Toads and Diamonds (29 page)

Too heavy for a woman; too slow for the prince.
The significance escaped her, until a hand jerked her chin up. Fingers pinched her nose closed and her mouth open, and poured the liquid down her throat. Diribani struggled, but she had already swallowed too much.

Poppy juice,
her mouth told her, before her attacker gagged her with a sour-tasting cloth.
Governor Alwar,
her astonished eyes reported, and then the bag descended over her head. Her arms and legs were tied; a heavy carpet was wound around her body. With a grunt of effort, Alwar hoisted her over his shoulder.

She screamed against the gag. If he made it down the stairs without being stopped, no one would know what had happened to her.

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***

Dizzy and sick, Diribani opened her eyes into darkness. She fought to collect her scattered senses. Sweat beads rolled across her forehead and into her hair. She couldn't move her hand to brush them away. Mustard oil burned her lips, on a twisted cloth that tasted of burned onions and rancid curry. The world heaved with a rocking motion that wasn't the gait of horse or elephant. Camel.

Alwar had gagged, bound, and carried her away from the palace. He'd unrolled the carpet and bundled her into a desert nomad's hooded robe, then tied her feet to a camel's saddle. She'd lost consciousness, the first of many times. That was why her spine was arched in such an uncomfortable position. When she straightened, that pain eased. By wriggling her neck and shoulders, she succeeded in shifting the hood so she could see out the bottom. The narrow slice of world between the edge of the hood and her wool-covered chest was nearly as dark as the inside of the hood. Night. How many had passed since the last time she woke?

Diribani clenched her teeth on the gag, closed her eyes, and listened. The camel's feet struck the ground, spongy thumps that ended in the hiss of sliding sand. As she did in each moment she surfaced from a poppy-juice stupor, Diribani tried to calculate where they might be. Far from Fanjandibad, but not on the same route she had taken with Ruqayya and Zahid. She couldn't smell the medicinal scent of the plants that grew at the desert's edge.

Not east, past the mines. Diribani would have bloodied her nose against the camel's side, descending those steep tracks. She couldn't smell village dung fires, or the freshly turned earth of the plateau's cropland. She heard nothing but the beat of two camels' hooves and hissing sand.

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Deep desert.

No one but the desperate or the mad crossed the desert in the blazing-hot days before the rains.

Was her captor desperate, or mad? Or both? Was the white-coats' god so powerful that Alwar could threaten Naghali's worshiper without fear of retribution? Except, Diribani remembered, she had rejected the goddess when she thought Zahid dead.

As if he sensed the apprehension that colored Diribani's thoughts, Alwar yanked her camel to a halt.

The rope around her hands pulled tight, then loosened. The older man grunted as he dismounted, slung Diribani off her camel, and dropped her onto the sand. Diribani's bones protested the hard landing, but it did knock the hood away from her face. She lay still, grateful to breathe air untainted by the stink of sweat and musty wool. A line of apricot-colored light outlined distant hills. Dusk? Between here and there, nothing but sand.

"You awake, girl?" Alwar's voice, harsh.

Diribani flinched from the fingers untying her gag. Without speaking, she wiped her mouth on her filthy shoulder. The rough wool scratched her skin.

"A drink of water, what do you say?"

Sand coated her throat. She stared at the sky. Stars twinkled, bright as diamonds spoken in Sister Manali's celestial voice. Liquid gurgled into a clay cup. Diribani imagined fresh, clean water washing away the drug taste. She remained silent.

"One word." Alwar strained for a coaxing tone. "One little word, and you may drink as much as you like."

Diribani listened to him slurping from the cup. Each time he

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smacked his lips and swallowed, her thirst increased. She said nothing.

"A pity to waste it."

Hearing the last few drops trickle onto the sand, Diribani ground her teeth against a whimper.

Already, the white-coat had tried wooing her with bribes and promises, the oh-so-reasonable words. She wasn't fooled. The very first time they had stopped, he had pinched her nose closed and slapped her cheeks until she sobbed for breath, but neither flowers nor jewels had emerged. Diribani had screamed when the flat of his sword battered her sore arms. The wordless shrieks had also failed to produce the riches he demanded. The goddess's gift could not be compelled.

Alwar spat on the ground by her face. "Defy me at your peril, witch. When we reach Lomkha, we'll see who is the stronger." With a final curse, he stamped away.

Diribani stared at the sky, confused that it was getting lighter, the stars fading. With a mental wrench, she realized the orange line in the distance marked the sun's rising, not setting. She'd lost a whole night.

Behind her, she heard Alwar feeding the camels and staking out the canvas shelter. Twigs crackled. The familiar smell of burning dung reached her nose, followed by the odor of curry leaves and the reek of drug-laced tea he'd pour down her throat, to make her sleep through the scorching daylight hours.

For the hundredth time, Diribani wondered whom he had bribed to reach the rooftop terrace. Had illness thinned the palace guard and left a door unwatched? Alwar must have been at the fort

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for some days to know exactly where to find her at that late hour. Diribani thought she had kept her nightly vigils quiet. But in the ladies' court there were no secrets. And Ruqayya had warned her about ambitious men.

What did he intend? Clouded by poppy juice, Diribani's mind moved sluggishly. Alwar spoke of Lomkha. Was he taking her to the emperor, or to Crown Prince Jauhar? Or to some other nobleman, whom Diribani hadn't known to fear?

Zahid couldn't come to her rescue; he'd have no idea where she was.

Diribani twisted inside the thick wool robe. Underneath, the silk dress wrap was so encrusted with sand and sweat, it could probably hold its shape without her. In a haze of misery, she remembered the palace's warm bathing pool. Even better would be the cool depths of Gurath's stepwell. Diribani squeezed her eyes shut. She imagined herself at home, splashing about with Parul and Geetika and Tana.

Tana!

Her eyes popped open. Would Alwar threaten her sister in order to make Diribani say jewels for him? She could be silent on her own behalf; he was unlikely to kill the diamond girl while there was any hope of her cooperation. But Tana wouldn't have the same protection. Alwar hated snakes.

The sun's big red eye peered over the hills. At once, the temperature leaped from uncomfortably hot to roasting. Inside the wool robe, Diribani couldn't stop shivering.

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***

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT Tana

TANA
traveled by night, for the days were too hot to walk through. The blazing sun seemed to enliven the nest-building birds. They crowed and cackled and whistled from the fragrant branches of flowering trees. Tana, like most other creatures not gifted with wings, sought a sheltered spot to endure the oppressive daylight hours. With mangoes and other fruit hanging ripe in the groves, wells were ideal, though Tana's insides rebelled against a steady diet of fruit and water. When she could, she stopped in a temple grove, sharing a meal of soup or rice with the priests and priestesses. She didn't speak to them.

Loneliness was her only companion. Tana didn't mind. After months of confusion, she finally grasped the purpose of her gift. For the moment, it was enough.

When the sweet-voiced woman who had taken care of her understood that Tana was determined to leave, she had pointed out the various directions: north to the capital, south to Gurath, west to

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the sea, east to the desert. She might have insisted Tana wait and travel with a party leaving the village, hut she was distracted: A multitude of ratters had been discovered inhabiting the well's mango grove. All the villagers were eager to invite a house naga to share their homes.

Of the directions, each had its attractions. Across the desert and south from there lay Fanjandibad. But as much as Tana would have loved to visit Diribani and share her discovery, she dismissed that plan as impractical. She had no pack animals to carry water, or money to hire a guide. Kalyan wouldn't stay in Lomkha after bearing witness to the emperor; she might miss him on that road. And how could dropping snakes into the ocean help people? So she took the path that led to the emperor's road, and followed it south, toward Gurath.

Every night she grew stronger and could walk farther. Engaged on Naghali-ji's behalf, Tana didn't fear attacks by wild animals, like jackals or leopards. As she walked, she sang. Snakes and the occasional frog streamed past her lips to land with soft thumps and hisses on the ground. By the goddess's grace, Tana never stepped on one, and the poisonous serpents didn't threaten her. When Tana heard the creak of oxcarts or the tramp of marching feet, she slipped off the road and waited for the other travelers to pass. Naghali-ji held a protective hand over Tana's head; the worst that befell her was stepping on a thorny plant in the dark.

At another time of year, she might not have passed with such ease from village to town, temple to well. But in the last gasping days before the rains, Tenth Province's inhabitants spent every possible hour preparing their fields to plant rice and millet, the rainy-season crops. Sunburned and exhausted from their labors,

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they had no interest in a lone girl's comings and goings. If healthy people didn't question her, ill people had even less concern. There were all too many of those.

Tana was sure that what she was doing would help, eventually, or she would have been tempted to stop somewhere and tend to the sick, as the villagers had cared for her. In some of the towns she saw evidence of so many rats that she would spend a couple of days in the closest temple grove. Before any of the priests could connect her arrival with the appearance of sorely needed ratters, Tana would slip away as quietly as she had come.

The last few days, Tana had watched with hope as gray clouds boiled up on the horizon, only to dissipate before night fell. Darkness brought less relief than ever. The heat pressed against her. With every labored step, she dragged in a lungful of thick air and sang through a throat gritty with road dust. Powdery dirt coated her bare feet and legs, mixed with sweat, and stuck to her in a disgusting film. Even the heady smell of night-flowering trees was muffled by dust.

When, a few hours before dawn, Tana reached the outskirts of a large mango grove, she pushed on in the hope she would find a well nearby. Birds made their usual racket, and bats squeaked overhead, swooping through the trees to feed on insects and dropped fruit. Tana lifted the free end of her dress wrap over her hair. Immediately sweat prickled behind her ears and along the back of her neck. She kept singing, encouraged by the sound of snakes falling to the ground beside her.
Thump-thump, thump,
like the goddess's heart drum.
Thump, thump-thump.

Weary as she was, Tana's feet responded. Almost dancing, she made her way along the road. She searched the darkness for a pair of lanterns that were always lit.

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There!

Very grand indeed, this well. The entry pavilion boasted nine arches and a domed cupola. Tana must have reached the outskirts of a large town, with a patron as wealthy and artistic as she was pious.

When Tana stepped inside, she discovered that, in spite of the burning lamps, the interior showed signs of neglect, beginning with the empty foot-washing basin. Tana saluted the shrine, and found a bucket to fill the basin. She almost slipped on the well's slimy lower steps. Although she had to descend a long way to reach the water, there was still plenty of it. Moonlight revealed a large open tank. When full, it would be almost as big as a lake. As with Gurath's stepwell, pavilions were staged at intervals around the edge, and flights of steps divided areas for people and animals to use. When Tana walked along, she found more slippery steps. Leaves choked the livestock basins and outflow channels. Perhaps some calamity had befallen the district. More sickness? If the local people had been ill, they wouldn't have been able to clean the well properly as the water level dropped to its lowest point of the year. Soon, however, the rains would return. Those gray-bellied thunderclouds wouldn't tease forever.

If not tonight, as Tana hoped, rinsing the sticky sweat and dirt from her skin, then soon.

The cool water roused her. Like grit under her nails, the plantscummed steps called out for scrubbing. A few hours of darkness remained. But rather than continue, why not sing here? Then she would have a cool place to sleep during the day. The snakes could slither up to the grove, and the frogs would be quite content near water and shade.

In an upper alcove, Tana found cleaning supplies: rakes, another