by Maya Kaathryn Bohnhoff

— CHAPTER 17 —

In which the web of deceit tightens, a trap is set for Ana and Jaya and the Rani come to an understanding. 

oOo

Back from Bazaar, Jaya secluded himself in the study, buried himself in the depths of a cup chair and tried to think. Ana would stay, at least for the time being, at least until this tangled web was sorted out. His own feelings and thoughts were so bound by that web that he felt sticky, muddled.

Closing his eyes, he tilted his head back against the padded comfort of the chair and took a deep, centering breath. There was yet another confrontation on his schedule for the day and he was not looking forward to it.

His eyes opened on the ceiling with its tastefully muted woodland mural. They fastened on the night sky of one panel.

What did Ana see when she looked at the night sky? Or Ravi, or Jivinta or any of the other believers in some unific Deity. If they saw in the world around them jewels and lights and a fabric of dreams, what did they imagine they saw beyond that world, in those ‘other worlds’ they spoke of? Where was the Abode of Ramji? Where was—what had that little book called it —the “Garden of the Beloved?”

“I wish I could believe in You,” he murmured. “I could use the consolation...and some advice.” Feeling slightly foolish, he dropped his gaze to the carpet.

How I wish Father were here.

He rose and went to find the Rani.

oOo

In the library’s adjoining game room, Hadas had pressed Ana into a match of Pariyanti. The board game was unfamiliar and served to distract her from the warring senses of anticipation and boredom. Hadas was beating her soundly when Aridas entered, carrying an envelope on a carved wooden tray.

“A message for you, Rani Ana,” he said and offered it to her with a deferential bow before leaving the room.

She took it almost gingerly and stared at it, then broke the seal with a fingernail, slitting the dark packet. Inside was a single page. The note was written in tiny, hurried strokes on the back of some sort of form. Ana turned it over. It was an inventory sheet from the Badan-Devaki.

She gasped, then reddened when she saw the nature of some of the form’s fields: “Hair Color,” “Eye Color,” “Teeth - good/bad,” “Height,” “Figure/ Build,” “Attractive Features.” The last was followed by a series of numbers so the person making out the form could grade the inventory item to a numeric category. There were some other fields as well, of an even more intimate nature, but she ignored them, turning the flimsy over quickly to read the note.

oOo

My name is Vanam Sanoh. I am Avasan. I have been taken by force to the Badan-Devaki and made dasa. I was training as an upstairs serving girl, but a patron inquired about me and I am to be sold at private auction tomorrow morning. I am terrified. My training isn’t complete, so I know it’s not a serving girl he wants. I heard talk among the workers about the Rani Sadira who has made it her cause to help Avasan prisoners—how she freed Hadas Gupta. I thought Tara-ji had at last heard my prayers. So, I bartered with a Salon guard to send this letter to beg you to help me—to free me as you did Hadas. I can’t let myself be sold into dishonor. I have bartered my body once in the hope of being saved; I will not have it abused daily. Help me. My life is in your hands. Your Servant, Vanam Sanoh.

oOo

“Vanam Sanoh,” repeated Ana. She was already heading for the Library vicom terminal.

Hadas followed her. “Is she-?”

Ana, viewing the list of missing Avasans, nodded. “She’s here. Vanam Sanoh, eighteen years, from the Tash settlement.”

“Should we tell Jivinta Mina or Jaya Rai? Will you go bid on her?”

Ana took the note and studied it again. “I don’t know...  Somehow...” She shook her head.

Hadas’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t you believe her?”

Ana glanced at him sharply, then turned back to the vicom. She keyed it into communications mode and requested an audio-only link to the Badan-Devaki dalali. Hadas, his face like stone, sank into a nearby chair, watching her.

“Good-day, sama,” she said when she was connected with the dalali’s receptionist. “This is the Rani Ana Sadira. I’ve heard there is a private auction tomorrow morning. Is that so?”

“Yes, Rani,” returned the pleasant male voice. “Our schedule does show a private auction at fourteenth hour in the Blue Salon.”

“Wonderful! I’d like to attend, if that could be arranged.”

“Ah,” said the voice. “Well, unfortunately, the schedule shows that auction as being closed—by invitation only.”

Ana made her voice sound slightly peeved. “I see. What must one do to receive an invitation?”

“Well, I...” There was a momentary hesitation, then the man cleared his throat. “Perhaps, if you spoke directly to one of the dalal. Devaki-sa is in the Parlor this morning.”

Now it was Ana’s turn to hesitate. The thought of holding conversation with Kareen Devaki was daunting. She still dreamed of her—tall, elegant, her coldly assessing black eyes glittering from a statue’s pale, perfect face. But she’d gotten this far...

“Yes,” she said, willing her voice to sound confident. “Yes, please let me speak to Devaki-sa.”

“As you wish, Rani. One moment, please.”

It was less than a moment. Kareen Devaki was on the line immediately, crystalline voice pleasant. “Rani Sadira! How delightful to hear from you. How are you enjoying the gift the Rani Mina purchased for you?”

It took Ana an embarrassing moment to realize she meant Hadas. She laughed, her voice husky. “Oh, he’s-he’s just wonderful!” she enthused. Hadas glanced away.

“I’m so pleased. How may I serve?”

Words! thought Ana. What words?

“You can invite me to a private auction,” she said lightly. “Your receptionist tells me there’s one tomorrow morning at fourteenth hour. I’ve never been to a private auction. It sounds...exciting.”

“Ah! Well, my dear Rani, the auction was at the special request of a certain patron—a very valued patron, you understand...” Her voice dripped her regrets. “However,”—the crystal brightness was back—“as co-owner of Badan-Devaki, I can invite whomever I please to our auctions. Yes, it would please me very much to invite you to this one.”

“Why, thank you, Devaki-sa. I’m looking forward to it.”

“Rani, may I...” Devaki paused, her voice tinged with reluctance.

“Yes?”

“Pardon me, I beg you, if I seem presumptuous, but it has long been common knowledge that the Nathu Rai Sarojin despises the buying and selling of das. Does he approve of your patronizing our dalali?”

“Oh, he doesn’t know!” exclaimed Ana in a breathless voice. “That’s what makes it fun! Why, he thinks the young man we bought last week is my cousin, can you believe it?” She laughed again.

“I see. Well, then I will look forward to greeting you personally tomorrow morning. Will there be others in your party?”

“Oh, no. Just me, I think.”

“Very well, then. Until tomorrow, Rani.”

“Thank you, Devaki-sa,” said Ana and cut the connection.

Hadas gripped her arm. “Take me with you, Ana. Please.”

“You could, if I was going, but I’m not.”

“I don’t understand. You said-“

Ana shook her head. “It didn’t feel right, Hadas. That’s why I called. I wanted to talk to one of them—to hear a voice. She didn’t even ask how I knew about this private auction, but she did make sure I wouldn’t be bringing anyone with me—especially Jaya.” 

Now Hadas’s eyes were mere slits. “You think it’s a trap?”

“Well, think of it, Hadas—how did I get a reputation at the Badan-Devaki as a redeemer of lost Avasans? As far as anyone knew, Jivinta Mina bought you for me as a toy. The same kind of toy Vanam Sanoh would be for this ‘client.’”

“Perhaps some rumor of what happened at the Mesha Fest...?”

Ana shook her head. “It feels like a trap.”

“What if you’re wrong? What if Vanam Sanoh really is in the dalali? If we don’t do something-“

“I didn’t say I wasn’t going to do something. I said I wasn’t going to the auction. That place is a business, not a fortress. I’m sure there are ways to get in. Especially since they’re expecting me to walk in through the front door, not sneak in the back unannounced.”

Hadas came to his feet, his face flushed with excitement. “You know Jaya Rai would never permit you to do this.”

“Jaya Rai can’t prevent what he doesn’t know about. And you are not going to tell him, are you?”

“I wouldn’t think of it...because I’m going with you.”

“No. It will only take one person to slip in and check their files.”

“Check their files?”

“Even if Vamam Sanoh is no longer there, I can still get into their database and see if their ‘inventory’ matches our list. I want to know where the Lost Ones have gone.”

He perched close to her, on the arm of her chair. “How? How can you access their files? They could have a whole different system.”

“I’ve seen the terminals. They’re just like these.” She patted the top of the vicom. “Paran 50’s. We use the same model at home. Chances are they use a commercial database for their inventory. I know a fair amount about databases, having been responsible for tracking the equipment for a mining compound for the last five years. Even if the software is unfamiliar, I can set the terminal for audio input. Then I won’t even have to use entrance codes, I can make plain verbal requests.”

“But what if someone hears you?”

“I’ll whisper.”

She got up and tucked the note into the waistband of her pantalons. “Now, I just need to talk to Govi.”

Hadas was nothing if not persistent. “What if the terminal is voice imprinted and doesn’t acknowledge you? It could set off an alarm.”

“Hadas! In the name of Tara-ji, don’t be so paranoid. Voice imprinting would be highly unlikely in files that have to be open to the Census. Alarms! That’s something out of fiction.”

“You’re being naïve. They’re running an illegal business-“

“I’m sure the files that track their payments to the thieves are coded up as tight as a sunburn. But it’s legal for them to buy and sell yevetha—Avasan or otherwise. They’d have no reason to put a lock-out on their inventory files. As a matter of fact, if they did, it would probably arouse suspicions somewhere in the Census Ministry. Now, calm down and go talk Ari or Dana into getting beaten senseless at Pariyati.”

She started to leave, but found his hand on her arm.

“Take me with you, Ana. You need someone to back you up. Please. I can’t let you do this alone.”

She shook her head. “I can’t ask anyone else to jeopardize themselves, Hadas. This is my crusade.”

“No, it’s our crusade. I’m Avasan too. And you’re not asking—I am. I may have led a softer life than you have, but I’m a good athlete. I can climb, run, swim.”

“Thank you, Hadas. But I don’t think I’ll be doing any swimming. Now, come on. Let me go see Govi.”

“Then at least let me in on the plan,” Hadas begged. “Just in case something goes wrong. I could tell the Nathu Rai.”

She hesitated, then gave a reluctant nod, acknowledging the wisdom of that. “All right. But you tell no one what I’m doing.”

He nodded in solemn agreement, then followed her in search of Govi.

oOo

The Rani met Jaya in the salon of her suite, dressed impeccably in pale amber silks that set her tawny complexion off to great advantage.

“Going out?” he asked coolly.

“I have a dinner engagement in Kasi.” She checked the timepiece on her wrist. “How long will this take?”

“That depends on you.”

“Oh dear. I recognize that voice. Well...”

She moved to a low couch and made herself comfortable on it. “There, I’m ready. What are we going to snarl at each other about today?”

“Ana.”

The Rani nodded exaggeratedly. “Oh, yes. Ana.”

“I’ll get right to the point. You know Ana is Rokh Nadim’s daughter. You know she’s been made dasa. Now, what do you intend to do with that information?”

The Rani studied her presently golden fingernails. “You mean, will I tell Duran Prakash?”

“Will you?”

She looked up at him. He was standing in an almost defensive position; rod-straight and tense, as if facing a physical threat.

He must have stood like that outside the gates the day they attacked him—whoever “they” really were. Faceless, cowardly— how dare they touch him, the Sarojin Prince—her son? She nearly cried out aloud at a sudden intense desire to hold him; to gather him into her arms as if he were still her little boy—as if he were not a tall, threatening stranger.

She tried to make her voice sound cold and distant, but didn’t manage it well. It came out hushed and strained. “I’m afraid that’s rather academic at this juncture, Jaya. He already knows.”

Jaya’s face drained of color. “How?”

She shrugged, still struggling for composure. “I have no idea. He wanted me to get her out of the Palace. He said she was an agent of AGIM or some such nonsense. I told him I didn’t appreciate being lied to and threw him out.”

“Lied to? I don’t understand. You know she’s Anala Nadim, why not believe she’s an AGIM agent?”

“She told me everything; how you met, how she got the dascree.”

“You believed her?”

“She’s Rohin. Her story made sense. His didn’t.” She shrugged again. “He admitted he was lying.”

Jaya shook his head bemusedly. “So you threw him out. For good?”

“Permanent exile. That will no doubt bring tears of joy to your eyes.”

“I’m celebrating already.”

“Hmmm. Well, the fact remains—he knows who your ‘cousin’ really is. He stated, quite bluntly, that her presence here is endangering your life.”

Jaya lowered himself to the arm of a chair opposite his mother’s couch. “He knows who she is, yet he hasn’t told the Inner Circle. He suggested to the Deva Radha that I might be prejudiced by my relationship with her, but that was all. Why, I wonder?” He glanced at the Rani. “And you—you didn’t help him remove her. Why?”

“I can’t really say. Pride, I suppose—the wounded variety. Or maybe...the vestiges of self-respect. Or maybe because I knew if I did help him, my son would never forgive me. You couldn’t forgive me for that, could you?”

“No. No, I don’t think I could.”

“She’s important to you, this Avasan?”

He nodded.

“Well, then, it seems I’ve done something right, after all.”

Jaya exhaled sharply and stared at the carpet between his feet. “Thank you, mother.”

“You’re welcome. Is there anything else?”

He glanced up at her. “Yes. You told Ana someone warned you I was getting involved in an investigation of some Avasan kidnappings. Who was it—Prakash?”

“No, not Prakash. It was Bel Adivaram. ...What? What’s wrong?”

Jaya had risen slowly to his feet, his face eloquent with astonishment.

“Is that so surprising? He’s been close to the family since your Father-“

“What did he say to you? Tell me everything, Mata. Everything you can remember.”

“He said you were—how did he put it—‘championing the cause of Avasan yevetha,’ and that you were putting your life in danger by doing so. I swear, Jaya, if one more person tells me your life is in danger, I’ll scream.”

“Mother, please-“

She waved him down. “All right, I’ll attempt to stay to the point. Bel said he was investigating these kidnappings, as you call them, as a matter of Zone security. He said a ring of thieves were stealing Avasan id to benefit one of the local dalalis. He said he suspected some of the involved parties were highly placed politically and that you were putting yourself at odds with them. He said his officers had tried to warn you off, but that you wouldn’t listen. He asked me to try to influence you to...” She stopped, staring at her son’s nearly gray face. “I thought...I thought he was just being...a friend.”

“All lies,” said Jaya, his voice barely above a whisper. “Or at least, most of it. Yes, there are kidnappings; yes, there are probably highly-placed people involved—but I know of no investigation except...mine, and no one warned me about anything. If Bel Adivaram knew about my concern over the Avasans, he kept it to himself when I was around.”

“You never discussed it with him?”

“Never.”

The Rani nodded. “He said something else, too. He said—or rather, he implied—that those so-called Worker’s Coalitionists who attacked you were nothing of the kind. That they were sent to dissuade you from prying into this kidnapping business because you were a threat to the people behind it.”

Jaya shook his head. “The first time I even mentioned the kidnappings to Adivaram’s Sarngin was the morning of the attack. In fact, we were on our way back from the Port Zone Headquarters when it happened. There was barely enough time for anyone to decide I was a threat and send out those thugs. No, Mata. That attack was staged on behalf of the Consortium—either directly or indirectly—I’m not sure which. Someone thought they could frighten me into voting pro-KNC. All they did was induce the Deva Radha to throw the case out of the Vrinda Varma and place it before the Circle.”

“Bel knew that?”

“Of course, he knew that. He was in Chambers.”

“But he wanted me to think otherwise...for some reason.”

“Yes. For some reason.”

The Rani knew a desperation born of fear. “Jaya, what is happening here? What is Bel doing? What is he part of? Is he—is he a friend or an enemy?”

“I don’t know.”

“My God, Jaya, who can we trust?”

His eyes met hers—huge and brilliant in his ashen face.

“Apparently, no one,” he said.

They sat in silence for a moment, each trying to absorb meanings and ramifications. Trying to remember who had said this or that. Trying to sort friend from foe.

At length, the Rani had had enough of the silence. “What will you do?”

“I’ll make sure our security is tight. I’ll have everyone who tries to enter searched twice and I’ll take an armed guard to the Asra Complex tomorrow. When we testify, we’ll tell the Circle everything we know.”

“That...could ruin a few people.”

“I’m beginning to hope so.”

“One of them could be your Uncle Namun. If the Consortium is ruined, it will be very hard on Vedda Technologies.”

“Uncle Namun once observed to me that he feared that to deal with the KNC was to deal with demons. If the KNC is a Consortium of demons, then they deserve ruin.”

The Rani grimaced, shaking her head. “Ji, it must run in the family.”

“What?”

She shrugged away a wave of fondness. “You’re just like your father. You remember how it was with him—he was always in the forefront of some crusade. Sometimes I teased him about believing he was the God-defender of the Down-trodden—the Guardian of Every Right.” She smiled wryly. “The Consortium was no great friend of his, either.”

Jaya nodded. “I seem to recall that. I didn’t really understand that—how he could be so close to Namun and yet throw himself into a pitched battle with the institution that was the source of so much of Uncle Namun’s working capital. I don’t recall that there was ever a bit of strain between them over it.”

The Rani shrugged. “Both of them had a rare ability to see the difference between people and institutions; between people and their actions, even. A rare form of detachment. It kept your father’s crusades from becoming vendettas. It also kept him from destroying treasured relationships.”

“I didn’t understand that, either, then—the crusading.”

The Rani shrugged. “You were a boy. You had other things on your mind than fair wages for hard labor or the disposition of sonless widows and orphans.”

Jaya grimaced. “I wish I’d paid more attention. I might have learned something about how to conduct a crusade.”

“You could always consult his journals. He took notes on everything. There should be a plethora of material there on the how’s and why’s of being a successful crusader.”

“I think I understand the why’s now,” Jaya said. He took a deep breath. “I’d better go set up our security arrangements for tomorrow.”

“You’ll need my testimony, too, won’t you?” It was more statement than question.

“Yes. Yes, I think we will.”

She nodded, resigned. “I believe I’ll cancel my dinner plans and stay in this evening. I’m not sure it’s safe to be a Sarojin in Kasi just now.” She shivered, touched by the chill of that thought. “I’ll be glad when this is over.”

“So will I,” murmured Jaya. He turned and started for the door.

“Jaya.”

He paused in the doorway to her entry.

“When this is over, you’re going to free her, aren’t you?”

“Ana? Of course. Her family can easily produce id for her, once the danger to them is past. Removing that obscenity from her palm should just be a formality.”

“Remove it? Or do you have plans to replace it with another obscenity? Don’t you mean to exchange that dascree for the Sarojin raicree?”

The aloof stranger had returned. “I don’t think this is the time to discuss that. When this is over, I’ll stop and I’ll think.”

“I hope you’ll make a point of thinking clearly.”

Now the dark eyes glittered with heat. “Meaning?”

“Meaning: You should think long and hard about marrying across caste boundaries.”

“I don’t believe in caste boundaries.”

“No, but the world around you does. Think, for a moment, of what life would be like for her once everyone knows she’s not a displaced Rani of the Saroj, but an just Avasan miner’s daughter—a common, colorless, ore-digger.”

“She’s not ‘just’ anything, Mother. Least of all, common. And if I did marry her, she’d be a Rani of the Saroj, after all.”

“Not to them.” She jerked her head toward Kasi. “Not to me.”

“I care, very little-“

“Ah, now!” She rose and moved toward him, praying he would see reason. “Now, you care very little! But how much will you care when it begins to affect the way people look at you, speak to you, or speak about you behind your back? How much will you care when time passes and the pallor of her skin doesn’t fade? When you realize it wasn’t the climate that blanched it, but her ancestors. When she gives you children marked by the same heritage. She’s Genda, Jaya—born from of the bowels of the world, a child of the creatures that live in darkness.” 

“ That is the most ignorant, superstitious pack of nonsense I’ve ever heard you preach. Those are fairytales—legends. We’re all products of earth. Every last one of us.”

She felt swift, certain denial. “There was a time,” she said, “when the Sarojin men were little less than gods. To the people around them, they were gods.”

“They were never gods. They were men. My father was a man. I’m a man. Ana is a woman. We’re equals.”

“Equals! She’s a Genda slave!”

Jaya held up his hand. “Stop. Ana is not my slave. Not in any real sense. And don’t suggest that I make her a cunnidasa. I have no interest in it. None.”

She knew better than to believe that. “None? You’ve never thought about it? Never thought about walking through that unlocked door into her bed?”

Her son’s face gave up secrets that were no secret to her.

She laughed. “The Crusader-Hypocrite? Come, Jaya, admit it. You have thought pleasantly about that pretty piece of property. And she is your property. Believe me, she could hope for no greater honor than to be a cunnidasa to the Sarojin. If I were in her position-“

“You’re not in her position, Mother, and never could be. Oh, you might have been born to a poor house, even to the family of an Avasan miner. You might have found yourself enslaved and alone on a strange world full of strange people. But you could never, never be in her position, because to be in her position, you’d have to be honest and honorable and selfsacrificing, and I doubt you are any of those things.” His eyes spat rage at her from their depths.

She had to allow it was her own fault. A heavy weight pressed upon her heart and she pressed her hands over it as if they could lift the weight away.

She smiled wryly. “Well, I seem to have done it again. Forgive me. I realize it all sounds like bigoted nonsense to you, but the sanctity of a Taj line is something I was raised with—something I was taught to respect and believe in. Other men might corrupt themselves or pollute the stream of their heritage with lowlife marriages, but not men of the Taj. There are always human needs, physical desires. That’s what makes men—even Sarojin men—less than gods. Those needs can be fed. But I was raised to believe that people of caste must marry to their station. How else is the quality of the line to be preserved?”

“Quality of the line? What quality? What quality of character does Ana lack that should keep her from being accepted as a Rani of the House Sarojin? She’s passed well as one so far.”

“She has passed. That doesn’t make it so.” The Rani shook her head. “This isn’t her world, Jaya. It is foreign to her. You are foreign to her.”

His face flushed. “No. No, I’m not. This world may be foreign to her—is foreign to her. She’s told me as much. But not me. That’s part of my dilemma, Mother. I feel as if I’ve known her for centuries, and I know the feeling is shared.”

“You are part of this world. She is part of another. In a very literal sense, an alien.”

“I don’t want to be part of this world, damn it! I never have! I exist in it, I glide through it. It never touches me. Nothing has touched me. Until now. Now, I’ve been touched. By her; by those people whose lives my world is shattering. All I want right now is to get to the end of this tangled yarn and find out whose hand holds the skein. I want to find Ana’s ‘Lost Ones’ and reunite them with their families and I want to dig the corruption out of Kasi. You talk to me about caste boundaries? Well, I want to shatter them. Every last one of them. They’re stupid, artificial walls and I want them broken!”

Dear God, he was shaking! The Rani applauded, laughing. “Oh, wonderful speech, Nathu Rai Sarojin! Well spoken! And with such admirable passion. If that’s all you want—Ji!—the purging of Kasi; the destruction of age old custom? A mere wave of your hand should suffice.”

She advanced on him suddenly, anger leaping like black flame in her heart. “Do you have any idea how long your father struggled to accomplish just that? Do you have any conception of how many nights I slept alone because he was at the vicom, or skulking in some alley, or interviewing some lowlife in an attempt to dig the corruption out of Kasi? Can you imagine your father, the Nathu Rai Bhaktasu Sarojin, on his knees, weeping into my skirts because one of his yevetha informants had been killed or because he could not produce the proof of labor abuses he knew were occurring?

“You-you pup! You upstart! You have no idea what it is to be a mahesa. You speak of crusades and justice and honor and you’ve only just discovered they exist! You are a poor mirror of your father’s light. A poor copy of the original!”

Jaya stood motionless, staring at her. In a moment, he managed to find his voice. “I’m not trying to imitate Father, Mata. I’m not a copy of him—poor or otherwise. I am myself. I am Jaya Sarojin and that makes me the mirror of both my father’s light and yours.”

Melantha shrunk away from him, folded in on herself. “Ah, now that’s a poor heritage. Half god and half Niraya-jinn. It’s no wonder you’re confused about your role in life.”

Jaya’s expression softened. “I’m beginning to sort through the confusion, Mother. You could help by not throwing such conflicting signals at me. I swear, for the past five years I’ve been the most confused over who you are.”

“Well, so have I. If I throw conflicting signals at you, it’s only because I am in conflict. I loved your father, Jaya. I loved him with a passion I swear few people are privileged to know. And he returned that love, every last grain of it. I worshipped him and he ennobled me. I admired the crusader in him as much as I begrudged it the time it took from me. Whenever he was able to bring justice out of chaos, I was the first one to adore him for it. But when he died...out on one of his crusades...”

She dug her fingernails into her palms, seeking composure through physical pain, but it was an ineffective discipline against inner agony and she cried, sounding pathetic even to her own ears. “By God, Jaya, you’re all I have of him! If I lose you-“

He reached for her, folded her into his arms. She recalled both Paradise and Hell in that embrace. Her son was hers again, for a moment, but Bhaktasu was lost to her for the rest of her life. And at the end of that fleeting dance, could she honestly hope for reunion? She realized that in the past five years she had forgotten how to pray.

“Don’t leave me, Jaya,” she begged him. “Don’t leave me alone.”

“I won’t, Mata,” he promised.

oOo

Ana yawned and stretched, trying to bring her eyes back into focus on the detailed floor plan of the Badan-Devaki. She closed them and discovered that the picture was imprinted on her retinas. She chuckled. That would be great if it would last until she was finished with this bit of espionage, but already the image was fading.

One thing remained fixed in her memory—the small, black square drawn into the alley wall that represented admittance to the sub-levels of the building. It was listed in the architect’s index as an “inspection access” and was intended to afford the City Development Corps a commanding view of pipes and conduits and any structural weakness of the sub-flooring. To Ana it was just another dark shaft, and since she had virtually grown up in dark shafts, she greeted it with almost a sense of welcome. That, at least, was her element.

From that entry way, there were several trap-door routes up into the dalali. One opened into a kitchen storage area, another into a long rectangular room with no particular designation. From its lay, Anala figured it ran behind the staging areas of the two premier floor public Salons. She pondered it for a moment, then decided it correlated to the wardrobe/dressing area she had seen during her processing.

She checked the time. It was getting close to dinner. She printed a copy of the floor plan, then bundled it up with the list of names, the schedule of deliveries, and some notes she had taken from Govi’s sagacious input. Considering herself prepared, she folded the flimsies away into a pocket and hurried upstairs to store them in a safe place.

Later, she would plan her entry route and look over her notes. Then, she would just have to pray she was ready.

oOo

The journal hadn’t been easy to find. In the end he’d asked the Rani for clues as to where his father had kept it.

Old Recipes from Vatapur, the faded, hide-bound cover said, but when Jaya opened it, the book was hollow, and in the carefully cut hole was a hand-sized com-journal. He powered it up, then sat down with it and scanned the entries. There were some files with cryptic names, others merely carried dates.

One of the named files had the initials “KNC” in the title; he tried to open it. The file was locked.

“Enter id,” the machine told him, and a small red light came on above an oval depression in its black face. He didn’t know where his father’s leaf was, so he used his own, pressing the crystal face down into the depression.

“Access granted,” said the journal, and proceeded to open the file. He began to read.