wind gusted, tugging Da Gama's hair and coat. It
seemed not to touch the eunuch. He was about to answer when Whisper
shook his head. "Do not talk, farang, but listen. That old man gambles,
farang. He loses often. He gambles now-on the succession. He has placed
his stake on Wall Khan. He gambles with his life. And yours. You must
consider if his bet is sure. Perhaps you wish to gamble differently."

The eunuch stretched his lips as if affecting a smile. "I told you we will
be sending a brother with you to fetch the nautch girl. I think you know
him? Slipper?" Da Gama's eyes widened and Whisper struggled to contain
his amusement. "Yes. Slipper has come up in the world, Deoga. Rings on his
fingers now. You must treat him with respect."

Raising his nearly hairless eyebrows significantly, Whisper then pointed
his chin toward the open door. "You go down first, farang. Join your partner
at the palace." As Da Gama slipped away, he heard the eunuch say, "Entire,
remember!" As Da Gama stepped into the gallery, Whisper's words echoed
inside the shadowed dome.

When the bearers set him down at the entrance to the Gagan Mahal a few
yards from Shahji's "cottage," Da Gama looked up with a start. His head
was still reeling with Whisper's news of Slipper. How did that damned eunuch fit into this business?

The citadel buzzed with activity. Peasants and merchants streamed toward Da Gama on foot, for the short public audience of the Sultana was complete, and they were no longer welcome. In their place came a stream of
generals and jewel-draped lords on palanquins and feather-bedecked horses.
Too fine, too great to grasp a rein, they rode with arms folded or reading the
Koran, the horses of even the humblest lords led by tall grooms chosen for
their imposing presence. The greater lords had a whole procession: umbrella
carriers, fan-wavers, liveries and valets, guards with long spears.

When the bearers finally heaved his simple palanquin from their shoulders, Da Gama stepped out to find himself surrounded by buildings so
high they blocked the morning sun. Tallest of all was the Gagan Mahal,
where he was now to stay as Victorio's guest. A change had come over the
bearers; he felt them staring at him with a palpable distaste. Why? wondered Da Gama. Do they now compare me to these rich lords? Or has my
talk with Whisper given them some sign?

When no one moved to help him, Da Gama took his saddlebags from
the palanquin and set off. The elder bearer waved him toward the entrance of
the palace, and told him that his room was on the seventh, the highest floor.

Once again, Da Gama began to mount flight by flight of narrow stairs.
When he reached the final flight, he came upon Victorio, slowly working
his way up the staircase, grunting with each step. Mouse, holding the old
man's arm, glared at Da Gama. "Let me help you, sir," Da Gama offered.

"No, my boy, I'm nearly there," Victorio wheezed.

Their rooms looked out over the courtyard, and from the balcony, Da
Gama could see the old city. In the distance he saw the bloated dome of the
Gol Gumbaz. Mouse was fanning Victorio, who had settled into a big
wooden chair, the only farang element in the room. Exhausted, Victorio
with a feeble wave of his hand motioned for Da Gama to take the cushion
near his feet. His breath came in short bursts, and his face was pale.

Da Gama sat where he was told. Without moving his head, Victorio
turned his gaze on him. "You disobeyed me, sir. I told you not to speak."
Da Gama merely stared back. "You wrecked my strategy."