Naamah's Curse - Jacqueline Carey [148]
It was a holy place, I learned, and many followers of the Path of Dharma came here on pilgrimages. In Rasa, commerce and sanctity lived cheek by jowl, and it was strange to walk the streets and see shops selling all manner of goods, while colorful prayer flags fluttered overhead and pilgrims completed a circuit around the city, prostrating themselves every few steps.
Dorje’s wife, Nyima, was a generous hostess, a sweet woman who was reduced to infectious giggles by my efforts to communicate with her. I let her daughters braid my hair in the Tufani style, weaving beads of coral and turquoise into the strands.
It took a day for Dorje’s company to sort out their own business, and another day for him to see about arrangements for my journey.
And as it transpired, my trust wasn’t misplaced, but it could only carry me so far. Dorje wasn’t pleased with my options, and refused to finalize the arrangements before discussing it with me.
“There is only one caravan travelling to Bhodistan yet,” he said unhappily. “And I do not like the look of the caravan-master.”
“Has he a bad reputation?” I asked.
Dorje shook his head. “He has the name of an honest trader. But he does not follow the Path of Dharma, and he has hard eyes.”
“There are a great many folk in the world who do not follow the Path of Dharma,” I said philosophically. “Myself included. It does not make us bad people, Dorje.”
He sighed. “I know this, Moirin. Still… why not wait and pass the winter here? You will be my guest. Come spring, I will put together an expedition myself.”
My diadh-anam flared in a protest so violent, I winced. “I don’t dare,” I said softly. “As many lessons in patience as fate has taught me, I don’t think this is one of them. Why don’t you let me meet the fellow and decide for myself?”
With reluctance, Dorje agreed.
I had to own, I didn’t exactly like the look of the man myself, either. His name was Manil Datar, and he had the preening, satisfied look of a man who thought very well of himself. To be fair, he was a handsome enough fellow with a quick, flattering smile, but Dorje was right, it was a smile that did not reach his eyes. Also, he had doused himself with a heavy, musky scent I did not care for.
Still, he spoke courteously and seemed professional enough, assuring me through Dorje that it would be his pleasure to see me conducted to Bhaktipur, that he would take personal responsibility for my safety, and vouch for the good character of all his men. And he came to Tufan to trade for glands of a musk-deer that was used in the making of perfume, so I supposed perhaps the scent he wore was an advertisement for his trade. It wasn’t his fault I didn’t care for it.
And, too, I had touched on the thoughts of his animals, the horses and yaks penned at the inn where Manil Datar’s company was lodged, and found them to be glad and contented, well fed and well cared for. As much as anything, that decided me. A man who was good to his animals could not be so bad after all.
“I wish to do this, Dorje,” I said firmly to him.
He sighed, and translated my agreement. Manil Datar smiled and placed his palms together in a Bhodistani salute, inclining his head and speaking.
“He says it will be his pleasure to escort such a beautiful young woman through the most beautiful mountains in the world,” Dorje said in a glum tone. “And if you are interested, it will also be his pleasure to teach you to speak the Bhodistani tongue. No extra charge,” he added. “Only for the pleasure of your company.”
I pushed away any misgivings and returned the man’s smile. “That’s very kind. I would appreciate it.”
Dorje translated my words and Manil’s reply. “Come the day after tomorrow at sunrise and we will depart.”
So it was decided.
I was glad to have it done. With Dorje’s assistance, I acquired warmer attire, bartering Arigh’s Tatar bow for a long coat and trousers of densely woven wool and a heavy sheepskin blanket.
Already, I felt better; and considerably warmer.
“Look at you, Moirin.” Dorje smiled a