Toads and Diamonds (2 page)

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the clay pot. Too late, she recognized the naga's muscular body and triangular head. A grass viper's fangs contained a potent poison. If it bit her, she'd be dead before her numb lips kissed the earth.

The serpent inspected Diribani, from sweat-beaded forehead to mud-spattered pink wrap.

Poor girls might walk alone on the road, barefoot, with skirts hiked to their knees. But, rich or poor, no girl could afford to ignore the goddess Naghali's snake messengers. Wisdom, good fortune, or death--which fate would this one bestow upon her?

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***

CHAPTER TWO Tana

FOOLISH,
foolish girl!" Ma Hiral banged an empty iron pot into its storage niche. Plaster flaked off the wall and sprinkled the stone floor with ocher-colored dust. "I forbid this mad scheme, do you hear? Forbid it!"

Kneeling by the banked kitchen fire, Tana turned the two thin gold bracelets around her wrist. "Mother, please understand. We don't have a choice."

Her mother shook a wooden spoon at her. "And when the white-coat soldiers break down our gate and throw you in Alwar's prison for trading without a guild stamp or permit? When they strip Diribani of her dowry bangles and kick us both into the gutter? What then?"

Tana heard the fear that underlaid the shrill words. "Don't worry." Gently, she took the spoon and put it away, next to the empty jars that had once held hot mustard oil, gram flour, and spices. "I'm not working on my own authority. Trader Nikhat will sign the

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report for the Jewelers Guild. When he sells the stones, he'll pay the taxes. Nobody's going to prison."

Ma Hiral changed tack. "You're only sixteen! You'd no business calling on a rival merchant without my permission."

Tana swallowed the answers that rose hot to her lips. Both she and Diribani were old enough to face the unpleasant truth. Their family might once have competed with Trader Nikhat's, but those days had ended two seasons ago, when bandits attacked her stepfather's caravan, killed Ba Javerikh, and stole all his capital. Crazed with grief, his widow had retreated to her bed. Only lately had she expressed an interest in household matters, and then mostly to complain about the lack of good tea, fresh flowers, and sandalwood soap. If Tana or her stepsister had waited for her mother's permission to do anything, they would have starved.

Ma Hiral spoke louder, as if Tana hadn't heard her previous remark. "Decent girls don't tarnish their reputations by allowing men inside our gate at night, bringing who knows what kind of trouble with them."

"Men?" Tana looked up from the rice jar. "You mean Kalyan?"

"That showy white horse of his! The neighbors will be talking."

Tana shook her head. "Everyone in Gurath knows that Kalyan runs his family's errands all over town." Her nails scraped the bottom of the big clay jar as she scooped out two small handfuls of rice. Glad for an excuse to keep her face turned away from her mother, she spread the grains in a tray. "Why shouldn't he bring a message from his sister to Diribani? He only stayed long enough to drop off the box, not much for people to gossip about."

"They'll blame our poor hospitality."

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And they'd be right, though Tana knew her mother wouldn't appreciate her saying so. The previous evening, there had been a bit of fresh water left, but no tea leaves to brew with it. How humiliating that she couldn't even offer Kalyan the courtesy of a welcome-cup. He'd pretended that another commission demanded his attention. So late? Tana doubted it. That was just Kalyan being kind. Given her family's reduced circumstances, she had to settle for his pity, though once she had dared to hope for more.

Tana shoved rice grains from side to side. Bought from the cheapest vendor, the rice was flecked with bits of straw and grit she needed to pick out by hand.

Her mother sniffed. "If you'd been more welcoming, perhaps he would have stayed longer."

"I was polite," Tana said, stung by the unjust accusation. "It was a business call, not a social visit."

"When a personable young man comes to the house, you could make an effort to please. Why can't you act more like Diribani? A sweet word for everyone, and always so composed."

Tana made a face at the rice. Actually, she
had
taken special care with her appearance, hoping that, for discretion's sake, Trader Nikhat might send his son instead of a servant. But, like a scolding piltreet, her mother repeated the same reproaches over and over. Why didn't Tana take better care of her hair and skin? Did she want rough hands like a dairy maid? And she wasn't eating enough! No man would want a girl skinny as a stick and surly as a flea-bitten mongoose.

Tana knew that even if she wore twelve heavy gold bangles instead of two thin ones, combed her hair a thousand times a day,

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and spoke with a moonbird's voice, men wouldn't look twice at her when Diribani was present. But she couldn't dwell on that when more urgent problems consumed her waking hours. At last Tana had found a solution that might carry them through the next little while. Her stepsister agreed, but did Tana's own mother support her? No. Ma Hiral only voiced fresh objections.

"What if Kalyan doesn't approve of your meddling? What if he tells the authorities?"

"Mother." Tana spread a cloth over the rice to keep off the flies. "Kalyan wouldn't cause trouble for our family or his."

"Men." Ma Hiral threw the free end of her gray dress wrap over her face and rocked back and forth. "Who knows what they'll do? Even dear Javerikh, twelve gods bless him, abandoned his family to this world of illusion. How will we live?"

"I'm doing my best, and so is Diribani," Tana muttered, but she said it after she had left the kitchen.

Fortunately, her mother hadn't yet thought of the one problem that had made Tana hesitate to approach Trader Nikhat. She and her mother had no claim on this house, except while Diribani remained unmarried. Whenever Ba Javerikh's cousin, the next inheritor, visited the house, his shrewish wife poked her nose into every room, as if measuring the bare stone floors for the carpets she'd lay down once she became its mistress. Which she would, the day Diribani crossed her bridegroom's threshold. If her stepsister's relatives discovered Tana's secret dealings, they might evict her and Ma Hiral from the family property. Then they'd ship Diribani off to the first man the marriage broker suggested and have the place to themselves.

Diribani had reassured Tana, saying that her father's cousin

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wouldn't find out. Besides, Diribani insisted, she wasn't in a hurry-to wed. She wouldn't consider any proposal that left Tana and Ma Hiral without a home.

Still, Tana worried. As pretty as Diribani was, some man would snap her right up. No, as she'd told her mother, they didn't have a choice. They'd already sold Ma Hiral's dowry bangles. They needed money, and of the three of them, Tana was most qualified to earn it.

Tana blew out a long breath as she walked to the courtyard and closed the cane shutters. She could hear children playing in the street outside and women talking over a garden gate. Tana didn't expect callers, but the neighbors' mud-brick walls stretched two stories above their modest compound. The last thing she needed was some bored auntie spying through a window.

In the main room, narrow bars of sunlight pierced the shutters and striped the floor. Tana had swept the stone pavers earlier that morning. If only Diribani were as diligent with her chores; she had yet to return from the sacred well with water to boil the rice. Tana pulled the door cloth across the opening, stood in the brightest part of the room, and frowned. With the shutters closed, it was too dim. She found a clay lamp and shook it, listening to the faint sloshing of oil within the bowl. Should she burn the last of their fuel, or open a shutter and risk being seen? Tana bit her lip. Better to be safe, she decided. Lighting a twig from the banked kitchen coals, she touched it to the lamp wick.

The flame burned, small but steady. Carrying the bowl in both hands, Tana set the lamp on a stand. She spread a piece of black cotton fabric on the floor under the lamplight. With another glance at the closed shutters, Tana fetched the jeweler's scale from its shelf. An iron poker served to pry up one of the floor's square paving

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stones. Underneath was a small iron box. She removed the box from its hiding place and brushed off a few crumbs of dirt. Oiled hinges opened to reveal layers of cotton wadding, and a thin roll of yellow cloth tied with silk ribbons.

Tana put down the box and knelt beside it. She smoothed her red dress wrap across her lap, as much to dry her sweaty palms as to straighten out wrinkles. As she picked apart the first knot, her fingers trembled. Perhaps her mother was right, and Tana's foolish pride would destroy her family. Who was she, to claim her judgment exceeded that of men who'd apprenticed with the Jewelers Guild? If the authorities found out, or if Tana had mistaken her abilities...

Let the stones speak to you.

Her head jerked in fright, but the room was empty. Tana's racing pulse slowed when she realized she had heard the voice of memory. Her stepfather had once given her that advice. She remembered the encouragement in Ba Javerikh's voice, felt the weight of his attention whenever he watched her work, ready to correct or praise. He had believed in her. She wouldn't fail him, or the widow and daughter he'd left destitute.

She unrolled the lumpy cloth packet. Like frozen raindrops, sapphires trickled onto the black fabric.

Then a flicker of movement caught Tana's eye. She hunched over the gemstones. Had she forgotten to cover a window? Left the gate open? Or perhaps little Indu had climbed over the wall again. The pest! If the inquisitive neighbor boy saw Tana with a double handful of sapphires, the whole town would know before sunset, and Ma Hiral's worst fears might come true.

From the shadows under the household shrine, a long, narrow

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shape rippled across the stone floor toward her. Alternating patches of tan and gold glimmered in the light. Tana eased back on her heels. It was only the house naga, looking for a warm spot to bask in after Tana had closed the room's shutters. She pressed her palms together. "Peace to you, naga-ji."

The snake's head swayed near her ankle. Tana felt the brush of cool, dry scales against her bare feet. Ratters usually ignored the people whose homes they cleared of vermin. Its favor was an encouraging sign. Perhaps the snake's patron, the goddess Naghali, didn't mind Tana's working in secret.

"Be careful, friend," she said softly. "When the rains ended, Governor Alwar doubled the reward for snake skins."

Unconcerned, the snake coiled back on itself and then moved on, sliding under the door cloth and into the courtyard.

Tana removed the last sapphires from the wadding. The quilted lines of stitching had come loose, allowing the stones to slide from one section to another. Ba Javerikh had taught her better; she would repair the roll before returning it. Anticipation stirred within her as she spread the gems across the black cloth. Small jewels, she noted, of medium to poor quality. She sorted them into rows by weight, shape, and color, engrossed in the familiar task. The stones did speak to her, in a fashion she couldn't explain to her mother or Diribani.

Gems didn't have souls like living creatures, to be reborn from one body to another, but Ba Javerikh had taught her how they, too, passed through various stages of existence. In infancy, they were shaped by the same forces that raised mountains and sundered oceans. Leaving the womb of earth, they were brought to light by wind, water, and men's persistent digging. A jewel achieved its full

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virtue after being cut and polished to reveal the fire within. When Tana held a rough gem, she could sense how best to express its character.

These had been poorly cut. Tana pursed her lips as she turned each one in her palm, listening with her fingers. Diamonds, the brightest, most powerful stones, had the loudest voices. Sapphires spoke in more muted tones, but these were clearly unhappy. Tana found herself insulted on their behalf. Even small, flawed stones deserved to sparkle. She would recommend a better cutter to Trader Nikhat. Her stepfather's old rival wouldn't be sorry he had entrusted Tana with the inventory. And if she gave a helpful report on this assortment, perhaps he'd send more valuable items in the future.

At the bottom of the iron box, Tana found a blank clothbound ledger, bamboo pen, and small clay pot of ink. One silent tear, then another, dropped to the black fabric at this thoughtfulness. Trader Nikhat or his wife, Ma Bansari, must have seen Tana and Diribani before the market stalls were packed away, hawking whatever they could spare in order to tide them through the rains.

Immediately after the tragedy, when Ma Hiral had been in no condition to help them, the girls had rented a stand and sold the goods themselves: blank ledgers like this one, Ba Javerikh's books and carpets, the best dishes and silver serving pieces, all their formal dress wraps, pretty blouses, and embroidered shawls. Diribani's beauty had ensured a constant stream of customers; Tana's bargaining had brought excellent prices.

Out of compassion, the townsfolk hadn't haggled too fiercely. In Gurath's merchant community, everyone knew that one failed expedition could end a family's comfortable existence overnight. Diribani had given up her paints and drawing paper, Tana her