"Most are off ships and so randy they would fuck a knothole." Gelya took another drink of wine. "Some want sucking, but most are tired of that and want a woman's parts."
"It must be disappointing," said Vardis, carefully wiping her mouth.
"Oh, you think you will never have to lie down for sailors, girl?" Gelya challenged. "I thought that once, too, but I have learned otherwise." She picked up her wine-cup and drank.
"Why do you say that?" Avasa Dani asked.
Wine had loosened Gelya's tongue and she answered readily enough. "When I was sold to a brothel-keeper I was six; my family was poor and I was their youngest daughter. The brothel-keeper paid well for me and took me from Smolensk to Constantinople and put me to work in a very grand, very discreet house where I served high officials and wealthy men. I was a beautiful child, and I was much in demand. But when I was thirteen, I became pregnant and so they sold me to a brothel in Antioch, along with my son, who was taken
away from me as soon as he could walk. It was a good house, but not so fine as the first." She stopped abruptly.
"Is that the tale you tell the sailors?" Nitsa asked snidely.
"No," said Gelya. "I tell them— when they ask, which they rarely do— that I preferred sailors to my husband, who was old and feeble. They favor that story over another." She drank the rest of the wine and looked at Rogerian. "Is there more?"
He went and refilled her cup, saying to Avasa Dani in the language of Delhi, "The wine hits her fast— she must be very hungry."
"Possibly," said Avasa Dani. "How did you come here from Antioch?"
"I came by way of Tyre, where I was branded, so by the time I got to Alexandria, I could only find work in the stews." She drank again, recklessly, eagerly. "Once you are branded, the better places will not touch you. If I had stayed in Smolensk, I would have ended up a drudge in a household, or a servant at an inn, since I would never have enough dowry to marry, so this life is no worse than any I might have expected, and better than some."
Rogerian had gone to the door to get the tray of food; he lingered there, unmoving, waiting for the women to finish speaking.
Vardis shook her head. "I was born to this life. My mother, and her mother before her, were whores. I was born in a brothel and no doubt I will die in one." She drank again. "If I am lucky, I will die young, and not have to end up begging or taking on ten sailors in a night."
Gelya bristled and drank more wine. "It is better than starving."
Avasa Dani glanced at Nitsa. "And you? How did you come to this work?"
"I was foolish," she answered. "I was the daughter of a farmer, and my family wanted me to marry well, so they made sure I was seen in the neighborhood— in the company of my brother, of course— and were selecting likely suitors for me. But one day, my brother was busy and I went to the market alone. The local landholder waylaid me and forced himself on me in spite of my coming betrothal. He impregnated me, and my family was disgraced. To recover their good name, and to be rid of me, they made arrangements to have me brought here to Alexandria and put into a house of assignation— it is more
than a brothel, no matter what anyone says. I have been here for eight years, and I have come to accept that I will not return to Macedonia."
"Because you will disgrace your family if you do?" Avasa Dani asked.
"Because I have a fever; it is slight, but it burns in me day and night, and one day it will consume me," said Nitsa without any display of emotion. "Already it has eaten away some of my flesh. I have been given medicaments, but they do little but lessen its pains. My daughter already died of it, not quite two years ago."
There was a moment of silence; it was enough for Rogerian to open the door and claim the tray of food brought by Kardal. He carried it to the table in the center of the room and set it down. "Enjoy this fare; I am told the doves in honey are especially good— so is the chicken with almonds and cinnamon, and the bread is just out of the oven," he said. "I will pour more wine if you should want it." He busied himself opening the second jar.
"Have what you like," Avasa Dani encouraged them. "And while you eat, you will tell me how you would prefer that houses of assignation be run, and I will learn from you."
The three women were still suspicious, but the aroma of the food was tempting and the wine had suffused their spirits with camaraderie; they moved closer to the table, prepared to eat.
"I would like to have more guards, to keep out the bullies and the brawlers," said Gelya as she reached for one of the doves.
"I would like it if all our money was not lost to clothing and other minor things," said Vardis.
"How do you mean?" Avasa Dani asked, listening closely.
"Well, a portion of the fees paid are supposed to be kept by us, but one needs a new scarf, or a garment gets torn and must be replaced, and soon there is nothing left of one's earnings and, in fact, one is in debt to the master of the house." She broke off a piece of bread and reached for a heap of chopped eggplant with lemon and olive oil. "I would be glad to be able to keep a portion of my earnings."
"That happens everywhere," said Gelya, eating with determination. "No one will give us what is ours."
"Would you work in a place that promised you could keep your earnings?" Avasa Dani asked evenly.
"Of course I would," said Gelya.
"They all promise that," said Nitsa.
Gelya laughed to show her scorn. "Perhaps where you are, they do. Where I am they do not bother with such pretense."
"But if you could have your money, would you come to the place that provided you with the money?" Avasa Dani persisted.
"Yes," was the answer from all three women, in varying degrees of eagerness.
"And you, Nitsa, what would you like?" Avasa Dani addressed her calmly.
"I should like to be sure I will not be thrown out to starve when I am too ill to work," she said, her voice dropping; the other two women stopped eating to look at her.
Avasa Dani met her eyes. "If that happens, you will come here, and you will be cared for until the end. You will not be left to die in the streets." She pointed to Rogerian. "He has heard me say it; he will honor my Word."
The three women turned their eyes on Rogerian.
"I will," Rogerian said, and bowed to Avasa Dani for emphasis. "None of you will be turned away from this door."
"Very well," said Avasa Dani. "What else would you like changed in your houses of assignation?" She steepled her fingers and leaned back to listen as the women continued to talk over their meal and their wine.
* * *
Text of a letter from Vayu Ede to the Rajput Hasin Dahele, presented in person at Dahele's principal city of Devapur.
* * *
To the most illustrious, most puissant, most revered of Rajputs, the great Hasin Dahele, the greetings from Vayu Ede, Alvar, the humble possessor of poetic gifts and singular vision, all of which he seeks to place in the service of the mighty Hasin Dahele.
Too long have your deeds gone unsung, and your virtues unheralded. In a world beset with suffering and harshness which is the plight of the living, you are a shining example of moral excellence and magnanimity that is a glorious example to leaders and rulers everywhere. By my visionary senses, I see you are to be given an oppor-
tunity far beyond any known in this world so far: it is to be you, most awe-inspiring Rajput, who lifts up the mighty Timur-i, who has become an outcast and a beggar. Timur-i will come to you, and you will raise him again to power, and will serve as his right hand, and inherit all his empire when Timur-i leaves this world for the next. You will impose justice and grandeur where there has only been destruction and rapine. It is the will of the Gods that you will rise to undo the many wrongs, and through your prudence, bring happiness to your people who deserve it. I see this as clearly as I see your fine new palace rising behind the new walls of Devapur, and as clearly as I hear your name spoken of with respect and veneration by those fortunate to live under your wise and beneficent rule.
My visions tell me that you deserve the favor that fate has ordained for you, and you are ready to receive this endowment as your due. I have come to you to record these splendid events as they unfold, and to make them known to everyone. Any man so favored as you are deserves the adulation of all, and I will devote all my skills to ensuring that you are credited for what you have done and what you are yet to accomplish. Anyone in your Principality of Beragar, which lies in the border region to the west of the frontiers of Berar and Bidar, and might be dismissed as too small to be important, will want to be prepared for the change you will soon bring upon them, and then upon all of the country from China to the Land of Snows, from the Bay of Bengal to the Arabian Sea. I hail you now as the Conqueror of the World, as all shall hail you in time to come, when you succeed Timur-i and enlarge his Empire beyond anything dreamed of by his followers who have so callously cast him out, and who shall pay more dearly for their betrayal than even a poet of my abilities can describe. Let me dedicate my poetry and my vision to your cause, and let me spread your glory far beyond Beragar to the ends of the earth.
I dedicate myself to your cause, and to the finding of Timur-i, so that you may begin your advancement at once. I will watch the people who come into your city, and I will find Timur-i and present him to you. I will make it known that you are to lift him up from the calamity that has befallen him, and through this most generous act, come to rule the world.
I have no desire other than that of serving you in your time of
loftiness. I ask that you consider my plea and receive me into your presence to tell you more of what has been revealed to me. To demonstrate my vision, and so you may know it to be true, I tell you now that you will find a man in your city, a foreigner, of middle years, with dark hair, who favors one foot, and who is wary of sunlight. He will be accompanied by one who serves him, also a foreigner. They will be in ragged clothes but those who see them will be drawn to them. When this man comes— and he will come as the year runs on to its close— I will have him brought to you. He will deny that he is Timur-i, but others will recognize him. Do not doubt that you will be advanced by him once you restore him to his most potent place at the head of his armies, and therefore do not fail to observe every courtesy and favor to the man who will seem nothing more than a beggar. You must take him in and show him honor, for then you will always enjoy his gratitude and will be the most powerful Emperor in the world that has been or the world that is coming.
* * *
I prostrate myself before you, Omnipotent Ruler,
whom I esteem as highly as the gods,
Vayu Ede
9
Outside the rain drummed down, hissing on the leaves and the flimsy roof of the shed where Sanat Ji Mani and Tulsi waited for the storm to pass; it had blown in during the night and had not abated all day. The air whipped about them and several leaks let in steady trickles that turned the earthen floor to damp mud that smelled faintly of sheep-dung.
"Do you think this will continue through the night?" Tulsi asked as she stood in the doorway, staring out into the weather.
"It is likely," said Sanat Ji Mani. He could feel a sense of vertigo developing as the water ran from everything; he clenched his jaw against it.
"And tomorrow— what then?" She did her best to close the door that hung on a single leather hinge, and succeeded only in pulling it off the side of the building altogether; she struggled to put it in place across the opening.
"Tomorrow we must hope there is a little clearing. You and I will both need sustenance by then." He wanted to get away from this abandoned building before it fell in around them.
"Will we travel if the rain is still coming down?" she asked.
"We may have to," he said with a wry smile as he pointed at another leak from the roof. "I do not think this place will hold together much longer."
Tulsi made an abrupt gesture to show her frustration. "We could have reached that village last night if we had kept on walking."
"The bridge is out, or so the man on the donkey told us," he reminded her.
"Perhaps he lied," she said. "Or the crossing might have been shallow enough…" She did not go on. "You were right to insist we come here, but it is still not a very good place."
"No, it is not," he agreed, lying back on the bed of a wheelless wagon. "But it is better than trying to find shelter in the forest. You saw the chital deer— they were leaving the trees behind."
"Are you so certain it is because of flooding?" Tulsi shook her head. "Why just the deer and no other animals?"
"I do not know," Sanat Ji Mani said quietly. "I have told you what my guess is— that their resting-place has been flooded out— and I can do no better than that."
"Have you no interest in the reason?" she asked, snapping her fingers in disapproval.
