are
particular
.’
‘Is this a joke?’ ’ He wasn’t sure whether to laugh or not. ‘My wife is my wife, and I do not wish to part from her, even if Omali Law allowed divorce, which it does not.’
Vikash shook his head. He was sweating uncharacteristically: Ispalhad never seen him look other than cool and debonair. ‘No, your
daughter
, Ispal: Ramita – this stranger, this
rich
stranger, may be interested in her. His agent stressed secrecy and urgency. He has promised
vast
sums of money – vast sums!’ He mopped his brow.
‘But Ramita is betrothed already, to the son of my blood-brother. Perhaps if your stranger were to wait a year or two, one of the younger girls will have bled, and—’
‘No, Ispal, it must be your marriageable daughter or you will miss out. He wishes to be wed this month. He cannot afford to wait.’
Ispal shook his head. ‘Vikash, this is
insane
. Marriage is sacred: it is a bond before the gods. We do not give our daughters to strangers.’ He turned away. ‘Thank you for the tip, Vikash, but no.’
Vikash grabbed his arm. ‘Ispal, wait – this man is very,
very
rich. Please, at least talk to him—’
‘No, Vikash, really, this is becoming ridiculous.’
‘
Please
, Ispal – the agent will pay me one thousand rupals just for
introducing
you, much more if a deal is struck. Think what he might pay to you …’
Ispal froze, stunned.
One thousand rupals, just for introductions? By Laksimi
–
what would such a rich and profligate man pay to the people who did the real business?
He wavered, caught in a sudden fantasy of marble palaces and servants galore, with soldiers at his command and a whole caravan of wagons.
By all the gods, think of a whole multi-floor shop full of wares, the Maharaja himself visiting him to make lavish purchases
…
Vikash looked at him intently. ‘It would not hurt to talk to this man, would it, my friend?’
Their eyes met. Ispal took a deep breath, feeling slightly dizzy, and nodded.
Vikash Nooradin led Ispal to an old haveli with carved wooden gates that were falling apart, and into the dishevelled courtyard beyond. Clumps of incense sticks were burning in braziers to mask the smell of rot. A disused fountain was green with pond-slime, and the verandas were shadowy against the stark sunshine. They sat beneath the shadeof a tree on some old chairs, and a servant brought iced tea. Vikash took a sip, then spoke. ‘Ispal my friend, this is an opportunity to die for. Inside there is a Rondian called Lowen Graav – you know Rondians, of course, Ispal; you have fought their soldiers, have you not? Well, this man Graav is an agent of a rich ferang. This ferang is seeking a wife – a very fertile wife; a wife guaranteed to bear him twins or more. Like your daughter.’ He laughed. ‘We all know about your wife’s line, Ispal: you are a local legend. Poor Ispal, such a curse, every birthing an army, we say.’
Do you? I have always regarded it as a blessing
, he thought.
‘The rich ferang is from far to the north.’ Vikash smoothed his hair and dropped his voice. ‘From Hebusalim,’ he whispered.
Ispal rocked back, silenced. Hebusalim: the birth-place of the Amteh Prophet, where he had lost his goods and nearly died. Where he had rescued Raz Makani from certain death.
Vishnarayan protect me
.
His inner turmoil must have shown on his face, for Vikash spoke urgently. ‘Ispal, this man has promised a king’s ransom for the hand of a daughter such as yours.
A king’s ransom
– think of it; is it not what we all dream of? The one massive deal that will change our fortune for ever—’
‘But my
daughter
—’
‘A daughter is a commodity, Ispal,’ said Vikash reprovingly. ‘Yes, yes, we talk of love-matches and eternal bliss, but the truth is daughters marry who they must to advance the family.’
‘That is true, but she is already betrothed.’ He fell silent, struck dumb by visions of influence, a role amongst the powerful of the
particular
.’
‘Is this a joke?’ ’ He wasn’t sure whether to laugh or not. ‘My wife is my wife, and I do not wish to part from her, even if Omali Law allowed divorce, which it does not.’
Vikash shook his head. He was sweating uncharacteristically: Ispalhad never seen him look other than cool and debonair. ‘No, your
daughter
, Ispal: Ramita – this stranger, this
rich
stranger, may be interested in her. His agent stressed secrecy and urgency. He has promised
vast
sums of money – vast sums!’ He mopped his brow.
‘But Ramita is betrothed already, to the son of my blood-brother. Perhaps if your stranger were to wait a year or two, one of the younger girls will have bled, and—’
‘No, Ispal, it must be your marriageable daughter or you will miss out. He wishes to be wed this month. He cannot afford to wait.’
Ispal shook his head. ‘Vikash, this is
insane
. Marriage is sacred: it is a bond before the gods. We do not give our daughters to strangers.’ He turned away. ‘Thank you for the tip, Vikash, but no.’
Vikash grabbed his arm. ‘Ispal, wait – this man is very,
very
rich. Please, at least talk to him—’
‘No, Vikash, really, this is becoming ridiculous.’
‘
Please
, Ispal – the agent will pay me one thousand rupals just for
introducing
you, much more if a deal is struck. Think what he might pay to you …’
Ispal froze, stunned.
One thousand rupals, just for introductions? By Laksimi
–
what would such a rich and profligate man pay to the people who did the real business?
He wavered, caught in a sudden fantasy of marble palaces and servants galore, with soldiers at his command and a whole caravan of wagons.
By all the gods, think of a whole multi-floor shop full of wares, the Maharaja himself visiting him to make lavish purchases
…
Vikash looked at him intently. ‘It would not hurt to talk to this man, would it, my friend?’
Their eyes met. Ispal took a deep breath, feeling slightly dizzy, and nodded.
Vikash Nooradin led Ispal to an old haveli with carved wooden gates that were falling apart, and into the dishevelled courtyard beyond. Clumps of incense sticks were burning in braziers to mask the smell of rot. A disused fountain was green with pond-slime, and the verandas were shadowy against the stark sunshine. They sat beneath the shadeof a tree on some old chairs, and a servant brought iced tea. Vikash took a sip, then spoke. ‘Ispal my friend, this is an opportunity to die for. Inside there is a Rondian called Lowen Graav – you know Rondians, of course, Ispal; you have fought their soldiers, have you not? Well, this man Graav is an agent of a rich ferang. This ferang is seeking a wife – a very fertile wife; a wife guaranteed to bear him twins or more. Like your daughter.’ He laughed. ‘We all know about your wife’s line, Ispal: you are a local legend. Poor Ispal, such a curse, every birthing an army, we say.’
Do you? I have always regarded it as a blessing
, he thought.
‘The rich ferang is from far to the north.’ Vikash smoothed his hair and dropped his voice. ‘From Hebusalim,’ he whispered.
Ispal rocked back, silenced. Hebusalim: the birth-place of the Amteh Prophet, where he had lost his goods and nearly died. Where he had rescued Raz Makani from certain death.
Vishnarayan protect me
.
His inner turmoil must have shown on his face, for Vikash spoke urgently. ‘Ispal, this man has promised a king’s ransom for the hand of a daughter such as yours.
A king’s ransom
– think of it; is it not what we all dream of? The one massive deal that will change our fortune for ever—’
‘But my
daughter
—’
‘A daughter is a commodity, Ispal,’ said Vikash reprovingly. ‘Yes, yes, we talk of love-matches and eternal bliss, but the truth is daughters marry who they must to advance the family.’
‘That is true, but she is already betrothed.’ He fell silent, struck dumb by visions of influence, a role amongst the powerful of the
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