Toads and Diamonds (23 page)

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dropped what she was carrying. Fouler and more throat-closing than the horse or cow barns, these dim rooms stank of human waste, illness, and misery. Tana clutched the jar and basket to her chest. Eyes watering in disgust and pity, she crept after the other girl, who hadn't flinched, or even seemed to notice.

Inside, four arcaded halls surrounded a central courtyard. Voices coughed and babbled with the disordered talk of fevered minds. If Tana ignored what her nose and ears told her, she could imagine how the building might once have been a pleasure pavilion, given its secluded location, the rooms' elegant proportions and tall carved pillars. Now light leaked through holes in the thatched roof, revealing fragments of colored tile and peeling plaster. Water trickled over a jumble of stones in the central courtyard, the sad remains of a fountain. Instead of silk carpets and gauzy hangings, inlaid furniture and urns full of flowers, the space was divided by scarred wooden workbenches. Rats scurried across the filthy floor; flies buzzed over squat clay pots. Tana tried not to look inside them. But she had to look at the people.

Grubby children surrounded the young woman in the blue dress wrap. Many showed telltale signs of putrid fever: an angry red rash on arms and legs, a rasping cough, fever-bright eyes, and cracked lips.

"Vilina, Vilina." They begged and cried and tugged at her skirts.

"Get your bowls," she said. "Ma-ji will share it out."

Tana couldn't understand why the adults sitting at the benches or lying on the piles of dirty bedding followed the girl with their eyes only, until she saw that their right ankles were chained to the benches. Mounted on the work surfaces were tools she recognized: drills and saws, buffing wheels and polishers.

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She had found her lost artisans. Fury mounted with every step Tana took. Alwar had been even more calculating than she could have guessed. These workbenches hadn't been built in a day or two. The soldiers must have been instructed to kidnap the villagers whether or not Tana was found among them. Still, she felt responsible for leading the soldiers directly to Piplia.

She stifled a bitter laugh as another thought occurred to her. Perhaps it wasn't only her fault that the people had been taken. Some share of blame belonged to Diribani. Or, more properly, to the goddess who had "blessed" them both. The diamond girl's rough gems needed to be cut and polished for the most profitable trading. How like Tenth Province's greedy governor to decide he needn't pay guild rates for the work.

Alwar had stolen a village-full of artisans and spirited them off to some relative's country house. Well away from Gurath, he could work them in secret, without any guild inspectors demanding appraisal fees.

Tana set the covered basket and jar on the workbench next to Vilina's jar and backed out of the way. Intent on the food, the people ignored her while the headman's wife spooned out rice and thin soup into the children's bowls, topping them with a flat, round biscuit.

As she stood near the wall, searching the dimness for Kalyan, Tana breathed through her open mouth. The room's evil smell coated the inside of her throat and settled on her skin. She'd need to wash again before she returned to the mare barn, or Atbeg would know she'd gone somewhere she had no reason to visit.

No reason? Every reason. People were dying here. Their dignity, as much as their suffering, brought tears to Tana's eyes. Instead of

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gobbling down the food they were given, the children carried the bowls to the workbenches. Men and women divided the biscuits, shaped the rice into balls, and shared them out. Many people were too weak to sit or stand. Family members knelt and fed them, tipping the broth into mouths stretched wide with pain. Each low, rasping cough twisted Tana's heart.

A woman moaned, twitching on her bedroll. A child scratched listlessly at her flea-bitten arms. As everywhere on the estate, there were plenty of rats. Where rats went, fleas followed. A furtive noise caught Tana's attention. Two rats were sidling along the wall to the darkest corner, where several shrouded shapes lay, unmoving. Tana's fists clenched as she counted five: three the size of children, and two adults.

Was Kalyan one of them?

Desperately, she searched for another explanation. He had little skill at gem-cutting. He was a trader, not an artisan. Perhaps the white-coats were keeping him somewhere else. At the main house, maybe. She'd go there next. She'd do anything, look anywhere, as long as she didn't have to pull the cloth from one of those still forms and see his face.

One of the rats stood on its hind legs and sniffed, as if preparing to climb over the bodies.

The people's souls were gone, already embarked on new lives, in new bodies. Tana knew those empty shells wouldn't care about rats crawling on them. But she did. With an angry cry, Tana untied her shawl and flapped it.

One rat fled, chittering abuse. The other, bolder one defied her. Tana advanced, snapping her shawl. The cloth almost touched the matted black fur before the animal gave way. She chased it out the

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door, into the orchard. The rat vanished into a hole in the ground, its bare tail flicking an insulting salute.

Tana tied her scarf around her head. She panted, inhaling great gulps of fresh air as the tears ran down her cheeks. When she heard the creak of cart wheels, she ducked into the shelter of the doorway.

Approaching the building was a pushcart covered with a heavy cloth. The cloth was dyed a green so dark it could be mistaken for black. The color of a serpent's hide at night, of deep water and death, the shade sacred to Naghali-ji. This would be the corpse cart, come to take the five bodies to the cremation ground. She glanced up. Her fingers closed hard on the splintery door frame, but she disregarded the pain.

Thin as a skeleton, Kalyan strained between the cart's two handles. Step by slow, wavering step, he pushed the cart to the door. His gaze was fixed on the ground, as if he didn't trust his balance.

Tana could hardly believe her eyes. Gone was the wealthy, carefree young trader. He'd been ill, seriously so. The rags of his once-fine clothes hung from his shoulders, and his halting gait made her bare feet curl in sympathy. Unlike Vilina, he didn't wear chains. If he'd been hobbled, Tana doubted he could have managed the cart. An overseer must have decided Kalyan was too weak to get far. Or else the white-coat didn't want to spare one of the estate's few healthy servants to deal with non-Believer dead.

Kalyan's condition brought home to Tana the extent of the plague. As with the people inside, suffering had stamped his expression, adding a profound dignity to a face made for smiling.

Not that he was likely to smile at Tana. Not when she and her sister were the cause of this pain.

How he must hate her.

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***

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE Diribani

WASPS
drove Diribani into the Believers' prayer hall. The stinging insects had come out of their cool-season sleep and built nests all around the fort grounds. In response, Princess Ruqayya dispatched workers with long poles to detach the constructions from eaves and doorways. Much like the border uprising that had called Prince Zahid from Fanjandibad, the resulting skirmishes were brief, but fiercely fought.

It was Diribani's bad luck to be passing the Hall of Public Audience when a servant knocked a large nest from a column. The papery comb landed on the ground and split like a melon, disgorging wasps like yellow-and-black-striped seeds.

"Run, my lady!" Nissa darted ahead of Diribani and opened the door to the nearest shelter, which turned out to be the prayer hall. With Zeen hard on her heels, Diribani ran inside. A few wasps pursued them through the arched doorway, but Nissa grabbed Diribani's hand and tugged her to the left, around a lacy stone

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screen. "The ladies' side," the maid whispered. "We leave our shoes here."

Diribani stepped out of her silk slippers and looked around in curiosity, for she had never been inside a prayer hall before. It was an empty, light-filled room, the exact opposite of the temple groves she was used to. The home of the twelve was as lively as a marketplace. Between the sound of drums and the scent of incense, temple groves offered a feast for the senses. People decked the images of gods and goddesses with garlands of flowers and placed offerings of fruit and grain at their feet. Animals wandered freely through the trees, as welcome there as the worshipers, chanting priests, and dancing priestesses.

But, just like their clothing, the white-coats' prayer hall was deliberately plain. Nissa and Zeen took a few steps into the room. Zeen pulled a length of fine muslin from her sleeve and draped it over her head. Both women knelt and closed their eyes.

Diribani followed their example, though she peeked out from under her lashes. She felt twitchy. However did these people catch their god's attention? Where were worshipers supposed to direct their prayers? She didn't see any images or altars, or any priests to lead the worship. Plain blue and gold tiles alternated in the tall vault of the ceiling; white marble faced the walls and floors. The wasps' faint buzzing intensified the oppressive quiet of the place.

Then, as she looked around, Diribani noticed the details. Bands of intricate cream-on-white geometrical designs surrounded the doorways and high arched windows. Light shone through the carved stone screen dividing the men's and women's areas. It cast delicate shadows of vines and flowers on the floor, almost like a temple grove's dappled shade.

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The longer Diribani sat there, the calmer she became. It was like sitting inside a giant pearl. In time, the silence took on the same quality she had noticed at Gurath's well, the morning she met Naghali-ji there. As if someone were listening, the prayer hall's peace invited confidences, coaxing Diribani's worries to the surface of her mind. Foremost was the fact that she'd had no word from her dear ones-- Ma Hiral, Tana, or Zahid. She knew there was nothing she could do but wait, so she had tried to ignore her fear. In this quiet, light-filled room, it welled up like water and spilled out of her. But not, she thought, into nothing.

She closed her eyes and sensed an invisible force flowing around her, as if the Believers' prayers ran together in a river, and carried her heartfelt wishes for her family's and the prince's well-being along with the rest. The river didn't judge her. She was present; her silent voice, too, would be heard.

Opening her eyes, Diribani felt lighter, as if her water jar of worries had tipped over and spilled its contents into the current, where they had been washed away. How odd, that she could almost feel Naghali-ji's hand on her head in the middle of the white-coats' prayer hall.

Next to her, Nissa sighed deeply, as if she, too, had been relieved of a burden. Diribani glanced over and met the maid's inquiring look. They both stood. A few other women had come in, bare feet soundless on the marble floor, and knelt some distance away. Quietly, Diribani and Zeen followed Nissa to the entry and retrieved their slippers. As she passed the screen, Diribani peeked into the men's section. As far as she could tell, it was the same as the women's, with white floors and walls saturated with the sunlight streaming in through the tall windows.

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What had she expected? That the men would get carpets and cushions while the women knelt on stone? No, the two sections were equally plain. Like their clothes, she realized with a start. As they emerged from the prayer hall and started up the steps to the palace, Diribani turned to Nissa. "Why do you all wear white coats and trousers?"

"To match the marble, you mean?" Her maid giggled. "Not exactly, my lady. In the poorer neighborhoods, prayer halls are built of mud brick, like everything else."

"But the custom is based on religious teaching," Zeen said behind them.

Diribani and Nissa both spun around. Zeen hardly ever volunteered information; it was as if a stone column had spoken. The guard straightened, dropping a ruby and topaz into the bag at her belt. "It's to remind us that all souls are the same in God's eyes," she explained.

"But Princess Ruqayya wears white brocade, and you--" Diribani bit her lip, afraid to insult them.

"Wear white cotton?" Zeen finished dryly. "If we were all perfect, we'd be walking in God's garden already."

"There'd better not be four hundred steps to God's garden," Nissa muttered. Then her eyes widened and her shoulders hunched, as if she were expecting a blow. Zeen snorted, but didn't comment.

Diribani dropped the subject of religion, in case she'd made Nissa uncomfortable. But as Cow Month ambled along, she found herself returning often to the prayer hall. She did ask Ladli about it, at a noon meal after the wasp incident.

"Mind?" Ladli's brows arched in surprise. "Why should we mind? As long as you don't wear shoes inside, or"--her eyes narrowed with mischief--"bring any animals with you."

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"The wasps followed us on their own," Diribani protested.

The young noblewoman selected a piece of milk fudge from a silver tray. "So I heard," she said.

"But should I ask Princess Ruqayya's permission?" Diribani glanced down the table, over the carnations scattered around her plate.

As she often did these days, the princess was eating alone, barricaded behind a pile of papers, her inkstand, pens, wax, and seal. Behind her stood three maids, head scarves draped over their shoulders, waiting to carry her messages to every corner of the fort.

Ladli tapped her fingers on the table. "I wouldn't bother her. She's doing both Steward Ghiyas's job and her brother's. The more prayers for their success, the better."

Diribani's soup slopped in her bowl. She set it down and licked dry lips. "Is there bad news from the border?"

"Oh, the usual." Ladli sipped her tea. "My brother reports their progress as slow but steady, with bloody fighting in pockets. He thinks they'll be home for the prince's birthday."

Diribani shredded a marigold. "That's weeks away."

"Mm, about when it's getting too hot to keep fighting," Ladli said. "One way or the other, they'll be back."

"Oh, I hope so," another girl said from across the table. "We can't have the Mina Bazaar without His Highness."

"And His Highness's friends." The girl next to her split a pinkfruit into segments. She winked at Diribani. "Including a certain--"

"Sh!" her neighbor hissed. Jeweled fingers flew up to cover the speaker's mouth. "Do you want my mother to hear?"

"What's the Mina Bazaar?" Diribani asked.