Naamah's Curse - Jacqueline Carey [159]
And that was that.
Sanjiv accepted my thanks with a shy smile, ducking his head and glancing at me sidelong. “Take care of your horses, Lady Dakini.”
“I will,” I promised.
No one else acknowledged me. Manil Datar gave the order to continue, and the caravan began filing through the city, bound for the far reaches of the Abode of the Gods.
Except for Sanjiv, I wasn’t sorry to see them go; and yet once more I found myself alone and friendless in a strange place, this time with my head aching and fever addling my wits. I fingered the purse of coin that Dorje had given me, hoping it was enough to purchase lodgings as he had promised.
All I had to do was find them. Belatedly, I realized that my limited Bhodistani vocabulary did not include a word for an inn.
Dismounting, I addressed the first person to smile at me, a slender young woman carrying a live chicken under one arm. “Hello,” I said politely. “Do you know where is a place and food for money?”
She nodded cheerfully and gave me directions in a dialect that differed slightly from the tongue Manil Datar had taught me. I echoed them back to her haltingly, while she nodded encouragingly.
When I had finished, she touched my face with slim fingers, her expression wondering. “You come from where?”
I pointed westward. “Far, very far. Many seas.”
It seemed to impress her. For my part, I was grateful to find the folk in Bhaktipur friendly and helpful, and my first encounter a productive one. I hoped it boded well for my time here. Right now, all I wanted to do was find the inn she had described, stable my mounts, then wash weeks of travel-dirt from my skin, fall into a bed, and sleep for days.
Alas, either the young woman had misunderstood my question, or I’d misunderstood her directions. When I followed the course she had indicated along the narrow, winding streets, I found myself before a building that was unmistakably a temple of some sort—and outside the temple doors, a trio of men assaulting a young girl in rough-spun clothing.
Even as I approached, they dragged her away from the temple, thrusting her roughly against a low wall. She cried out in fear and pain, dropping a rag bundle from which a tattered bunch of dried marigolds spilled, scattering gold and saffron petals. No one else on the street did anything to intervene.
A cold anger rose in me.
I unslung my bow without thinking, nocking an arrow. The swift motion made my head swim, and when I shook it in an effort to clear it, I made it worse. “Let her go!” I called in a tight, fierce voice.
Turning, the men backed away from the girl and raised their hands. The girl dropped to a squat, tears on her cheeks, and attempted to gather the fallen flowers.
“You do not understand,” one of the men said in a sullen tone. “She tried to enter the temple.”
There was a ringing in my head like the sound of bells, and I had to concentrate not to see two of him. “So?”
The man gestured aggressively toward the girl, who flinched. “She is nobody! An untouchable!”
I focused on him, training the arrow. “I do not care. Let her go!”
The sound of ringing bells grew louder. Gazing past me, the men’s expressions changed. All three of them bowed their heads, pressed their palms together, and touched their fingers to their brows. The girl pressed her forehead to the ground.
“So! What is this trouble that passes here?” asked a new voice, a woman’s voice, musical and lilting.
Nudging my mount with my knees, I turned slightly and beheld the Rani of Bhaktipur emerging from a palanquin. I knew at a glance it could not have been anyone else. A coterie of guards surrounded her. She was draped in an intricate garment of bright orange silk embroidered with bands of gold, vivid against her warm amber skin. There was an ornament of gold filigree twined in her black hair, a sparkling jewel hanging on her smooth forehead. Bangles jingled on her wrists, and anklets with tiny bells rang as she