“And now, the letter.”
* * *
Long before the sisters had finished, they were sobbing fiercely. Their new owner did not chide them for it. Indeed, he seemed obscurely satisfied. As if the tears staining the words and causing the letters to run added something valuable to the message.
When they were done, he began to roll up the vellum. But the younger sister stopped him.
“Wait. There is something we can put in it.” She hurried to the far side of the pallet and began plucking apart the threads along the seam. Her older sister opened her mouth, as if to protest. But whatever protest she might have made went unspoken. Indeed, by the time her sister had extracted the object hidden within the pallet, she was smiling. “Yes,” she whispered. “Yes.”
The younger sister came back to their owner and, shyly, extended her hand. Nestled in the palm was a bright golden coin.
“It’s all we have,” she said. “He won’t recognize it, of course, because we got it after—” She fell silent, fighting back further tears. “But still—”
The man plucked the coin out of her hand and held it up for inspection. Within seconds, he was chuckling softly.
“Freshly minted Malwa imperial coin. I wonder—”
Smiling, he tucked the coin into the vellum and rolled it up. Then, quickly folding it further, he began tying it up with cord. As he worked, he spoke softly, as if to himself.
“I wonder . . . Ha! Probably not, of course. But wouldn’t that be a delicious irony?”
The work done, he transferred the smile to the sisters. They had no difficulty, any longer, recognizing the humor in it. “I’m a man who appreciates such things, you know.”
They nodded, smiling themselves.
His own smile faded. “I am not your friend, girls. Never think so. But, perhaps, I am not your enemy either.”
He lifted the package and hefted it slightly. “We will discover which, one of these days.”
The older sister sighed. “It’s not finished, then?”
Their owner’s smile returned, this time with more of bright cheer than whimsy. “Finished? I think not!”
He was actually laughing, now. For the first time since they had entered his possession.
“I think not! The game has just begun!”
* * *
In the days, weeks and months to come, that package—and the ones which went with it—would cause consternation, three times over. And glee, once.
* * *
The consternation came in ascending degrees. The least concerned were the soldiers who investigated the murder and mutilation of a brothel-keeper and his chief pimp.
“Who cares who did it?” yawned the officer in charge of the squad. “Plenty more where they came from.”
He turned away from the bed where the brothel-keeper’s body had been found. The linen was still soaked with blood from a throat slit to the bone. “Maybe a competitor. Or it could have been a pissed-off customer.” It was apparent, from the bored tone of his voice, that he had no intention of pursuing the matter further.
The pimp who had succeeded to the brothel’s uncertain ownership sighed. “No problem, then?” He fought very hard to keep satisfaction out of his own voice. He was quite innocent of the murders, as it happened, but as the obvious suspect . . .
“Not that I can see,” stated the officer firmly. Just as firmly, he stared at the new brothel-keeper.
“On the house!” that worthy announced promptly. “You and all your men! For a full day!”
The officer grinned. “Case closed.”
* * *
There was more consternation, a few days later, when the murderer reported to his master.
“You idiot,” growled Narses. “Why in the name of God did you kill them? We don’t need any attention being drawn. A simple slave purchase, all it was. Happens every day.”
“So do brothel killings,” came the retort. Ajatasutra shrugged. “Three reasons. First, I thought the hands would lend a nice touch to the package. Proof of good intentions, so to speak.”
Narses snorted. “God help us. You’re pretending to think.” He displayed his inimitable sneer. “His daughters have been hopelessly polluted. What difference does it make—you’re Indian yourself, you know how it works—that a couple of the polluters are dead? How many hundreds are still alive?”